The Impossible Dream

by Hilary Wilde

  ‘Of course he hasn’t. That’s just it, Frank. Suppose he hears the gossip?’

  Frank stopped the car and turned to look at her. The light from the big house made it possible to see each other’s faces.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question. How do you feel about that? I mean, marrying Lambert? Supposing he did ask you?’

  ‘Well,’ Megan took a deep breath, ‘it isn’t likely to happen. Please don’t tell anyone, Frank.’

  ‘You can trust me.’

  ‘The awful part is . . . suppose he hears the rumour and thinks . . . ?’

  Frank laughed. ‘That you started it? Could be, of course. Even if he didn’t, I can bet on quite a few of the staff who would accuse you of it.’

  He got out of the car and opened the car door for her.

  ‘Don’t worry, Meg,’ he said. ‘It’ll all work out. Soon be the end of the term, anyhow. I’m just going to park the car. See you later?’

  ‘I’m tired. I think I’ll have a shower and off to bed. Thanks for everything, Frank,’ she called softly as he walked round the car.

  The front door she found was open and Miss Tucker was walking down the hall, her back stiff with disapproval. Had she heard Megan’s farewell remark? Megan wondered as she hurried up the stairs and to the quietness of her flatlet.

  CHAPTER VI

  Megan was discussing the planning of the concert with Mr Taft when the letter came. It was delivered by hand, and she recognised Patrick’s handwriting. It was a few days since she had seen him and she wondered if it was to say Georgina was worse.

  ‘Will you excuse me, Mr Taft?’ she asked.

  The elderly man smiled at her. ‘Of course— it might be urgent. I’ll take a walk outside.’

  He left her and went through the French windows to the terrace. What a beautiful sunny cloudless day, Megan was thinking, as she opened the envelope.

  As usual Patrick’s writing sprawled across the page. ‘This is urgent, Meg. Georgina is worse and the doctor forbids her to dance. It means so much to me—better publicity, a more secure job, higher pay. Could you get Saturday off, come early so we can rehearse and you can take Georgina’s place?’

  Megan read it twice and then folded the letter slowly, her eyes puzzled as she frowned.

  ‘Bad news?’ Mr Taft, coming in from the terrace, asked sympathetically.

  ‘In a way,’ said Megan. Saturday? That was tomorrow. Should she go? After all, Patrick was her brother. But how would Craig react? Or Miss Tucker?

  ‘Look,’ Mr Taft folded up his notes, ‘suppose we postpone this for a few days? We have plenty of time and everything is going well.’

  ‘Thanks a lot, Mr Taft. It’s very good of you.’ Megan still had the puzzled, unhappy look on her face.

  She folded her notes and went out into the garden, as in a dream. Should she go and help Patrick? She knew she could dance nearly as well as Georgina. And if it meant so much to Patrick. . .

  Deciding to ask Craig Lambert himself, rather than getting involved with Miss Tucker, Megan had to hunt for him, but he was nowhere to be found. No one knew where he was. Several of the staff asked her why it was so urgent. Megan had no answer for that, but she knew it was urgent, for she should ring Patrick and let him know if she could help him or not.

  Suddenly she wondered if Craig was at his own house. She found Frank after tea and asked him to take her there.

  Frank frowned. ‘Is it a good idea, Meg? Lambert doesn’t like his privacy invaded.’

  ‘This is urgent,’ she said. ‘I think he’ll understand.’

  ‘All right,’ Frank agreed.

  They drove in silence, for Frank had been there once.

  ‘Only once, mind, in all these years,’ he said as he deftly drove over the bad road, missing the huge bushes that grew close to the gravel and sending a small group of coloured parakeets screeching as they flew up out of the way. ‘I’ll wait in the car. I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  So do I, Megan thought, but she had a feeling Craig would understand. These last few days she had been expecting him to send for her, but he had seemed, she thought, rather to avoid her. Obviously Frank had convinced him of her innocence where Anarita and Gaston were concerned.

  Megan stared at the lovely house as Frank stopped—the thatched roof, the huge windows, the garden bright with red and yellow roses and tall bushes that were a mass of cream flowers.

  ‘I shan’t be long,’ she said.

  Frank gave a funny grin. ‘I hope I don’t have to pick up the pieces!’

  ‘Craig isn’t like that,’ she said as she got out of the car.

  ‘That’s what you think,’ he told her. ‘I wonder if you’ve met the real Craig Lambert yet.’

  Feeling far from the braveness she was posing, Megan walked down across the lawn. She paused, looking round her. There was the most lovely view . . . right over the bushes to the blue water. The lagoon was so quiet and still, the waves too far away to be heard. There was this quietness . . .

  ‘What on earth . . . ?’ Craig’s annoyed voice broke the stillness and Megan swung round to find him frowning at her.

  ‘Could I speak to you, please?’ she said. ‘It’s urgent.’

  ‘It must be. Is that Parr out there?’

  ‘Yes. He said he’d wait in the car. I had to see you and I was afraid you might not come back tonight and . . .’

  ‘You’d better come in,’ Craig said. He didn’t sound at all pleased and Megan followed him rather nervously.

  She looked round, loving everything she saw, the oil paintings on the walls, the cream of the rugs on the polished floors, the deep armchairs and long couch, the French windows opening on to an enclosed garden with roses climbing up the brick walls and a tiny pool in the middle.

  ‘Sit down,’ Craig said curtly. ‘What’s the trouble this time?’

  Megan told him, as briefly yet as completely as she could. She finished by saying: ‘If he satisfies this man, it might mean a whole new life for Patrick. He’d go away, and that . . .well, surely that would please you?’ she asked.

  ‘Why does he want to leave the island?’ Craig asked.

  Megan hesitated. ‘Well, he isn’t happy here. He says there are too many frustrations, that . . . that things aren’t working as he had hoped and . . .’

  ‘His wife is too ill to dance? Can you take her place without practising?’

  ‘If I could go in early tomorrow morning, I can. We’ll rehearse all day. I expect Patrick will use the dances I know very well.’

  ‘You did a lot in England?’

  ‘Not so much recently. I did several years ago.’

  ‘That was before your aunt left you?’

  Megan nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you mind? I mean, giving up the dancing?’

  ‘In a way, yes,’ she said, thinking back. ‘I used to enjoy the dancing because it was a sort of challenge.’

  ‘You miss it now?’

  Megan was startled. ‘I never think of it. That’s just a part of my past life.’

  ‘You’d like to do this dancing with your brother?’

  She stared at the man facing her, his stern ugly face sympathetic. How was it so many people hated him? she wondered.

  ‘Not very much, but . . . but if it would help him.’

  Craig nodded. ‘I thought as much. Well, you have my permission. You can go, of course, early in the morning. I’ll be going in, so I’ll take you. I’ll be coming over early to have breakfast at the school.’

  Megan hesitated. ‘Miss Tucker?’

  ‘I’ll settle that.’

  ‘Thank you . . . oh, thank you so very much,’ Megan said, and suddenly the words seemed to plunge out of her mouth, beyond her control. ‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ she went on. ‘I’m awfully grateful. But I just can’t understand one thing—why are you so much against the island coming up to date? I mean, it doesn’t seem like you, somehow. You’re so tolerant, so understanding, yet on this subject, you
’re . . .’ She paused, but he said nothing, a faint smile flickering round his mouth, so she went on: ‘Is it fair to the islanders? I mean, wouldn’t they be better off if it was a big holiday island? Better wages and things? I mean, too, it needn’t affect the school, need it?’ She paused, wondering if she had said too much, but he looked amused rather than angry.

  ‘I can see you’ve been brain-washed,’ he said. ‘Would you really like to see this beautiful island packed with Bingo halls, a casino, hotels? Don’t you see that higher wages would mean that the locals would drink or gamble the money? Do you really think I’m indifferent to the people on the island? The school means a great deal to me, because I respected my grandfather and think there’s a need for this kind of school, though I do feel we’re out of date in many ways and this must be revised in the near future. As regards the locals . . . we have sufficient schools and hospitals already. They are my people, so I supply these. Like my grandfather, I see the locals as my children and I shall do my best to protect them from the temptations of the so-called civilised world.’

  ‘But . . . but shouldn’t you trust them to resist temptation?’ Megan asked. ‘I mean, you won’t always be around to protect them.’

  ‘I agree up to a point, but they must first be educated enough to recognise temptation and its cost. The next generation will, I’m sure. This island was my grandfather’s originally and one day it will be completely mine again,’ he said firmly.

  Megan hesitated. He wasn’t at all angry, so she felt she could talk to him frankly.

  ‘But is it really fair to them? I mean, they mightn’t all of them gamble away the money, and those that wouldn’t are being . . . well, deprived of the money they need and would use.’

  He smiled. ‘This is, of course, the problem. But isn’t it better for a very few to suffer to save the lives of a great many? While I could keep account of the visitors to the island, we were safe. Today anyone could come in. That’s what worries me—drugs, thieving, drinking too much . . . it’s changing the island already.’

  ‘But hasn’t change got to come?’ Megan asked earnestly. ‘I mean, isn’t it progress?’

  He stood up. ‘Depends what you mean by progress. Obviously we have different versions. Poor Parr, sitting out in the car—I should have asked him in. Well, is that all right? I’ll take you into town after breakfast.’ Leading the way to the door, he spoke over his shoulder. ‘Just one thing. Don’t tell anyone—not anyone, not even Parr—about this. That understood?’

  ‘Of course.’ Megan stood on the white paving stones outside the front door and looked up at him. ‘I don’t know how to thank you for being so understanding.’

  He gave a slight rueful smile. ‘Sometimes I think I understand too well. See you tomorrow!’

  Stepping back into the hall, he watched her hurry across the lawn to the waiting car, saw Frank leap out and open the door for her, and watched them drive away before closing the front door.

  ‘Well?’ Frank asked.

  Megan laughed happily. ‘He was absolutely super. I can’t think why everyone is so frightened of him or else they hate him. I find him most understanding and kind.’

  ‘You going to tell me what you wanted to ask him?’ Frank enquired with a smile.

  ‘No, I’m not. That’s the condition, Frank. Craig has agreed to let me do something, but no one must know about it.’

  ‘I see.’ Frank whistled softly. ‘Very cloak and dagger!’

  ‘Oh no, it isn’t.’ Megan laughed happily. ‘It’s much more to protect the school. Look, is there a phone box where I can speak without someone listening?’

  Frank chuckled as he drove. ‘I think there’s one near the hospital. You’ve never seen it? Good, we’ll go that way. You have a phone call to make? I needn’t ask to whom? Gaston Duval, I imagine.’

  ‘Then you’re quite wrong . . .’ Megan began, and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Now you’re trying to make me talk, and I mustn’t!’

  Frank chuckled. ‘My curiosity is aroused. I shan’t be content until I know.’

  ‘I doubt if you ever will know,’ she told him triumphantly. ‘I can see no reason why you or anyone should.’

  One of the nicest things about Frank, she thought, was that he would accept things.

  ‘You’re dead serious?’ he asked now.

  She nodded. ‘Dead serious.’

  ‘Okay, let’s forget it. Look, there’s the hospital . . . can you see it?’ He pointed to a long white building built on what looked like a plateau dug out of the side of the mountain. ‘One thing about this island—we don’t have to go to the mainland for surgery or anything. Lambert keeps good doctors and surgeons here. There’s the public callbox. Lambert had a bit of a row over having it put there, but as usual he got it.’ Frank chuckled. ‘He was right, too. You go visit a friend and he’s worse, so you want to stay on, you have to call someone at home. You used to be able to phone from inside the hospital but somehow it didn’t work. There were complaints that people used them socially.’

  He parked alongside the callbox. Megan soon got through to her brother.

  ‘I got your letter, Pat. I’m coming in immediately after breakfast tomorrow,’ she told him.

  ‘Great!’ Patrick sounded pleased. ‘How did you work it?’

  Megan heard her voice go stiff. ‘Mr Lambert consented—he realised this meant a lot to you.’

  ‘How very kind of him,’ Pat jeered. ‘You really have got him on a bit of string, Meg. I wish you could talk some sense into him.’

  Megan closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to keep her temper. Patrick was never satisfied. ‘One thing, Pat,’ she said, ‘no one must know it’s me. That understood?’

  ‘Not know it’s you? I don’t get it,’ said Patrick. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it isn’t considered the right thing for the dancing mistress at the Lambert School to do exhibition dancing,’ Megan said with a laugh. ‘In any case, what does it matter? The main thing is that I can help you out.’

  ‘Right, Meg. I was thinking maybe we could make you look like Georgina. She’s got a wig—anyhow, we’ll see in the morning. Goodbye.’

  ‘How is she?’ Megan began, but Patrick had hung up the receiver.

  She went out to the waiting car thoughtfully. Maybe that would be a good idea—wearing a wig to make her look like Georgina.

  ‘Okay?’ Frank asked with a grin.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Look, Frank, I think I’ll have an early night as I don’t want to slip up and let anyone know.’

  He nodded. ‘I bet I could . . . make you slip up, I mean.’

  Impulsively Megan turned to him. ‘You really are a darling, Frank. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  He looked surprised and a little sad. ‘We are good friends, aren’t we, Meg?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course we are,’ she told him. ‘You’re my very best friend.’

  ‘Your best friend,’ he repeated quietly as the car neared the school. ‘I suppose I must be content with that.’

  CHAPTER VII

  That night, Megan found it hard to sleep. She couldn’t forget the wistful note in Frank’s strange words:

  Your best friend. I suppose I must be content with that.’

  What did he mean? Could he . . . ? No, he mustn’t, she thought unhappily, for he would only get hurt. She was very fond of him, in fact she loved him in a way, but it wasn’t the way you loved when it meant marriage. That would be a totally different kind of love, the sort of love she felt for . . .

  She made herself stop thinking, for she was suddenly afraid. She couldn’t be in love with anyone, for there were two men in her life, and if you really loved anyone, there could only be one!

  Each man meant so much to her, each man in a totally different way. When Gaston smiled, she felt wrapped in a warmth of happiness; when he talked to her, she found herself wishing he need never go. It was a strange love to her, if love it was. She found him fascinating—and y
et at times she felt it must be purely a physical kind of love, not the real kind, for the real kind made you want to help him be happy, to look after him, stand up for him. Did she feel like that about Gaston?

  What was the good of thinking like this? she asked herself, tossing and turning restlessly. It was a hot night and even the open, screened windows brought in only more heat. Maybe she should never have come out here, she thought, for whatever she did in the future she felt was bound to hurt her.

  Marry Gaston? How could she? He must have made it up to please his mother, for he had made no attempt to meet her, Megan thought, or to get to know her better. But if he was serious . . . ?

  Marry Craig? That was completely out of the question, for he would never see her except as a rather tiresome young person with whom he had to be patient!

  But if . . .

  She jumped out of bed and swallowed two aspirins, hoping they might send her to sleep, for her mind was on dangerous ground. Craig must not be thought of in that way . . . he must just be thrust out of her mind.

  Finally she slept, and when she awoke and saw the clock, she leapt out of bed, for whatever happened she mustn’t be late for breakfast! Luckily she sat next to Mr Taft who never asked questions, but she was startled when Craig suddenly stood up, walked down the room to her and said:

  ‘Ready, Miss Crane?’

  There was a sudden silence in the usually noisy dining-room and Megan knew that every member of the staff must be staring down at them, wondering why and where Mr Lambert was taking her!

  As for the girls . . . Megan could guess how Anarita would be talking, for she loved to appear to know everything that no one else did.

  In the car they hardly talked, but as they neared the town, Megan turned to the man by her side.

  ‘I do appreciate you letting me do this, Mr Lambert. I told my brother that no one must know it’s me. I think I’ll be wearing a wig as he wants me to look like Georgina.’

  Craig turned and looked at her, his eyebrows lifted. ‘That won’t be easy. She has a hard face.’

  He left her at the Crane Dancing Studio. ‘Good luck,’ he said with one of the smiles that transformed his face. ‘You have more courage than most girls would have. I’ll arrange for you to be collected tonight,’ he added as he drove off.