'Yes,' Professor Bellairs said heavily, 'I think I see what you mean, Gerald. But there's one person whom we can't ask to do that.'
'I know. Lisa,' Sir Gerald nodded. 'Just the suggestion that there's anything the least bit—well, questionable about her young man would put her on the defensive! No, we'll just have to play it by ear, Charles. And—' he lifted his glass, 'here's my every good wish for my goddaughter's happiness!'
When Sir Gerald had gone, Professor Bellairs sought out his wife. She listened in silence to what he had to say, her lips a thin, tight line, her eyes stormy. When he had finished, the storm broke.
'So, in Gerald's opinion, this delay isn't out of consideration for our feelings. It's on Mr Cosgrave's account. If he doesn't approve of our Lisa—who do they think they are, these people?' she demanded belligerently. 'And what precious standards have they got that Lisa couldn't measure up to?'
'I think, from what Gerald said, one might describe them as worldly ones,' the Professor explained. 'And I suppose, looking at it from their point of view, Lisa is somewhat unsophisticated—'
'Well, if by that you mean that she's sweet and honest and straightforward, then yes, thank goodness, she is!' Lisa's mother declared. 'And if Mark doesn't appreciate those characteristics in the girl he says he's going to marry—says he's going to marry—' she repeated slowly. 'Charles, what happens if she—if Mr Cosgrave tells Mark she's not the sort of wife for an ambitious young man? Is he going to jilt Lisa—just like that? Or—' her face grew grey and drawn, 'is he going to try to make her over into the sort of girl that Mr Cosgrave thinks she ought to be?'
'My dear!' His own face was strained, but he touched her hand gently and comfortingly. 'Do you think Lisa could change into that sort of girl?' he asked, half reproachfully, half appealingly, 'Surely, surely not!'
'Oh yes, she could,' Mrs Bellairs replied sombrely. 'When a girl's deeply in love—and Lisa has never been one to do things by halves—then yes, the one thing she wants is to please the man she loves! And you know what that means, Charles, if Mark means as much as that to her? We lose our girl—'
Professor Bellairs could find nothing to say to refute his wife's foreboding, and they sat silent for a while. Then he said slowly:
'You know, my dear, there's one thing we're forgetting. Young Saville may have had just too much self-confidence! Obviously, he thinks he is certain to be the one to make the final decision. But I'm not so sure of that. If what Gerald says is true—and he doesn't usually make mistakes—then the young man has got very real flaws in his nature or personality or whatever you like to call it. They won't show up immediately—he's enough in love with Lisa to take care of that! Perhaps there'll be no sign of them until after the engagement is announced. But that's not such an irrevocable step as marriage, is it? And that's nearly a year off.'
'You mean, Lisa herself may be disillusioned and break it off,' Mrs Bellairs said doubtfully. 'But, Charles, that might break her heart!'
'Yes,' he agreed heavily. 'It might. Oh, Mary, one doesn't know what to hope for or wish! And yet you spoke of disillusion. Doesn't that suggest that at heart you feel that what she feels for young Saville isn't real love but just—illusion?'
'Yes, it might mean that,' Mrs Bellairs agreed. 'Or it might just be the outcome of wishful thinking. But there's one thing, Charles, that's quite certain. We've got to realize that this is something which Lisa has got to settle for herself and that means that whatever happens—' her lips trembled, 'we stand by her!'
'That, always,' Professor Bellairs said firmly, and they found that, after all, they could smile at one another.
Lisa experienced no such doubts. Nor did it occur to her that anyone else, except Tom, of course, might have them. And Tom didn't count. He'd taken an instantaneous dislike to Mark from the first moment they'd met. And people who were subject to violent and unreasonable prejudices like that couldn't be taken seriously.
All the same, it was impossible not to remember her own early impression of Mark—that he was used to entertaining in London on a scale such as she had never experienced. She had been convinced that his guests would be wealthy—men who were at the top of the tree or nearly there, women who were beautifully dressed and completely sure of themselves. Beside them she would feel like a country cousin—if not actually shabby, then certainly dressed off-the-peg, and not even the most expensive obtainable from that source. And as for being sophisticated—well, that would be laughable if it wasn't tragic.
And she did so want to do Mark credit! Of course she did! What girl in love with the man of her dreams doesn't want to look beautiful for him? Lisa asked herself the question almost belligerently—as if someone was posing the question to her in a sceptical way—as if it wasn't a perfectly natural and even praiseworthy state of mind.
Then she stopped arguing with herself—or with the nebulous somebody who seemed to be lurking at the back of her brain and became entirely practical. Clothes— Mark had already brought her a charmingly worded note from Mrs Cosgrave saying how delighted they were at the news Mark had told them.
'—in confidence, of course. You don't mind us knowing, do you? As Mark will tell you, he is really one of the family—'
At that point Lisa had glanced up from the letter.
'Are you?' she asked curiously.
'Am I what?' Mark, not unreasonably asked.
'One of the family—the Cosgrave family,' Lisa explained, pointing to the sentence in the letter.
He laughed as he shrugged his shoulders.
'Well, not really, of course. There's no blood tie whatever,' he said lightly. 'But let's put it this way-it's been a relationship that's developed into something more friendly and personal than is usually the case where business connections are concerned. And not having any people of my own, I've appreciated that.'
'Yes, I can understand that you would,' Lisa agreed, her heart aching at the thought of a child who, as he had told her, had grown up in the impersonal setting of an orphanage. Remembering the warmth and love which had always surrounded her, she had resolved that, by and by, when they were married, she would pass on some of the tenderness he had never known to him. But that was something one couldn't explain in words. It had to be experienced. In the meantime— 'I expect you know Mrs Cosgrave has asked me to stay at the Manor for the week-end after next?' she asked. 'She says she's written to Mother as well.'
'Yes, I handed over the letter myself,' Mark told her.
'I suppose you'd like me to say "yes"?' Lisa asked hesitantly.
Mark looked at her in surprise. To him the invitation, dictated by Simon even though written by Mrs Cosgrave, was almost in the nature of a royal command. That Lisa should even ask such a question—but wiser, perhaps, not to make a point of that.
'I know they'd feel very much hurt if you didn't,' he said with only the smallest hint of reproach in his voice. But Lisa, sensitive to every slight change in his mood or manner, flushed.
'Yes, of course,' she said hurriedly. 'I'll write a note accepting—' But she made no effort to move as, fidgeting with the sheet of expensive notepaper, she asked him tentatively: 'Mark, Mrs Cosgrave speaks of it being just a quiet family weekend. But just what does she mean by that?'
'Just what she says, of course,' Mark replied with a hint of impatience. 'That, apart from you and me, there'll be no other guests.'
'Mr and Mrs Cosgrave—and their daughter,' Lisa said slowly. 'Her name's Evadne, isn't it?'
'Yes, that's right,' Mark said, deliberately careless in his manner. He could have wished that on this occasion of Lisa's first official visit to the Manor, Evadne hadn't announced her intention of being at home. But there it was. Nothing he could say would alter the fact. Indeed, anything in the nature of a protest from him would only make Evadne all the more determined to be present. Besides, sooner or later the two girls had got to meet, and perhaps the sooner they got it over the better.
'Everyone speaks of her as being very good-looking —and smart,' Lisa sa
id diffidently.
'Oh, she is,' Mark said, maintaining that casual manner. 'She's also extremely intelligent. But—' his lips parted in a smile, 'I'm not and never have been in love with her. And what's more,' he added thoughtfully, 'I can't imagine myself ever being so. So—' he drew her close, 'you don't have to worry, my sweet! It's you I love—and you I'm going to marry! That's absolutely certain!' His lips met hers.
'Oh, Mark, I know I'm silly,' Lisa confessed. 'But I do realize how much I've got to learn—'
'Well, some things, perhaps,' he admitted. 'Naturally, we'll live a—well, a more interesting sort of life than you've so far been used to. But so what? You'll soon adapt yourself to it—and like it. We'll have fun, Lisa, I promise you!'
Yes, of course they would! And if it was a strange new world to her, what of it? They'd be together and Mark would always be at hand to help her over the difficult patches.
But she still hadn't done anything about the important question of the right sort of clothes for this weekend. There seemed to be only one thing to do—ask for information outright.
'Do they dress for dinner at the Manor?'
Mark's expression gave away the fact that he was relieved she had asked the question.
'Well, yes, as a rule—unless the old man or I get down so late from town that we'd hold up dinner if we changed. But very definitely at the weekend. So that will give you a chance to wear some of your pretty little cocktail dresses—you looked sweet in the one you wore the evening I met you and at the dance after the Fete. I expect it's one of your favourites, isn't it?'
One of them! The only one—and what was more, one that was over a year old! Did Mark realize that? She wasn't sure. But whether he did or not, it was clear that she must take the hint if she didn't want to let him down.
'It is, rather,' she agreed carelessly. 'I always feel happy in that greeny-blue colour.'
'And with reason,' Mark said warmly. 'It's very definitely one of your colours. But do you know what I'd like to see you in?'
'No?' Lisa asked with considerable interest. This might help her to choose because, of course, she would have to buy at least one new dress.
'Black!' Mark said with conviction. 'With your fair hair, you'd look marvellous in black!'
Black? The suggestion surprised Lisa who, of her own free will, would never have chosen it. But that she was careful to hide from Mark—and from her mother when, later, she announced that she was going into Eastbourne to do some shopping.
'It really is time I got a few new things,' she explained lightly, and Mrs Bellairs, torn between a sympathetic understanding of Lisa's unspoken desire to look her best for Mark and the fear that she might succeed only too well, fell back on the truth.
'Well, you haven't had anything new for a long time. What had you in mind?'
'Oh, a cocktail dress and shoes to go with it, and perhaps a day dress or two if the money holds out,' Lisa explained, and added carelessly: 'I thought of one of those useful little black dresses one can ring the changes on with different accessories might be an idea.'
Black! Mrs Bellairs was quite sure she knew where that idea had come from and her heart sank. It wasn't in itself an important incident, but it showed one thing very clearly—Mark had only to make a suggestion for Lisa to accept it unquestioningly. And how could one help wondering just how far that would hold?
'Something in that,' she said judicially. 'And speaking of accessories, will you go up to my bedroom and bring down the old green case you'll find in the top drawer of the bow-fronted chest of drawers. You can't miss it.'
Lisa brought down the old-fashioned jeweller's case and handed it to her mother, who opened it and laid it on the table before her.
'There!' she said triumphantly as she touched the contents with a gentle finger. 'Now, I'm not trying to force them on to you, but when you are choosing your dress, bear in mind that you can have these if you like.'
'But they're lovely,' Lisa said breathlessly, already visioning herself wearing the lovely things her mother was offering.
On the shabby green velvet of the open case lay a necklet, two bracelets and a pair of ear-rings. They were made of pale gold in a complicated design of loops and swirls that were obviously Oriental in design. And wherever possible, tiny flowers and leaves and birds had been delicately engraved on their surface.
'Chinese,' Mrs Bellairs remarked . 'About a hundred years old, I should think. They belonged to my grandmother. She and my grandfather spent a lot of their time out East. Well, darling, would you like them?'
'I'd love to wear them,' Lisa said eagerly. 'Not the ear-rings, I'm afraid. They're for pierced ears and of course, mine aren't.'
'Well, perhaps you may decide to have them done some time,' Mrs Bellairs suggested, closing the case and putting it into Lisa's hands. 'Or perhaps the ear-rings could be adapted. Anyhow, here you are, dear, with my love. And I hope you enjoy wearing them.'
'Oh, I shall,' Lisa said fervently, and kissed her mother warmly. 'Thank you more than I can say, Mother!'
Mrs Bellairs smiled at her girl, but suddenly she felt very tired. She knew perfectly well what she had done, She had given Lisa a chance to make the best of herself in a way she couldn't have done without that beautiful set of jewellery. And surely no man, however self-centred, could fail to appreciate the result.
'In fact, it may be just the thing that tips the balance,' Mrs Bellairs thought wryly. 'Perhaps I'm actually pushing her into his arms. And yet what can one do? If you can help your child to gain her heart's desire—'
It was not until the Saturday evening of her weekend at the Manor that Lisa wore the new black dress. Mark had come over and fetched her on Friday on his way from town.
They had spent a quiet, uneventful evening with Mr and Mrs Cosgrave—in fact, it had been rather dull because old Simon, tired from his week in town, had been inclined to drop off to sleep, and Mrs Cosgrave had little in the way of small talk except on the subjects of domestic problems and the difficulty of getting their gardener to do what he was told. 'And even about these, she soon ran out of subject matter.
But Saturday, Lisa soon realized, was to be something special. For one thing, Evadne, whom she had not yet met, would be arriving in time for dinner and would be bringing with her two business acquaintances of her father's. So, obviously, that was when the new black dress would come into its own.
Standing in front of the cheval mirror in her bedroom, Lisa drew a deep breath of satisfaction. How right Mark had been in suggesting that she should wear black! It made her hair look brighter and her skin almost translucent, let alone that she looked slimmer and taller than usual. As for her mother's jewellery, it gave just the finishing touch. With that in mind, she had purposely chosen a very plainly cut dress. It was sleeveless, and the line of the neck just circled the base of her throat so that on the matt surface of the material the necklace had a perfect background. By way of contrast to the dress, the shoes she had chosen were made of patent leather, and to finish with she had bought a small black handbag with a gilt chain.
One way and another she had made a very large hole in her small savings that were to have gone towards a holiday the following year. But, by then, so much would have happened! Instead of a holiday by herself, she and Mark would be on their honeymoon. She drew a little sigh of ecstasy—and at that moment, a gong sounded from downstairs.
Lisa took a last look at herself in the mirror, picked up her handbag and hurried to the top of the stairs. Then, quite deliberately, she halted and with a little smile on her lips went composedly down the stairs to the two people who were standing looking up at her— Mark, and a dark-haired girl who she knew must be Evadne Cosgrave.
Lisa's colour rose as she saw the undisguised appreciation and delight in Mark's face as he came towards her.
'Darling, you look marvellous,' he said very softly, taking her hand in his.
The look she gave him thanked him without words as he led her forward to make the necessary introducti
on.
But Lisa hardly heard what Mark was saying. Her attention was riveted on Evadne's face, for, though her lips were smiling, in her eyes Lisa read something which no woman could mistake. Resentment? Dislike? No, some stronger emotion than either of those.
Jealousy, and sheer, malicious hatred.
CHAPTER 6
The look in Evadne's eyes went so quickly that afterwards Lisa wasn't sure if it hadn't existed only in her imagination, particularly as there was no hint of any such feeling in her voice as she responded to Mark's introduction.
'You know, I've been longing to meet you,' she told Lisa earnestly in her rather deep, husky voice. 'But somehow or other, something has always prevented it.'
She ignored the fact that Mark, standing just behind Lisa, allowed his lips to twitch slightly. He knew perfectly well that the reason why the two girls hadn't met was that until now, Evadne had refused to accept the fact that he really cared for Lisa and had deliberately kept away from Bardley so that she wasn't compelled to acknowledge the impending engagement. But now, since the meeting was inevitable, she was making the best of it, or rather she was going out of her way to set Lisa at her ease. Or put her off her guard? Knowing Evadne as well as he did, he thought that was the more likely explanation.
'I do so want you to realize that mine is a very special welcome,' she went on with every sign of sincerity. 'Because Mark, you know, is the nearest I've ever had to a brother, and so the girl he is to marry simply must be my friend!'
Mark's eyes narrowed a little at this totally unexpected description of their relationship, and decided that, though she was starting a long way off from the point she intended to reach, Evadne was planning mischief.
He put a protecting arm round Lisa's shoulders, but he need not have worried. Her own good manners carried her through. She was a guest in this house and this girl was her host's daughter.
'How very charming of you to feel like that, Miss Cosgrave,' she said gravely. 'I do so appreciate your welcome!'
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