by Hilary Wilde
‘What on earth . . .’ Georgina said sleepily as she came into the room, wearing a very elegant silk housecoat. ‘What are you doing here, Meg?’
Megan looked at them both. ‘How could you be so mean!’ she said angrily. ‘You lied about being ill, Georgina. You lied about the man wanting to see you dance, Patrick. You lied about everything to get me in that mess.’
Patrick grinned. ‘So what? It worked, but not as well as we hoped. Maybe this time we’ll do better.’
‘What do you mean?’ Megan’s voice quivered a little. ‘You’ve kidnapped Anarita?’
‘Of course we haven’t,’ said Georgina. ‘Patrick hadn’t the brains to think that out. All the same, it’s nearly as good. It’ll be in all the papers today.’ She smiled maliciously. ‘Headlines, I expect. Famous heiress, pupil of the once-renowned Lambert School, has disappeared. Kidnapping is feared. How much ransom will be demanded? It’ll be as good as if it had really happened. What do they say? There’s never smoke without fire.’ She laughed. ‘Your fine Mr Lambert will be wiped out!’
‘But . . .’ Megan began, and paused.
Patrick was laughing. ‘A bit of luck, that was what it was. Gaston and his mum bumping into you and the girl saying she was going to elope . . .’
‘Elope?’ Megan’s mouth was dry. ‘With Gaston?’
Both Patrick and Georgina laughed. ‘Not on your life!’ said Patrick. ‘It’s that artist chap . . .Tracy something or other.’
‘Tracy Thompson?’ Megan gasped, finding it hard to believe.
Georgina laughed. ‘Sure. That’s what she told Madame Duval. They’ve known one another for years, it seems, and have got tired of waiting for her to be twenty-one. Anyhow, Megan, I guess you’ll be looking for a job soon, because that school will crash.’
‘You . . . both of you!’ Megan was so angry, she couldn’t speak. She looked round her wildly, at the expensive furniture that the money they had talked her father into giving them, had paid for. She turned and rushed outside into the street, then hurried to where she knew was a taxi rank. It might cost a lot, but she must get back to the school as soon as possible.
As she arrived, she ignored the startled gaze of several of the staff who came down to breakfast early.
‘Miss Tucker,’ Megan, not realising how flushed and untidy she was, hurried to the headmistress. ‘Is Mr Lambert here?’
‘No. He’s at his house.’ Miss Tucker frowned.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve something to tell him. Something important.’
‘You can use the phone in my office, then,’ Miss Tucker said, looking rather worriedly at the girls who were all talking loudly and laughing as they ate. ‘Some news?’ she asked softly.
Megan nodded, her honey-coloured hair swinging forward, and she pushed it back. ‘I think it could be good news,’ she said.
She soon got through to the house—the house she loved.
When she heard Craig’s voice, she reminded herself to remember that the girl on the switchboard might be listening.
‘Mr Lambert?’ she asked. ‘I’ve . . . I’ve seen my brother and . . .’
‘You have something you wish to discuss with me?’ Craig Lambert’s voice was crisp. ‘I don’t want to come in just now and this is a good place to talk, so I’ll send my car in to fetch you,’ he added curtly, and she heard the slam as he put down the receiver.
Not in a very good mood, she thought, as she hurried up to her flat, to brush her hair, make up her face, and put on a clean dress. There were clouds piling up in the sky. She wondered if there was a storm brewing up.
She was in the hall when she saw, through the open door, Craig’s car. She hurried out before anyone could stop her or even ask her where she was going but as the chauffeur opened the car door, Megan looked up at the school and saw Miss Tucker and Petronella Weston standing at a window, gazing at her. They looked pleased in a strange way. Perhaps, Megan thought, they saw this as the end of her. Even Craig’s tolerant patience could not be tried too far and surely this time he must be so angry with her that she was bound to leave? Megan, sitting in the car, shivered. They would be glad to see her go. Neither had liked her, right from the beginning. In fact, she had only two real friends at the school: Frank and Mr Taft.
Craig was walking in the garden in front of his house as she reached it. He came slowly to meet her. His face seemed blank, as if he was wearing a mask. He waited for the car to drive round the back and then looked seriously at Megan, who was finding it hard not to tell him her news.
‘Well? You wanted to see me?’ he asked coldly.
‘I think she’s all right.’ The words now fell out of Megan’s mouth. ‘I saw Patrick and Georgina and it was all done deliberately—the other business, I mean. You were quite right . . . but I wanted to know about Anarita and they told me she had eloped.’ She paused, breathless, staring at him, as they walked slowly across the grass.
‘I know,’ he said.
It was a shock. ‘You know, and you didn’t . . .’ Megan began.
Craig lifted his hand. ‘I was about to ring you when you rang me. I had just heard from the police that they traced Anarita and her boy-friend to the Mainland, but don’t know where they are now. Judging from the description I imagine it’s Justin Newell.’
‘It isn’t,’ Megan said eagerly. ‘It’s Tracy Thompson. He’s an artist and we used to see him in town . . .’ Hurriedly she told Craig about their occasional meetings with the hippie-artist. ‘I liked him, but Anarita wouldn’t speak to him. She said she preferred older men.’
Craig’s stern face creased into a smile. ‘How naïve can you be?’ he asked. ‘Naturally she didn’t want you to guess that she and this lad were deeply in love!’
‘You knew?’ Megan stood still as she stared at him.
‘In a sense, yes. She and Justin have been in love since she was fourteen, but naturally her guardian refused to treat it seriously. He declared it was adolescent infatuation. We argued about it, because I felt that Anarita was too mature and too eager for life to be happy at our school, but her guardian, Jerome Hardwick, was adamant. However, he agreed that if they stayed in love for several years, he might relent. It’s a pity you didn’t tell me about this artist.’
‘I . . . well, it didn’t seem necessary, because Anarita just ignored him. I wonder . . .’ Megan’s eyes widened as she thought of something, ‘I wonder if they used to have secret meetings when I lost Anarita? That would explain . . . but yesterday when we met him, she moved away and wouldn’t look at him. I wonder if they decided to elope on the spur of the moment? Because Anarita didn’t want to spend the holiday here.’
‘I’m not really surprised,’ said Craig, his mouth amused. ‘She’d have no chance of seeing him, because there are few staff here in the holidays and I doubt if Anarita would get a lift into town at all, and that would have spoilt everything. After all, the lad only came to the island in the hope of meeting her occasionally, I imagine.’
‘The schooner was there,’ Megan said eagerly, then paused, her face clouding. ‘But I’m forgetting the worrying part. They’ve . . .’ her mouth was dry, ‘they’ve—and I think Patrick meant Madame Duval—sent the news to all the papers that Anarita has been kidnapped. That’ll be dreadful for you . . . Madame Duval thinks it will ruin you completely.’
‘I guessed they’d do something like that.’ Craig pushed open the front door and they left the humid fragrant air for the cool air of the hall. ‘So I got through myself to London. Pity Miss Wilmot wasn’t there at the time, because I could have contacted her. However, the newspapers know it was a hoax. That there never was any question of kidnapping and the romantic story of the seventeen-year-old girl who after four years of waiting has eloped with her love will be the real exciting news, because Justin is heir to an even greater fortune than Anarita, so from that point of view her guardian has no reason to disapprove. I think he’ll accept the fact that their love is sincere and give them his blessing.’
He led the way to his book-lined study and asked her to sit down, then got them both iced drinks.
Megan could feel the tenseness leaving her body slowly as she relaxed in the chair. Everything was going to be all right? When Craig sat down on the other side of his desk she said eagerly:
‘Then . . . then they can’t hurt the school?’
He smiled. ‘For the moment, no. Next week is end of term. Next term . . . well, let’s hope we’ll have no repetition of this term’s unfortunate incidents.’ His voice seemed to have grown hard.
Megan fumbled in her handbag. ‘I think it would be best if I leave. I seem to have brought you nothing but bad luck.’ Her voice wavered for a moment, wishing he would deny it, but he said nothing, just went on watching her. ‘I . . . My father wrote to me and wants me to go back.’ She passed over the letter.
Craig read it silently and then looked up. ‘You want to go?’
Megan shook her head violently, then stopped. She hadn’t meant to react like that! ‘He is my father. Perhaps I should.’
Turning the letter over slowly in his hands, Craig said:
‘Were you surprised to get the letter?’
‘Very. My father hasn’t written to me once since I’ve been here.’
‘You’ve written to him?’
‘Of course.’ Megan hesitated, but Craig seemed sympathetic, so she went on: ‘I was surprised when it came. It’s so unlike him. I mean, he’s always been impatient with people who use long words. He says short words are good enough for him, but in this he’s used long words. Another thing, I really wondered if perhaps his hands are bad, because the writing isn’t like his was . . .’
‘Just a moment,’ Craig interrupted. He stood up and went to a tall filing cabinet in the corner of the room, pulling open a drawer and taking out a folder. He went back to his desk, turned the pages of the papers before him and brought out a letter. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said slowly. ‘There is a slight difference in the writing.’
‘When did my father write to you?’ Megan asked, half rising, but Craig gestured to her to stay where she was, so she sank back in the chair.
‘He didn’t.’
‘Then how have you got a letter of his?’
Craig leant back, folding his arms, looking at her with a slightly supercilious smile.
‘It really began several years ago when your brother moved in on the island. Naturally I had to find out if he was a genuine dancing teacher or if this was some drug-taking project. I had his background looked up in England, and this included his father and sister.’
‘Wasn’t that . . . well, you . . .’ Megan hesitated.
‘Look, I’m responsible for these girls and their lives, for their parents trust me, therefore I’m careful. I already knew all about Gaston Duval’s past, his mother’s determination to get the island for her beloved son but Patrick Crane was a new personality, so I had to find out all I could about him. What I found out reassured me. He had a clean background, had always taught dancing and danced. Georgina was the same—you too. So I did nothing to stop your brother from opening the Crane School of Dancing. Indeed, I could see nothing wrong in it—until he became more deeply involved with the Duvals. I knew then that they would stop at nothing, that the ridiculous feud between the Duvals and Lamberts would never end. I began to distrust your brother. I see I was right.’
‘But if you doubted Patrick, why did you engage me?’ Megan asked. ‘Did you think I was involved in some way and want to keep me under your eye? That reminds me . . . what about Frank and Miss Tucker? Shouldn’t they know Anarita is all right?’
‘They do. I rang up soon after you’d rung me and told them.’
‘Miss Tucker and Petronella watched me leave.’
He smiled. ‘I expect they looked pleased?’
‘They did,’ Megan said bitterly. ‘They’ve never liked me—nor has Miss Wilmot.’
‘No . . . I can understand that.’ Craig turned over the letter still before him. ‘In a way, though, I find it utterly deplorable.’ His smile softened the last word.
‘I suppose they know you’re going to sack me?’ said Megan. ‘That’s why they looked so pleased.’
‘I did give them that impression,’ Craig told her.
Megan clenched her hands together tightly. She didn’t want to go. Never to see him again? And yet she knew it was the only answer.
‘I . . . I don’t seem to have been much help to the school, I’m afraid,’ she sighed.
‘On the contrary, you’ve been of great assistance,’ Craig told her. ‘You’ve opened my eyes to many things. Also the way the Duvals have behaved has put them in my power. I shall now be able to sue them . . . or threaten to, and believe me, Madame Duval will be off this island and take her son with her within seconds. She can’t bear the danger of her name being involved. She’s a very proud woman and she loves her son and will always give him money . . . but it ends there. I think they’ll recognise that they’ve lost the battle, for nothing, not even the destruction of the school, will make me leave the island.’
‘But I must go,’ Megan said slowly.
‘Yes,’ Craig told her. ‘You must go.’
CHAPTER IX
Megan knew that it had to come. She had expected it, though she had steeled herself for when it came, but all the same it hurt her terribly. Fortunately for her, giving her time to overcome the shock, the phone bell shrilled at that moment and Craig answered it.
As she sat, dazed, yet knowing it had to be accepted, for she could see no other solution, she realised suddenly that Craig was talking to Anarita.
‘Yes, it was naughty of you. Poor Miss Crane was very upset . . . I understand. I know, it wasn’t her fault. Thank you for telling me, Anarita. You phoned him? Good girl . . . very sensible!’ Craig was nodding, smiling as he spoke. ‘He agreed? I’m glad. Yes, I’m sure she’d love to. What was that?’ he asked, and nodded. ‘Yes, you can speak to her. She’s here with me now.’ He held out the phone to Megan. ‘Anarita would like to speak to you,’ he said.
Megan stood up, moved nearer the desk and took the phone in her hand. ‘Anarita?’ she said.
Anarita’s excited voice drummed in her ears as she listened to her apology.
‘I hadn’t planned to go, Justin was willing to wait, but knowing I’d be there all the holiday and hardly see him was just the end, Miss Crane. Then seeing the schooner in seemed that fate was playing with us, so when I skipped out of the bazaar and met Justin . . . I bet you’ve guessed that I always met him when I got lost?’ Anarita laughed happily. ‘I said to him, let’s get out of here, and he agreed. We just caught the schooner at the last moment. Luckily I had my passport with me. I always carried it as I knew one day we’d get tired of waiting. You can imagine how we felt! Anyhow, I phoned my guardian and he says we can get married. Isn’t that super?’
‘Wonderful, Anarita,’ Megan said warmly. ‘I’m so glad for you. I wish I’d known.’
‘How could I tell you?’ Anarita asked. ‘You’d have had to tell Mr Lambert and he’d have had to stop it, wouldn’t he? Anyhow, Uncle Jerome is planning a big wedding for us in about a month’s time. He insists on that, and I was wondering, Miss Crane, if you’d be one of my bridesmaids?’
‘Me, a bridesmaid?’ Megan was startled. ‘I’d love to, but . . . well, I don’t know where I shall be.’
She was even more startled, for Craig had moved, come round the desk to stand by her side, and put his arm round her, leaning down to speak into the receiver.
‘Don’t worry, Anarita, she’ll be there. I’ll see to that,’ he promised.
‘Thanks, Mr Lambert.’ Anarita’s laugh was gay.
Megan handed the phone to Craig and tried to move away, but his arm tightened round her. She stood very still, willing herself not to tremble, fighting hard to hide her misery.
‘You must go,’ he had said earlier on. ‘You must go,’ and though she had known it had to happen, it was still too terrible to accept. But
how did that fit in with her being a bridesmaid?
He was talking. ‘Don’t worry, Anarita. Yes, I know it’s in all the papers, but I’ve sent news of your elopement. They knew, though . . . ? You what? You told the Press? I see. You wanted it all to be above board.’ He chuckled. ‘You certainly twisted poor old Hardwick’s arm. He was only concerned for your good, you know. Yes, we are old squares, I agree, but I don’t agree with your statement that we don’t understand. Believe me, we do. And it’s just as painful for us. Right, Anarita. Thank you for phoning, and I’m glad everything is working out so well.’
He put down the phone and looked at the girl standing so still in his arms, her face drawn and miserable, her cheeks very white. He moved away and saw how slowly she walked to her chair and sat down. He went behind his desk.
‘This letter,’ he said, lifting it in his hand. ‘Forget it, Megan. Your father didn’t write it.’
Megan’s face came to life. ‘You don’t think he did?’
‘I’m sure he didn’t. As I said, comparing it with this other letter of his, I’m sure he didn’t. In any case, last week my man in England went down to Dorset. I wanted him to check. It was a bit of luck,’ Craig smiled, ‘but he got lost just outside your Aunt Lily’s cottage. Your father was working in the garden . . .’
‘But he always said he couldn’t,’ Megan began.
Craig smiled. ‘I can imagine. Anyhow, he and my man had quite a talk. Your father is very happy, it seems. Your Aunt Lily, too, is well and putting on weight.’
‘So I needn’t . . .’ Megan began, and stopped. Her father didn’t need her. No one did.
Suddenly she realised something. ‘But if my father didn’t write the letter, who did?’
‘Miss Wilmot.’
‘Miss Wilmot?’ Megan gasped. ‘But you and she . . .’
Craig smiled. ‘She may think so, but I’ve never given her cause. So many women indulge in wishful thinking . . . as you know,’ he added.
Her cheeks were hot. Had she indulged in it, she wondered, and did he know? Was this a not-so-gentle hint?