Gilbert’s father was still holding her hand. Perhaps that was why he understood. His grasp tightened. “Gilbert!” he exclaimed. “Not our Gilbert!”

  “I didn’t know,” continued Dinah. “I never heard your name. I never thought for a moment—how could I? It wasn’t until I saw the photograph . . .”

  36

  Afterwards when Dinah looked back at that Sunday evening it seemed odd to her that Gilbert’s father had understood the whole affair so quickly and accepted it so naturally. She wondered whether he was upset below the surface—as she was—and had concealed his real feelings or whether he was really as calm as he seemed. Mr. Savage was old; he had suffered many things and suffered them in silence, perhaps this had helped to make him a stoic. Dinah did not think all this at the time. She was too dazed. It was all a sort of dream. He had sat beside her on the sofa, not talking much, until Dan came home and then he had got up and gone downstairs to talk to Dan.

  They talked for a long time. Dinah could hear the murmur of their voices through the open window. She wondered what they were saying for it seemed to her there was nothing much to say.

  Presently the Andersons came home with the children, they disappeared into the house and there was more talk . . . but still Dinah sat on and did not move. What would the children say? How could one explain? What would Nannie think of it all? Dinah felt utterly unable to cope with the situation so it was no use trying.

  Presently the door opened and Dan came in. “Are you all right?” he inquired, looking at her anxiously.

  “Yes,” said Dinah. “I’m all right, but I can’t—I mean I don’t know what to do.”

  “There’s nothing to be done,” said Dan, sitting down and taking her hand. “Everything’s fixed up. Nannie is putting the children to bed so you don’t need to worry.”

  “What did he say?” asked Dinah.

  “He told me the whole thing. Don’t worry about it, Di.”

  “And the children?”

  “Nannie will tell them in the morning.”

  She sighed. “I can’t—think of it properly,” she said.

  “I know,” agreed Dan. “It’s a bit of a shock for you—but a nice shock. He’s a dear. isn’t he? He wants to make everything easy and pleasant—no fuss, he said—then he said he was very fond of you and went home.”

  Dinah smiled a trifle wanly. “He’s pleased?”

  “Of course, he’s pleased. You know that already. Mrs. Savage will be pleased too.”

  “Did he say so?”

  Dan nodded. “Yes, he said so.”

  “But Dan, you were talking to him for ages. What else did he say?”

  Dan told her . . . but of course Dinah had known it all before, she had heard about it from Pat and the story was the same in every detail.

  “Gilbert deceived me about it,” said Dinah. “I never knew he was engaged to that girl.”

  “I was sure of it at the time,” Dan told her. “And if you could forgive him for deceiving you about his leave you can forgive him for this quite easily.”

  Dinah hesitated. It seemed to her almost worse. What misery he had caused his parents—and all for no object! Why couldn’t he have explained?

  “Don’t think about it,” urged Dan. “Try to take the whole thing in your stride. It all happened so long ago, didn’t it?”

  “But Dan—”

  “And it makes no difference to our plans,” continued Dan earnestly. “We still go on looking for a house in Edinburgh, don’t we?”

  “Of course,” agreed Dinah, smiling at him.

  “Well, then,” said Dan giving her hand a little squeeze. “If it makes no difference to our plans what’s all the fuss about?”

  “It makes a difference to my inside feelings. We were so comfortable before. I hate the idea of meeting them—what on earth can I say?”

  “Say nothing. They won’t want to talk about it any more than you do.”

  “And the children!” said Dinah. “How can I explain it to them? I just feel I can’t cope with it.”

  “I’ll cope with the children,” promised Dan.

  Dan had intended to go back to Edinburgh that night but he rang up Mr. Cray and obtained permission to be late at the office the following morning. He spent some time trying to decide what to say to the children, how to explain the matter to them, and exactly how much to explain; but he need not have worried for Nannie had told them the news while they were dressing and being a placid, matter-of-fact person she had told them in a placid, matter-of-fact way. They were not even very surprised about it.

  Dinah had dreaded breakfast-time. She was sure they would ask scores of unanswerable questions, but they asked none.

  “I think it’s nice,” said Polly as she sat down and began to eat her porridge. “I like Mr. Monk awfully. He understands things.”

  Mark and Nigel were equally calm. They discussed the matter for a few minutes and then abandoned the topic in favour of their day’s plans. The Barringtons had arranged to have rounders on the sands and the point was should they bathe first or wait until after the game was over.

  “You see!” said Dan, as Dinah went out to see him off in his car. “You see, Di, you needn’t have worried about the children, and it will be just as easy with the Monks—I mean the Savages, of course.”

  Dan was right. The old people did not want to talk about Gilbert. They could not talk about him with pleasure or profit so it was better to avoid the subject and talk of other things. Meeting Mr. Savage on the sands Dinah discovered that his attitude towards her was almost unchanged. They had been friends before and they were still friends. He greeted her with his usual kindness and asked how she had slept.

  “Chocky-bick,” said Margy hopefully.

  Mr. Savage had not forgotten. He produced the usual little paper-bag and handed it to his grand-daughter.

  “You shouldn’t,” objected Dinah. “Not every day. It’s making her greedy—or perhaps I should say greedier! The moment she sees you she thinks of a chocolate biscuit.”

  Mr. Savage chuckled. He said, “There are many worse things with which she might connect me.”

  “But really—” began Dinah.

  “I know, I know,” agreed Mr. Savage. “But it is so nice to see people happy.”

  There was no doubt about Margy’s happiness. She had taken the biscuit out of the bag and was munching with quiet enjoyment.

  “Happiness personified.” remarked Mr. Savage, watching her.

  Dinah was obliged to smile.

  “Yes,” he continued nodding. “Yes, Margy is a sensible person, she knows exactly what she likes. The pleasures of the table are the first pleasures to be enjoyed and the last to pall. Very few people are too young and nobody is too old to enjoy good food . . .” and he proceeded to enlarge upon this theme in his usual amusing manner.

  Mrs. Savage’s reaction was different. She had no wish to rake up the past, but was exceedingly anxious to discuss the future. She wanted Dinah to bring the children to Harrogate for Christmas, (Linden Hall was amply large enough to accommodate the whole family.) They would have a Christmas tree: the children would hang up their stockings; Dinah would let her know beforehand what each child wanted so that they would not be disappointed with their presents. She would write to her sister who lived in South Africa and ask her to send sweets.

  “You’ll spoil them,” Dinah told her.

  “No, dear,” said Mrs. Savage earnestly. “No. we won’t do that. Jack says we mustn’t spoil them; but it wouldn’t spoil them to have a little fun at Christmas, would it? I wonder if we could get a Punch and Judy show or would they like a conjurer better? You will come, won’t you, dear? It would be such a very great pleasure to Jack and me.”

  “Of course we’ll come,” Dinah said. It was something to be able to do this for them. She would have done a good deal to make up for all they had endured. “If you’re sure you want us,” said Dinah, smiling at the old lady. “If you’re sure it won’t be too much for you . . .”

  Mrs. Savage was quite sure. Her thoughts flowed on; perhaps Dinah would like Harrogate (it really was a delightful place and so healthy for children), perhaps she would like Harrogate so much that she might think of settling down and living there. Mrs. Savage felt certain they could find a house that would suit Dinah admirably.

  Dinah was touched, “It’s very sweet of you,” she said, “but Dan and I are going to live in Edinburgh.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” said Mrs. Savage. “You’ll come for Christmas, anyhow. I can’t help thinking you would like Harrogate and there is a splendid school for Polly. The boys must go to Eton, of course. Jack, you must write at once and—”

  “Only if their mother approves,” said Mr. Savage, interrupting her in a manner which was unusual if not unprecedented. “If their mother would like them to go to Eton well and good; but, remember Mary, we decided we had no right to interfere.”

  “Perhaps we could ask Dan,” murmured Dinah who was feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all this.

  “An excellent plan,” agreed Mr. Savage promptly.

  37

  The flower show had always been a “very special” occasion in Seatown; it had paled in glory during the war years, but this year—so Nannie declared—it would be as good as ever.

  “You should go, Dinah,” said Nannie persuasively. “It would be a nice jaunt for you and Polly—wee girls like flowers. The others will be happier at home.”

  Dinah did not want to go (she was still feeling all adrift) but when Nannie got it into her head that it would be “nice” for you to do this or that or the other, it was easier to do it than to argue.

  “They’re having it at King’s Lodge,” added Nannie. “You’ll remember the place, Dinah?”

  Of course Dinah remembered it. When she was a child the house (which belonged to the laird) had been occupied by Sir William and Lady Hart who had a large family of boys, and the Dees had sometimes gone to tea with them; but it was too big for any modern family so it was empty now, and the laird had given the garden and the park to the town. It was a very old house, parts of it were even older than the cottages at the harbour, and it was said in Seatown that it got its name from a visit paid to it by James IV before the battle of Flodden. The Dees had been tremendously interested in this legend and had done their best to substantiate it. but unfortunately the deeper they delved into the affairs of the misguided monarch the more improbable it seemed that he had graced the neighbourhood with his presence on the occasion in question.

  King’s Lodge was situated in the midst of the town (the town had grown up round it). A wide street shaded by fine old trees led inland from the harbour, and, walking down the street, one saw in front of one the great gates with their stone gate-posts and the gravel sweep, and the old white house, sleeping in the sunshine. It was a sprawling house with steps leading up and down in unexpected places, and a grey slate roof which sloped this way and that at a dozen different levels. The windows were of all sizes and shapes, most of them mullioned and with small diamond-panes of wavy glass. The garden was at the back and could be entered by a stone passage which ran through the centre of the house. It was in this passage that the Hart children had played when it rained: they had evolved a sort of fives with a tennis ball and exceedingly complicated rules—rules which, Dinah remembered, had often led to war.

  Dinah and Polly approached the house in silence. Dinah’s mind was full of memories and Polly was so interested in all she saw that for once she was speechless. Polly was feeling very grown-up to-day. The children had been left at home, but she, Polly, was old enough to go to the flower show with Mummy—Mummy all dressed in her best, wearing a black-and-white frock and a black straw hat with a little cluster of pink roses under the brim. You would never have known it was an old hat which Mummy had taken to pieces and arranged in a different way, unless, like Polly, you had seen her doing it.

  She looked awfully nice, Polly thought . . . and Polly was aware that she, too, looked nice. Nannie had washed and ironed her pink cotton frock so that it felt just like a new one.

  Coming out into the garden from the dim passage was like coming into fairyland. The golden sunshine shone down upon the green lawns and the fine old trees. Surrounding the lawns was a high hedge of rhododendron bushes; they had finished flowering of course, but their dark foliage made a perfect background for the stalls with their masses of flowers and fruit and vegetables, and for the gaily-coloured dresses of the company.

  “Oh,” whispered Polly, standing quite still.

  Dinah smiled down at her. It was good that Polly appreciated the beauty of the scene. Dinah had not wanted to come, but she was beginning to feel glad she had given in to Nannie’s persuasions. They walked along together, admiring the exhibits and looking at the people. Dinah had hoped to see the two Miss Stevens, or failing them, the Craddocks, but for a time she saw nobody she knew. The people of Seatown had changed a lot in the last ten years and not many of the old residents were left. Presently, however, she caught sight of Mrs. Cunningham and made her way towards her through the crowd. Dinah had always admired Mrs. Cunningham and thought her beautiful beyond compare, so it was a shock to discover she was no longer beautiful. Ten years had changed Mrs. Cunningham from a slim and beautiful woman into a woman who was fat, middle-aged and somewhat dowdy.

  Mrs. Cunningham did not remember Dinah at first, but when Dinah went up and spoke to her she was interested and cordial. “Of course,” she said. “I’m so glad you introduced yourself. It’s always nice to see old friends. How is Dan?”

  Dinah had been afraid she would ask after Gilbert but she didn’t, so it was obvious that she knew. “Dan is in tremendous form,” replied his sister.

  “These are our sweet peas. Second prize,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “I grew them myself so I’m very proud of them, Lady Armstrong got the first prize—she always does. She and Edith have come down from Edinburgh for the day. They’ve taken a flat in Edinburgh, you know.”

  “Yes,” said Dinah nodding.

  “Fancy leaving Abbot’s End,” exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham.

  “Your sweet peas are lovely.” declared Polly, to whom shyness was an unknown sensation. “They’re so big and so frilly. They’re like my frock, aren’t they—newly ironed? I think they’re the best of all the sweet peas in the show.”

  “Dear little girl,” said Mrs. Cunningham who agreed profoundly with Polly’s verdict. “Have you any other children, Dinah?”

  “Lots,” replied Dinah smiling. “Two boys and a girl.”

  “They’re just babies,” said Polly grandly. “Much too young to go to Flower Shows.”

  Mrs. Cunningham was pleased with Dinah and Polly. She took them under her wing and introduced them to her friends. Dinah had become a really beautiful young woman—it was amazing what a difference ten years could make—and little Polly was charming. Yes, Dinah was delightful. Everybody was looking at her and wondering who she was.

  Mrs. Cunningham’s own son was no exception to the rule. He was home on leave and had been dragged to the Flower Show much against his will . . . but now . . . who on earth was she? Where on earth had Mother got hold of her? Tom Cunningham emerged from his lair in the shade and placed himself in a strategic position.

  “Oh—Tom!” exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham. “There you are! I couldn’t think where you had gone. You’re too late to see the judging, I’m afraid.”

  “Good heavens, what a nuisance!” said Tom with feigned dismay. “Why didn’t you shout for me? I wouldn’t have missed the judging for anything.”

  “This is my son, Tom,” said his mother. “You remember Mrs. Savage, don’t you, Tom? Dr. Bell’s daughter.”

  “Goodness—if it isn’t Dinner-Bell!” exclaimed Tom, grinning and holding out his hand. “Come and eat an ice-cream for the sake of auld lang syne.”

  “They’re coming to look at the marrows,” objected Mrs. Cunningham.

  “Oh, Mother, who wants to look at marrows? If you’ve seen one you’ve seen the lot. They’re all the same shape—”

  “We’re showing some very fine ones,” urged Mrs. Cunningham, who felt it would be much better if Dinah came with her and looked at the marrows. She had seen that glint in Tom’s eyes before and knew exactly what it meant . . . poor Tom was so susceptible and Dinah was so pretty. What a pity she had four children! Four! “I really think you should see the marrows, Dinah,” said Mrs. Cunningham earnestly.

  “Mother!” exclaimed Tom. “You don’t realise the significance of this meeting. It simply must be celebrated properly. Dinner-Bell and I ran about the braes and pulled gowans together.”

  “We’ll do both,” said Dinah smiling. “We’ll go and look at the marrows and then have ice-cream.”

  It was fun to see Tom again after all these years; she remembered him as a round-faced boy with freckles and sticking-out ears; now he was a good-looking young man—though unfortunately his ears still stuck out. That was his mother’s fault, thought Dinah as she admired the marrows and endeavoured to guess their weight. Mark’s ears had been inclined to stick out but she had made him a little net cap to wear at night and they were perfectly flat now. Was it too late to do anything about Tom’s, wondered Dinah.

  Having done her duty by the marrows, Dinah allowed herself to be taken in tow by Tom and presently found herself sitting in a shady corner of the garden. Tom was doing his best to entertain her and succeeding fairly well; she found his admiration pleasant and soothing. Polly was there too, of course, sitting on a rug and eating ice-cream at Tom’s expense. Tom didn’t mind how many she ate (“as many as you like,” he told her) for as long as Polly sat there and ate ice-cream so long would Dinah sit and talk to Tom, and Tom’s idea of bliss was to sit in the shade and talk to a pretty woman. Mrs. Cunningham, standing beside her runner-beans, was not so happy and presently she called Tom and beckoned him to come and help her to move a large box.

  “Bother!” exclaimed her unnatural son. “Mother wants me to move that box. I’ve moved it twice already. I’ll be back in a minute, Dinah.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32