by Mary Cummins
Catherine admired the lovely wine goblets, fruit dishes and candelabra, then picked up a small gold pillbox and a cigar cutter, both of which were beautifully made.
‘I doubt if I could even afford the swizzle-stick,’ she confided to Elizabeth, with a small laugh.
‘You’ll have to look for a rich husband, then,’ said Elizabeth, rather tartly, and Catherine’s smile wavered. There was now a small barrier between them, ever since the night Michael had taken her out for dinner.
Catherine wondered, sometimes, whether she ought to clear the air between them, but didn’t quite know what to say. Michael was inclined to seek her out whenever he had a free moment, but he was offering to coach her for her F.G.A. examination, and because he was giving her very helpful instructions, Catherine accepted this with gratitude.
Uncle James heartily approved of this, but John viewed it all silently, and Catherine looked at him worried now and again. She found that she was beginning to feel anxious in case she lost John’s friendship.
She realised now that he had helped to dispel a lot of her fears and loneliness when she first came, and now they were all tending to crowd back.
‘What is the hardness of a ruby on Moe’s scale?’ Michael asked her.
‘Nine.’
‘And a sapphire?’
Catherine hesitated, trying to remember.
‘Seven ... I think.’
‘No, Catherine. Ruby and sapphire are both corundum. So they are both nine. Do try to remember, and get a bit more homework done. What’s the specific gravity of amethyst?’
Catherine did not know, and had to shake her head, her cheeks scarlet, while Elizabeth looked on, speculation in her eyes.
‘I ... I’ll have to study a bit more,’ she confessed. ‘I find it difficult to remember things in my head.’
Michael smiled and gave her hand a warm squeeze.
‘All right, my dear. But you need someone behind you to work for, and if the others haven’t time, it had better be me. So just remember I’ll be asking you about how to test the refractive indices of stones, and I hope you can distinguish between a white zircon and a white spinel, if I suddenly show them both to you one of these days.’
Catherine nodded. She had made good progress at first because she was interested, but now she was finding it all rather difficult, and something seemed to have gone out of the absorbing interest which she had felt for the jewellery in Sheridan and Rodgers. It was probably due to her unsettled stage of mind.
During the morning, after Catherine had carefully polished a pair of diamond and cultured pearl earrings and put them into the display case, she looked up to see the loveliest girl she had seen in years walking into the shop. She looked around carefully, then walked over to John with a gay smile.
‘John darling, here you are! I did say I might drop in, didn’t I?’
Miss Pryce came over to Catherine, and said almost under her breath:
‘So she’s trying to get her claws into John again, is she? He’ll be a fool if he falls for it again.’
Catherine had no need to ask who it was, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Rosalie Craven?’
‘Dear Rosalie! She looks as sweet as pie, but she’s been spoiled, that’s what. But John got pole-axed the first time he laid eyes on her, and I couldn’t possibly guess if it’s still the same or not. You can never tell with John. He’s very deep.’
Catherine withdrew a little. She did not like to discuss anyone with Miss Pryce, feeling that the older woman was very much inclined to be a gossip. It was almost lunchtime for John, and sometimes he preferred to have coffee and a sandwich in the rooms behind the shop, but today he walked over to have a word with his father and Michael, then he and Rosalie left the shop together, her arm linked companionably in his.
Catherine felt a dullness inside her, and another emotion, which she soon realised was jealousy. She sat down for a moment, taking hold of herself. Surely she couldn’t be jealous of this girl who meant so much to John?
Elizabeth had already gone to lunch, and was due back any time. She and Michael sometimes shared lunch break, but Elizabeth had said she had some shopping to do, and Michael had spent part of his lunch break in coaching Catherine.
Now Elizabeth swung through the door, and came straight up to Miss Pryce.
‘So Rosalie is on the prowl again,’ she remarked. ‘She and John have just crossed the street in front of me, and neither of them even noticed me.’
‘She hasn’t wasted much time,’ Miss Pryce remarked.
For a moment Elizabeth stood deliberating, then slowly she hung up her coat.
‘Ah, well, back to work, Prycey. I’ve still got to write out price tickets for those Dresden ornaments, and the Royal Copenhagen.’
‘I like this Capo-di-Monte dog,’ said Miss Pryce, and for a moment all three women admired the new selection of ornaments, some of them so valuable that Catherine did not feel inclined to handle them.
She turned her attention to tidying up her own items, checking that they were all gently polished and had price tickets, then trying to learn a few facts and figures about diamonds and emeralds before Michael pounced on her again.
She noticed, however, that John and Rosalie were very late back from lunch, and that both looked rather pale. The girl’s mouth pouted a little, and she threw a haughty glance in Catherine’s direction, then John brought her over to be introduced, his eyes rather intense as they looked at her.
‘This is Catherine Lyall, a very old friend and now a member of the family. Catherine, dear ... Miss Rosalie Craven, also an old friend.’
‘How do you do,’ Catherine said politely, holding out her hand, which Rosalie barely touched with her slender gloved fingers.
‘I rather thought you’d release John from your date with him on Saturday,’ she said haughtily. ‘We haven’t seen each other for ages, and we always go to the Badminton Dance together.’ She turned to John, while Catherine began to feel bewildered. ‘You know I would love to go again this year, John darling.’
‘But it’s Catherine’s first dance here since she came,’ he said smoothly, his eyes meeting hers pleadingly. ‘I couldn’t possibly ask her to change the arrangements. She’s had her new dress for weeks.’
Catherine gathered her wits together, hoping she was correctly interpreting the looks he was casting at her.
‘Well, yes, I’m afraid I did buy something new for the occasion, Miss Craven,’ she lied nobly. ‘Of course, we had no idea you would be able to go.’
Rosalie ignored her.
‘Oh, well, John, I do understand. You won’t want to let Miss ... er ... the young lady down.’
She smiled sweetly, and went over for a word with Elizabeth, while the smile faded from Catherine’s face and she turned rather angrily to John.
‘What was all that about?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ he said, in a low voice.
After he had seen Rosalie out, he came back over to Catherine.
‘Thanks, Kate. I don’t want to talk about it now, but we can discuss the dance tonight, after we come home. I had intended to ask you, only Rosalie nearly spoiled it. Elizabeth and Michael are going, too.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and a moment later she was busy with customers who had just come in. But her head was still whirling a little. Had John been making use of her because he did not want to go out with Rosalie Craven for some reason? Or was it true that he had intended to ask her all the time?
Catherine’s chin lifted. She wasn’t going to be used as an excuse. She would make that very clear to John.
Nevertheless, when John again asked her that evening to go to the dance with him, she agreed rather weakly, and with a sudden surge of excitement again. She really would have to buy a new dress as it was ages since she had been to a dance.
‘It should be fun. I’d love to come,’ she told John, and his eyes lit up.
‘That’s wonderful, Catherine. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.�
�
Are you sure you were going to ask me? ... before Miss Craven came, I mean?’ she asked levelly.
‘Absolutely sure,’ he told her. ‘I ... I’ll tell you all about it some time, Kate. It isn’t something I want to talk about just yet.’
‘All right,’ she agreed, and looked at him thoughtfully. Whatever had happened between John and Rosalie Craven had obviously hurt him very much, and was probably still hurting.
Catherine decided to ask Elizabeth to help her choose a dress, but when she sought her out later to ask her advice, she overheard her still talking shop to John.
‘Have you seen this new shop called Newclox, John?’
‘No, I can’t say I have. Why, Liz? What’s on your mind?’
Elizabeth deliberated, then sighed deeply.
‘I don’t know. But something about it worries me, John. And I’m sure they get a lot of our trade.’
‘Perhaps they sell cheaper clocks with a bigger turnover. Anyway, it’s fair competition, surely.’
‘So long as it is fair.’
‘How could it not be?’
She turned away as Catherine walked forward.
‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Sorry, my dear, forget it. Hello, Catherine. All out to enjoy yourself on Saturday?’
‘I hope so. I ... I was wondering if you could help me ... choose a dress, I mean. You’ve got such good taste, Elizabeth.’
The older girl stood still and considered her, then she gave a short laugh.
‘All right, my dear, I’ll help you. I’ll make you the belle of the ball, as they say. It might be ... rather fun.’
Elizabeth went into her bedroom and shut the door. It hadn’t sounded as though it would be much fun, and Catherine turned away, even more perplexed. Why was Elizabeth behaving like this? Surely she couldn’t still be jealous of her. After all, she was going with John, not with Michael.
She made her way slowly downstairs, where Aunt Lucille pounded on her as a sympathetic ear into which she could pour her news items of the day.
With a small sigh, Catherine settled down to listen.
The dress which Elizabeth helped Catherine to choose was the loveliest she had ever owned. The older girl had studied her thoughtfully, her long slender fingers drumming on the dressing table, after coming to her room that night.
‘You need a hair-do, and a hairdresser who knows when to leave well alone. I’ll make an appointment for you. Also you’re inclined to put on a little too much make-up at the moment.’
Catherine flushed. It was true. In Perth she had scarcely used make-up at all, but now she used it as a sort of defence, as though hiding her real face from the world.
‘It never really spoils what is underneath.’ Elizabeth said rather mare gentry. ‘I doubt if you could do that if you tried.’
Catherine said nothing, and again Elizabeth considered her.
‘You’re a strange girl,’ she said at length, sitting down on the bed. ‘You’re a beauty, yet sometimes I think you couldn’t care less Yon comb your hair at top speed each morning and put on make-up then you hardly look at yourself for the rest of the day apart from washing off the grime. You treat your complexion shamefully, yet it still stays fresh for you.’
‘I ... I forget.’ Catherine excused herself.
‘Exactly. You forget.’ Elizabeth sighed and heaved herself off the bed. ‘Let’s go shopping tomorrow lunchtime and buy you a stunning dress. I think I know where to find it. Something simple and sweet, rather than smart. You can outshine a dress, Kate, so we’ll concentrate on showing you off rather than the dress.’
‘I’m grateful, Elizabeth,’ she said gravely. ‘Only I ... I can’t afford high prices.’
‘No more can I,’ said Elizabeth, with a short laugh. ‘Don’t worry, we can surely find something which won’t leave you skint.’
Catherine chuckled, and Elizabeth’s rather austere face broke into a smile.
‘You’ve been nice to me ever since I was practically foisted on to you,’ said Catherine impulsively. ‘I’ve wanted to thank you for it many times. I ... I would never do anything to hurt you in return.’
‘Sometimes one has only to be oneself, to hurt other people,’ Elizabeth told her, then she walked the few paces to the door. ‘Don’t worry, Catherine. It’s suited us very well, having you here. You’ve come to us at the best possible time. It’s we who should be grateful to you.’
She closed the door gently, and Catherine prepared for bed, though it was some time before she fell asleep.
The dress which Elizabeth chose for her next day was of cream silk, simply cut. Her dark hair, still long but beautifully cut, gleamed with brushing, and with Elizabeth’s help, her skin glowed like a pearl, which was how John described her later in the evening.
Catherine knew she looked her best as she walked downstairs with Elizabeth, who was herself looking smart and elegant in a gold sheath dress. She had taken pride in Catherine’s beauty, and smiled when her mother and father exclaimed when they saw her.
‘My dear, you look lovely!’ said Lucille.
‘It was all Elizabeth’s doing.’
‘Very nice,’ agreed Uncle James, and John stopped in the doorway as he entered the room. He made no comment, but for a moment something glowed in his eyes.
‘Don’t you think she looks nice?’ asked Lucille.
‘Very nice,’ he echoed. ‘Are you coming with us, Elizabeth, or do you prefer to use your new car? Or, of course, is Michael coming for you?’
Elizabeth looked even more cool than ever.
‘He offered to come, but I thought it more sensible if I go with you.’
‘Come on, then,’ said John. ‘Time we went.’
He was looking very tall and elegant in his dark clothes, and Catherine couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit disappointed that he had not shown more interest in her dress. Some of the free and easy comradeship had gone out of her relationship with John and her mind sought for what had gone wrong. She could only think of Rosalie Craven. Perhaps he was feeling unhappy over Rosalie, and although the girl seemed to want to pick up the threads again, for some reason, perhaps John was afraid of being hurt all over again.
Catherine sighed. She knew too little of what had gone before to judge.
‘Are you warm enough?’ asked John, adjusting the car heater as she pulled the small fur jacket Aunt Lucille had lent her closer to her neck.
‘Oh, yes, thanks.’
Her sudden shiver had had nothing to do with the cold.
‘We’ll soon be there,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Oh ... I might not be coming back with you two. I may want to leave early.’
‘No doubt Michael will bring you home,’ said John, rather dryly, and his sister didn’t reply.
Michael was waiting for them in the foyer of the hotel, and he stepped forward, looking immaculate in his dark suit, though his clothes were very much more modem than John’s.
There was no doubt that he was a very handsome young man, thought Catherine, when she caught sight of him, and his gaze on her was intense before Elizabeth stepped forward and took his arm.
‘I hope you haven’t been kept waiting, darling,’ she said sweetly, and Michael murmured something which Catherine couldn’t catch.
It was a strange mixed-up evening, from her point of view. As John escorted her through to the dance floor, after leaving her jacket in the cloakroom, she gave herself up to the enjoyment of dancing again. For a moment her thoughts were on Philip, as John was the first man with whom she had danced since she used to go regularly with Philip.
But she could now think of him with gentleness and not the searing pain of loss, and she felt that he would be happy to see her here, among other young people, learning to enjoy her life again.
John was an excellent dancer, and as Catherine looked up at him she began to see that there was strength and purpose on his face which was lacking in Michael’s, whose good looks were often rather sulky. She had always thought of the other man as
much the better-looking of the two, but now she was wondering why she had ever believed such a thing. With his older, more traditional clothes, John looked far more distinguished.
‘Do you really like my dress?’ she asked shyly.
He’d had so little to say to her that she felt almost tongue-tied. His face relaxed a little.
‘You look like a pearl,’ he told her, and her cheeks glowed a little with colour.
‘That’s quite a compliment. You know how much I love and admire pearls.’
‘Then you must consider yourself of great price.’ he told her gravely.
Michael claimed her for the next dance, holding her very close so that she tried to break free a little.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t dance like that,’ she told him, watching John sweep past with Elizabeth. She felt embarrassed with Michael gazing down into her face.
‘Why should we have an old-fashioned waltz if I can’t hold you close? You’re looking very lovely, Catherine.’
‘Elizabeth chose everything for me,’ she said deliberately. ‘She helped me buy my dress, and have my hair cut properly.’
‘She has very good taste,’ he told her smoothly, ‘but you are still lovely. However, I rather think someone is trying to outdo you.’
She looked in the direction he had indicated, and saw that Rosalie Craven, in a stunning white and silver crepe dress which showed her beautiful arms and shoulders to perfection, had just come in, accompanied by a young man with a rather loud laugh, which sounded even above the music as they stood talking at the door.