by Hilary Wilde
Puzzled, she opened it. It was a printed invitation, inviting her to a champagne party at the Crane Dancing Studio on the seventeenth. In writing was added; ‘Bring your boy-friend, too, if you like. Patrick‘.
What was she to do? she wondered. Was she, as well as the pupils, barred from the wrong side of the town? Did she want to go? Gaston would surely be there.
She looked up and saw Craig Lambert walking by. She ran after him, ‘Mr Lambert!’ she called a little breathlessly.
He turned to stare at her. ‘What’s the trouble this time?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know what to do. My brother has invited me to a party and to take a friend. Would you mind . . . ?’
‘If you went?’ he asked. ‘Of course not. You’re an adult, presumably capable of protecting yourself. I only meant the pupils when I said it was banned. On the seventeenth, is it? I hope you’ll enjoy it,’ he said. ‘Time you met a few more people,’ he added as he walked away.
Megan stood still for a moment, gazing at the card in her hand. Who could she take with her? What had Patrick meant when he said your boy-friend?
CHAPTER IV
The invitation continued to puzzle Megan, for surely Patrick could have written a letter or phoned her? What had Patrick meant, too, when he wrote ‘boy-friend’? The only real friend she had at Lambert School—masculine, that was, and at a party you usually took a man—was Frank. She wondered how he would react.
She chose a good moment. She had come out of the warm sea and the drops were trickling down her as she dried herself. Frank, his straw hat tilted over his eyes as he lay on his back on the sand, said:
‘What’s worrying you, Meg?’
She sat down by his side, looking along the Cove. Groups of the girls were swimming or sunbathing with Miss Weston in charge. Miss Weston, though she had the flat next to Megan’s, had had little to do with her. Always polite, yet there was a coldness in her smile. Even now, she was sitting with her back to them when she could easily enough have come to sit with them.
‘I’ve been invited to a party at my brother’s dancing school,’ Megan explained.
Frank was so startled he sat up. ‘Good grief! Lambert won’t be very pleased about that.’
Megan had begun to dry her hair which was hanging down over her face, so she parted it to look at him.
‘He didn’t seem to mind.’
‘You asked him?’
‘Of course.’ Megan tossed her hair back and smiled. ‘I had no choice, had I?’
‘And he didn’t blow his top?’
Megan laughed. ‘Of course he didn’t. He said he hoped I’d enjoy myself, that it was a good idea for me to meet more people . . . and that, though that part of the island was banned to the girls here, he thought I was mature enough to protect myself.’
‘Golly!’ Frank pretended to groan. ‘Just how pompous can he get? He’s wrong, though, you know. You’re not at all mature, you’re a foolish little romantic. I wouldn’t let you loose at that party with all the gigolos and whatnots.’
‘What do you mean, whatnots?’ Megan pulled up her legs, rested her chin on her knees and turned her head to look at him.
She could see Miss Weston staring down their way and quickly looking away again as she scolded one of the girls. They were gathered round her as if prepared to go back to the school, for it was nearly tea-time.
What do I mean by whatnots?’ Frank repeated the words slowly as if making time in which to think. ‘I don’t mean anything nasty, just that the Crane School supplies the hotel with male and female dance hosts so that all the tourists, no matter what their age, can be sure of a pleasant evening. Actually I was thinking of the biggest gigolo of them all: Gaston Duval.’
‘Gaston?’ Megan stretched out her legs and turned angrily. ‘He’s not a gigolo!’
‘So you’ve met him?’ Frank ran his hand through his hair. ‘Ye gods and little fishes— does Mr Lambert know that?’
‘Yes. I told him so,’ Megan said defiantly.
‘And he still lets you go to that party?’ Frank shook his head. ‘Either he’s crackers or he wants to get you into trouble.’
‘Frank, that’s not a nice thing to say,’ Megan began angrily, then paused. The main thing she wanted to ask him had still not been said. ‘Frank, I can take a boy-friend. I wondered if you’d come with me.’
‘Me?’ Frank gasped. ‘Me? Well, I . . .’
‘I know you’re not my boy-friend, Frank,’ Megan said quickly. ‘But you are my best friend and I always feel so safe when I’m with you.’
He gave her a hard, long look. ‘Thanks for the compliment,’ he said drily.
‘Well, to be honest, Frank, I need your help.’ Megan curled up on the sand so that she was facing him and no longer staring at the calm blue lagoon. ‘My brother and I—my sister-in-law, too—don’t really talk the same language. I’m going to feel awfully alone there.’
‘With Gaston Duval?’ Frank asked sarcastically. ‘I doubt if he’d give you time to breathe.’
‘Oh, Frank, do please listen. There’s also the problem of transport.’
‘Ah, now I really understand! You want me to be your chauffeur?’ Frank began to laugh. ‘I’m only teasing, Meg. The real thing that stops me going is that I can’t dance.’ He waggled his right foot. ‘I was in a car crash once and my foot was badly crushed. It’s not a pretty sight.’
‘Is that why you don’t swim?’
‘Yes, I’m too proud, I’m afraid. I also hurt my hip—that’s why I walk so badly. You must have noticed.’
‘I didn’t. I noticed you limped a little, but .. Megan laughed. ‘Look, Frank, this is a party and not a dancing competition. If you take me, you haven’t got to dance. Just . . .’
‘Keep an eye on you, eh? Drive you there and back and watch a mass of handsome young males fighting for your company.’
‘Frank . . .’ Megan paused. ‘Look, I’m not all that keen to go so if you’d rather not, say so.’
‘Then you won’t go?’ Frank scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily on his right hand as he did so, and beginning to collect the towels.
‘Not without you,’ Megan got up, too, putting on her short towelling coat.
‘You win,’ Frank said as they turned to walk up towards the school.
‘Bless you!’ smiled Megan. ‘Think you should tell Mr Lambert?’
Frank went bright red. ‘I do not think anything of the sort. There are limits to what I’ll accept.’
‘Why are you here, Frank?’ she asked as they got nearer the school. ‘Mr Lambert told me you were a very fine artist.’
‘Sweet of him, I’m sure,’ Frank joked, then frowned. ‘I wanted to be an artist, but there comes a moment in one’s life when you realise it’s just a dream . . .’
‘An impossible dream?’ Megan asked eagerly.
Frank nodded. ‘Yes. I discovered I could never be a real artist. The next best thing was to help youngsters have the training I had and that I failed to use.’
‘But why did you choose girls? I’d have thought . . .’
‘Because I like girls, you idiot,’ Frank was saying as they went through the swing door into the corridor.
Several of the girls ahead turned to stare at them and then put their heads together, their laughter sounding as they ran away.
‘Boys are so exhausting,’ Frank said, mimicking a sing-song voice.
‘And girls are such chatterboxes,’ said Megan, knowing that within an hour it would be all over school that Mr Parr had called Miss Crane an idiot! Anyhow, her problem was solved. ‘Thanks, Frank,’ she said as she turned to go up the back staircase. It really led to the girls’ part but it was a short cut to her flat.
‘My pleasure,’ he said, looking up from below and smiling.
For a moment, she felt worried. Frank couldn’t possibly be falling in love with her, could he? she asked herself. They were such good friends . . . she needed him so badly for in the difficulties of this school life; he
made all the difference in the world for her.
She showered and dressed quickly, then wrote an acceptance for the party invitation. ‘I’m bringing a friend with me,’ she wrote.
When Megan ran down to the dining-room she was stopped in the hall by Craig Lambert. How ugly he was, she thought, as he beckoned to her. How different from Frank who, for all his insignificant look, at least had a pleasant face.
‘Are you going to the party?’ Craig asked curtly. Megan showed him the letter in her hand that she was going to drop into the hall box. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ve got a boy-friend?’
‘I’ve got a friend,’ she said.
A smile seemed to crack the sternness of Craig Lambert’s face. ‘I’m glad,’ he said, turning away. ‘Now I needn’t worry.’
She watched him walk down the hall and then she went to the letter box, frowning a little. Why had he said that? Had he been worried? If so, why had he consented to her going in the first place? she wondered.
Much to Megan’s surprise, next day Miss Weston said she was driving into town that afternoon, and would Megan like to go. They were talking just outside the building, watching the girls play tennis before lunch.
‘Thanks, I’d love to go,’ Megan said eagerly. It always made a change. Much as she liked her pupils, there was always a noise at the school, apart from the tension caused by the unfriendliness and obvious criticism of the members of the staff who had still not completely accepted her. ‘Can I bring Anarita?’
‘Of course. She’s your shadow, isn’t she? Do you think it’s a good idea to let her become so dependent on you?’ Miss Weston asked.
‘It was Mr Lambert’s idea,’ Megan said meekly—which wasn’t quite the truth, but as that was what he had told Miss Tucker it must be backed.
Miss Weston looked annoyed. ‘I can’t understand why he chose a newcomer like you when most of us knew her so well and for so long.’
Megan gave a quick look at Miss Weston’s face. ‘I think it was because of the age group,’ she said, and then realised she had made a terrible mistake, for Miss Weston looked furious.
‘I’m not completely senile yet, Miss Crane,’ Miss Weston snapped. ‘I’m only just thirty.’
‘But you’re Mr Lambert’s age group, aren’t you?’ Megan said seriously, trying to repair the damage she had done. ‘I mean, I’m just twenty, and that is much nearer seventeen, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so . . .’ Miss Weston said reluctantly. ‘But I would have thought she’d feel more at ease with us when she’s known us for so long.’
‘Perhaps too long?’ Megan suggested. ‘I’m someone new—and someone new usually gets the interest to start with. I expect she’ll soon get tired of me, too.’
‘Indeed? Well, don’t keep me waiting, at three o’clock, sharp,’ Miss Weston said. ‘I have to go to the dentist. Frightful nuisance.’
‘Poor you,’ Megan said sympathetically. ‘Well, I’ll go and see Anarita.’
She had quite a search for the girl and finally found her in the library, talking to several other girls. There was a sudden silence as Megan came through the wide swinging glass doors, so she knew they had been talking about her!
‘Anarita,’ Megan said as she walked up to them, ‘I’m going to town this afternoon. Like to come?’
‘Who’s driving us?’ Anarita, her long black hair swinging back, asked.
‘Miss Weston.’
‘Whew, that’s a change, isn’t it?’ Anarita laughed. ‘I think this is the first time my Lady Weston has condescended to take me in. What’s happened?’
‘Anarita, there’s no need to be rude,’ Megan said quickly. ‘It’s very good of Miss Weston. If you’d rather not come, then just say so.’
‘Of course I want to come—with you,’ said Anarita.
‘Good—then two-forty-five this afternoon. Right?’
‘Right,’ Anarita said with a smile.
Megan walked to the dining-room. She was the first to sit down at the staff table. The quietness vanished as the girls came tumbling in, all talking at the top of their voices. Gradually the staff table filled up, Frank by her side.
‘You’re looking very thoughtful,’ he teased. ‘What’s wrong this time?’
‘Nothing,’ Megan told him. ‘Just something that puzzles me.’
‘Be my guest—I’m good at solving problems.’
‘I don’t think you could solve this one,’ she said.
Later as she changed into a clean dress in her flat, Megan thought again how odd it was that Miss Weston had suddenly offered her a lift. Why—when for all these past weeks, Miss Weston had barely spoken to her, and certainly not at all unless she was so obliged. Why now?
Could Mr Lambert have asked her to check up on Megan’s behaviour? To watch what happened when Megan and Anarita went to town? Megan had an uncomfortable feeling that she was constantly under supervision, but perhaps it was absurd. After all, why should Craig Lambert want a report of all she did?
Unless he still distrusted her and believed she was working for her brother?
Working for him? Just how stupid can you be? she asked herself. In what way could she work for him?
As she hurried downstairs, glancing anxiously at her watch, for she had deliberately told Anarita an earlier time because the Italian-English girl seemed to delight in keeping people waiting; Megan herself wanted to be there first, as it was in some small way setting an example.
She had just reached the curve in the wide staircase when she saw Craig Lambert coming up the stairs, two at a time. As he saw her, he stopped.
‘Ah, just the person I wanted to see,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ve had a letter from your Mrs Arbuthnot. How come you’ve never written to her?’
Megan’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I meant to, but I forgot. I’m . . . I’m not a very good letter writer.’
‘That’s no excuse at all. She’s anxious about you, eager to know how you’ve adapted yourself. How have you?’
‘I’m very happy here,’ Megan told him.
‘You get on all right with everyone? The children, pianists, staff?’
Megan moistened her lips. ‘In a way, very well.’
He smiled, his face relaxing. ‘I get the message. And in a way, not. By the way, Mrs Arbuthnot said an old friend had phoned up asking for your address. A . . . a Leontine Harrap.’
‘Leo?’ Megan exclaimed. ‘I haven’t heard from her for ages. Her parents went to Australia.’
‘That must have been when you were at Everglades, I suppose.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Megan paused, staring at him, puzzled. ‘But how do you know that? I never told Mrs Arbuthnot about it, as she and Mrs Harding who ran Everglades Dancing School were rivals. I was only there one term and I hated it—that’s why I left and went to Mrs Arbuthnot, but how could she know?’
A smile crossed his face—a smile that annoyed her, for it was not only amused but sarcastic. ‘Mrs Arbuthnot didn’t have to tell me. I know all about you, Miss Crane, right back to the day and place you were born. Excuse me.’ He walked by her and then turned. ‘Would you please write to Mrs Arbuthnot and give her my best wishes, but I’m rather busy. I’ve got to go over to the Mainland tomorrow for a few days.’
And then he was gone, almost flying up the stairs. Megan stayed where she was for a moment, her hand clutching the banister. He knew everything about her, he had said? Everything—right back to the time and place she was born?
But why? He had no right . . .
She went down the stairs slowly. In other words, he had collected what she believed was called a dossier. But this was no cloak-and-dagger business, no F.B.I. or whatever it was in detective stories. Why—why had he to know everything about her?
She was still trembling with anger as she went outside. Anarita was there first, a triumphant smile on her lovely face.
‘Beat you to it, Miss Meg!’ she said happily.
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Something wrong?�
�� Anarita asked.
Megan managed a smile. ‘No—not really.’ She looked round her at the colourful garden and the distant blue water. ‘It’s very beautiful here, isn’t it, Anarita?’
‘I suppose so,’ Anarita shrugged. ‘I’m getting awfully tired of it. I often have to spend my holidays here, too, you know.’
‘You don’t?’ Megan was shocked.
Anarita laughed. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. Miss Tucker goes off and Mr Lambert takes over. He takes us for super schooner trips to the other islands, and twice we went by air to Mombasa, which was great fun.’
Mr Lambert does that? Himself?’
Anarita laughed. ‘Yes. He doesn’t half yell at us if we don’t obey, but the rest of the time he’s really rather sweet. He’s a lonely man, you know.’
‘Lonely?’ Megan echoed. ‘How do you mean, lonely?’
Turning to stare at Megan, Anarita laughed. ‘You know what I mean all right. Any woman is lonely without a man—and any man lonely without a woman. The staff all chase poor Mr Lambert, and I don’t blame him for keeping them at a distance. Apart from you, they’re a lot of real duddies.’
‘Indeed, how interesting!’ Miss Weston’s voice was sharp as she joined them. ‘The car is round the back.’
It was a quiet journey into the small town. Megan tried to think of something to say, yet she and Miss Weston had nothing in common. Anarita on the back seat neither spoke or moved. She seemed to be ignoring them both.
Miss Weston left them at the market.
‘I’ll pick you up here in an hour’s time,’ she said as Megan and Anarita got out.
‘Thank you,’ Megan said with a smile. ‘We’ll be here.’ She turned to Anarita as the car moved away. ‘Now look, you’re not to lose me today!’
‘I don’t lose you, you lose me,’ Anarita laughed.
They wandered round the market with the huge bowls of fruit and great bunches of sweet-smelling flowers, the crowds of people either hurrying along or milling round the goods for sale. Twice Megan lost Anarita and she was getting a bit annoyed the last time she found her looking in an antique shop window.