by Anne Weale
Lucia had left them in the study, untouched. The books and records she had put away in a cupboard.
"Mr Curzon called this morning. He brought them."
"Nico?" Cathy looked startled. After a moment, she said, "That was nice of him. Did he stay long?"
"About ten minutes. When are you seeing him again?"
"I don't know yet. He asked me to ring him as soon as you were up and about."
Lucia sat up in bed. "Cathy, you didn't mean what you said one day about marrying for money, did you?"
"Oh, Lucia, don't let's go into all that again. I'm tired, and you're not well. This isn't the time for an argument."
"I don't want to argue. I just want to know if you meant it - or if you were only trying to shock me?"
Cathy gave her a long, thoughtful look. "Yes, I meant it," she answered, at last. "And I meant what I said about Nico. It's a pity he's so dark and foreign-looking. But he isn't actually repulsive, and one can't expect to have everything. So, if I can get him to marry me, I will. It won't be easy. He's not the marrying type. But I think I know how to handle him. Even clever men have their weak spots. And if I can bring it off, it should be just what I want."
Lucia said nothing, but slumped back on the pillows, with her eyes closed.
"I'm sorry, sweetie," her sister went on. "But after all, it is my life, and I am entitled to live it my way - not yours. I just don't want what you want. I don't believe in this love thing."
February passed. March began with a mild spell. Then the rain and cold winds returned, and the sky was grey again. For the first time in her teaching career, Lucia longed for the end of term. She could not throw off the after-effects of the 'flu. She went to bed early, but woke up tired and listless. She drank more milk, and ate lots of eggs and cheese. But still she flagged, and felt dreary. There seemed to be nothing to look forward to. Even when summer did come, it would probably be wet, she thought pessimistically.
By now, Cathy was seeing Nicholas Curzon once or twice a week. Whether it was he or her sister who was regulating the pace of their relationship, Lucia had no means of telling. It seemed that all she could do was resign herself to the situation.
Then, one morning, Cathy dropped a bombshell which jerked her out of her lethargy.
She should have realized something was afoot when she came into the kitchen to find her sister there ahead of her.
"You're early," she said, in surprise. For after a date with Nicholas, Cathy was usually late getting up the next morning.
"I know. But I couldn't sleep. I was too excited."
"Excited?" Lucia felt a thrust of alarm. "Surely he hasn't asked you—"
"To marry him? No - not yet," her sister cut in. "But he has made another suggestion." At the expression on Lucia's face, she burst into laughter. "Not an improper one, sweetie. I think by now he realizes that wouldn't wash."
"What, then?" Lucia asked, puzzled.
"He wants me to go to Greece for Easter."
For some seconds, Lucia said nothing. Then, "Cathy, you can't!" she exclaimed. "For heaven's sake, Cathy- you can't."
Again, the younger girl laughed. "That's what Nico said you would say. So you are invited too, my pet. You're to come with me, as chaperone."
CHAPTER TWO
April in Greece! In the few seconds before Lucia's common sense reasserted itself, the pictures in the book Nicholas had lent her flashed temptingly past her mind's eye. She had a vision of herself lying on a beach in hot sunlight, with nothing to do but bask, and swim, and eat the delicious Greek dishes her father had told her about.
"It's out of the question," she said sharply. "I'm surprised at you even suggesting it."
"Why is it out of the question?" Cathy asked, frowning. "Oh, I knew you'd blow your top at the idea of my going alone. But if you come with me, it couldn't be more respectable. Give me one good reason why we can't go."
"I can give you half a dozen reasons. The most obvious is that we can't afford it."
"It would only cost us our fares, and some spending money. The excursion flight to Athens is a hundred and twenty-five pounds return. That's two hundred and fifty pounds for the two of us. At most, we wouldn't spend more than three hundred."
"Unfortunately, we don't happen to have three hundred pounds to spare just now," Lucia retorted crushingly. "And if we had, I'd think twice before blowing it all on a holiday."
"We've got more than four hundred. I've looked in the bank deposit book, and there's well over three hundred."
It was on the tip of Lucia's tongue to say that she had had no right to look at the book. But as the deposit account was officially a joint one, she could not fairly accuse her sister of prying.
"All that money is earmarked for more important things," she said. "Having the house painted is bound to cost at least two hundred. It may even come to more than that. And we must have it done. The place is beginning to look derelict."
"I don't care if it falls apart," said Cathy. "I may not be living here much longer. But if it's the expense which worries you, why can't we sell that old bureau in the drawing-room? If it is a genuine antique, it should be worth more than enough to cover our fares."
"It's not the expense which worries me," Lucia said swiftly. "That's merely a practical objection. I'm much more concerned with the moral issues."
"What moral issues, for Pete's sake? I can't see anything immoral about being asked to make up a house party."
"How do you know it will be a house party? It may be just you and Nicholas."
"Considering how pure you are yourself, it's amazing how quickly you jump to nasty conclusions about other people," Cathy said acidly. "If Nico wanted to seduce me, he wouldn't bother to lure me all the way to Greece. He'd have made a pass at me weeks ago. The fact that he hasn't is one of the reasons why I think he's getting serious about me." She laughed. "He may not have begun with what you'd call 'honourable intentions'. But lately he's been quite exemplary. Well, perhaps not by your standards, sweetie. They're rather exacting. But, by mine, he's been positively saintly."
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Cathy. It sounds so ... cheap," Lucia said, with a frown of distaste.
Cathy shrugged, but her face was flushed as she answered, "Well, whether you come or not, I'm going to Greece - and there's nothing you can do to stop me. I'll raise enough money somehow. I may even be able to pay the fare in instalments. One can do that now, I believe. I'll enquire about it today." And she marched off to her room, and presently left for work without saying goodbye.
When Lucia returned from school that afternoon, she told Janet what had happened.
"Surely there must be some way I can stop her?" she concluded anxiously.
Janet looked thoughtful. Then, to Lucia's astonishment, she said, "But I don't think you should try to stop her. I think you should both go."
"What? Oh, Janet, you can't be serious? Go to Greece as that hateful man's guest? I wouldn't dream of it."
"There's just a chance that 'that hateful man' may shortly be your brother-in-law, my dear. No, let me finish" - as Lucia began to protest. "Supposing he is beginning to take Cathy seriously? It's not beyond the bounds of possibility. She's extraordinarily pretty, you know, and men do fall for pretty faces, and lovely figures. Well, if he is thinking of marriage, have you any right to interfere?"
"But she doesn't love him," said Lucia. "And she's much too immature to marry anyone."
Janet shook her head. "I don't agree. Knowing Cathy, I think marriage to a well-off, indulgent older man might be the best thing for her. I doubt if she has the capacity to love anyone very deeply. Some people haven't. It's not their fault, it's the way they're made. I daresay it has some advantages. If they can't love intensely, they can't have their hearts broken either."
"No, I suppose not," Lucia answered, rather absently. Until now, it had never occurred to her that Cathy might achieve her cold-hearted ambition to become Mrs. Nicholas Curzon. Oddly, she found this new concept almost as repug
nant as the other possible outcome of the affair.
"I certainly can't see Cathy as the wife of a poor man," Janet went on. "She simply isn't cut out for love in a cottage - or even in a semi-detached. Peter and I aren't hard up. But, if Cathy married someone like Peter, she'd either rim him into debt, or nag him right round the bend."
Lucia had to admit there was a good deal of force in Janet's views. But Cathy was so very young. Surely it was possible that she might yet meet someone whose love would compensate for any material sacrifices she had to make?
When she said as much, the older girl looked sceptical. "Anything is possible. I think it's extremely unlikely," she commented frankly. "You must try to be realistic, Lucia. I don't want to offend you, but the fact is that Cathy's been hopelessly spoilt. Your stepmother never said 'no' to her. And even you tend to let her slide out of most responsibilities. As I see it, the only solution is for her to marry someone who can. afford to go on spoiling her."
She jumped up to comfort her son who, playing under the table, had banged the top of his head. "Oh, poor love - what a nasty old bump! Never mind, Mummy!! soon kiss it better."
"But, Janet, she isn't even attracted to him," said Lucia, remembering Cathy's remark that it was a pity Nicholas was so dark and foreign-looking. "How can she spend the rest of her life with someone whose only appeal is his money?"
Janet lifted her son on to what remained of her lap, and gave him a cuddle. "Physical attraction never lasts long anyway-not unless there's a mental attraction as well. Cathy must find him reasonably personable. I don't believe she's so hard-boiled that she'd marry a man who repelled her. What is it about him which you dislike so much, Lucia ? It's not only because you're worried about Cathy, is it? I have the feeling that it goes deeper than that. You'd dislike him under any circumstances."
"Yes, I would," Lucia said crisply. "And so would you, if you met him. He's too darned sure of himself. He looks at women as if... as if he had only to smile, and they'd fall at his feet."
"Perhaps a lot of them do," Janet suggested.
"Possibly - but that's no reason to suppose that they all will."
"What you mean, I imagine, is that he appears to think he could charm you," said Janet shrewdly.
Lucia flushed. "He doesn't just think it - he's sure of it. He—" She paused to steady her voice. "He's even had the gall to accuse me of being jealous of Cathy."
"He said that? Good lord, what conceit! No wonder you don't like the man. So what did you say?"
"I just gave him a withering look, and left it at that. But I felt like hitting him."
"I should think so, too. Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because every time I think of it, I get so angry I could throw things."
"Have you told Cathy this? It might put her off him."
"I doubt it. She would probably agree with him. Life is difficult enough as it is without her accusing me of sour grapes."
Mark clambered off his mother's knee, and returned to his play. He was a quiet, contented little boy, with Janet's chestnut-and-hazel colouring, and his father's sticking-out ears. Less adventurous than most three-year-olds, he would potter all day with a strange assortment of household cast-offs.
Watching him, Lucia said, "If I envy anyone, it's you."
"Do you?" Janet looked reflective. After a moment, she said, "You know, Lucia, I've sometimes felt that you made a mistake when you took up teaching as a career."
"A mistake? But I love it. What do you mean?"
"Yes, I know you enjoy it now. And you obviously have all the qualities a good teacher needs. But you hadn't set your heart on being a schoolmistress before your father was killed, had you?"
"Well, no," Lucia conceded. "But I was only just seventeen when the accident happened. At that time, I hadn't settled on any career. As soon as I'd taken my A levels, we were going to go abroad together."
"In other words, becoming a teacher was forced upon you by circumstances. It wasn't really your vocation."
"I wouldn't put it quite like that. I had to start thinking about a career. But I wasn't forced to take up teaching. I chose it."
"Yes, but would you have made the same choice if you hadn't been left with your stepmother and Cathy on your hands? Or would you have gone in for something ... well, less safe and steady?"
"I don't know. Perhaps - why do you ask?"
"It's obvious from the photographs you've shown me that you're very like your father to look at. I have the feeling you're like him in other ways, too."
Lucia looked puzzled. "I still don't see what you're getting at."
Janet hesitated, choosing her words. "You say you envy me," she began. "But, apart from the fact that I'm happily married - and most women hope for that - I don't think my kind of marriage would suit you at all. It's too placid for you, too predictable. Your father spent most of his life on the move. I think there's a lot of his restlessness in you, only you've had to repress it. But no one can repress their nature for ever, and if you were to marry someone as settled as Peter, you'd have to go on doing it. And however much a woman loves a man, she can't be completely happy if his way of life doesn't suit her."
"Well, I expect you're right," said Lucia. "But I may not have much choice in the matter. No one has proposed to me so far, and I can't see any prospect of it in the foreseeable future. I'm beginning to think I may never get married at all."
Her tone was light, and she smiled at her friend as she spoke. But Janet guessed that it cost her a pang to say it.
"Oh, rubbish!" she answered, at once. "You're much more attractive than you realize. If you spent a bit more on yourself, instead of subsidizing Cathy's extravagance, you could look quite stunning. Instead of letting her buy lots of new things for this Greek trip, you should buy yourself two or three outfits. You can't go in last summer's old things."
"I'm not going at all. I told you - I wouldn't think of it."
"Now you're being pig-headed," said Janet. "Look, however much you personally detest this Nicholas Curzon do try to look at the situation dispassionately. You can't stop Cathy going to Greece, any more than you can stop her marrying him, if that's what he has in mind. But if he has other ideas, he can't do much harm with you there. Besides, a couple of weeks in the sun is just what the doctor ordered. You need a holiday, Lucia. And don't you see? The best way to take the wind out of both their sails is to do what they least expect. Who knows? You may thoroughly enjoy it."
"What? - As the guest of a man I can't stand?"
"Sometimes life plays strange tricks," said Janet. "This could be a blessing in disguise. If you go to Greece, you may meet someone you can stand. If I hadn't done something which I didn't at all want to do, I would never have met Peter."
"I think it's highly unlikely that any of Nicholas Curzon's cronies will turn out to be my future husband," Lucia answered sardonically. "They're probably all as objectionable as he is."
She was already in bed when her sister came home that night. Next morning, Cathy left for work without a word about the Greek project. But, as she seemed quite cheerful and friendly, Lucia concluded that her enquiries about paying the air fare on the instalment plan must have been satisfactory.
It was Friday. After school, Lucia went to the hairdresser. Then she met Bernard Fisher at their regular rendezvous, and they went to the cinema together.
"You seem preoccupied this evening," he said afterwards, as they were on their way to the Soo Chow restaurant.
With a guilty start, Lucia realized that for the past five minutes he had been talking to her about the film, but she had no idea what he had said.
"Sorry, Bernard," she said contritely. "I'm afraid I was wool-gathering."
"You were rather absent-minded last week." He took her arm to steer her across the main road. "There's nothing wrong, is there, Lucia?"
"No, no - nothing's wrong." As they reached the opposite pavement she saw, in the window of a travel agency, a British Airways poster of a hot landscape and,
in the background, the Acropolis. Quickly, she averted her eyes.
At the Soo Chow, a Chinese waiter ushered than to their usual corner table, and presented them each with a menu. Lucia shut her mind to thoughts of Greece, and concentrated her attention on the question of what to eat.
Bernard was facing the entrance to the restaurant. A few moments after he had given their order to the waiter a look of surprise came over his face.
"Isn't that your sister?" he asked, with a nod in the direction of the door.
"Cathy - here? No, it can't be. She's gone to the theatre tonight," said Lucia, without glancing round. As Bernard had met Cathy only once, and that a long time ago, he probably did not remember her very distinctly.
"I'm sure it is," he persisted. "There's a man with her - a dark, French-looking chap."
"What!" Lucia swivelled in her chair. "Oh, no!" she murmured aloud, as she saw the couple near the entrance.
Nicholas Curzon was helping Cathy out of her coat, and a waiter was hovering in readiness to hang it up for her. Lucia turned quickly away again.
"They've seen us. They're coming over here." Bernard pushed back his chair, and stood up, not noticing that Lucia's lips were tightly compressed, and her eyes had an angry sparkle in them.
"Hello, Bernard. How are you?" Cathy greeted him with a warmth which suggested that they were old, close friends.
While she was speaking to him, Nicholas Curzon bowed to Lucia.
"Good evening, Miss Gresham. I needn't ask if you have recovered from your bout of 'flu last month. I can see that you have." His dark eyes appraised her newly-set hair and plain dress. "You look very charming tonight."
The facile, meaningless compliment made her clench her hands under the table. But, as she was about to respond with a markedly chilly "Good evening", she remembered something Janet had said the previous afternoon.
Don't you see ? The best way to take the wind out of their sails is to do what they least expect.
And, abruptly deciding to put this advice to the test, she made herself smile, and say pleasantly, "Thank you, Mr. Curzon. Yes, I'm quite recovered now, I'm glad to say. This is a nice surprise. What brings you two here?"