The house of my enemy

by Norrey Ford

  In the darwing-room, Eleanor Cooper and her husband talked a little too much and too nervously, and Tom hovered round Verity possessively, his glances proud, appreciative, but at times faintly anxious. She grew more and more nervous as the evening went on. Obviously she was on approval, and was glad she was wearing .a new coppery silk dress and her slim green Italian shoes. Perversely, she was cross about it, too. Tom had no right to do this to her.

  To do what? What was here but a simple dinner party with two old business cronies, and their families? It would have been more honest, Verity thought, to stand her up on a block and auction her to the highest bidder. Or was it Tom who should be on the auction block? Which of these old men was the seller, which was the bidder? She studied them both. As usual in Earlton society, the men talked shop, ignoring the women entirely. Aunt Fidget and Mrs. Cooper had been brought up to this custom, and chattered happily together of domestic affairs.

  At dinner, Verity was placed on Mr. Cooper's right, a place which should surely have been Aunt Fidget's. The dining-room was certainly beautiful, a high well-proportioned room, an inlaid Spanish mahogany table, fine glass and silver, old and cared for. The Coopers had been among the big Earlton families for generations, and their house was a treasure chest filled over a century and more from the corners of the earth.

  "Some of this stuff is rubbish," Tom explained as he showed her round after dinner, while the elders chattered over coffee. "The armour is phoney, a fad of my grandmothers who had had a holiday on the Rhine visiting castles. Mother must show you the dragon teapot, that really is a treasure, brought home by a wild-oating great-uncle. He was a sort of poor man's Phileas Fogg. I hope you don't want to play bridge? We could dance in the hall—I've a pile of new records."

  It was pleasant dancing in the hall under the big lustre chandelier, with a partner as good-looking and skilled as Tom. He had the true dancer's art of making her feel much cleverer than she really was.

  "Do you always keep your floor polished like this? It must be dangerous for everyday use."

  "I coaxed a maid to show me how to use the electric thingummy on it. She said she'd have done it herself only it was her afternoon off. How am I as a housemaid?"

  "Remarkable. It's like glass. We could employ you at Nutmeg House any time."

  He held her closer. "Any time there's a vacancy, I'll be glad to fill it." His voice deepened, and his meaning was plain.

  Tom—Adam How different they were! With Tom she felt cleverer, sophisticated, grown-up. Subtly, he flattered her intelligence, her femininity, and though she recognized the flattery she enjoyed it, responded to it.

  If she married Tom she'd grow into the women he made her feel she was; she'd live in a soft, rich world, surrounded by the things money could buy—the good, pleasant things like opera, ballet, good music and plays. She'd travel to fashionable places at the right time, stay at the right hotels. He would give her the life Verity Bramhall had been groomed for—the life Robert Bramhall wanted for his girl. He would be an adroit lover, a kind, indulgent husband, a friend. In time she would be mistress of this lovely house, and she had to admit to herself that there was little in it she'd want to change, so near was it to perfection.

  But Adam? It was difficult to think of Adam, while dancing in Tom's arms, in Tom's home. With Adam she

  didn't feel like Verity Bramhall at all; she was someone else, a girl simpler, closer to earth and sea and sky. A girl with the wind in her hair.

  But—could one live a lifetime with the wind in one's hair and spray on the cheek? An evening at Earton fair, jostling with the crowds, was fun—once a year. She thought of the meals she'd shared so far with Adam, so different from the quietly elegant meal she had just shared with Tom Cooper. A mug of scalding coffee in a dockside cafe at a scrubbed table; fish and chips in a tent at the fair, eaten with the fingers; good beef sandwiches in a heaving boat, with one's fingers slightly scaly in spite of the soap he'd provided. Fun while it lasted, but if that was Adam's idea of a good life, would it continue to be fun?

  Wouldn't one, in time, yearn for the things Tom offered, elegance of living and choice food for the mind; paintings and books, the off-beat film, Italian or German perhaps; the symphony concert, a Mozart record? Was it Bernard Shaw who so wisely said you can have too much "wind on the heath, brother"?

  As they drifted in a waltz, Tom said, "Your eyes are full of dreams, Tawny-head."

  "All that fresh air at Springwater. Soon I'll be yawning in your face." She brought her attention sharply to heel and executed a complicated succession of steps down the length of the hall.

  Tom turned off the record-player. "Let's sit this one out. We deserve a rest."

  There was a note in his voice which warned her it was safer to dance. She snatched up another record. "Just this one, please."

  "We've had it." He took the record from her and linked his arms in hers, leading her to a sofa deep in a window embrasure of the drawing-room. "It's no use trying evasive tactics, my sweet. You have to hear it sooner or later. I love you, Verity. I love you very much. Could you, by some remote chance, love me?"

  Deep down, she was trembling. This was it—this was what every woman wanted, a man to love her. She wasn't sure whether she wanted it, that was the trouble. The

  moment drew out till she knew she'd have to answer, and she hadn't a notion what to say.

  "Love, Tom? That's a big thing. Must I answer now? I like you so much, we've so many things in common, we see the same jokes. But whether it all adds up to love—" she made a helpless gesture with her hands—"I don't know. It may—but I can't tell."

  "I'll take a chance on that, if you'll marry me. I know I could teach you to love me—if there isn't another man There isn't, is there?"

  She shook her head. She couldn’t truthfully say there was another man, but Adam Bramhall had kissed her to-day, and her cool skin could not forget the warmth of his lips.

  She had not deluded herself into thinking the kiss anything more than a happy, spur-of-the-moment impulse, but it’s happening meant that before she could give Tom a proper answer she had to come to terms with this odd disturbance in her heart.

  "It's an honour, Tom, from the nicest man I know. I appreciate your asking me, and I'll always remember even when I'm an old, old woman. But I'm not ready to decide. We don't know each other very well, deep down. Perhaps you could teach me to love you—I don't know. I don't even know my own heart."

  Gently, he lifted her fingers to his lips. "All right, my darling, I'll wait a little, but please don't make it too long." His fingers closed over hers tightly, hurting her with his grip. "I knew it was too soon, I'd made up my mind to wait and give you more time, but to-night you look so lovely I couldn't resist you. There's a sort of starshine about you, Verity, something about you to-day that is over and above beauty. You've always been pretty and charming, but to-day you're irresistible, as if your fairy godmother had shaken magic gold dust over you. You're bewitched and bewitching. No, you mustn't keep me waiting too long. When a man sees the only girl in the world, he's apt to get impatient to marry her."

  "Dear Tom! You're so kind and understanding—and very, very flattering. Do you think I'm too silly for words, not knowing my own mind?"

  "No, I don't think you're silly, you little goose. I know you mean it sincerely and that as soon as you're certain you'll tell me. You're too genuine and honest to play coy or hard-to-get. That's one of the things I admire about you —you're completely honest and genuine."

  She turned her face away and said in a low voice, "I'm not genuine, Tom. You know that. I'm not Robert Bramhall's daughter. Have you taken that into consideration?"

  "Legally and morally you're his daughter. I'm sure he'd be hurt to hear you say you're not. As far as I'm concerned, you're as much a Bramhall as Laurie."

  "And your parents?"

  "They know, of course. They don't mind, why should they?" He laughed. "My dear girl, do you think I stay awake at night worrying in case some dre
adful parents out of the past should turn up one day and claim you? And anyway, why should we worry? I'm certain your father and mother must have been decent people—look at the daughter they produced!"

  "That's nice of you. All I know for certain is that they're both dead and I have no relatives, so there won't be any ghosts from the past. But the uncertainty, Tom?"

  "Do you think I'm descended from a long line of saints? And look at the Bramhall heredity—pure devils, as far as I can hear. Your ancestry is probably better than mine or Laurie's."

  "You really are a comforting person." She smiled suddenly. "I suppose you know Daddy is angling hard to capture you?"

  He groaned. "I hope you wouldn't notice we're being thrown at each other. Can you overlook the fact that my mother approves?"

  "Gladly."

  "Thank you. A doting mother can be a handicap to a man in love. Let me stand or fall by my own merits. Start by letting me take you to Minster races next Saturday."

  Startled, she exclaimed, "Minster races? Are they next Saturday? I'd completely forgotten."

  Everyone who was anyone, in Earlton and for miles around, went to Minster races. It was an informal, friendly event, but important socially. If she didn't go, questions would be asked for weeks to come. Why weren't you at the races, Verity? Sooner or later, someone would ask Robert and there would be no alibi. Besides, Robert himself would want to go, and Laurie would take Sally.

  So that was that. The question of whether or not she'd fish with Adam had settled itself simply. She had another engagement. And as she had to go to the races with someone, it might as well be Tom.

  "I'd like to come, Tom. I'd forgotten the races were so soon."

  She was suddenly gay, released from conflict within herself. To go fishing—or not to go. There was no need to worry about it anymore.

  "Let's dance again," she cried, snatching Tom's hand.

  Tom caught the infection of her sudden high spirits. He put on a noisy record and spun her round in double-quick time.

  Robert Bramhall and Eleanor Cooper heard them laughing, and exchanged a glance over the bridge table.

  "The children," said Eleanor cosily. "Bless their hearts, they're enjoying themselves. Your deal, Robert."

  At bedtime, Verity hung the coppery silk dress on a hanger, smoothed its soft folds gently. It had been a good evening, she'd enjoyed every minute of it. Wearing this dress, she had had her first proposal of marriage, and that is a landmark in a woman's life. She couldn't be unmoved by such an important event. She pressed the dress to her cheek, feeling a quick tenderness towards Tom. He'd been so patient, so understanding of her point of view. He was content to wait till she was ready to make up her mind. He must surely love her very much, so why was she left with this vague sensation of dissatisfaction with the affair?

  Suppose he'd swept me off my feet, she wondered; smothered me with kisses, refused to wait a single day? Suppose he'd urged and demanded? Would I have been engaged to him this minute, if he'd been less kindly and patient, more rough in his wooing?

  There were her sailing clothes to put away, too. In the hurry of changing to go out, she'd tossed them into a bundle. She was always neat and careful with everything she wore, and spent time folding the soft white sweater, recapturing briefly the salty tang of the day.

  She had a queer, happy feeling, sharp and sweet at once like the smell of pine needles; a tiptoe feeling. I must be on the brink of falling in love, she decided. I hope—oh, I do hope—it's with Tom. He's kinder than Adam, not so highhanded and set on having his way.

  But as she slid fathoms deep into healthy sleep, it was Adam's cheerful grin which brought an answering smile to her soft red lips. Sleepily, she touched her cheek with a cautious finger. There—that was the spot where he'd kissed her.

  Tom had asked her to marry him, but he had not kissed her at all. Not properly.

  Adam—Tom? Tom or Adam? They looked different, they were different. Adam's broad shoulders, his height, his tough, outdoor air, his eyes that were like the sea, changeable from serenest blue to stormy grey. And Tom, slim, smooth and handsome, with his charm, his polished, flattering manners, his interest in so many of the things that interested Verity. There was just one important difference between them.

  Tom loved her and had asked her to marry him. Adam had done nothing but kiss her cheek because, he said, there were temptations a man shouldn't resist.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ON Minister race-course the air was scented with bruised grass, with leather and tweed and horses. The sun shone, as somehow it always managed to shine for Minister races. Half a mile away, the grey tower of the lovely old church which queened it over the market town was silhouetted against a sky of perfect blue.

  Verity was enjoying the excitement of the racing, the comfortable feeling of being in a crowd of friends. She had firmly pushed to the back of her mind the day she might have been enjoying with Adam and his Seafoam.

  He had been so cross when she telephoned to tell him she couldn't accept his invitation; he'd tried all the Bramhall tactics she knew so well. It was almost laughable, the way the family characteristics came out in him: Laurie's talent for putting one in the wrong, oh so delicately; Robert's bull-at-a-gate charge. Unluckily, perhaps, for Adam, practice had made her adept at side-stepping such methods. But in spite of the storming finish to their conversation, almost an open quarrel, she was convinced he was genuinely disappointed, not merely angry because he'd failed to get his own way—unbearable as that was for a Bramhall.

  It had been hard to resist his insistence, because she'd wanted so much to see him again; to find out if he attracted her as much as she thought he did. If, indeed, it was attraction. Away from him, she was not sure. There was something too searching in him, as if he walked straight through into her secret life, and left her no privacy in her thoughts.

  But now she put him out of her mind, and enjoyed the races with Tom. Laurie and Sally were here somewhere, and Robert with Aunt Fidget and Tom's parents, using the car as a grandstand.

  "Hello," said Tom suddenly. "Verity, here's someone you must meet, if you two don't know each other already. A sort of cousin twice removed—Rosemary Brown. Rosemary, do you know Verity Bramhall?"

  Rosemary was tall and fair. She wore perfect tweeds with exquisite leather accessories. Her oval face was only a fraction less than beautiful, because her mouth was too small and set in a discontented droop.

  She gave Verity a frank stare. "Bramhall? I thought I knew all the Bramhalls. How odd that we haven't met."

  "I forgot you know the other lot," Tom apologized quickly. He turned to Verity. "Rosemary's grandfather imports spices too. Abel and Brown, but Abel's nonexistent, I believe."

  "He died in Cain's time, when Grandfather was a lad. Now there's only my grandfather left, and he wants to retire. Then," she made an exquisite gesture with a long, graceful hand, "there'll be me. Like the ten little nigger boys. Are you a shipping Bramhall, then?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Goodness, I thought you all had two heads, or forked tails! You should hear Adam's father on that subject. I suppose you'll be a sort of distant cousin when I marry Adam."

  Tom raised questioning eyebrows. "Are you going to? Is this official?"

  She shrugged. "Why not? The old folk have the whole thing in the bag. We're not actually engaged, with bell, book and candle, but it's been settled for ages that the businesses amalgamate when Grandfather retires, with Adam in full charge of both." She met Tom's eyes with a hard stare. "Who better to manage my inheritance for me than a husband?"

  "Who indeed?" Tom was sarcastic, and Verity glanced from one to the other in a puzzled way. They were needling each other, for some reason. No love lost, here. Tom obviously didn't like Rosemary, and she agreed with him without knowing his reason. There was something inimical about this girL

  "I wish you happiness," Tom went on in the same tone.

  The sparkle had gone out of the day for Verity. If this girl was go
ing to marry Adam, where did Verity Bramhall stand? You chump, she scolded herself. What has he shown you but cousinly kindness, a friendly outing to seal the truce, a kiss which meant nothing? How can this news affect you and a man you've seen only three times?

  "I'm having a dance for my birthday," Rosemary went on. "You must come, Tom, and bring your—er, Miss Bramhall. Adam will be there."

  "You're forgetting, my girl. Spices and ships don't attend the same dances."

  Verity forced herself to smile "Not if they're Bramhalls, but thank you all the same. So I'll have to wish you happiness here and now."

  "And prosperity," Tom added. "Don't forget the big business merger, too. Nice work if you can get it, eh? Adds spice to the romance."

  "Don't," said Rosemary wearily. "I heard every possible variation on the spice joke at school. Adam and I are allergic to it now."

  Tom tucked Verity's hand into his arm. "Looks as if the Vicar will be busy soon, eh, Verity?"

  Rosemary's baby-blue eyes flashed venom. "He usually is. But if you mean what I think you mean, congratulations."

  Verity jerked her hand free. "You'll be giving Miss Brown a false impression, Tom. I'm sure she thinks you're going to be married too."

  "Aren't you?" the girl drawled.

  "Verity hasn't said yes yet, but I'm definitely on approval. Of course I'm only showing her my nicer side at the moment, so don't tell her about the time I hit you on the head with a clockwork train. Believe me, Verity, this girl retaliated with a plate of sandwiches—egg, they were. Very messy."

  Rosemary glanced from one to the other pointedly. "When you finally make up your mind to have Tom, Miss Bramhall, do let me know. Meantime, it's hail and farewell as far as you and I are concerned, if you really feel

  like that about Adam's side of the family. Though what poor Adam has done . . ."