To My Dear Niece

by Hilda Nickson

  Whatever feelings had been stirring up for Miles now began to fade, and she stirred in his arms.

  “What’s the matter?” he murmured.

  “I don’t know. Too many things still on my mind to be able to relax properly, I suppose.”

  He put his hand under her chin. “Can’t you ‘cast care aside’ for a little while? I thought you were just beginning to like me a little.”

  “I do like you—”

  “Well then—”

  Again Miles covered her mouth with his, but still the thought of Ian intruded.

  “Miles, don’t!” she said sharply

  He let her go with a sigh. “Not angry, are you?”

  She shook her head. “No. At least, not with you.” Even when he was far away Ian could cast a blight.

  “Who, then?” queried Miles. “Someone bugged you, and you can’t get it out of your mind?”

  She nodded. “But I want to. Let’s go out somewhere, Miles, if it’s only for half an hour.”

  He agreed readily. “Tell you what. We’ll drop in at the Gainsborough House Country Club. It’s a nice drive out and a very pleasant place.”

  “Are you a member?”

  “Well, yes. These places are springing up all over the place, you know. One-time large houses, similar to yours, converted. Belong to one and the membership card admits you to any of them. You don’t necessarily have to dine.”

  It was a pleasant evening. The trees were all in full leaf and still a fresh, unsullied green. Wheat and barley in the fields grew strongly, giving hope of a good harvest. Roses in the gardens of the villages through which they drove, were at the height of their beauty. All the peace-giving, satisfying sights of the countryside, and yet there was a small core within Vanessa which remained unsatisfied, restless.

  Miles turned to smile at her. “Feeling more relaxed now? It’s a wonderful evening.”

  “Yes, lovely.” she agreed automatically.

  Gainsborough House was of the Georgian period, standing white, square and solid in neat, landscaped grounds. A good many smart cars stood in the graveled driveway. Vanessa simply could not see Puck’s Hill in the same role, no matter how she stretched her imagination.

  Inside, the place was as well carpeted and polished as one would expect. Miles led her into a pleasant room from which, through a wide archway, could be seen part of the restaurant. A concealed loudspeaker played light music just loud enough to be heard without intruding on conversation. The room contained chintz-covered love-seats and armchairs. At one end there was even a grand piano.

  “Like it?” asked Miles as they chose one of the sofas.

  “Very much. It’s more like a living room.”

  “That’s the idea. Home away from home, as it were. You could have done the same with your place if you’d had the money. The archway leading into the restaurant is repeated in there—obviously several rooms have been knocked into one.”

  “Interesting. Does—anyone ever play the piano?” she asked, quite unable to prevent herself thinking of Ian.

  “Sometimes. Mind you, although you can relax here, it isn’t to everybody’s liking. It’s too quiet.”

  She smiled. “Too quiet for you, Miles?”

  A waiter brought them their drinks. Vanessa sat back, thinking that the quiet dignity of this room, at any rate, was very much to her taste.

  “No—o. Of course, it depends on the mood I’m in or who’s with me. There are times when I feel like being lively, but—” he covered her hand with his and turned his head, smiling into her eyes, “when I’m with someone like you, soft lights and sweet music are ideal. The only trouble is, there are too many people in sight. I want to take you in my arms and kiss you.”

  His face was very close to hers as they leaned their heads back. Vanessa was about to make some light, jesting remark, but the words died in her throat. Through the archway came Ian Hamilton with Cecile Harland. Vanessa’s smile faded, then she forced it back again and turned to Miles.

  “Do you see who I see—just coming from the restaurant?”

  Miles glanced swiftly across the room, then laughed briefly. “Well, well! It’s beginning to look as though he’s got her hooked again.”

  Vanessa winced. “I hope they’re not going to stay long.”

  “Darling, we’ll leave if they bother you. I can’t stand the sight of him myself.”

  Vanessa would not put her own feelings as strongly as that. All the same—Looking around the room for a suitable place to sit, Ian caught sight of Vanessa and Miles.

  He stared for a moment, his eyes flitting from one to the other, then he nodded coolly and led his companion to a corner seat out of Vanessa’s direct line of vision.

  “There seems no getting away from the man,” Miles said, almost echoing her own thoughts. “But let’s not bother about him. I want to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You’re very beautiful, do you know that?”

  Vanessa laughed briefly. “ ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, “ she quoted.

  “That’s only partly true.” he murmured. “You are beautiful—in every way. But you’re especially lovely to me.

  She tried not to take him too seriously, not being certain how much in earnest he was. But there was a part of her which wanted very much to feel a man’s arms around her. She shook off the feeling by leaning forward and picking up her glass from the table.

  “I think you’re very nice, too.” she told him lightly.

  He reached for his own drink. “Well, that’s a start. Here’s to future progress.”

  She deliberately avoided looking in the direction of Ian and Cecile Harland, but when Miles suggested another drink, she said she would rather go home. When they were leaving, she discovered the other couple had left without her noticing. At least, they were no longer in the corner.

  “They didn’t stay very long, did they?” commented Miles. Then he added, “I think those two deserve each other. She’s an out-and-out snob, and he’d like to be a gentleman, but isn’t. His sister treats him like a tin god because that’s what he thinks he is.”

  Vanessa did not argue with Miles. He was so very nearly right.

  Freda drove up to Puck’s Hill in her station wagon about half past nine the following morning.

  “I thought we might have lunch in town,” she said. “What about it?”

  Vanessa hesitated, feeling she really ought not to spare the time, but as Freda was being kind enough to run her to the garden center—

  “Thanks, that would be nice. I’ll just go along to the kitchen to tell Nancy.”

  As they were driving along, Vanessa thought what a very useful type of vehicle this was.

  “I really must look out for a car like this,” she said. “That space at the back is ideal for me, especially with the back seat hinged back.”

  “Er—how would you like to have this?” asked Freda. “I am thinking of selling it, as a matter of fact. I want a smaller one—a car, not a station wagon.”

  “Are you sure?” Vanessa asked. It sounded too good a coincidence to be true.

  “Yes, quite sure,” Freda assured her. “We did have a use for it at one time, but not now. I was going to mention it to you. But as it happens, you forestalled me. As far as I’m concerned that space at the back is wasted.”

  Vanessa asked how much it would be. Freda mentioned what sounded a ridiculously low sum.

  “I simply must pay you a fair price for it,” she protested.

  “And what would you call a fair price?”

  “I’m not sure, but—”

  “Look, Vanessa, if I let it go in part exchange for another, I shall get very little indeed for it. Much, much less than I’m asking you. I doubt if I’d get a great deal more if I sold it to a local dealer or advertised it. So won’t you take it off my hands and stop worrying? If you don’t want it, of course, that’s a different matter.”

  Vanessa did want it. “I was just making sure you weren’t losing money on it on my account
. I’ll be glad to have it. As soon as you get your new car let me know, and I’ll write you out a check.”

  At the garden center Freda was staggered at the amount Vanessa bought Vanessa had a word with the proprietor. He had agreed to let her have all she wanted at special prices. He said her place was far enough away from his not to affect his trade. Later, if her own garden center became successful, she could begin to buy things like tools and other supplies direct from the manufacturers.

  “What on earth are you going to do with all this stuff? I thought you were only going to sell plants.” Freda asked in a surprised voice.

  “I’ve had a change of plan,” Vanessa told her, and enlarged on her idea.

  “But isn’t it going to eat into your bit of capital?”

  “I’ve decided to take a chance and not be too cautious,” Vanessa answered. “I have some men coming to dig out hogweed on the weekend and a builder coming in to put windows in the bam on Monday morning. Perhaps you could give me a good printer in town. I want to have some advertising posters done.”

  “Oh dear! I do wish you’d talked things over with Ian first. He could have—”

  “Why should I talk anything over with Ian?” Vanessa said sharply, then fearing she might have sounded rude, she added. “I’m sorry, Freda, but I prefer to make my own decisions. Then if I make mistakes I have only myself to blame.”

  Freda was silent for a moment, then she said quietly, “Neither Ian nor I have any desire to tell you what you should do, Vanessa, only to help.”

  “Yes, I know,” Vanessa answered, feeling guilty. “But I want to make my own way as far as possible, and in any case you are helping me.”

  “Who is it who’s coming to tackle the weed?” asked Freda.

  “Some men Miles Kendal knows.”

  “At time and a half?”

  “Yes, I think so. But it will be worth it.” The other girl gave a shrug of her shoulders. “Look, Freda, I know what you’re thinking,” Vanessa said raggedly. “You would have liked me to ask Ian. Ian would have had his men come over and put in a couple of days or so, but look what happened the last time when I tried to pay them. I’d rather have it this way, honestly.”

  They loaded the station wagon with garden sundries and plants, leaving some heavier articles to be delivered. A cup of coffee, a visit to the printer and one or two items of Freda’s shopping took them to lunch-time. Freda suggested they eat at the White Horse where Ian had taken Vanessa the day she had visited the lawyer.

  “Isn’t that rather expensive?” she said.

  “It’s no more expensive than anywhere else,” Freda answered, “and you do get a good meal. Besides—and I hope you won’t mind—Ian said he might join us.”

  Vanessa would have done anything rather than have lunch with Ian, but how could she say so without hurting Freda? And strictly speaking she had no great quarrel with Ian.

  “Of course I don’t mind. By the way, I saw Ian last night,” she added. “Did he tell you?”

  “No. No, he didn’t,” Freda answered thoughtfully. “I knew he was taking Cecile out to dinner. Were you at the same place?”

  “Miles called to see me. We drove out there,” Vanessa told her briefly.

  Evidently Ian hadn’t thought seeing her was worth mentioning. He was already in the White Horse restaurant when they entered. He greeted Vanessa formally, invited them to have a glass of sherry and began to ask Freda if she had managed to get various items of shopping for him. Freda chatted brightly—a little too brightly, Vanessa thought, as if she were covering up an awkward situation.

  “Wait until you hear Vanessa’s plans.” she said after a minute or two. “She’s decided to launch out right away and not wait until her plants and things are ready for Christmas.”

  “Oh, really? Well, let’s order lunch. You can tell me all about it while we eat.”

  They went to a table which Ian had reserved for them. When they had ordered, Ian pressed Vanessa for more details. Now and then Freda eyed her brother anxiously as if anticipating his disapproval. Vanessa noticed this vaguely as she talked, and thought it most extraordinary. He listened quietly at first, his face impassive, but his eyes alert. Then when she paused he asked her one or two questions. Vanessa thought fleetingly that she did not care whether he approved or not, yet could not help feeling pleased when he said.

  “It all sounds pretty good to me. May I make a suggestion?”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t try to stock absolutely everything at first. Leave yourself a margin of capital. If somebody asks for an item you don’t have, just say you can get it—even if it means a special trip into town. That way, you not only find out what the popular demands are and don’t waste your money on stocking what there isn’t much sale for, but also build up a good reputation for yourself.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “Thanks.”

  He shot her a keen glance as if making sure she wasn’t being sarcastic.

  “Who are these men who are coming to tackle the hogweed for you on the weekend?” he asked then.

  “I—don’t know their names,” she told him.

  He looked puzzled. Before Vanessa could enlarge, which somehow she felt reluctant to do, Freda intervened.

  “It’s some men Miles Kendal knows,” she said quietly, with again that look as if she feared his reaction. “Vanessa didn’t like to ask for our men because last time they wouldn’t accept payment.”

  “I daresay they’d have been willing to come at the usual rate if they’d been approached,” he said brusquely. “There are limits to the number of times one can offer help.”

  There was a heavy silence. An apology hovered on Vanessa’s lips. But a look at Ian’s granite-like face, and she asked herself what she had to apologize for.

  “Miles just happens to be around at the right time,” she said with a show of indifference.

  “Which seems to be quite often.”

  At this her lips tightened angrily. She lifted up her chin and sought for the right words with which to answer him. But he spoke first.

  “I’m sorry. It’s no business of mine who you spend your time with, of course.”

  But his tone held neither regret nor concern. It had a strong hint of contempt.

  “You’re so right,” she was goaded into replying.

  Freda looked frankly horrified. “For goodness’ sake, you two, stop snapping at each other!”

  “I wasn’t aware that I was snapping,” Ian answered coolly. “I thought I had just offered an apology—and that for interfering in something which didn’t concern me. Namely, the kind of friends Vanessa makes.”

  “Well, you didn’t sound very apologetic,” his sister retorted, “what you’ve just said only makes matters worse.”

  Ian gave her a long look. “There are several replies I could make to that, but I won’t make any at all. Let’s just eat.”

  Vanessa ate without tasting anything; her mind occupied with various permutations of what replies Ian would have made to his sister’s remark. But after a minute or two of silence, Freda said brightly:

  “Vanessa is going to have the station wagon. Ian, so on the way home will you call at the garage and tell Bill I’ll have that little runabout he was showing me the other day.”

  He gave her another long look. “Oh. Well. I’m very glad about that. You’ll find the wagon very useful. Vanessa. It’s in good running order, but if you should have any troubles, let me know.”

  “Thank you.” She decided she had better not start talking to him about the price. She would leave it to Freda to work it out with him. She thought she was beginning to understand Ian. He was not only accustomed to having his own way, to being the boss, he was accustomed to women who were more pliant than she was. He liked to organize people. He preferred women of the helpless female type—if they existed these days—rather than one like herself. Above all, it hurt his pride that another man, especially one whom he disliked as he did Miles, was being more
helpful than he himself.

  He did not stay for coffee. As soon as the dessert course had been served and eaten, he asked them to excuse him, and rose, paying the bill before he left.

  “I ought to pay for my own lunch.” Vanessa protested.

  “Don’t be silly,” Freda said. “I never knew anyone so independent.”

  “I don’t think I’m abnormally so. Anyhow, isn’t it better than being a sponger?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is, but both Ian and I want to help you.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. But Miles is anxious to be of help too. In fact, people are being extraordinarily kind, but I’ve been brought up to stand on my own feet as far as possible. I haven’t refused help from anyone. It’s just that I want to pay my own way.”

  “Of course you do,” Freda said warmly. “That’s what I—” She broke off as if she had started to say something she shouldn’t. “But never mind. By the way, the Forestry Club meets next Wednesday. You will come won’t you?” Vanessa said she’d love to. She had received a membership card and a program. It looked very interesting. Freda drove back to Barn Hill and helped to unload the station wagon.

  “I’ll bring the wagon around just as soon as I get the other car,” she promised as she was leaving.

  By the weekend the barn had four large windows. Vanessa had also made sure the builders had taken away the resultant rubble.

  Vanessa eyed the inside walls ruefully. When the barn had had very little light, they had not looked so bad. Now they did not look as good.

  “I’m afraid they’ll have to be painted,” she said to Nancy.

  Nancy smiled wickedly. “Why don’t you get Miles Kendal to do it? I’m sure he’ll be glad to. Emulsion paint is what you want. With a large brush it will go on easily enough. It’s too uneven to do with a roller.”

  Vanessa took up the challenge. “All right, Nancy, I will ask him. Perhaps Mr. Watts will deliver the paint for me. I shall need quite a lot. Meanwhile I’ll sweep a few spiders’ webs away.”