by Sara Seale
“Say what with flowers?”
“Happy birthday, of course. Kate suggested that when I next came down we’d have a second party and crack a bottle of bubbly. Well, I’ve brought the bubbly and a few recherche trifles, so we’ll have to celebrate without her.”
“Oh, Robert! That was nice of you,” she said, flushing with pleasure like a child. “I will admit to you that everything fell rather flat that night. Poor John did his best, but he would much rather have had Kate to himself, and Kate was terribly conscious that it had been a mistake to whip up a spurious gaiety.”
“Spurious gaiety ... what a dismal picture that conjures up,” he said with a wry grimace. “Well, I’ll promise you this, Victoria Mary, there’ll be nothing spurious about our gaiety, unless, of course, you’ve quarrelled with me by then.”
“I don’t think I shall quarrel with you, Robert,” she said, rewarding his efforts with that sudden endearing smile and added curiously: “Why do you so often address me by both my names?”
“Because their prim respectability amuses me. Victoria Mary has a delightfully Edwardian flavour, and you with your demure centre parting and little nipped-in waist can look misleadingly decorous at times. No doubt I must thank your Mr. Brown for succeeding in shielding you from the pitfalls of this permissive age.”
“Well, if I’m a milk-and-water miss you sound positively Victorian!” she exclaimed a shade indignantly. “Are you really old-fashioned, Robert, or do you just like to tease?”
“A little of both, perhaps, and I certainly wouldn’t liken you to a milk-and-water miss. No well-brought-up young lady of earlier days would dream of being so free with her tongue and opinions,” he retorted, and she giggled with what he told her reprovingly was an unbecoming lack of respect for his superior judgment and approaching grey hairs.
“Your judgment may be superior, my learned friend, but you’re not old enough yet to demand respect as your right,” she retorted, enjoying the small exchange with none of the old resentment, and suddenly liking him very much.
“Well, that at least should encourage my self-esteem. When one is over thirty one tends to get written off by young things in their teens,” he said, and her eyes became thoughtful.
“But I’m not in my teens,” she reminded him gravely, “I’m twenty and quite adult.”
For a moment his eyes rested on her with an answering thoughtfulness and the lines in his clever face seemed to deepen and sharpen.
“So you are,” he said then, “and in less than a year Mr. Brown’s jurisdiction will be at an end. Are you going to miss this unseen influence which has coloured so much of your life?”
He had turned away from the light to rest his arm on the mantelshelf so that his face was now in shadow. She could no longer read his expression, but she thought there was a touch of irony in his voice.
“Yes, I suppose I will,” she answered slowly, aware of a curious blankness lying ahead but not knowing how desolate she sounded until he moved impatiently and enquired whether she was still banking on that improbable happy ending.
“Not in the way I used to when I was young,” she answered carefully, “but I see no reason why we shouldn’t become friends, once we’ve met.”
“And suppose you don’t meet? Your Mr. Brown, judging by past eccentricities, is perfectly capable of vanishing into thin air if it suits him,” Robert said, rather unkindly refusing to pander to hope.
“Then,” she replied with fresh determination, “I should set about finding him myself, if only to say thank you and satisfy my curiosity.”
“And how would you do that?” he asked with some amusement. “The lawyers won’t betray a client, you know, however charmingly you may try to wheedle.”
“I wouldn’t waste time trying to wheedle Mr. Chappie, stuffy old bore,” she replied with her nose in the air. “There are better ways of finding out—private eyes for one. It can’t be so difficult to trace a person of Mr. Brown’s peculiar habits, for he’s sure to have other benevolent schemes on hand. Also, there’s bound to be someone willing to give him away for a small consideration.” Robert burst out laughing.
“Well, for pity’s sake! Private eyes and mercenary inducements! And how do you suppose such methods would endear you to your erstwhile patron?”
“Yes, that’s a point,” she admitted, looking crestfallen, but she rallied at once as her eyes came to rest on the roses’ mute assurance of an awakening interest.
“You won’t blight my expectations with legal objections, Robert,” she told him cheerfully. “Those flowers and the others are my guarantee of good faith. There was no need, after all, to depart from the custom of years unless something more personal was intended, was there?” He moved his hand with a quick, irritable gesture, knocking a china figurine on to the hearth where it smashed with a melancholy sound of finality, and Victoria went on her knees to pick up the pieces.
“Oh, dear, Kate will be upset!” she exclaimed, forgetting both Robert and Mr. Brown in this unfortunate mishap. “It was one of a pair she particularly liked.”
“Nothing of the sort, she thought them hideous,” he countered rather crossly, “but they belonged to my Aunt Eva and came with the house, so Kate tactfully left them where they were.”
“Oh, what a good thing,” Victoria said with relief, getting up and disposing of the remains in the waste paper basket. “I keep forgetting your aunt left everything to you. Nobody can complain if your break your own ornaments, can they? But returning to Mr. Brown—”
“I have no wish to return to Mr. Brown,” Robert interrupted with unusual sharpness. “I’m heartily sick of Mr. Brown and I must beg you to keep him out of the conversation for the rest of the week-end, unless you want to try my patience too highly.”
“Well!” said Victoria, her eyes growing wider and wider until her face seemed all angles and hollows, “of all things! If I didn’t know you better, Robert, I’d think you were jealous of poor Mr. Brown.”
“You don’t know me at all as yet, so don’t make rash pronouncements,” he retorted, but the irritability had gone from his voice. “I think, however, we’ll postpone our further acquaintance till tomorrow as it’s getting late. Go to bed, Victoria Mary, and may your dreams bring sense, if not satisfaction. Good night.”
CHAPTER SIX
IF she dreamed at all, Victoria remembered nothing upon awakening, but last night’s promise of felicity remained with her, stirring a sense of expectancy for which she could not altogether account. The morning fulfilled the pledge of the day before with a heat haze already shimmering over the still countryside, and she resolved that nothing should spoil the day through retaliation on her part should Robert choose to provoke her.
There was no need, however, to guard her tongue. His teasing had lost its sting or, perhaps, she understood him better, and he very skilfully set about the business of proving her first conceptions wrong.
“You know, Robert,” she told him as they lay soaking up the sun in the orchard after lunch, I wouldn’t have believed a month ago that I could feel so completely at home with you.”
“A month ago you were intent on fighting dragons. I don’t doubt the urge will arise again once the novelty of peaceful companionship has worn off,” he retorted with his more customary dryness, but she only laughed.
“It isn’t likely that companionship with you would remain peaceful indefinitely. You’re too used to slapping people down in court to give in meekly,” she said, and he reached out a hand to administer a more literal slap on one bare leg.
“And you, young woman, are too fond of trailing your coat to encourage meekness.”
“Only with you. I’m really very accommodating in regard to most people. Ask Kate.”
“Really? Accommodating is hardly a description that would appeal to Mr. Brown, I fancy.”
“I thought his name wasn’t to be mentioned over the week-end,” she murmured demurely, and he raised himself on one elbow to look down at her stretched out beside him. H
er eyes were closed against the sunlight which, filtering through the branches of an apple tree, cast provocative shadows across her throat and breast and the slender thigh exposed by the rucked-up hem of her cotton frock.
“Your innocent air of abandonment is curiously inviting—but perhaps you knew,” he said softly, and her eyes flew open. She sat up abruptly, pulling her dress over her knees, and grace was suddenly lost in awkwardness.
“Ah, now you’ve spoilt it,” he said regretfully, lying back again with his hands behind his head, aware at once that he had been premature.
“No, it’s you who’ve spoilt it,” she replied, remembering Kate’s well-meaning hints. “I’m not accommodating in that sense of the word, I can assure you.”
“Hush, child, don’t pick a quarrel with me on that score,” he said with lazy good-humour. “I spoke without consideration, for which I’m sorry, but you can set your mind at rest as to any dubious intentions. They’re strictly honourable.”
She caught the note of gentle mockery in his voice which he intended she should and immediately felt gauche and immature.
“I beg your pardon,” she said with rather prim politeness. “I’m not at all used to remarks of that kind, you see. Mr. Brown has never encouraged followers.”
He, in his turn, caught the veiled provocation in her last statement and propped himself once more on his elbow.
“Is that a direct invitation to quarrel? I thought we were agreed that mention of that gentleman might lead to trouble.”
“Well, you mentioned him first,” Victoria retorted, her resilience restored. “I was only trying to excuse a lack of savoir faire in myself.”
“Were you, now? Well, despite the alleged scarcity of followers, you’ve no need to trouble yourself on that score, my dear. I suspect you’ll have no difficulty in dealing with suitors when they start lining up.”
“Suitors? Where?”
“Wherever you may happen to be after your next birthday—unless, of course, the unlikely occurs and you finish up as a substitute daughter after all—in which case,” Robert concluded on a distinctly dry note, “your chances of selecting the man of your choice would seem to be rather remote, if past history is anything to go by.” She hugged her knees and giggled appreciatively, no longer ruffled by his tendency to poke fun at Mr. Brown.
“Well, since that contingency is equally remote, I won’t need to please anyone but myself when and if the time arises,” she said.
“If? Do you have doubts, Victoria Mary? I thought all attractive girls took a future husband for granted,” he said lightly, and watched the untroubled look in her eyes change to one of grave consideration.
“I haven’t really thought that far,” she said, after some deliberation. “Time for me has been here and now, with everything arranged for me and my opinions not asked for. I suppose I’ve been too occupied in guessing at Mr. Brown’s intentions to look ahead to any future without him.”
“The gentleman is still an obsession, I see, despite this assurance that you’ve grown out of your infantile fancies,” he observed none too sympathetically, and she smiled.
“Not an obsession, only a background and natural spur to curiosity,” she replied. “However short of reality my infantile fancies may have been, he can’t be dismissed as a figment of the imagination.”
“You would be bitterly disappointed if he turned out to be no more than the collective contributors to a trust, wouldn’t you?” he asked more gently, and she looked at him gravely as if she suspected him of possessing knowledge which she did not share, then smiled at him again rather abstractedly and replied:
“Yes, I would because it’s comforted me to think there was someone who cared, even in an impersonal sort of way, what became of me. Even if your guess is right, you won’t convince me those roses were thought up by a board of directors—or even a computer!”
“A computer ... now that’s a thought,” he said appreciatively. “How would you feel if your elusive Mr. Brown turned out to be nothing more rewarding than an efficient machine?”
“You don’t really think, do you—” she began, looking suddenly stricken, and he moved a little impatiently.
“Of course not, but I do think we’ve had enough for one day of that gentleman’s tiresome intrusion into our affairs, to say nothing of the fact that, like all women, you aren’t sticking to your bargain,” he retorted.
“But we haven’t quarrelled and I hope your patience hasn’t been tried too highly,” she countered demurely, adding as she saw him smile: “You really shouldn’t generalise like that, you know, Robert. Women don’t follow the same pattern just because they’re female. You might find yourself in a lot of trouble one of these days by overlooking that fact.”
“Might I, indeed?” he said with some asperity, reaching out a hand as if he meant to administer another salutary slap, but she twisted away from him, springing to her feet in one lithe movement of returning grace and stood leaning against the trunk of the apple tree laughing down at him.
He was reminded vividly of the occasion of their first meeting at Farthings when Kate had told her to take him round the garden and she had stood in the orchard shaking blossom on to her head with charming inconsequence while she spun him ridiculous yarns about Mr. Brown, imagining he did not remember her. He had, perhaps, been a little unkind in keeping up the fiction until he was ready to prick her innocent bubble of pretence, but he had been both surprised and piqued by the hostility she did not try to disguise, forgetting that youthful impressions went deep and tended to magnify with the years.
As if she, too, remembered and was deliberately recreating the scene, she stretched up a hand and picked off an overhanging apple, and a leaf or two settled on her hair.
“Not quite so effective as a shower of blossom, but nicely staged all the same,” he observed, wondering if she knew how instinctively she had responded to his tentative overtures and whether she realised she was nearly ready to accept a new relationship, but she merely looked puzzled by his comment and bit into the apple with no sign of connecting the two occasions.
“Blossom?” she murmured vaguely, and had clearly not been listening. “Shall I pick one for you? They’re not very ripe, but quite nice.”
“No, thanks. Eve tried that one, too, but I prefer to do my own picking,” he retorted. For a moment she looked enquiring, then she laughed, tossing the half-eaten apple into the long grass, and reached up for another.
“Oh, that old gag,” she said. “I shouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t Adam who did the picking, then blamed the whole thing on Eve.”
“The woman tempted me ... an unfair apportioning of the blame, you think?”
“Well, don’t you? They say it takes two to make a quarrel, so I expect it takes two to share the blame. Anyway, it was really all the Serpent’s fault and he got off without a scratch, which all goes to show.”
“You talk a lot of charming nonsense, don’t you? No, don’t start on another. It would be a pity if our little celebration tonight had to be postponed because you had a pain in your stomach,” he said, getting to his feet and confiscating the fruit already half-way to her mouth. He picked a leaf out of her hair just as on that other occasion he had disentangled petals, but this time she did not try to free herself but stood looking enquiringly up at him, and he smiled and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.
“We mustn’t prolong this delightful idyll at my godson’s expense or he’ll feel neglected,” he said. “Go and get him up from his rest and we’ll play a game with him until tea-time.”
Victoria hurried into the house, rather guiltily aware that with Robert’s unexpected advent it had been all too easy to forget her responsibilities. She had devoted the morning to the boy while Robert drove to the village for extra stores to oblige Elspeth who, she informed him with slight asperity, had been counting on a quiet weekend with Mrs. Allen away and only Miss Toria and the bairn to cater for. She had looked with faint disfavour at the ready-prepared
delicacies he had brought with him to augment their board and expressed the opinion that Mrs. Allen was more likely to appreciate out-of-season luxuries than a young girl with little or no palate as yet.
“You forget the advantages of being finished abroad,” he had reminded her with a grin. “If nothing else, young ladies about to take their places in society are taught discrimination in the matters of food and style.”
“And what good will that do this poor lass with never a chance to show off her tricks at balls and parties and such-like?” Elspeth had demanded indignantly. “The daft old gentleman would have done better to have the girl trained for a sensible career than pay for fancy trimmings abroad to please himself.”
“Perhaps he had reasons which will come to light in due course,” Robert had answered, cocking a cynical eyebrow at her, and she gave an unmistakable snort, then smiled reluctantly.
“As to that I ha’e ma doots,” she retorted, her accent broadening uncompromisingly as it did in moments of disagreement. “Still, you’ll do no harm with your wee celebration if you mind your tongue and your teasing ways. It was no’ a very gay birthday dinner with no man of her own to admire her looks and the doctor doing his best, poor man, to hide the fact that he wanted Mrs. Allen to himself.”
“Would you say my cousin was—interested in that quarter at all?” Robert asked with rather deliberate casualness, and Elspeth gave him a distinctly old-fashioned look.
“That wouldn’t be for me to remark on,” she replied repressively. “I had my own ideas once, but mebbe I was wrong, and Mrs. Allen’s no’ the sort to wear her heart on her sleeve. Now don’t waste my time any longer, blethering, Mr. Rab, when I’ve the lunch to re-plan to allow for one extra.”
Timmy, with a child’s sharp perceptions, had, when they all three met for lunch, sensed a difference in his two favourite grown-ups despite their joint efforts to amuse him, and now when Victoria came to waken him from his afternoon nap, he was ready to assert his rights by being contrary. His favourite games were no longer to his liking, neither it seemed was his Uncle Rab, making jokes he did not understand and taking too much of Victoria’s attention.