Red as a Rose

by Hilary Wilde

  Elinor hurried to finish the unpacking. She had a sudden longing to be out in the fresh air—to feel that they were finally going somewhere—to see the beautiful expanse of sea. "I'm going up on deck," she said.

  "Oh no . . ." Valerie cried. "I thought you'd set my hair for me."

  Elinor had to laugh. "Oh no, my girl. I've done your unpacking but there are limits."

  "Okay, you win," Valerie said cheerfully. "Just watch out on deck. You might run into a wolf."

  For a moment, Elinor did not understand and then she laughed. "Wolves need a certain amount of encouragement . . ."

  Valerie was rummaging in her sponge bag. "Then you'll be quite safe," she said. "That air of dignity of yours will keep them at bay."

  Elinor took the lift up to the promenade deck, chatting with the lift, boy who looked about twelve but was actually seventeen. She went to lean against the rail and gaze at the coast line they were following. The blue sea sparkled and danced, the wind whipped at her, tugging her hair into a mad disorder. What was it Val had said? That air of dignity will keep them at bay.

  Really, Val was being most disturbing that day. Who, at twenty, wanted to be "pathetic", "scared" or "dignified"? That was no way to live. Was it

  true? Maybe she had been a bit scared of that man—but then, she told herself, he was different. He was an older man, so very impressive, so frightening when his mouth tightened with anger, when his voice became icily cold. Oh, she must forget him . . .

  She gripped the rail, letting her body go with the movement of the ship. Was that why she had so few friends and Valerie so many? She had thought it was because she had worked in the same office for five years in Johannesburg and there was no one else there under the age of forty-nine. But then Val had made friends at the bank, she had gone to dancing classes and squash, she had gone skating and swimming. Or was it because Elinor had formed the habit of going straight home to be with her mother—for she had known that, to her mother, the day had stretched endlessly and with a desolate loneliness. Not that it had ever been a bind, for her mother's warm welcome had been reward enough. So she had no regrets—but suddenly she wished she found it easier to make friends . . .

  She walked round the deck, feeling lonely. Thinking that Valerie would have smiled at people and immediately got into conversation with then. If only she herself found it as easy . . .

  Rounding a corner, she met the wind full on'. Instinctively she ducked, pulling her head down, fighting the wind, and bumped into someone, who steadied her for a moment and then quickly pulled her behind a sheltering wall.

  She gazed up into the face of the man she could not forget . . .

  Gasping, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head.

  "I thought you'd gone ashore . . ." she said. "I didn't know you were sailing on this boat."

  He closed his eyes and sighed. "Ship," he said patiently. "Don't you know better than to call this a boat? It seems your education has been sadly neglected. I am sorry I did not tell you my plans. You did not ask me and I must confess, I did not think you would be interested." Again there was that odd quirk to the corner of his mouth as if he was trying not to, laugh. "As you once pointed out to me, it is none of your business."

  She stared at him helplessly. Why had they the power to irritate one another-so?

  Before she could find words, he went on: "I take it that your luggage arrived all right? And that pretty madcap sister of yours?" he asked, his voice suddenly warm and indulgent. "She was enjoying herself all right. It seems odd that you should be sisters. You are so completely unlike one another . . ." With that, he lifted his hand in the abrupt manner he had and walked away.

  Elinor stared after him, gasping a little. Breathless, with a strange anger, fighting the curious sensation of helplessness she always felt when near him,

  wondering why his words had sounded like an insult.

  She turned and hurried back to the cabin. It

  would be far better to set Valerie's hair than run the

  risk of another meeting with that man. How on

  earth was she going to avoid him on the voyage?

  She seemed doomed to bump into him and he always

  gave her the impression that he thought she was doing it on purpose!

  Val looked up as the door opened and she laid aside her book.

  "I guessed you'd repent," she said saucily. "I've got everything ready."

  Elinor began to laugh. "You're impossible!"

  Valerie's voice came muffled through the towel she was draping round her. "But nice, Elinor? Your impossible but nice sister?"

  As Elinor's hands began to rub the shampoo into red hair, she said in a mild voice, "Quite nice—in small doses."

  "You're a honey," Valerie said as Elinor's deft fingers twisted the soft red hair and imprisoned it with grips. "Your trouble is you're too gentle and kind, Elinor. You get imposed on. But all the same, I'm jolly glad you're as you are."

  Later they dressed and the ship was beginning to roll a little so that, even with the best will in the world, they got into one another's way.

  "We'll have to arrange a dressing rota," Val said as she struggled to get into the tight sheath green frock. "You first, of course, for I loathe getting up early."

  Elinor was brushing her own hair, trying to make the simple style look more sophisticated. She had chosen to wear a tangerine coloured shirt-waister and she added a pearl choker and ear-rings.

  The two girls surveyed one another carefully. "You look lovely," Elinor said warmly. It was true, too. Valerie, so tall and slim, with the lovely

  long legs models need, had chosen a dress that clung to her, but not too tightly. She had twisted a string of amber beads round her neck, a matching one round one arm.

  "Max—" Valerie said briefly as she touched the beads.

  For a moment, Elinor's face clouded. "Max made me promise on the train—when they all came to see us off—not to let you forget him."

  Valerie found it very amusing. "He hasn't a hope. He's far too young. Why won't men accept these things?"

  "I don't suppose it is easy for anyone to accept them," Elinor said thoughtfully. "It must be hardest of all for a man. Do I look all right?" she asked anxiously as she looked in the mirror, half-afraid of what Valerie might say.

  Valerie swung round and gave her a brief glance. "You look sweet," she said as she opened the door. "A perfect lady."

  Elinor caught her breath and then controlled her feelings quickly as she followed her sister. Valerie did not mean to be unkind. But who on earth wanted to look like "a perfect lady"? Was she really so dim, so drab? A lady—"dignified"—afraid of men—"pathetic"? Was that really the right description for a girl of twenty? There must be something very wrong with her if she really looked like that .. .

  They found Suite Three and for some reason Valerie stood a little behind Elinor and left it to her to knock on the door. It opened immediately as if

  someone had been standing on the other side, waiting for the knock.

  Elinor found herself staring up into the strangely dark eyes of a very blond, sun-tanned man. A pair of eyes that looked as surprised as her own must . . .

  "Are you Miss Johnson?" he drawled, opening the door wider, and then he looked past her and suddenly he was smiling, his whole face altering, becoming softer, friendlier, even pleased. "And this is your sister?"

  Valerie swept past Elinor who stood transfixed with horror. "Are you C. Anderson?" she asked gaily. "We thought you'd be an elderly sheep farmer or a retired Colonel . . ."

  Elinor stood, unnoticed, as the man shook Valerie warmly by the hand. He was even laughing. "I am a sheep farmer," he drawled. 'Whether elderly—or not."

  CHAPTER TWO

  AFTERWARDS, ELINOR knew she must have automatically reacted, but she could never remember how she found her way to the deep comfortable armchair, holding a small glass of sherry in her hand, watching Valerie as she sat, curled up on the couch, turning to talk to
Mr. Anderson easily as if she had known him all her life. Valerie's eyes shone excitedly, her cheeks were flushed as she leaned forward eagerly.

  Elinor, ignored by the others, took time to glance round curiously. As Valerie had said when the invitation arrived, you had to be wealthy to afford a suite. It was most luxuriously furnished with thick golden curtains, deep plum red carpet, huge deep chairs, great vases of flowers. There were many gladioli of different colours. They reminded her of the enormous bunch of pink gladioli Max had given Valerie at the station when he came to see them off on the Blue Train—and she would never forget the hurt look in his eyes as Valerie casually tossed the flowers on the seat, barely thanked him and then darted back on to the platform to chat with her friends. Valerie had soon forgotten him .. . Look at Valerie now, Elinor thought, as she observed her sister's eyes sparkling and her glorious red hair a delightful muddle when she leaned forward to say:

  "Christopher Anderson—what a mouthful of a name." She pulled a wry face that made her look prettier than ever. "What shall we call you?"

  "Mr. Anderson, of course," Elinor said very quickly.

  The big man turned to look at her, his face suddenly grave. "My friends call me Kit . . ." he drawled. There was a challenge in his dark eyes that she saw but could not understand.

  "Kit . . . that's sort of cute . . ." Valerie said, turning on the couch, kicking off her pointed, spindle-heeled shoes and wriggling her toes. "What we women suffer to be beautiful . . ." she said, and laughed up at the grave man whose face relaxed every time he looked at her.

  Then he glanced across at Elinor and there was a question in his eyes. She felt he was waiting for her to speak, expecting something of her. She plunged into the conversation. "You know our Aunt Aggie?"

  "I certainly do . . ." he drawled. "My word, I'll say I do. She's the nicest woman . . . You've never met her, I take it?"

  He came to offer Elinor a cigarette. When she refused, he looked vaguely surprised, and then jokingly scolded Valerie when she accepted one. Silently Elinor watched as he flicked his lighter—watched Val as she leant forward and held his hand steady and glanced up at him from under her long curling lashes. Elinor wondered why the little quirk showed again at the corner of Kit Anderson's mouth, for he spoke gravely as he leaned back in his corner of the couch and stared at her.

  "Your Aunt Aggie was my neighbour until three years ago," he drawled. "And a nicer neighbour no man could want. When I say neighbour—she was

  the nearest person, just on ninety miles away." He smiled as both girls gasped. "We farm in a big way here, you know. Anyhow, your uncle was taken ill so they sold their farm and now live outside Melbourne."

  "So we won't have to live on a farm . . ." Valerie began eagerly, pausing in her favourite occupation of blowing smoke rings.

  Kit smiled at her. "Don't you want to . . ." he began, but as the door opened, he looked up with a quick frown.

  What an air of arrogance he had, Elinor thought, as she watched him. His first reaction on being interrupted was one of annoyance. Was this man so used to people bowing and scraping before him? Had his wealth made him so proud that he thought he was different from other men? Did he expect everyone to hold their breath when he was near?

  Now he was standing, towering above the lean man who had entered the room, an amused look in his humorous face. The newcomer was not a handsome man, but very good-looking in a totally different way from Kit's good looks. He had an easy elegance, a quiet strength that was unmistakable. His hair was blond, he had very blue eyes. He was dressed in dark trousers, a white shirt and a scarlet cummerbund, and over his arm was a white jacket.

  "This is my cousin, Hugh Morgan . . ." Kit said

  formally. "Hugh—these girls are nieces of Aggie . . .

  She didn't know they existed until the other day."

  "Well, well . . ." Hugh Morgan said lightly.

  "To think that dear ugly old Aggie could be related

  to such beauties .. ." He smiled at Valerie and then turned to Elinor. "I wonder what you'll think of Australia."

  Before she could speak, Valerie answered. "I'm sure we shall love it if all Australian men are like you two."

  Elinor caught her breath but the two men merely laughed and even seemed flattered by the remark. It seemed strange to see Kit's disapproving face crease into laughter lines, his dark eyes dance as he looked at Valerie and then turned away to a table where there were bottles and glasses.

  Hugh immediately took Kit's place on the couch. "Although I'm his cousin," he said in his quiet slow way, "I don't live like Chrisopher. I don't like farm life. I'm from Sydney . . . now there is the most beautiful city in the world . . ."

  Kit gave him a glass. "Too packed with people--everyone rushing about madly, trying to make money," he drawled.

  Hugh's lean face was amused. "Hark at who's talking." He turned to Valerie, who was leaning forward, a strange look of amazement on her face. "Kit is what is known as a pastoralist. One of these multi-millionaires who play about with billions of sheep . . ."

  Kit was laughing. "Don't make it sound too easy, Hugh. Sheep mean work."

  "Nice work if you can get it," Hugh joked. "So our dear Aggie wrote and told you her nieces would be on the ship, did she?"

  Kit had swung a chair round and was straddling it, gazing into his glass. "I found the letter waiting for me on the ship. Pity I didn't know on the train," he added and startled Elinor by his direct look. "Aggie asked me to keep an eye on the girls. It seems it's the first time they have travelled."

  Elinor's cheeks were suddenly hot. "You mustn't let us be a nuisance," she began stiffly.

  Hugh nearly choked. Very carefully he put his glass on a small table and looked at Valerie and then at Elinor. "Somehow I don't think Kit would let you be a nuisance . . . but don't worry, as Kit's cousin, I shall deem it my duty to assist him in the arduous task of looking after Aunt Aggie's nieces," he said very pompously, his eyes twinkling.

  "But we don't need looking after," Elinor said indignantly.

  "I do—" Valerie said gaily. "I need it very badly. Poor Elinor goes nearly mad, looking after me. You see, Mummy asked her to take care of me so Elinor feels it her bounden duty . . ."

  Elinor's face felt as if it was on fire. "Please. Val . . ."

  Kit was staring at her. She did not know where to look. And then he suddenly said thoughtfully, "I think I shall call you Lady Kia . . ."

  Hugh burst out laughing but quickly clapped his hand to his mouth when Elinor turned to look at him, her eyes suspicious.

  "It's a compliment," he assured her. But she went on staring at him doubtfully so Kit said:

  "Of course it is a compliment." His voice was curt. "Lady Kia is a very dear friend of mine. At times I adore her—at other times I could cheerfully wring her neck."

  Valerie's sweet young laugh rang out. "Is that how Elinor affects you?" she asked, but at that moment, the door opened and they all turned to look at the tall, slim, beautiful girl Elinor had seen talking on the deck to Kit.

  Now the girl stared at them, her eyes puzzled as she glanced at the two girls. She was beautiful—her deep midnight blue frock rustled as she moved; at her neck and wrists sparkled diamonds.

  "Kit, you didn't tell me you had invited . . ." she began, her voice cool and haughty.

  Kit was by her side, being very polite, introducing her to the two girls. "This is my cousin, Alison Poole . . ."

  The girl frowned. "I'm not really your cousin, Kit."

  "Near enough as to make no odds," Hugh said calmly as he rose. "Alison just happened to be in South Africa at the same time as Kit and I, so we are travelling more or less together . . ."

  Elinor saw the way Alison tightened her mouth as she sat down, and Elinor wondered if she had imagined the slight emphasis Hugh had seemed to put on the word happened.

  They talked idly, Alison showing little interest in the fact that the girls were nieces of Aggie .. . indeed, she made them both feel that they were i
ntruding and that she was surreptitiously watching

  the clock to see when they would go and leave her in peace and alone with the two men. It was as if the whole atmosphere of the room had changed. Valerie had hastily sat up, sliding her feet into her shoes. Kit had stopped laughing and looked rather sombre—even Hugh was talking in a subdued man-ner. It was just as one felt on a sunny day when a cloud hid the sun.

  Glancing at her wrist watch, Elinor saw a way of escape and jumped to her feet. "I'm afraid we must go . . . we are at the first sitting . . ."

  Even as she spoke, they heard the rhythmical chimes of the gong. Kit's face was bland. "No-- you're at the second sitting. I had it changed. You'll be at my table."

  Elinor stared at him, her cheeks hot again. "But I asked and . . ."

  Valerie laughed a little too shrilly. "Money can arrange anything."

  It was as if a shadow passed over Kit's face but he still smiled at Valerie. "It may seem so to you, at your age, but it can't buy everything. Not quite everything. Not happiness."

  "Happiness . . ." Alison Poole said impatiently, her fingers tapping on the arm of her chair, her eyes darting from Valerie's face to Elinor's. "Why do people make so much fuss about happiness? What is happiness, anyway? How could you define it? She shot the question at Elinor who had just sunk down into the armchair and whose legs dangled because the chair went too far back. She felt gawky and ill-at-ease, especially as the elegant cool girl looked at her.

  "Happiness?" Elinor echoed, trying hard to think of an intelligent answer and only able to think of the truth. "Surely happiness means being with the person you love."

  Alison's mouth curled a little. "How very charmingly put . . ." she sneered and turned to Valerie. "Do you agree with your sister?"

  Valerie looked startled. She had been talking to Hugh in a low earnest voice, her eyes fixed on his face. Now she looked at Alison and seemed, for once, to be at a loss for words. "H—happiness?" she asked. "I . . . well, I suppose to me being happy means having fun . . ."