Fran wrote that she was longing to see Judy again, and begged that she would drive over for the day as soon as possible. No need to write first, said Fran; she was sure to be there, so just come. They were thinking of having a house-warming party soon, in the form of a barbecue on the lawn, and she wanted to discuss her plans with Judy.
It was nice to know she had not lost her friend. She would go over the very next day, Judy decided. With both Stevie and Mrs. Werritt in the house there was no reason why she should not leave them in charge. It would be lovely to see Fran and her family again; and to inspect the new house.
Mrs. Werritt was seated m one of the veranda chairs when Judy reappeared. She was still in the same clothes, but had removed her hat and tidied herself up considerably.
"Nice place you've got here," she said, "but quiet, isn't it?"
"Very. Do you like up-country districts?"
"It All Depends," said Mrs. Werritt darkly. This was a favourite phrase of hers. "I've always lived in Nairobi, but I'm fairly adaptable," she added.
Then Stevie appeared, freshly powdered, and Judy told her of Fran's letter, and the proposed plan of a barbecue party as a house-warming. Stevie gave a slight snort. "Trust Fran for doing something sensational," she said. Turning to Mrs. Werritt, Judy explained Fran and her family, describing the twins and her pet, Paul, and saying she must come along to the barbecue party, too.
The newcomer listened with placid attention, then said heavily that it was very kind of Miss Maitland's friend to include her in the invitation, but She'd See. Parties were not really in Her Line.
There was something Sphinx-like about Mrs. Werritt, thought Judy. She might prove a more restful companion than Stevie after all, less disrupting. She might even, in time, come to be A Comfort.
Amused by her own thoughts, her gaze rested with a kindly light upon the middle-aged figure opposite, and after tea she asked if Mrs. Werritt would care for a walk round the shamba. She was going to take the dogs. Mrs. Werritt declined with thanks.
"My feet, you know," she said; "they kill me if I walk much. I'll be all right here. Don't you bother about me. I must write to my daughter presently and let her know I've arrived."
Stevie said, "I'll come, Judy."
They set off together across the lawn, the dogs gambolling joyfully ahead of them.
Judy felt awkward and self-conscious alone with Stevie at last. Yet there were so many things she longed to have straightened out.
Stevie, humming a tune beneath her breath, made no attempt to help her.
Judy began tentatively, "It was a great shock to me, hearing you were leaving."
"Yes, I expect it was."
"Did you intend to look for another Job when you went to Nairobi?"
"Oh, no! Unexpected events forced me into it."
"What about Miles?" Judy asked timidly. Stevie thought to herself with satisfaction, I'll keep you guessing my girl, a little longer… Aloud she said, "Poor Miles. He'll get over it."
"So you refused him? I thought you wanted to marry him, and wanted me to go. I was planning to go."
"I couldn't face life on an up-country farm, Judy; not even for Miles. This place has got on my nerves dreadfully of late. The never ending sameness of everything. The monotony. And once back in Nairobi I realised just how much I'd missed my old routine. A doctor friend of mine rang up and offered me this job—he thought it would suit me, that I was the ideal person for the post—and I jumped at it. I'm sorry if I've let Miles down. But I realise now it would never have worked."
"I thought Miles seemed rather upset," said Judy concernedly. "Why did you do it, Stevie?"
"I've told you. I couldn't have endured this place. Please don't keep harping on the subject. What might have been is over."
"You never really loved him."
"I'm not a romantic adolescent if that's what you mean." They walked on in silence for a while. The spaniels frisked ahead, delighted by the return of their beloved mistress.
"It shook me when I heard you were leaving. I can't quite believe it somehow," said Judy. "I don't flatter myself you'll be sorry."
Judy slashed idly at the grass that bordered the footpath with the dog lead she carried. "I shall miss you," she said truthfully.
"Maybe. Rather in the manner one might miss a pain in the neck if it went away."
"Oh, Stevie! You're so caustic! I feel I've failed you somehow; that it's my fault you've been fed up. I would like you to know, though, that I have appreciated all you have done for me."
"I've been paid for my services. There's no need to wax sentimental."
Judy turned away to gaze at the view. "Tell me about your new post."
Stevie gave a brief description of her American employer "Our first flip is to Uganda, then down to Mombasa and across to India," she said. "I am looking forward to that immensely I have never been to India."
"The Taj Mahal by moonlight," smiled Judy. "Probably."
"Ah well!" The girl's gaze went back to the familiar landscape. "I'm glad you're happy about your future, Stevie I must admit I'm happy to know I won't need to leave here, after all" Stevie glanced at her oddly.
"Won't you? As our new friend would say, doesn't that All Depend?"
"Depend on what?"
"The winding up of your father's affairs."
"Daddy left everything to me."
"Yes, I know. His Will has been read. But his estate is not settled yet, is it? There may be outstanding debts—things you know nothing about."
"I'm afraid I don't understand. Any outstanding accounts will be paid off, of course. Daddy never told me anything about his financial position. But I don't think we were exactly poor."
"I hope you are right."
"Stevie, what are you driving at? Has Miles told you something that concerns me? If so, please tell me outright what it is."
"Of course, there may be nothing in it. No, it wasn't Miles. The Hargreave girl's to be precise. I met them in Nairobi. They were most concerned. It's only a rumour really; idle gossip, maybe, although Rose seemed very sure of her facts, and personally I think it is just as well to be prepared."
Judy's eyes grew watchful. She remembered that this woman was not to be trusted. She tried to quell the throb of apprehension Stevie's words had caused.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
Briefly Stevie repeated Rose's information. Judy stared uncomprehendingly.
"The house mortgaged up to the hilt to Miles? You mean unless I can raise enough money to pay off the loan, the house is virtually his?"
"Something like that. Rather amusing when you consider how you lauded it over him as being your house and you would do as you liked about it."
"I don't believe a word," said Judy. "Why didn't Miles tell me so at the time if it's true?"
Stevie shrugged. "Miles has some old-fashioned notions of chivalry," she returned lightly; "no doubt he thought you had enough to be distressed about just then without dragging that in. But it might have been his reason for suggesting marriage."
"I don't want charity."
"Of course, you don't. I should feel exactly the same—I understand perfectly. In fact, I'm very sorry for you, my dear. I know how much the place means to you, and how you would hate to feel you were living here on sufferance."
Judy straightened up and whistled the dogs.
"We can soon find out the truth," she said.
"What are you going to do?"
"Ask Miles."
Twilight was falling swiftly as Judy ran on to Miles's veranda.
He came out immediately.
"Miles, I must talk to you," she gasped.
He looked searchingly at her flushed face, then beckoned her to follow him into the house.
"What facts are you wishing to face now?" he asked.
"My future."
"Couldn't it have waited until the morning?"
"I'd be happier if this matter were settled tonight."
"Oh, very
well," he said ungraciously. Then added with an effort, "Sorry to seem bad-tempered, but I've just about had enough tonight."
Her warm heart rushed out to him in sympathy. It was Stevie, of course. But what could she say? He would not welcome condolences, and she dreaded doing the wrong thing. The situation was too delicate for comment. He would only tell her to mind her own business. Nobody else could help in these circumstances. But she thought indignantly of Stevie, so smugly pleased about her new appointment, not caring at all for Miles's feelings after doing her best to attract him ever since she'd arrived.
"Drink?" said Miles curtly. "I'm having one."
"Well—I'm not staying long. But perhaps… well, yes—I'll have a sherry if I may."
He poured out her drink, then they sat down, and he said quietly. without looking at her:
"I hope I'm doing the right thing. I've been thinking things over pretty deeply while you've been away, and the upshot is—well, if you're convinced of your own feelings, and his—I'll give my consent."
Judy stared across at his shadowy bulk.
"You mean… ?"
"I'll give my consent to your engagement. But you can tell that young man he's got to come to me first and put all his cards on the table. He need not imagine he can send you to do all the dirty work."
"What are you talking about?" asked Judy, in surprise.
"This business of yours of the utmost importance. It's Larry Peters, isn't it? You and he wish to marry."
"Oh, Miles! It's nothing like that at all!"
It was his turn to be nonplussed.
"No. Then what? You mean marriage doesn't come into his scheme of things, is that it?"
"Really, Miles, I don't understand you this evening," she said. "For your information, Larry Peters means nothing to me."
"Don't lie," he snapped.
"But I'm not lying. You have no right to talk to me like this! I won't stand for it."
"You came here and started this conversation, so now I'm afraid you'll have to listen to what I have to say, whether you like it or not. If young Peters isn't serious, then I forbid you to see him again."
"I told you he means nothing to me."
"Then why let everyone think that he does," he said in an icy-cold voice.
"Miles, I've had enough of this," she retorted shakily, "I came to have a serious talk with you, but that will have to wait until you are in a saner mood."
She dashed out of his house, as quickly as she had entered it…
Now that Stevie was leaving, she resented the few remaining days that must elapse before she could go. Having handed over to her successor there was absolutely no occasion to wait on except for the fact that she was not expected to take up her duties with Mr. Hiram G. Hughes until the beginning of the following week.
She had not dreamed, until Miles came to collect her in Nairobi that he would have managed to find a substitute for herself so soon. Had she known, she would not have returned for a moment longer than was necessary to pack her things.
However, she must just bear the boredom of the last few days at Kahawa, she supposed. There was no time to alter her arrangements now. But how Judy could put up with a tiresome, obstinate old thing like The Werritt, thought Stevie, was utterly beyond her comprehension.
Judy, meantime, driving along the road to Fran's, was thinking of Mrs. Werritt too, admiring the old woman for her dogged character, and thinking that they might get along famously, after all.
She found Fran's place without too much difficulty, and after bumping along a neglected drive, she rounded a bend and came into view of the new house. It had been built in a clearing, with jacaranda trees as a background. The garden, although sadly neglected, had once been well laid out and held great possibilities thought Judy, casting a critical glance over what she could see of it. There was a large rough lawn, overgrown flower beds and a rose pergola leading to an orchard visible above a hibiscus hedge.
She tooted the horn of her car as she pulled up in front of the veranda, and turned her interested gaze back to the house.
Fran came hurrying out and they kissed each other warmly amid cries of mutual delight.
"Judy, how lovely! Do come in."
"Fran! How well you look, and I adore your house. It's sweet."
"Only wattle and daub," murmured Fran deprecatingly, but with pride of possession beaming in her eyes.
"It's so picturesque. And thatched!" enthused Judy. "I've always wanted to live in a thatched house. With its white walls and those overhanging eaves, it looks like a Devonshire cottage."
"We love it," said Fran, as, arms entwined, they went up the veranda steps together.
"The children?" queried Judy.
"Somewhere about. Paul's in his play-pen at the moment. Now he crawls we daren't let him out of our sight. The other day he came upon the cat's milk and drank it before anyone noticed. He doesn't seem any the worse, though, thank heaven."
Judy laughed and pounced on the chubby baby, lifting him high in her arms. "May I?"
"Of course. He adores being nursed. I believe he remembers you. Sit down, my dear, and I'll call for some tea. I'm longing to hear all your news."
She bustled away to give Instructions to her servants, and soon Tony and Teddy came racing across the lawn to fall upon Aunt Judy with yells of excitement. Judy released Whisky and Soda from the car, and also produced two mysterious packages, which proved to be Red Indian outfits she had made for them herself. The head-dresses were particularly admired, being massed with goose quills which she had dyed vivid colours.
Of course, the twins had to dress up at once to show Mummy, and Fran exclaimed when she saw them: "Judy, how marvellous. You couldn't have given them anything they'd like better!" Then Stewart appeared to greet her and listened with the proud pleasure of the new householder to her eulogies.
"I think it is charming, Stew. And the garden has great possibilities."
"I think so, too. But I'm concentrating on the farm first. Fran will have to take her part in running the shamba."
"I shall come to you for hints," said Fran.
Later, when Tony and Teddy had gone off with their father, who had rashly volunteered to make bows and arrows to go with their Red Indian outfits, Fran turned to her friend.
"And now for your news. Is dear Stevie flourishing? I'm so glad you didn't bring her with you."
"Stevie is leaving," replied Judy quietly.
"Not really?" Fran was amazed. "I thought she'd dug herself in forever. What will you do now?"
Judy explained about Stevie's new assignment, and the arrival of Mrs. Werritt, whom, she confessed, she had not liked at first sight, but was now beginning to modify her views. "She has character," Judy told her friend. "As for Stevie, I shall be relieved to see her go. I think she let Miles down; he's very fond of her, you know."
"The new post must be dazzling, then."
"It is. Very."
"Stevie would never have thrown Miles over unless she saw a chance of a still more glittering prize."
"She has no heart," said Judy.
"None whatsoever. But she's good at her Job, in a detached, inhuman kind of way. In nursing she really knows her stuff. I don't suppose you'll be sorry to see the back of her. You'll find the atmosphere less wearing when she's gone. Some people are like that, they create atmospheres all the time. She could have upset me more than once at Kahawa, but I refused to allow her to rattle me; I was too comfortably situated to let myself be driven out by her. But she's a snake in the grass is dear Stevie."
"And yet Miles couldn't see it. He liked her."
"Of course. Because she is utterly different with men. That type always is. The woman has charm when she cares to turn it on. But I shouldn't fret on Miles's account. He'll get over it."
Judy trembled on the verge of confiding in Fran her feelings for Miles, and the tricky financial position over the estate, but this didn't seem the right moment, and she let Fran prattle on about the coming house-warming party. At
length Judy reluctantly said she must go. She would like to be back at Kahawa before dark.
She whistled the dogs, kissed the children and took a lengthy farewell of Fran, who stood by the car and kept remembering further things she wanted to say, so that it was a full half-hour before Judy finally got away.
During the drive home her mind turned to the gossip about her financial affairs. On second and calmer thoughts she decided not to say anything to Miles about it. The thing at best was merely gossip, and Stevie had a way of making the most of unwelcome tidings. Any day now she should be hearing from her father's lawyer concerning the position, and there was no point in making fresh trouble for herself before it was necessary. If the talk were true, Miles, for reasons of his own, had not desired to disclose the facts and would, no doubt, be displeased should she tackle him about it. Miles had enough on his mind just now without her creating scenes, Judy decided, and sometimes discretion proved the wiser course.
I shall say nothing, Judy decided.
Twilight was falling as she drove up the drive at Kahawa, and took the car straight round to the garage; running it in neatly, she jumped out and slammed the door. The two spaniels raced into the garden, to leap at a man's rapidly approaching figure, jumping up at him and barking in friendly recognition.
"Where have you been?" demanded Miles, without preamble.
"Well, really!" Judy said, annoyed by his peremptory tone; "does that matter?"
"You are my ward, and in my charge. We have been worried about you."
"Worried? We?"
"Stevie told me you had gone out in the car when I was round this morning. You had not said where you were going; simply left a message with the servants that you would not be home for lunch or tea."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"I cannot have you vanishing for a whole day without saying where you are going."
"And why not?" She stood at bay, her back against the garage door, suddenly angry, because if she was angry she forgot to be nervous.
"Because it isn't safe," he returned, "that's why. If I've no idea where you've gone, how do I know where to search if you're late coming back?"
"Surely I can come home when I please?"
The Foolish Heart Page 8