Scorpio Summer

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  But there was something else. The ridiculous thing was that despite his abrasiveness he made her feel a woman again, and that she found disconcerting. For the past few months her body had been something to be cleaned, dressed and fed. This Felix person somehow brought her alive, proving that there was still red blood coursing through her veins. From someone she didn't even like, the knowledge was humiliating.

  Wiping him firmly out of her thoughts, Frances set off to make a return visit to the elegant Georgian house in the Square.

  Armed with a bunch of flowers, she pressed her finger to the bell and before she could finish her opening sentence she knew that the manservant had recognized her.

  'I've brought the lady of the house some flowers. Would you be kind enough to give them to her for me, please? And perhaps you can tell me if she's feeling better now?'

  'Please come in—Lady Ravenscar will be anxious to meet you again,' was the reply, and he stepped back, and after a double blink at the 'Lady Ravenscar' Frances stepped into the hallway.

  She was in another era. Everywhere she looked her eyes were held enchanted . . . a carved oak chair, a grandfather clock, an exquisite plate on the wall—everything bespoke craftsmanship and loving care. With the warm glow of highly polished wood still with her, Frances entered another room, just as fascinating. It was a long, high-ceilinged room dominated at the far end by a grand piano. Windows were flanked by floor-to-ceiling curtains, the same green repeated throughout, and the whole enhanced by a cream carpet.

  Frances recognized Chippendale in the low tables and chairs, and when a china cabinet in the corner caught her eye she wandered over to gaze in admiration at the porcelain displayed behind the glass frontage. She was just running an appreciative eye along the row of bookshelves when the door opened.

  Lady Ravenscar, using her cane, walked slowly over to her, a smile of pleasure on her face.

  'My dear, how glad I am to see you again! Are these for me? How lovely. Simkin, will you take them away and put them in water, please? Now, my dear, how naughty of you to disappear as you did without allowing me to thank you for your assistance. Do sit down . . . thank you, I can manage on this chair quite well.'

  Arthritis as well as heart, thought Frances, as she seated herself, and said quickly:

  'You're looking much better, I'm so glad. As for dashing away, I'm afraid I was rather short on time. You've been on my conscience ever since and I decided to come and see how you are.'

  'I am delighted that you have done so. I have asked Simkin to bring us some tea. I always spoil myself this time in the afternoon. You will stay and join me, won't you?' Lady Ravenscar appealed, and Frances smiled her assent. 'Splendid! Now do take off your coat, my dear, and put it across that chair, you'll be much more comfortable.'

  Frances complied and reseated herself, feeling with some amusement rather as though she was being entertained by Royalty. Her hostess's eyes were openly assessing her, but with such unfeigned warmth and kindness that she could not take exception to it.

  'How pretty you are, and so young. Well, I don't suppose you think you are young, but from my age . . .' She waved a hand impatiently. 'The first thing to do is to introduce ourselves.' She leaned forward, eyes twinkling.

  'When I told my family that I had neither your name nor your address they could not believe it! I was cross myself, I can assure you, but we can put that right now,' and she paused, waiting expectantly, and Frances obliged.

  'My name is Frances Heron.'

  'Frances . . . such a lovely name, and one not heard often these days. Mine is Margaret Ravenscar. Ah, here is Simkin with the tea—and the flowers. How beautiful they look in that vase . . . I do so love daffodils, don't you? such brave flowers. Thank you, Simkin, you may put them on the piano and we'll have the tea tray on this table, please.' After Simkin had left. Lady Ravenscar beamed with pleasure and asked: 'Frances, will you pour, my dear? I'm not terribly clever at doing such things these days.'

  'Yes, of course,' replied Frances, eyeing the fine bone china warily and hoping she wouldn't disgrace herself, but the years of pouring out tea on stage in front of hundreds of eyes held her in good stead and she completed the operation perfectly. 'Do you take sugar. Lady Ravenscar?'

  Thank you, one lump. I do enjoy having a visitor—a new face, especially,' Lady Ravenscar told her conspiratorially. 'I am a widow and have been for the past ten years, and although my family visit me as often as their busy lives permit, my life has necessarily been quieter in recent years, owing to my ill health.'

  'You are feeling better?'

  'I am as well as can be expected, my dear. Although I have learned to live with my ailments sometimes I am a foolish woman. Had you not helped me that day, the consequences, according to my doctor, could have been fatal. I have promised to be good in the future.' She smiled rather sardonically. 'I am not yet ready to leave this world for the next . . . there are still some things I have to do,' and with this announcement Lady Ravenscar gestured towards the plate of cakes. 'Do take one, Frances, they are delicious, I can recommend them . . . and yes, thank you, I will have another cup of tea,' and she waited in silence while Frances knelt by the tea tray and carefully refilled their cups. 'Now, tell me, what do you do with your life, when you are not rescuing old ladies from their folly?'

  'I work in the theatre,' and Frances wondered how this would be accepted. 'I'm an actress,' she further explained.

  'How very interesting!' Lady Ravenscar's eyes proclaimed this interest and she leaned forward. 'My own family have always had connections with the theatre, in one way or another.' Her eyes twinkled with amusement. 'I had an aunt who made quite a name for herself on the Halls, but she was disowned by the more respectable members of the family, for she took to drink, poor thing. I had aspirations of becoming a concert pianist, and trained until I married . . .' her voice trailed off and for a moment she seemed lost in thought.

  'Do you still play?' prompted Frances gently.

  Lady Ravenscar followed Frances' gaze towards the piano. 'For my own amusement only, and those times are becoming fewer and fewer. The spirit is eager but the flesh is weak—so depressing. I content myself listening to music.' She waved a hand dismissively. 'So you are an actress . . . what are you doing at the moment?’

  'I've just finished a season in repertory theatre and I'm due to begin rehearsing a television series very soon. Frances replied, hoping that her casualness hid the spurt of pride that accompanied the information.

  'Television?Really?' Lady Ravenscar looked gratifyingly impressed. 'My dear girl, ought I to have recognized you?'

  Frances laughed and shook her head. 'By no means, this is the first television job I've had.'

  'What is it to be? A play?'

  'Yes, a serial. What particularly excites me is that it's set in Cornwall, where I lived as a child, and I'm longing to do the location work down there again.'

  'More and more interesting. I know Cornwall very well and love it. Are you allowed to tell me what the serial is called?' Lady Ravenscar was watching her with deep interest. 'So that I may be certain to watch it,' she added.

  'It's calledPenruth, but it won't be on for months yet, not until the end of the year probably. They have to plan so far in advance, you know.'

  From then on the conversation was decidedly one-sided, as Lady Ravenscar, with gentle probing, was told about the loss of Frances' parents when she was fifteen, right up to the sharing of the apartment with Zoe.

  Looking rather anxiously at her hostess, who seemed to be quite flushed, Frances rose to her feet, saying:

  'I do hope I haven't tired you, Lady Ravenscar, and overstayed my welcome . . .?'

  Lady Ravenscar shook her head, smiling. 'Not at all, my dear, it has been a most pleasant afternoon, and I hope you will come again. It was kind of you to give me your time.' She hesitated, finger to lip in thought, eyeing her with a speculative gleam. 'I wonder . . . it is rather late notice, I know, but I am giving a small dinner party tomorrow evenin
g and I would like you to join us, if you can. Do say you are free.' She looked quickly at her visitor's left hand and raised her brows. 'No ring? No fiancée I should invite to accompany you?" Frances smiled and shook her head and Lady Ravenscar said quickly: 'I cannot think what the young men are doing, a lovely girl like you being allowed to remain unattached! You will come?'

  'Thank you, but surely I would be intruding?' floundered Frances, the invitation coming out of the blue.

  'I expect you have something else planned,' Lady Ravenscar said gently, and suddenly realising that this was a way for the elderly lady to say a thank you for the assistance she had received, Frances made up her mind quickly.

  'No, I have nothing planned. Thank you, I should love to come.'

  Lady Ravenscar beamed her approval. 'Splendid! I shall look forward to introducing you to my family . . . at least, those of them who are in town at present.' She held out her hand almost regally. 'You're a sweet girl who showed compassion for an old lady in distress. That is a rare thing these days, people are too busy rushing around to notice or bother. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you called today.'

  'I am too,' responded Frances, colour high, touched by the sincerity in the other's face and voice. 'I did absolutely nothing, but if it pleases you to think that I did . . .' she smiled. 'I look forward to Saturday. What time shall I come?'

  'Eight o'clock. Goodbye, Frances. Ring the bell and Simkin will come and let you out. Forgive me if I do not get up. Until Saturday ...'

  Frances walked away from the house in a bemused state. What an amazing woman, she thought, going over their conversation. Gracious, kind, but beneath the frailty and charm was an underlying strength of character. How she must have disciplined herself to accept her illness, Frances conceded, coming to the conclusion that there was more to Lady Ravenscar than at first met the eye.

  Frances hardly knew how she felt about the ensuing dinner party. The prospect of meeting new people never bothered her, and she had learned long ago which knife and fork to use! No, on analysing the situation she realised that it was the feeling of being swept off her feet by the deceptively gentle Lady Ravenscar.

  Oh, well, she thought finally, one dinner party and then I probably won't see her again.

  Zoe's reaction to the whole affair was one of momentary stunned silence, and then she burst into laughter.

  'My God, Frankie, trust you! Widow of a knighted judge, of all people, and yet you said she looked aristocratic ! I wonder who else will be there ? You'll have to keep the flag flying—what are you going to wear?'

  'I haven't got as far as clothes yet, Zoe, I've hardly become used to the idea that I'm going!' protested Frances, allowing herself to be swept into the bedroom where the entire contents of her own wardrobe, and that of Zoe's in the adjoining room, were inspected critically, Zoe's hands flicking impatiently through the hangers.

  'The blue,' she announced at last, and: 'Yes, madam,' acquiesced Frances docilely.

  Thus it was that she stood before the mirror the next evening giving herself a final inspection. Now that the time had come to leave she had to admit to a faint tightening of stomach muscles, rather like pre-stage flutterings.

  Staring at her reflection, she wrinkled up her nose, conceding that Zoe's choice was probably the best. The blue was a silk jersey, deceptively simple, depending on the superb cut of the garment for its effect. Narrow sleeves helped to emphasise the long, slim line, the predominant feature being soft drapery around the neck. Frances slipped on her gold wristlet watch and carefully inserted tiny gold earrings. She ran a comb once more through her hair, tweaked a curl into place, smoothed the silk jersey over her hips and thought she would do. Catching up Zoe's sumptuous black evening cloak, she went down to the lobby to await the arrival of the taxi.

  There was a row of opulent-looking cars parked outside the Ravenscar establishment. A lamp overhanging the doorway illuminated the approach and climbing the stone steps Frances felt a flicker of anticipation as she rang the bell for the second time that week. Would this evening be something special, she wondered, something to look back on and remember?

  As before, Simkin opened the door and smiled a greeting, taking her cloak and ushering her into the long green room. She was conscious of about a dozen people, the conversation level diminishing slightly as she made her way through to Lady Ravenscar, seated in the same winged chair. Frances smiled and took the hand outstretched to her.

  'Good evening, Lady Ravenscar.'

  The elderly lady looked truly magnificent. Dressed in a black beaded evening ensemble which twinkled and shone when it caught the light, adorned by diamond earrings, necklace and rings on her fingers, white hair sleekly coiffured, and a face lightly rouged and powdered, Lady Ravenscar retained Frances' hand, drawing her round to her side to face the room.

  'Frances, how lovely to see you again. How are you, my dear?'

  'Very well, thank you. I hope I'm not late, but the taxi. . .'

  'I'm sure you are not, and in any case, we are still minus one. Now—I had better introduce you to everyone. You will not remember their names, but never mind.' and she proceeded to go round the room, Frances smiling as each person was named, having to suffer Lady Ravenscar's glowing account of her kindness in assisting her the day of her illness in Regent Street.

  'I'm afraid I have embarrassed Frances, but she should not make light of her help. Gareth will endorse that, I am sure.' Lady Ravenscar turned her attention away from the group as a whole to one in particular. 'I will leave you in the very capable hands of my doctor, Frances. Gareth, come and take Frances under your wing, please.'

  The man thus autocratically addressed inclined his head to his hostess and obediently walked towards Frances, amusement on his thin face.

  'Williams, Gareth Williams,' he said kindly, his dark eyes showing an awareness of her predicament.

  Frances smiled. 'Yes, of course.' He was a Welshman, in his early forties, with an intelligent face, a fascinating voice with the suggestion of his native lilt, and a shrewd, lively manner.

  'May I pour you a drink. Miss Heron ? There's a selection, as you see.'

  Thank you, a sherry, please,' replied Frances, moving with him to a drinks table.

  'I shall confirm Margaret's statement most sincerely,' he continued, selecting a glass and pouring, 'and I congratulate you on your quickness.'

  'My father was a doctor,' she explained, 'and some of his knowledge rubbed off. I'm extremely glad that I was of use, but I do wish Lady Ravenscar wouldn't go on so about it!' she added in a whisper. Gareth Williams smiled knowingly.

  'Margaret Ravenscar is a law unto herself, and a defiant patient, but I believe the message has finally reached her that her destiny lies to a great extent in her own hands and that I can't perform miracles above and beyond medical science.' He handed her the glass, raising his own. 'Your good health, Miss Heron.'

  Frances responded, feeling warmed by the friendliness showing in her companion's face. She was retold the names of their fellow guests, the doctor adding a postscript when he felt one necessary. They were mostly relatives, with one or two old friends, and Frances realised that she was the youngest in the room.

  They had barely worked their way round the guest list when Lady Ravenscar rose to her feet, saying: 'I think we should go in. There's no telling when that son of mine will turn up and we will not spoil the food by waiting for him. Something must have happened to delay the boy. Lead the way, Bertram, and we will all follow.'

  Bertram, described as brother-in-law and military gentleman, did so, looking slightly ruffled, and catching her eye, Lady Ravenscar gave Frances a rueful smile. As Frances approached she whispered: 'A career in the army leaves one with a liking for punctuality, I am afraid. Poor Bertram cannot say anything, however, for he knows that it would spoil my birthday.'

  Frances paused in dismay. 'Oh, Lady Ravenscar, I didn't know!'

  'How could you, child ? Had I told you the reason for this little celebration you wou
ld have felt compelled to bring me something, and all I wanted was your presence.' Lady Ravenscar leaned gently on the arm Frances offered and they began to follow the remaining guests. When they reached the hall her hostess realised that she had left behind her evening bag and Frances returned to look for it. She found the bag pushed down the side of the winged chair and as she made her way back to the hall was aware that another guest had arrived. She hesitated in the doorway, not wishing to interrupt, noticing the pleasure on Lady Ravenscar's face and the warmth in her voice.

  'Dear boy, there you are! I knew you would come, although you really are rather naughty, leaving it so late. Bertram has been simmering for the past quarter of an hour. We were about to dine without you.'

  The 'dear boy' shrugged off his outer garment, handing it to a silently waiting Simkin. He then took Lady Ravenscar into his arms and kissed her gently, with great affection, on both cheeks.

  'Sorry, Mother, something important cropped up that I couldn't ignore. I tried to get out of it, but it was hopeless.' He stood back in admiration. 'You're looking marvelous ! Younger than ever! Happy birthday, darling.'

  'Thank you, son. As you see, I am wearing your ring,' replied Lady Ravenscar fondly, displaying a hand. 'It is a beautiful present.' Her eyes caught sight of Frances hovering uncertainly in the background and looking beyond him she added delightfully: 'Ah, Frances, my dear, you have found my bag, thank you. And now I can introduce Felix, my son. Felix, this is Frances Heron.'

  The introduction was made with much aplomb, as if to say—now then, what do you think of that!—and the effect must have pleased her, for she gazed from one to the other with satisfaction.

  Frances had the advantage, for she had recognized him immediately, standing rooted to the spot in amazement. He was the son! The man Felix was Lady Ravenscar's son! He was dressed very differently from the first time she had seen him—the immaculate evening suit and whiter-than-white shirt were a complete contrast to the black sweater and cords. But the set of the head and the easy, authoritative voice had not changed, neither had the topaz eyes. This Ravenscar son, as he slowly turned during his mother's introduction, veiled his reactions well, but not before she had seen his face show incredulity quickly darkening into brief anger.