I knew them all—or nearly all. I had seen them only last week at the Dunnian dance (in formal attire and wearing party manners) so it was a little difficult to recognise them in swimming suits, behaving like six-year-old children.
Charles sighed and said, “How old they make me feel! I have no desire to ‘clamour against the waves and run upon the sands with songs and shoutings’.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said.
“Beautiful savages.”
The ring had broken now. Freddie was running along the wet sea-edge, her cloak streaming behind her like blue wings, her twinkling legs reflected on the shining wet sand. She was closely pursued by Harry Loudon with a flail of brown ribbon seaweed; behind him ran Beric and Johnny and Andrew . . . and two other boys whom I had never seen before. They ran like a string of figures in a Greek frieze, the sea-gulls rose up into the air with shrieks of alarm.
“Freddie runs well,” said Charles. “But they’ll catch her when she gets to the rocks . . .”
She had reached the rocks; she turned and dodged but Harry caught her by the blue wings and held her firmly; her laughter came to our ears as she struggled in his grasp. Then Beric was there, forcing them apart, and Harry fell on the sand with Beric on the top of him; they rolled over and over in a mock fight; the others stood round, laughing and shouting encouragement.
Celia and Mary Dunne were the first to tire of the wild rampage and wandered up the shore to ask if they could help to prepare the tea. They were followed by Bill Loudon, who was too plump for the pursuit of mænads, and by Helen Raeworth, a serious young person of thirteen summers, who obviously found the behaviour of her elders somewhat childish.
The four were organised by Charles to collect driftwood for the fire, to spread rugs and unpack the baskets. Presently the kettles boiled and tea was made and Bill summoned the rest of the party with a tattoo on a kettle.
The two strange boys introduced themselves politely. “We’re Celia’s cousins,” explained the elder one. “Celia should have introduced us, of course—she’s an awful donkey! I’m David and that’s Peter. It was very kind of you to invite us, Mrs Reede.”
“I’m glad you were able to come,” I said.
“I say, what a gorgeous feast!” exclaimed Johnny Coates, flinging himself down on a rug.
There was a chorus of delighted agreement.
I noticed a certain amount of manœuvring as they all found places and sat down. Harry was anxious to sit beside Freddie but Beric was there before him and Peter was on her other side and had begun to talk to her.
“Look here, you chaps! Why does the sea make one go mad?” asked Andrew, as he accepted a ham sandwich.
“The salt gets into your brain,” suggested Mary Dunne.
“It’s the wide expanse of clean sand that invites you to run about and make a mess of it,” declared Celia.
“No, listen!” exclaimed Johnny, sitting up and waving a slice of bread and butter with a large bite out of it. “Listen to me!”
“You’re like the Mad Hatter, Johnny,” said Mary, giggling.
“Listen, all of you!” said Johnny loudly. “The sea makes you mad because it doesn’t belong to anybody. It’s free.”
Bill hadn’t spoken, he was busy eating, and Freddie, too, was silent; she kept turning her head and looking up the path.
“Are you expecting more people to come?” asked Andrew.
“Yes, I was . . . but it doesn’t matter. I expect they’ve been delayed.”
(I knew who was “expected” by Freddie and hoped he had found a more amusing entertainment than a picnic on the shore.)
The others were still discussing sea-madness and various ingenious theories had been offered.
“I know why the sea makes me mad,” declared Peter. “It makes me forget that I’m grown-up.”
“You aren’t grown-up,” David told him.
“Yes, I am!”
“No, you’re not. You’re only sixteen. Anyhow people aren’t grown-up till they’ve passed their driving test,” declared the “grown-up” David, giving him a brotherly shove which took him by surprise and sent him over backwards on to the soft dry sand.
“Oh David, you beast! Look what you’ve done! My sandwich is all covered with sand!”
“Throw it away and have another,” suggested Charles, laughing.
“Sandwiches,” said Johnny, thoughtfully. “They ought to be made of sand.”
“They ought to be made by witches,” suggested Mary.
“It isn’t sand-witch,” explained Harry. “It was a man called Lord Sandwich who invented them because he was keen on gambling.”
“I don’t see the connection,” mumbled Bill, helping himself to a meringue from a plate conveniently near.
“He couldn’t stop gambling long enough to have a proper meal . . . just the opposite of you,” added Harry.
“The opposite of me?” asked Bill, in perplexity.
“You can’t stop eating long enough to have a proper gambol,” explained his brother kindly.
Howls of laughter greeted this subtle jest.
They went on talking, sometimes quietly to their neighbours but more often loudly and all at once. Charles and I listened and put a word in now and then to keep the ball rolling.
“Teenager” is a horrible word—and much of a derogatory nature has been said about “the modern teenager”—but these young creatures were friendly and pleasant and amusing and good to look at. I decided that I liked them immensely; they were happy; they were enjoying the food I had provided for them. When Peter looked up at me and said, “This chocolate cake is gorgeous, Mrs Reede. I expect you made it yourself,” I could have kissed him!
“Let’s bathe after tea,” suggested Andrew. “I want to swim out to that flat rock with the brown seaweed on the top of it. I’ll race you, Johnny.”
“Not immediately after tea,” said Charles firmly.
“Why not, sir?”
“You’d get cramp and drown,” explained Beric (the doctor’s son). “That’s why, isn’t it, Mr Reede?”
“I’ve often bathed after tea,” objected Johnny.
“Well, we won’t risk it,” said Charles, smiling. “If somebody gets cramp I shall have to rescue him and the water is much too cold for an old man like me. Freddie has brought a ball so you could play a game, couldn’t you?”
“Rounders,” suggested Harry.
The suggestion was well received and, as everybody except Bill had had enough to eat, they rose with one accord.
“Come on, Mr Reede,” said Johnny. “It’ll be more fun if you come and play.”
There was a chorus of assent.
“Come on, Mr Reede!”
“I’ve just told you I’m an old man,” objected Charles.
“Do come!”
“Oh, that’s rot!”
“Come on, sir!”
Several of the boys took hold of him and tried to drag him from his recumbent position on the rug but Charles only laughed and fought them off and sent them sprawling.
“Did you say ‘old man’?” asked Peter, picking himself up and rubbing his shoulder.
The others had given up the struggle and had gone down to the hard sand with the ball and cricket stumps to mark out the circle, but Peter lingered. “You’re awfully strong, sir,” he said admiringly.
“It’s science, not strength.”
“Where did you learn?”
“I learnt in a German prison camp.”
“Oh, that must have been . . . beastly!”
“It was utterly beastly.”
“Did you escape, sir?”
“Yes, I escaped . . . but there’s no time now to tell you about it, Peter. The others are waiting for you.”
Peter went reluctantly.
“That’s a nice child,” said Charles.
“Yes, he’s a dear . . . but they’re all nice.”
“Even Bill, the glutton, has his points,” agreed Charles. “He laughed heartily at the joke
against himself. What’s the matter with Freddie? She’s unusually silent.”
“She was quiet at tea,” I agreed.
“There were thirteen of us,” said Charles.
“Were there? I didn’t count. Are you superstitious about it?”
“Not really . . . besides we weren’t sitting round a table. I just thought Freddie expected more people to come.”
I smiled and replied, “It’s just as well nobody else came. I thought I had catered for twenty but there isn’t much left.”
“It was a marvellous spread,” Charles declared.
*
Charles sat up, and, together, we watched the game. Freddie was batting; she hit the ball with all her might and started to run . . .
There were encouraging shouts:
“Well hit!”
“Go it, Freddie!”
“Run, run! You’ll make it!”
She made the rounder and fell exhausted at the post.
Beric picked her up; Peter was thumping her on the back; some of them were jumping up and down with excitement.
“Freddie seems all right now,” said Charles smiling. He added, “They’re enjoying themselves, aren’t they? Does it make you wish you were fifteen, Sarah?”
“No,” I said. My wish was quite different (it had struck me like a sword in my heart so that for a few moments I could scarcely breathe). I wished—oh, how I wished!—that I had been able to give Charles a son. It wasn’t the first time—nor the hundredth time—that I had wished it. Gradually I had settled down, accepting the inevitable and teaching myself to be grateful for my blessings, which were many, but today the pain had been revived. It was seeing Charles with the boys, so good with them, so happy and popular . . .
I couldn’t watch the game any longer so I rose and began to collect the empty cups and plates. I was putting out glasses and Thermos jugs of chilled lemonade when Shane came down the path.
“Hallo, Shane! You’re very late!” exclaimed Charles in surprise.
“I couldn’t help it, sir,” replied Shane. He turned to me and added, “I’m sorry, Mrs Reede. I got held up with a loose connection and by the time I had discovered the trouble I was so dirty that I had to change.”
“What a pity!” I said tepidly.
“You’d like tea,” suggested Charles. “We can boil up the kettle.”
“Please don’t bother, sir!” replied Shane, sitting down and stretching out his long shapely legs.
“Well, perhaps you’d like some lemonade?”
“That sounds good! I’m a bit hot and flustered.”
He looked cool and composed, and as usual extremely decorative, in pale-grey slacks and a lemon-coloured Aertex shirt.
I poured out a glass of lemonade and handed it to him.
Charles smiled and said, “Sorry we have nothing stronger, this is a children’s party, you know.”
“This suits me—it’s delicious! Made with fresh lemons, Mrs Reede?”
“Yes,” I said. It was beyond my powers to be friendly and pleasant to Shane Vidal.
“Perhaps you’d like to join in the game?” suggested Charles.
“No, thank you, sir. Ball games have never appealed to me and as a matter of fact I’m a little tired. I came up from London in my small car. I started very early; if it hadn’t been for that tiresome delay I should have been here more than an hour ago.”
“Have you had lunch?” asked Charles.
“No, but it doesn’t matter, sir.”
There was not much left of the provisions but I gave him what there was: a few sandwiches and scones and some chocolate biscuits.
All this time the game was going on and the players were so interested and excited that not one of them glanced in our direction.
When Shane had finished the food he thanked me politely and strolled down the beach. “Hallo, everybody!” he said.
“Hallo, here’s Shane!”
“Hallo, Shane!”
Freddie ran to him. “Oh Shane, how lovely! I was afraid you weren’t coming!”
The game ceased. An admiring group, mostly female, gathered round the newcomer.
Harry called out, “Come on, you chaps! Let’s get on with the game!” . . . but his cries fell on deaf ears.
Beric and Johnny and Andrew ignored Shane completely and, after hanging about for a few minutes, began to throw the ball to each other in a half-hearted manner.
“Look, Charles!” I exclaimed.
“I’m looking. It’s a cat among the pigeons.”
“You said he was harmless.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Can’t you do something about it? He’s spoiling everything.”
“What do you suggest? I can tackle a crowd of youngsters in fun and topple them over on to the sand, but this isn’t fun, you know. The cat is dangerous and I have a feeling that he’s an athlete. The cat might topple me on to the sand, which wouldn’t look so good. There’s something about his build——”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that!”
“Did you mean I was to tackle him with soft words?”
I didn’t know what I meant; I was desperate.
There was inaudible talk and subdued laughter amongst the group surrounding Shane.
Suddenly he waved them back. “I’ll show you!” he cried.
He ran a few steps and performed a series of Catherine wheels, going over and over and over. It was an elegant and graceful performance; I wasn’t surprised when cries of admiration ensued.
“Do it again!” cried Freddie, clapping her hands.
He did it again. Then he and Freddie sauntered down to the edge of the sea. Celia ran after them and all three walked along the shore to the rocks at the far end of the bay. Shane rolled up the legs of his trousers, splashed through a deep pool and climbed, cat-like, on to a rocky ledge in the cliff. Freddie followed. She wasn’t tall enough to reach the ledge but Shane bent and swung her up beside him. They found a sheltered corner and sat down together.
Celia was left, standing on the shore.
The party had broken up into little groups: David and Peter were sitting together on the dry sand, Celia wandered back and flung herself down beside them; Helen and Mary were collecting shells. Johnny and Andrew plunged into the sea and raced each other to the flat rock, followed more slowly by Harry. They sat there for a few minutes and then swam back and disappeared into the woods to dress.
Freddie and Shane continued to sit on the ledge, they were like a pair of exotic birds with gaily-coloured plumage.
Beric and Bill came and sat beside us and between them they finished the lemonade. Both were silent: Bill because he was silent by nature; Beric because he was cross.
*
David and Peter and Celia were the first to say good-bye.
“Thank you so much, Mrs Reede,” said David. “This is a lovely place for a picnic. We’ve enjoyed it immensely.” He looked round and added, “Is there anyone who would like a lift? Grandfather lent us his car this afternoon so that we could bring the Raeworths but we could easily fit in a few more.”
“Could you take me?” asked Beric. “You could drop me at the crossroads; I can walk home from there.”
“I’ll take you,” offered Johnny.
They all said good-bye and “thank you for a lovely party” and walked off into the woods, still arguing about who was to take whom.
“The Admiral’s Daimler will be overloaded,” remarked Charles with a smile.
The fate of the Admiral’s Daimler didn’t interest me. “What are we to do?” I asked anxiously. “They look as if they intended to sit there all night!”
“Are you tired, Sarah?”
“Yes,” I said. I was absolutely exhausted.
Charles stood up and shouted and beckoned to them to come . . . and, after a slight delay, they climbed down from their perch, splashed through the water and came slowly and sedately up the beach.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Charles and I had decide
d to say nothing to Freddie about her behaviour (we were too tired to start an argument) so, after we had said good-bye to Shane, we drove home in almost complete silence. There was very little conversation at dinner and we all went to bed early.
The next morning was fine and sunny; we met at breakfast as usual.
“What’s happening today?” asked Charles.
“Nothing in the morning,” I replied. “Freddie and I are going to tea at Timperton in the afternoon.”
“Not me,” said Freddie. “I mean I can’t go today. Shane said he would take me to Edinburgh in his car.”
“Oh, Freddie, you can’t do that!” I exclaimed.
“Mrs Dunne won’t mind——”
“You can’t go to Edinburgh with Shane.”
“But I want to, Aunt Sarah!”
“You can’t, Freddie.”
“Why not? I went to Dumfries with Beric, so why——”
“That was quite different. We’ve known Beric for years.”
“Why are you so horrid about Shane?” demanded Freddie angrily. “Shane said you weren’t a bit nice to him when he arrived. He came all the way from London—because he had promised and he didn’t want to disappoint me on my birthday—and he brought me a little brooch.”
“We don’t know anything about him,” I said.
“What do you mean? I know him—and I like him—and I’m going to Edinburgh with him. We shall have lunch together and go to the pictures.”
“No, Freddie, you can’t!” I was beginning to be alarmed; Charles hadn’t said a word! Why didn’t he back me up?
“I shall!” cried Freddie. “Shane asked me—and I said I would go—so I’m going! I don’t care——”
“Freddie, listen to me!”
“I won’t listen!” she cried furiously. “I don’t care what you say. You’re old-fashioned and silly. It will be fun to go with Shane. I said I’d go . . . and I’m going!” Her face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling with rage. Suddenly I was reminded of another “scene” which had taken place long ago! (Indeed, at this moment, she looked exactly like the small Freddie who had wanted a baby owl and was going to get it out of the nest and take it home—no matter what I said!) The recollection was so vivid that I was startled into silence.
Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2) Page 27