by Daphne Clair
'No,' she said, finally and firmly. 'I've promised him I'll go out with him, and you have no right to ask me to break my promise.'
'All right,' he said aggressively. 'Will you promise me that you won't go out with him again?'
This time she hardly hesitated at all. 'No, Graeme, I'm sorry, but you can't dictate to me like that. It isn't fair to ask it of me.'
'What about being fair to me, Stacey?'
'I'm trying to be, Graeme. I've always been quite frank about my feelings ‑'
He gave a bitter little laugh. 'Sometimes I wonder if you have any feeling left. I think it was all buried with David.'
Stacey was silent.
'Very well,' Graeme said at last. 'So the subject of David is taboo. I thought I could make you forget him, but I was wrong. Will this Gideon Newnes take his place?'
'No one can take David's place,' she said coldly. 'And you're being quite ridiculous,' she added, as she saw the door open and Fergus and Alex came in. She turned her shoulder to them, indicating that the conversation was private, and Alex disappeared down the passageway to his room, while Fergus made for the kitchen.
'Thanks.' Graeme's voice was bitter. 'Now I know what you really think of me.'
'Oh, don't be so silly!' she exclaimed, exasperated.
But he interrupted, 'Goodbye, Stacey.' And she heard the click of the receiver as he put it down.
Angry and distressed, she banged down her own, raking a hand through her hair and leaning against the wall by the telephone for a moment, eyes closed.
'Troubles?' enquired Fergus, coming out of the kitchen with a bottle of coke in his hand.
'Yes,' she sighed, opening her eyes and accepting his gestured offer to pour her a drink from the bottle.
'Want to tell big brother all about it, then?' he asked casually, as they sat at the kitchen table with a glass of cool liquid each.
Stacey sighed again, and grimaced. 'Oh, Graeme is getting a bit—possessive,' she said. 'I'm going out with Gideon Newnes on Thursday evening, and Graeme doesn't like it.'
'You mean he's jealous.'
'I suppose so. I—don't know if I'll be seeing him again. His goodbye sounded very final just now.'
'I daresay he'll get over it. But would you mind very much?'
'Yes, of course I would. At least,' she added slowly, 'I would mind if we parted in anger.'
'But you wouldn't mind too much if you parted,' Fergus stated quietly.
Stacey looked up. 'Well, no. I suppose I wouldn't really.' She would be sorry and a little sad, but she knew now that she would never marry Graeme.
'Better to put him out of his misery, then, isn't it?' Fergus asked softly.
'Yes.' She stared thoughtfully at the sparkling brown liquid in her glass. 'You're right, of course, Fergus. I wish I had loved him, though.'
'Do you? I'm glad you didn't. I never thought Graeme was the one for you.'
She looked up in surprise. 'I thought you liked him.'
'I do. But I don't think every man I like is the right kind of husband for my sister. Didn't it ever occur to you that you and Graeme really had very few interests in common?'
'The attraction of opposites ‑' she said vaguely.
Fergus shook his head. 'There may be such a thing, between opposing temperaments, but I think that marriage needs some common ground, somewhere.'
'But Graeme and I ‑' Stacey stopped there. Because it occurred to her that what she had in common with Graeme was their mutual involvement with David. And yet Graeme had vowed he would make her forget David. Apart from that, they really had very little common ground, as Fergus pointed out.
'Perhaps you're right,' she said. Changing the subject, she added, 'How's your love-life these days?'
'Blooming, thanks,' Fergus grinned, and got up to rinse his empty glass at the sink.
'Is it still Tricia?' Stacey asked, persevering.
'It's still Tricia.' He was getting ready to leave.
'I like her,' said Stacey, smiling at him. Fergus seldom exchanged confidences, but as she had just unburdened herself to him, she felt he owed her some reciprocation.
He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her.
'Good,' he said. 'Because I sort of hope that it will always be Tricia.'
He went away then, leaving Stacey with a pleased smile spreading across her face.
She dressed carefully on Thursday night, in a romantic-looking dress of cream chiffon with a pattern of dreamy pastel roses. For an outdoor man, Gideon proved to be a surprisingly competent dancer, and they had a pleasant evening. She encouraged him to talk of his ocean-going experiences, and he told her some stories that had never appeared in his books.
Now and then, her thoughts drifted to Graeme, and she could not help feeling vaguely though quite unreasonably guilty. Near the end of the evening, Gideon asked softly, 'What's troubling you, Stacey?'
'Nothing,' she said brightly, smiling at him.
He regarded her thoughtfully. 'That's not true, is it? Every now and then you drift away from me, and get a little frown right here.' He reached out his hand and lightly touched her with his finger between her brows. 'What is it? That big fellow I saw you with the night we met being difficult about you seeing me?'
'Not him.' She shook her head.
'Uh-huh. Another fellow, then?'
Stacey smiled wryly. 'That was pretty clever of you,' she acknowledged.
'I'm no troublemaker, Stacey. If you and he have something going, I don't want to come between you. Next month I'm off on another long voyage, and I wouldn't care to have something like that on my conscience.'
She smiled at his blunt but not untactful way of indicating that she was only an interlude between voyages. That didn't worry her at all. She liked him, but didn't think she would ever be seriously involved with him romantically. She appreciated that he would have a rugged charm for many women, but it did not particularly affect her.
'Don't worry about it,' she said. 'As a matter of fact, you've probably done us both a good turn. It was a sort of—drifting affair. Now I know that it could never have come to anything.'
'So why are you worried?'
'Because he was angry and upset, and I'm fond of him, and sorry he's been hurt.'
'You're a soft-hearted girl, aren't you?'
'Not particularly. I'm sorry if I've spoilt your evening by being moody.'
'Not a chance. It isn't spoilt at all.'
When he took her home he pulled her into his arms, but she turned her head away as he bent to kiss her. His lips brushed her cheek, and then he let her go.
'Will you come out with me again?' he asked.
'Yes, if you want me to.'
She saw him several times in the next few weeks, and watched his growing excitement and preoccupation with his next sea voyage. He never took her to his boat, and she guessed that was a privilege which some lucky girl one day might be given, if he decided to be serious about a woman. For the moment, he enjoyed her company, but once on the sea again, he would soon forget her. Their relationship was an undemanding one which both understood. Neither of them wanted to take it any further. For Stacey Gideon's company was a pleasant change from the intensity of Graeme's demands on her.
She had seen him just once since the time he had objected to her seeing Gideon. He had come round one evening after that first outing, and taken her out for a drive. They parked for over an hour in a secluded spot, and he had at first tried to kiss her. Feeling wretched, she pushed him away and tried in the most tactful way possible to suggest he should not see her again.
Graeme would not accept this at first. He tried every means of persuasion he could think of to make her change her mind, and Stacey found her patience taxed to the utmost. By the time he drove her home she was exhausted and felt completely wrung out, but Graeme was at last resigned, and convinced that she would never marry him. Her heart ached for him as she saw him drive away, after bidding her a taut goodnight and goodbye, his lips on her cheek cool an
d briefly caressing, but his hand on her shoulder trembling with emotion.
It had been a harrowing farewell, and she was grateful that Gideon offered her a way of forgetting over the next few weeks.
A few nights before he sailed, he took her out for the last time. She would miss him, but not dreadfully. He had not promised to see her again when he returned, or to keep in touch while he was away. But this time she did not turn away when he took her in his arms and kissed her briefly.
As she drew away, he said, 'Thanks for the good times we had, Stacey.'
'I've enjoyed them, too.'
'Have you? I guess so, but there's something about you, Stacey, that makes me think ‑'
'Think what?' she asked curiously as his voice trailed away thoughtfully.
'Well, I might have really gone for you in a big way, but something about you suggests a girl who's already committed. Your heart isn't your own, is it? And yet you told me that guy you were going around with was nothing much to you. It doesn't add up—unless there's someone else.'
Surprised at his perception, Stacey shook her head. 'There's no one else, now. I was engaged once, but he died.'
'I see. I'm sorry. But ‑' He hesitated, then said gruffly. 'Well, goodbye, Stacey. Can I look you up when I get back?'
'Yes, of course. Have a good voyage.'
Quickly, he kissed her cheek, and was gone.
Her mother was not in her room. Stacey, who felt like talking to her, was disappointed and a little depressed. Her mother went out much more often these days, and was inclined to be a little vague as to where. Alex was usually out in the evenings, except those which he spent marking school books, and as the term was virtually over now, that was not often. He was doing some of the interior decoration of the house himself, he said, so as to save costs, and he had bought and installed some old furniture which he was restoring. This was taking a lot of his time, apparently. Stacey wondered how often her mother was also there at the house.
Try as she would, she could not reconcile herself to the idea, and once when she obliquely tried to broach the subject with Fergus, he looked at her quite blankly, and her nerve failed her. If he had any idea what was going on, he obviously had no intention of discussing it with her.
As she undressed slowly and made ready for bed, she wondered a little forlornly what she would do with herself if her mother married Alex and went to live in his cottage, and Fergus married Tricia and presumably went to live somewhere else with her.
Ashamed, she chided herself for self-pity and selfish thinking, but as she thought of the house which she had known from childhood, in which she had known and loved and laughed with David, she could not hold back a few tears. Because presumably it would have to be sold, and she would need to find somewhere else to live —a place of her own.
She thought deliberately of the advantages that might come with that, but none of them seemed to be particularly exciting, and she sighed and went to sleep.
The school holidays, the long six-week break beginning in early December, had begun. And Alex was moving.
They had all offered to help, and Stacey was glad of the activity. There seemed to be a hiatus in her life just now, and she often felt unaccountably depressed.
Fergus helped Alex take his cases and some cartons out to the big car, and Stacey vacuumed the room thoroughly, surprised at the regret she felt now that Alex had left it. She had, she supposed, got used to his presence in the house, and he had turned out, in view of her early opinion of him, to be a surprisingly nice person to have around, after all.
She and her mother drove over to the cottage in Helen's car, a little later, taking sandwiches and fruit.
The transformation was something, Stacey admitted. The exterior had been transformed with pale grey paint with touches of immaculate white and a pretty blue.
The garden at the front of the house had lost its forest of grass and weeds, and had been levelled and new grass sown. Blue hydrangeas were now showing along the fence line, and a respectable show of pink pelargoniums which must previously have been completely hidden by the undisciplined grass enhanced the front of the house.
The magnolia tree was still magnificent, but looked rather less dense, and Stacey guessed that Alex had carried out his intention to trim a few branches and let more light into the house.
Some new shrubs had been planted in the lawn, and Stacey recognised a red kowhai, close to the wall of the house, its beak-shaped flowers showy against the grey painted wood. There were two specimens of manuka, one showing a few pink flowers, and she was reminded of the night she had gone walking with Alex, and seen a garden that he had said was 'well-loved'.
The front door was wide open, and her mother walked in without bothering to knock. Stacey wondered briefly how often she had done that before.
The interior also was quite a different picture from the one Stacey had seen on her first visit. It seemed much lighter, for good use had been Made of new wallpapers which kept the old world atmosphere but avoided the gloomy dark colours of the previous ones. Wood panelling had been stripped of layers of dark, dingy paint and lightly oiled to highlight the grain. The kitchen was a modern delight with a cleverly preserved old-fashioned look in no way impeaching on its efficiency.
'Come and see my bathroom,' Alex invited, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs, almost as soon as he had greeted them.
Fergus, who had followed him into the kitchen, grinned and said, 'That's where he keeps his etchings, Stace.'
Stacey pretended not to hear, but Fergus made a ducking movement as Alex turned to him before ascending the narrow stairs. Casting a quick look at her mother, Stacey saw that she was opening the door of the refrigerator and putting on the shelf a bottle of milk and some butter and cheese they had brought over with them. Then she felt Alex tug at her hand, and followed him.
He opened the door of the bathroom and flung it wide, pushing her ahead of him.
'What do you think?' she asked.
The ghastly fleur-de-lis was gone from the floor, the green paint had all disappeared. Only the blue tiles remained of what had been, and the room, instead of violently clashing with their colour, was now designed to complement it. The old cracked basin and chipped, stained bath had been replaced by powder blue modern ones. The new bath was shorter than the old one and so there was plenty of room for the shower recess which had been built in, with sliding glass doors. The green paint on the walls had been dispensed with and now a pretty floral waterproof paper hung there. And on the floor was deep blue shiny vinyl that matched the blue tiles.
'It's fantastic!' Stacey exclaimed. 'I would never have believed it!'
'Believe it,' he said, looking round proudly, and she was touched, because he was almost like a child with a new toy. 'Come and see my bedroom,' he added, taking her arm.
It was not the one with the magnolia outside the window, but one of the smaller side rooms. There was only a single bed against one wall, and behind that an array of built-in shelves, looking remarkably bare, but which he told her were designed for his books—some of them.
On another wall a fitment of wardrobe, drawers and a dressing table had been built, modern but in Colonial style. The charcoal grey of the carpet was lightened by a luxurious double sheepskin rug, pristine white. The curtains hanging at the window were blue, with a bold paisley design on them. The bed was not made up, but a cover of the same design was folded on the mattress. A plain blue easy chair stood near the window, and a small writing table with slender legs and one drawer stood nearby, with a Windsor chair.
'It's nice,' said Stacey. 'And it looks very comfortable. What have you done with the front bedroom?'
'There's no furniture in there yet. I'm waiting—for a while. This is big enough for me in the meantime.'
She smiled up at his face without seeing him and turned to go out of the room. His meaning was as clear to her as if he had shouted it. He would furnish the front room and move into it, of course, when he married.
<
br /> She moved downstairs very quickly, and smiled at her mother an assurance that yes, she was very surprised at the difference in the bathroom, and yes, the whole house was lovely and just right for Alex.
Some new furniture which he had ordered had only arrived that week, and they helped to shift it to the correct places. Then they began to unpack boxes which had been delivered from storage. There were pictures and some ornaments as well as books, and Stacey realised that Alex had a taste for the exotic as she unpacked an Eastern wall-hanging, an enigmatic Chinese beauty carved in real jade, and a set of Benarese brass dishes.
The beautifully embroidered wall-hanging was duly placed in the small hallway where it could be seen when one opened the front door. The brass plates were ranged along the high mantel above the fireplace in the dining room, but the jade figure was left until later. Stacey passed it several times on her way to and from the dining room as she helped, and each time she lingered a second or two to admire the translucent stone, the flowing lines of the carved robes, the curve of mouth and eyes in the exquisite little face.
Once she picked it up, and gently traced some of the carved lines with her finger, moving into the light by the window to get a better view. The jade became lighter and more translucent than ever, and she held it up, admiring the play of the sunlight through the more delicate parts of the carving.
After a few minutes, she turned and carefully replaced it on the table, and found that Alex was standing in the doorway, watching her.
He came into the room, and smiled. 'You like it?' he asked.
'It's utterly lovely,' she said. 'It changes colour, so beautifully.'
'Like your eyes. Sometimes they're exactly this colour,' he said, picking up the jade, and then looking at her.
'Are they?' There was a curious intimacy in his gaze, and Stacey felt slightly breathless as she gazed back at him.
'But not just now,' he said, carefully putting the statuette back On the table. She wasn't sure, but she thought he moved towards her. His voice was very soft as he said, 'Right now, they're grey. Deep, deep grey.'
Then Fergus came breezing into the room with a query about an unmarked carton he had found, and the moment was gone. Alex went out with him to investigate the contents of the mysterious box.