“Film it, I hope. Oh, do push off, or you won’t be back before supper-time.”
Phyllis made a face at her and departed in search of sustenance. Sally stretched herself, raised herself out of her canvas-seated chair, and went for a stroll along the loch-side. The caravans and tents had been so widely spaced that from where she was there was no sign of any other watcher. Opposite her the loch was at its broadest. She took her binoculars from their case and trained them on the surface of the loch. From what she had read she realised that conditions were perfect if a sighting of the monster was to be achieved.
Suddenly, far off and towards the head of the loch, she thought she could see a disturbance in the water. At first it was no more than a ripple, but there was not a breath of wind to ruffle the surface. Soon there was no doubt but that something was coming towards her. She crammed the binoculars into their case, stood up, and scrambled towards the camera. The movement on the water had become more pronounced as it advanced, and Sally’s heart began to beat a little faster.
“This is it!” she thought. “It isn’t a boat and it isn’t somebody swimming. Oh, let me—please let me—get a decent photograph!”
She was over-eager. She caught her foot in a heather-root and fell flat. She picked herself up and clutched at the heather, but had such difficulty on the steep bank that, when she had climbed it, the ripple had turned into a broad wake, not unlike that of a boat, but the magnificent fishtail which had appeared to be pursuing some steadily-moving object down the middle of the loch was now nothing more than a distant swell upon the water. Miserably she attempted to estimate the rate at which whatever it was had been moving, but there were no objects on the opposite shore between which she could calculate distance.
Bitterly disappointed, she brushed herself down and, descending, much crestfallen, to the loch-side, she reseated herself in her small, square-seated, canvas chair and gazed mournfully at the water. The ripples washed lazily in, lapping very gently at the mud and making iridescent bubbles among the fringe of small boulders near the shore. The afternoon was warm and the air was languidly soft. Time passed. Sally felt her eyes closing. She opened them and looked at her watch. Phyllis had been gone for barely half an hour.
The ripples and small bubbles washed themselves away. There was no wind; there were no birds. The loch resumed its former faceless mask and Sally closed her eyes again. She was almost asleep when a steady sound compelled her to sit up and blink herself wide awake. A rowing boat was coming from the head of the loch. As she left her chair, the boat changed course and moved in towards her. The rower shipped his oars and he and his passenger splashed ashore and, with Sally’s help, they dragged the boat sufficiently on to the strand.
They were the young married couple, Marjorie and Nigel Parris. Marjorie, bare-footed, tousle-haired, with feet and ankles muddy from pulling up the boat, was wearing washed-out jeans which came half-way down the calves of her plump legs. She wore dangling earrings and looked carelessly, healthily handsome.
“Did you see anything?” she demanded.
“Only the angel that troubled the waters,” Sally replied. “How about you two?”
“Near as a toucher,” said Nigel. “We’d have seen something if the water had been clear, but it’s like brown Windsor soup out there in the middle. What happened to puking little Phyllis? Isn’t she supposed to keep watch with you? Has she run home to mummy? Have you been unkind to the poor little darling?”
“She’s gone to the caravan to get some tea,” said Sally, who, whatever her private opinion of Phyllis Calshott, was not prepared to discuss it with two people whom she scarcely knew. “As soon as she comes back I shall have mine.”
“We had ours more than an hour ago,” said Nigel.
“We get so bored—at least, I do—that it simply isn’t true,” said Marjorie. “Meals are the only things which break the monotony. In every way, day after day, it seems to get worse and worse.”
“Yes,” said Sally, “I get pretty well browned off, but weren’t we warned by Sir Humphrey that it might be a boring sort of job?”
“Yes, but surely not to this extent,” said Marjorie, her cheerful, ingenuous countenance clouding over. “Besides, what has become of this arrangement that we were to be in parties of four? Our lot only see each other at breakfast and supper. There’s simply no fun at all. You’re the lucky one, Sally. You have got your own transport and all that. So have we, but we’re not allowed to use it.”
“I might just as well not have my van,” said Sally. “Having had the pleasure of Angela’s company, I’ve now got to partner Phyllis, you see, because Sir Humphrey wants two people manning each post.”
“Well, what’s wrong with Phyllis and Angela manning this one?”
“Didn’t you know that Angela has opted out? She is roaming the countryside—”
“Seeking whom she may devour, no doubt. She lodged with us for a bit before she went to the Calshotts and then to the vicarage. We kicked her out, you know. Her tongue was beginning to get us into trouble,” said Nigel.
“Oh, well, once Phyllis arrived, I suppose Sir Humphrey wasn’t sorry to see the back of Angela,” said Marjorie. “Is she staying at the hotel?”
“Oh, no. She shares with Phyllis in the Calshotts’ caravan and we have her for breakfast and supper.”
“Dashed indigestible, I should think,” said Nigel, laughing at his own wit. “Well, I’m not exactly enamoured of the fair Phyllis, but I’d take her any day in exchange for the Barton.”
“Talking of exchanges,” said Marjorie, “I still think you might sometimes take on Hubert Pring and the caravan and let Jeremy have the boat.”
CHAPTER 7
Cross-Currents
“And proved plain there was no beast, nor creature bearing life,
Could well be known to live in love without discord or strife.”
Richard Edwardes.
(1)
“Jeremy?” said Nigel, colouring angrily. “I suppose you mean Jeremy and you!”
“Well, why not?”
“You know why not. I’m not going to have that half-baked young Casanova mucking about with my wife.”
“Oh, don’t be so silly. He’s good for a bit of fun, which is more than can be said of you lately. Anyway, I’m sick to death of being fobbed off with Hubert Pring day after day. It isn’t fair. Why shouldn’t I have the use of the boat sometimes?”
“You’re having it today, so for goodness’ sake stop bellyaching about the beastly boat.”
“Now look here, Nigel…”
“Oh, forget it! Sally doesn’t want to hear all this. For God’s sake don’t let’s start an argument.”
“I’m not arguing. All I’m saying is that I’m not going to be stuck with that clot Hubert while you and Jeremy go off fishing, or whatever, on your own. Hubert is your affair, not mine. I can’t stand the sight or sound of him. He stands there looking like something left over from Einstein’s theories and spouting all that redundant information about the geology of the Highlands, until I could hit him over the head with one of his own saucepans. Why you had him to stay with us in the first place I can’t imagine, and then, to bring him here…!”
“You know perfectly well why I have to be civil to the fellow. I owe him money.”
“Well, pay him and let’s get rid of him.”
“And beggar myself for the next two or three years? Talk sense, darling.”
“Well, you stay in the caravan with him, then. It’s not fair for you to be taking Jeremy into partnership all the time. What about me? I’m bored sick and silly in that caravan with Hubert Pring.”
“I’m not having you pair off with Jeremy, either in the caravan or up at the lodge, so you needn’t think it. Well, Sally, we’d better be off. Just wondered whether you’d seen that peculiar upheaval in the loch. Will you report it to Sir Humphrey and say we can confirm it?”
“Of course. I’m glad I wasn’t dreaming. I tried to get to o
ur camera, but I couldn’t reach it in time.”
“Not that I believe it was the monster, of course. Tidal wave, or, as Margie thought, an otter,” said Nigel. “We hadn’t got a camera with us, anyway. Wonder whether Sir Humphrey or Phyllis saw anything?”
“Talking of Phyllis,” said Marjorie, “well, I happen to know that she’s been on to her parents about your sleeping alone in your van. Says it isn’t really safe, and all that.”
“Oh, does she? I’ve had one argument with her already about sharing my van, and only over my dead body does she do it. I don’t know why she’s so persistent. I snub her all the time, but it doesn’t seem to make a scrap of difference.”
“We’re luckier than you are, in a way,” said Marjorie. “We can swop partners if we get bored with each other.”
“Oh, can we?” asked Nigel. “I’ve already said—”
“I can understand anybody getting bored with Hubert,” said Sally. “He and Phyllis ought to make a pair and bore each other instead of boring other people.”
Nigel chuckled.
“Wonder which of ’em would murder the other?” he said. “Oh, well, come on. We’d better get back.”
“All in good time,” said Marjorie. “It makes a change to talk to Sally. I say, Sally, you don’t really think Phyllis would look at Hubert in a speculative way, do you? And what about Angela Barton?”
“She’s about twice his age,” said Nigel. “Come on!”
“Oh, do stop rushing me. I think Angela would take anybody she could get. It’s common knowledge that she’s got her eye on our vicar, you know, Sally.”
“Good God, you women!” said Nigel.
“Well, she has,” Marjorie insisted. “Why has she taken this job as his housekeeper? What do you think?”
Nigel shrugged his thin shoulders and wagged his apostolic beard.
“How should I know?” he demanded.
“Oh, well, I suppose you wouldn’t. But this business of going to be his housekeeper…”
“I expect she needs the money,” said Sally, knowing that this was not the case, but wishing to be charitable.
“Can’t be that,” said Nigel. “According to all accounts, she’s stinking rich.”
“Quite well off, anyway,” said Marjorie. “You’d think the Calshotts would have wanted to keep her with them. Expectations on darling Phyllis’s behalf, you know. Oh, well, I suppose we’d better push off. You’ll report to Sir Humphrey, as you promised, Sally, that we’ve seen the trail of this otter, or whatever it is, won’t you?”
“It wasn’t an otter,” said Nigel. “Perhaps it was a midget submarine. Aren’t the Nips supposed to be interested in Nessie and Morag and so on? Anyway, come along. We can’t stay here all day.”
Sally helped them push the boat out and stood on the edge of the water until they were lost to sight round a blackish spit of land which formed a promontory further up the loch. Then she returned to her chair, swept the surface of the water with her binoculars, and kept watch on the now unruffled stretch of bronze and silver until Phyllis returned from tea.
“Mummy and Daddy have had a row. Isn’t it septic of them?” Phyllis said. “I’ll tell you all about it, and then you can advise me as to which side I ought to take. I do rely on you, Sally. I always have.”
“Well, rely on me when I’ve had my tea. I’m hungry,” said Sally, picking up her handbag.
“But you’d better understand the situation before you walk right into it,” protested Phyllis. “It might be so embarrassing for you otherwise.”
“I’m quite sure that your parents have far too much proper feeling to air their differences in front of me,” said Sally. “By the way, I nearly had a sighting while you were gone, so keep your eyes skinned, won’t you?”
“A sighting? Oh, Sally, no! Oh, why wasn’t I here?”
“Because you were having your tea, and now I’m going to have mine.”
Lady Calshott welcomed her to the caravan, made fresh tea, provided sandwiches and cake, and listened with apparent interest to the story of the disturbance on the surface of the loch. Of Sir Humphrey there was no sign. Sally supposed that, either to transact some business at the post-office and the shop or else to get away from his wife until the cause of their quarrel had blown over, he had made his way to the village. She ate a large tea, neither hurried over it nor lingered, and was about to leave her comfortable seat in the caravan and return to the tent when Lady Calshott said:
“I’ve been thinking about your being alone in your little van at night, Sally dear. Now that you’ve tried it, don’t you think you’d feel much happier if Phyllis shared it with you?”
“I am quite sure I shouldn’t,” said Sally. “I much prefer to be alone.”
“But, my dear, is it safe? I suppose you have money with you, and there are your watch and those very good binoculars of yours.”
“I’m not in the least afraid of being burgled, Lady Calshott, My van does lock, you know.”
“And, well, there are two unattached young men in the party. I wouldn’t like to have anyone talk. Don’t you think perhaps—?”
“The two unattached young men are beside the point, Lady Calshott. If I can keep burglars out, I can certainly keep Hubert Pring and Jeremy Tamworth at bay. Besides, I don’t like either of them. I must remind you, too, that, from the beginning, you have known that I was bringing my own van and that I intended to keep it to myself.”
“Oh, well, I promised Phyllis I would speak to you. I think you are being very wilful and selfish, Sally dear. I’m sure I haven’t slept properly these past nights for thinking about you, and worrying. And I know Phyllis feels the same. I’ve spoken to my husband about it, but, man-like, he refuses to become involved, so I thought I would put it to you myself. I am sure you wouldn’t want to cause us unnecessary anxiety.”
“But, really, Lady Calshott, there is no need for anyone to feel anxious on my behalf.”
“You’ve even moved your motor-caravan further off.”
“But it is still in sight of this one. Do, please, let me mind my own business. As it is, I have not yet had what I was promised, as you will surely admit.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Sally.”
“It was understood that I should be given a roving commission and not be tied to a tent.”
“Oh, but, as things have worked out, it hasn’t been possible. You must put the blame on Angela, not on us. She has proved extremely selfish over the whole thing.”
“But you must have known that she was only to stay up here for a fortnight.”
“Yes, but too late for anything to be done about it.”
“I don’t really see why Sir Humphrey can’t be here alone during the day, while you share the tent with Phyllis.”
“I have just had that out with my husband. I am surprised that you should advance the same argument, Sally, especially as you must know how much Phyllis appreciates your society. But that is neither here nor there, I suppose. You seem to have this very strange urge to be alone all the time. I cannot think it healthy in so young a woman.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Calshott, but it’s the way I feel.”
“And you won’t consider sharing your van with Phyllis?”
“I’m sorry,” repeated Sally, and took herself back to the tent in a flaming temper which she felt would get out of control if she stayed any longer with Lady Calshott.
“That’s the third disagreement in the camp,” she thought, as she tramped along the stony loch-side road. “I wish to goodness I’d never come. I suppose that wretched Angela has been getting at Lady Calshott and Phyllis about my sleeping alone. What a mischief-maker that abominable little woman is! It was decent of Sir Humphrey to stick up for me, though. I suppose that led to the row Phyllis wanted to tell me about. Wish people would mind their own business! Funny, though, the way Marjorie kept harping on about being left alone with Hubert Pring. I wonder what she does do all day long? Oh, Lord! I’m beginning to think like Angela
Barton, and heaven defend me from that!”
(2)
“I’m beginning to wish we hadn’t come,” said Winfrith Benson to her sister.
“Yes, I know. I feel the same. It’s turning out to be both boring and disagreeable. I quite thought we should be teamed up with Miss Lestrange and Miss Calshott. It would have been far more suitable in every way. I don’t like Major Tamworth, and his wife is completely under his thumb. I consider that Jeremy Tamworth and the other young man should be with them. Instead of that, the wretched boys go cavorting off with the Parrises and leave us to cope with the major, who is quite the most selfish and inconsiderate man I ever met.”
“I was quite alarmed yesterday when he came stamping over here and made himself so unpleasant.”
“Well, I suppose he’s within his rights to demand his turn to remain in the caravan, and he shall have it in a few days’ time. It will not be long now before I am prepared to relinquish it to him.”
“But can he be sure of that?”
“Of course.”
“He did not seem at all satisfied, I thought.”
“Well, he is a man who expects all women to knuckle under to him in the same way as that spiritless wife of his does. He will have to live and learn. I am in possession of the caravan and have already worsted him in verbal battle. He will get the caravan when I choose, and not a moment sooner. One thing, though: it will stop that Barton creature dropping in here for snacks. She may appreciate my pastry, but she also leers triumphantly at us all the time she’s here.”
“I’m afraid of that woman, Godiva.”
“Utter nonsense! It’s for her to be afraid of us. She may have wormed her way into the vicarage, but by hook or by crook I’ll get her out of it before long.”
“We don’t want to make enemies, Godiva. We’re the outsiders here, you know, and I’m beginning to feel conscious of the fact.”
“I don’t consider myself to be an outsider at all. If I don’t like the arrangements, I shall consider myself entirely at liberty to give up and go home.”
Winking at the Brim (Mrs. Bradley) Page 6