by Hilary Wilde
‘Do you honestly think I should drive back to school alone with you, Mr Parr?’ Anarita asked, her eyes dancing. ‘Won’t Miss Tucker be shocked? Aren’t you afraid you might lose your job? Don’t you think it’s daft, Miss Crane?’ She twisted round to look at Megan in the back of the car. ‘I’m seventeen, yet at this miserable school I can’t even have a boyfriend.’
‘Your misfortune, Anarita, is your money,’ Frank said drily. ‘Your guardian is terrified you’ll marry someone after your money.’
‘Lovely, I must say!’ Anarita replied sarcastically. ‘Of course you’re right, but it makes one mad, all the same. Anyone would think I was hideous or something if all the men think of is my money.’
Frank turned and smiled at her. ‘Never mind, Anarita. You’ll soon be twenty-one.’
‘Soon,’ she said bitterly. ‘Four miserable wasted years.’
Frank stopped the car outside the Crane Dancing Studio.
‘This is your brother’s?’ Anarita asked eagerly. ‘It looks super: Maybe you’ll take me there one day?’
Megan hurriedly got out of the car. ‘Maybe,’ she said, and added silently, Maybe not! Somehow she couldn’t see Craig agreeing to that. She only dreaded the thought of what his reaction was going to be when he heard about Gaston Duval. ‘Thanks a ton, Frank,’ she said, and he smiled at her understandingly.
‘ ’Bye!’ Anarita called gaily as the car drove away.
Megan felt quite sorry for Frank, for Anarita in a gay mood could be rather irritating after a while.
Megan rang the dangling bell. A Creole girl in a flaming red dress let her in and showed her through to Patrick’s small office.
He was writing a letter and looked up. ‘Hi, so Gaston found you?’ He grinned. ‘Hope it didn’t embarrass you too much—you had the girl with you, I hear.’
Megan went to stand by his desk. ‘How did you know?’
Patrick laughed. ‘I have my spies, as well as Lambert School. Seriously, though, I want you to tackle Georgina. She’s being positively grotty. She’s made up her mind she’s ill and though the doctor says she isn’t, she says he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve got to get her well.’ His face had lost its softness as his mouth hardened. ‘I’ve simply got to, Meg.’
He stood up and took her into the lounge, pouring her a cold drink and preparing one for himself.
‘Do sit down,’ he said irritably, and straddled a chair near her. ‘Look, talk some sense into Georgina’s brain, Meg, or . . .’ He sighed. ‘We’ve got to give an exhibition dance on Saturday. Now this isn’t just an ordinary Saturday night. By a stroke of luck, I managed to contact one of the biggest blokes in the business and invited him for the weekend. If he likes us—our dancing, I mean—it could open up a new world for us.’
He began to walk about the room impatiently, striking one fist against the palm of his other hand.
‘I’m fed up to the teeth, Meg. Fed up with Gaston’s wonderful ideas. He has wonderful ideas, I’ll grant that, but they just seem to shrivel up. I didn’t realise what we’d be up against here. That . . . that Craig Lambert would be too wealthy, too powerful with his influence for us to succeed in fighting. If only Gaston would accept that—but as you probably know, it’s more involved because of a family feud that goes back several generations. Absolute tripe!’
Patrick went to stand by the window, his fingers restlessly pleating the white silk curtain.
‘I wish I knew why Craig Lambert has this thing about us. It just isn’t fair. All Gaston and I have done is to bring money into the island, getting people to invest it here, even come and live here, because it’s a pretty ideal life. I just can’t understand Lambert, Meg. It wouldn’t affect his school. All Gaston and I want is to make it a perfect holiday resort. Lambert doesn’t seem to realise—or maybe I should say, doesn’t want to realise—that it would bring more and better paid jobs for the locals and a much better future because better schools and hospitals could be built, too. The sky’s the limit, sort of thing. Craig Lambert is so darned greedy he wants it all his way. I bet he’s making a fortune out of that school. Apart from anything else, there’s a lot of land here that no one is using. That could be built on, but he won’t sell it to us.’
‘So you feel you want to get out of the island?’ Megan asked.
Patrick swung round. ‘I must. It’s driving me round the bend, like banging your head against a brick wall. If it wasn’t for that lousy school . . .’
‘It’s a famous school, going for a long time.’
‘Time it was closed, it’s hopelessly out of date. I know the millionaires like to send their little girls there, but I wonder if it’s as safe as they believe.’ Patrick was scowling.
‘I think that’s why Mr Lambert doesn’t like all this . . . well, this publicity and tourists coming, Patrick. It used to be a quiet island on which a stranger was instantly recognised.’
‘Well, let him find another island where there’s no one and rebuild the school. Why aren’t we allowed to make money as well as him?’
Megan stood up. ‘Maybe I should see Georgina, though I can’t think how I can help, because she . . . well, I don’t think she’s ever liked me.’
‘Georgina likes only one person,’ Patrick said bitterly as he led the way down the corridor towards the bedroom. ‘Georgina Crane, and that’s the truth.’
Megan went into the luxuriously furnished room rather reluctantly, for she and Georgina had never been friends, nor could Megan forget, looking at the wide double bed, the heavy rose-coloured silk curtains, the beautiful dressing table, that it had all been bought with the money Patrick got from his father; money she and their father had sent him, sacrificing many things they needed.
Georgina smiled weakly. ‘Patrick asked you to talk sense into me?’ she asked.
She was propped up by pillows, but Megan was shocked to see the difference in her face from the beautiful if hard face it normally was. Now she looked pale, her skin taut.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘The doctor said nothing. He should have the pain I’ve got!’ Georgina lightly touched her stomach. ‘Gastroenteritis, I think they call it. I think it was food poisoning. I feel like . . . well, ghastly, and all Pat can do is talk about Saturday night. That means more to him than I do.’
‘He seems unhappy here.’
‘Unhappy! Your brother is unhappy anywhere. If your dad hadn’t spoiled him . . .’ Georgina said bitterly. Her usually beautiful crown of dark hair was limp and lifeless, hanging round her pale tired face. ‘Pat expects everything to be handed to him. He can’t see you have to work for it. He should have been born with a fairy’s wand—or is it Dick Whittington’s magic lamp? I always get confused.’ She laughed. ‘I’m sorry, Meg, but Patrick is just a spoiled brat, and as for Gaston . . . that man can squeeze money out of an empty turtle shell. Watch out—for your money.’
‘Money?’ Megan said slowly, looking at the pale face before her. Now wasn’t the right time, she decided, to be truthful. Money— what hope had she or her father ever had to have money when Patrick was always in need? In need . . . Megan looking round, wondered what her father’s reaction would be if he could see this house and the dancing studio. ‘No, I’ve only got my salary. Look, Georgina, you may feel all right on Saturday. This sort of thing can go quite quickly, sometimes.’
‘Sometimes,’ Georgina echoed. ‘Look, Megan, I gather you and Craig Lambert get on well. Everyone’s surprised. I don’t know how you do it, because from what I hear, he’s absolutely the end.’
‘He’s very nice,’ Megan said quickly. ‘Understanding and tolerant. He’s . . . well, I just don’t understand why people say such things about him.’
‘Maybe he’s different with you. Look, Meg, I love this island and this way of living and I don’t want to go. Couldn’t you talk this very nice, understanding, tolerant Craig Lambert into seeing some sense?’ she asked, sarcastically repeating Megan’s own words. ‘All we want is to
make some money. I’m fed up to the teeth with debts piling up. If Craig Lambert would only be sensible.’
Patrick opened the door and came in. ‘Visitor to meet you, Meg, so come along.’ He hardly looked at his wife and she was gazing thoughtfully at her fingernails, Megan noticed, as she said good-bye and followed her brother to the lounge.
He bent and whispered in her ear, ‘Gaston’s mother. She’s the one with all the lolly, so be nice to her.’
Before Megan could reply, he was opening the door.
‘Here she is . . .’ he said gaily. ‘Madame Duval, this is my sister Megan.’
Gaston Duval’s mother? Megan was thinking as she followed him.
A small slight woman with snow-white hair stood up. She had Gaston’s dark eyes, and his smile.
‘I have wanted to meet you,’ she said. ‘Do sit down.’
Megan obeyed and they sat for a moment, just looking at one another. Mrs Duval—or Madame Duval, for that was what Patrick had called her before he left them—was a beautiful woman, Megan thought, simply but elegantly dressed in an amber-coloured silk suit.
‘Yes,’ Madame Duval said thoughtfully. ‘I can see what Gaston means.’
‘What he means?’ Megan echoed. ‘I . . .’
Madame Duval smiled. ‘You know, of course, that he wishes to marry you.’
‘Gaston?’ Megan’s surprise resounded in her voice as well as in the name. ‘I had no idea. He’s . . . I mean, we hardly know one another.’
Madame Duval smiled. ‘Is that so essential when you are young? You find him attractive?’
Megan blushed. ‘He’s very. .
‘Smooth is perhaps the best word,’ Madame Duval who was obviously English, chuckled. ‘Ah, he can’t help it. Women always collapse when he smiles at them. He has been in and out of love for many years. That’s why I was so happy when he wrote and told me he wanted to marry an English girl. I came from Devonshire a very long time ago.’ She laughed again. ‘So—I thought—Gaston at last is ready to settle down. That is why I came at once.’
‘But . . . but please,’ Megan leaned forward. ‘Please, I think Gaston must have been joking. We’ve only met once or twice and . . . well . . .’ She felt confused as well as surprised.
‘I know when my son is joking,’ Madame Duval’s voice changed a little. ‘He’s like your brother. It’s not always wise to have such wealthy parents. It spoils them. They expect to have everything on a silver platter and when it doesn’t come, they’re indignant, they feel they’ve been cheated. I know it so well . . .’
Madame Duval’s voice seemed to be coming from far away to Megan, for she was trying to grasp one thing. Madame Duval had said: ‘He is like your brother,’ meaning Gaston was like Patrick because ‘it is not always wise to have such wealthy parents’. What did she mean? Patrick hadn’t wealthy parents. Did Madame Duval think that the Cranes were wealthy?
She realised that Madame Duval was still talking, and with an effort she concentrated on what the old lady was saying:
‘I find it so amusing, you know. This family feud, I thought it was only in legends that it happened, yet it is true. When Gaston insisted on coming here, I tried to argue with him. It would be hopeless, I said, you cannot win in a battle with a man like Craig Lambert.’
Megan’s limbs seemed to stiffen, but Madame Duval did not notice as she went on:
‘I expect you know that Craig Lambert’s grand-father was in love with a beautiful girl, but my father-in-law married her. I never knew her, but judging from the portraits I’ve seen she was very lovely indeed. Anyhow, this started a most foolish sort of feud. Everything my father-in-law did, old Mr Lambert did his best to ruin. It was the same when we lived here, but my husband was more clever.’ She chuckled. ‘Or perhaps the luck of the Duvals had changed, for Craig Lambert’s father had one great weakness. He was a gambler. My husband always won. That is how we got so much land here on the island. So when my son declared that he wanted to make this a holiday island I knew why. Gaston loved his father— they would talk for hours about the Lamberts. So,’ she laughed, ‘I understood. But I knew it would be no good. Craig Lambert has brains and he is not a gambler. He has no weakness. He is tough. Ruthless,’ she said thoughtfully, her eyes watching Megan.
‘I don’t think he is that,’ Megan said quickly. ‘He has the reputation of the school to consider, you know. The school means a lot to him.’
‘I’m not surprised—the money it must bring in.’
‘I don’t think it’s only the money . . .’ Megan began, but stopped as she saw Madame Duval smile.
‘Ah, I see that Gaston has a rival,’ said Madame Duval. ‘You are in love with Craig Lambert?’
Megan tried to will her cheeks from going red as she clenched her hands and made herself smile. ‘I admire him in many ways, but that isn’t love.’
‘But he loves you? That’s true, isn’t it?’ Madame Duval put her hands up to her snow-white hair and patted it. ‘Gaston told me so. Everyone knows that Craig Lambert is in love with you and that you can do nothing wrong.’
Megan’s face now was bright red, judging from the way her cheeks burned.
‘That’s not true! Mr Lambert isn’t . . .’ she began, but Madame Duval laughed.
‘You’re so innocent—or appear so, my dear. You didn’t know Gaston loved you and now you declare that Craig Lambert doesn’t. It is the old feud again—a Lambert versus a Duval. I wonder who will win this time.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I must go. I have an invitation for dinner.’ She held out her hand and took hold of Megan’s. ‘I am glad we have met. I think I shall like you as my daughter-in-law.’
‘But please . . .’ Megan tried to speak, but Madame Duval was on her feet, opening the door, just turning with a last smile.
‘That is, of course, if Gaston wins.’
And then she was gone. Megan hurried to the window and saw a waiting car with a chauffeur standing ready.
She sat down on the couch, her legs suddenly weak. What did it all mean? Was Gaston in love with her or had he pretended it in the hope of pleasing his mother and perhaps getting more money? Patrick must have lied about his family and led the Duvals to believe that the Cranes were wealthy people. But what really worried Megan was who had started the rumour that Craig Lambert was in love with her? How absolutely awful if Craig got to hear of it.
It was a relief when Frank arrived and Megan gave a hasty goodbye to Patrick, then looked in on Georgina and found her asleep, before hurrying out to Frank.
They had just left the town behind when Frank said:
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Just about everything,’ Megan admitted. ‘How did you get on?’
‘I couldn’t find Miss Tucker, so I got Lambert. I explained the situation and he quite understood.’
‘You mean he wasn’t mad about it? Did you tell him about Gaston Duval?’
Frank chuckled. ‘Of course. The whole school knew within half an hour. I guessed Anarita would have a whale of a time talking, so I got in first. I told Lambert the truth, the simple truth—that you did your best to prevent Anarita from meeting Duval but that Anarita had already met him at her aunt’s home in Rome, so he couldn’t be mad at you about that, could he?’
Megan smiled her gratitude. ‘He may not want her to come in so often, though.’
‘That’s a point.’ Frank jammed on the brake and then apologised. ‘Those damn goats! Nearly hit one of them. On the other hand, Meg, I don’t think Gaston Duval is Anarita’s cup of tea.’
‘You don’t?’
Megan had not been able to hide her surprise and she saw an odd smile on Frank’s lips.
‘No, he’s more the type girls of your age go for. Sure you’re not interested?’
‘No. I do find him rather . . .well . . .’
Frank chuckled, ‘I know.’
‘Frank, I’m worried about something,’ she confessed.
‘I knew it. Weep on my shoulder, then.’
‘No
, it’s not like that, but . . . Look, Madame Duval . . . Gaston’s mother was there. She’s awfully nice—English, born in Devon but lived on the Continent most of her life. She said some rather odd things.’
‘Such as?’ Frank drove carefully as they turned a blind corner. It was a dark night, the stars brightening the sky, but for once clouds had closed over the moon.
‘Well, I think it sounds absolutely mad, but . . . but she said Gaston Duval wants to marry me.’
‘What?’ The car swerved and Frank was occupied for a moment straightening it. ‘Sorry about that, but it was a shock. I didn’t know you knew him that well.’
‘I don’t—that’s the point. I’ve only met him—I think three times. I’m wondering . . .’ Megan paused. Should she be confiding in Frank? she wondered. Or was he on Craig’s side? So what, if he was? Wasn’t she? She felt confused, her head aching. ‘Look, Frank, we’ve never been alone together. I mean, he’s never . . .’
‘Chatted you up?’
She laughed. ‘Of course he hasn’t. I hardly know him. It seems that Madame Duval has all the money and she’s eager for him to settle down, so I’m wondering if Gaston said it to . . .’
‘Reassure her?’
‘Yes, I suppose one could call it that. Anyhow, she came to the island on purpose to meet me and she seemed to think I would do.’
‘Well, that’s nice, I must say. Very, very nice,’ Frank said drily. ‘And how do you feel about it?’
‘I think it’s absolute . . .’ Megan gave a little laugh. ‘Look, Frank, it’s daft. I don’t even know him.’
‘But you find him attractive?’
‘What if I do? You don’t want to marry every man you find attractive.’
They could see the school in the distance.
‘But, Frank,’ Megan said almost desperately, ‘that’s not the end of it. She also said rumour had it that Craig wants to marry me. She said it was quite a joke, like a repetition of the reason for the old feud and she wondered who would be the winner.’
Frank had slowed down as he drove into the school grounds.
‘And how do you feel about that?’ he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. ‘Has Lambert . . . ?’