Summer Pudding, page 16
“You go up to bed, old thing. You’re in a bit of a state. We’ll have a talk about all this some other time.”
Gladys went up to her room. She did not light a candle so that she could draw back the curtains. She leant out. The wind suited her mood and gradually her emotion died. “He didn’t say he didn’t love me,” she comforted herself, “and at least now he knows. Is it awful what I’m going to do? It can’t be; nothing’s wrong when you love. He’s all my life and I’ve got to fight for him. He said he’d talk about it some other time. Saturday is my chance and I’ve got to take it.”
Donald spent a sleepless night. There was more work the next day than his man could do, and he made this his excuse and lunched off bread and cheese in the fields. After tea he managed to slip down to the village to ask the advice of the shrewdest and most honest man he knew.
“Hullo, Donald!” said the colonel. “Fancy seem’ you! Barbara’s goin’ to ring you up tonight. Young Dick’s comin’ home. Had you heard?”
“No, he said nothing about it in his last letter, but he said he’d had that go of malaria. Is it sick leave?” The colonel nodded. “That’s good. I could do with a sight of his old mug.” He drew up a chair and filled his pipe. “Barbara in?”
“No, exercisin’ Hoover. I’ll have the hide off that dog one day. He’s smashed a delphinium. Nearly took a gun to him. Barbara’s taken him out while my temper wears off.”
“I rather wanted some advice. When you were younger, sir, did you ever . . . well, I mean, did a lady ever get fonder of you than you were able to be of her?”
“Pretended they did, anyway. A woman’s always got to have somebody poodlin’ after her. In India the weather’s too hot, and the women haven’t enough to do. Makes for a lot of trouble.”
“But this is a busy woman, very busy, working all day and all night. The devil of it is she’s been so damned good to me. I suppose I’ve been a blind fool.”
“Gladys Batten. Do you mean to say you didn’t know she was in love with you? Why, the whole village has been havin’ bets on whether she’d bring it off.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me? Did Dick know?”
The colonel chuckled.
“Dick’s language about her wasn’t at all parliamentary. Doesn’t fancy her in the family.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Not the sort of thing you talk about unless you’re asked. She said somethin’?”
“Yes. I feel the most damnable cad.”
“Poor girl!”
“The thing is, what’s the kindest thing I can do? She can’t stop on in the house.”
“Awkward managing without her.”
“That’s beside the point. It’s her that I’m thinking of. Mrs. Honeywell will manage until I get somebody.”
The colonel raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, you’ll get somebody else?” Mincing, stout and grey-haired, plodded across the lawn with a glass of milk on a tray. “Put that damn poison down and bring out the whisky and a siphon for Mr. Sheldon. Miller out?”
“Yes, sir. She and Jennings have gone to the wedding.”
“’Course. Sent up a couple of bottles of port for it. They’ll come back rollin’, shouldn’t wonder.”
Donald laughed.
“That’s a good picture. I sent beer, a cheque, and my daughter as a spectator.”
The colonel gave a disgusted look at his milk.
“Better give yourself a drink, Mincin’. Don’t want to be out of things.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mincing turned to Donald. “Two fingers, sir?”
The colonel sat up.
“Now, none of that. You bring out the decanter.”
“Not me, sir. I’m not having your death on my hands. As soon as my back’s turned you’ll have given the milk to that Hoover and yourself a whisky. I know you.”
“You bully of a woman, you do what you’re told.” Mincing shook her head.
“You can’t talk me into it. It’s been queer round the house lately, terrible lot of the people about.”
“I’ve heard ’em, but that’s got nothin’ to do with me and whisky.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always noticed that when there’s a lot of them around it means changes.”
“Certainly be a change if I get a whisky.”
Mincing paid no attention to the interruption.
“Not good changes either. There was a lot about when Jennings’ mother was taken.”
“She’d been bed-ridden for years; it was a blessin’.”
“And they were about when Mr. Dick got orders to go abroad.”
“Well, he’s comin’ back all right. You’re a ghoul, Mincin’.”
“That’s as maybe, sir, but I can read a warning as well as the next, and I’m not risking seeing your coffin come in at the door.”
“Get along with you, coffin indeed!”
Mincing turned back to Donald.
“Two fingers, sir?”
“Three,” said the colonel. “He needs a drink.” He looked thoughtfully at Mincing’s retreating back. “She’s right, you know. Barbara laughs at us and says we imagine our spooks, as she calls them, but there are a lot around just now, and it does mean somethin’. Seem sensitive to change. Maybe it’s Dick comin’ home.” He sighed. “Well, if he and Barbara want to make a match of it, God bless ’em; but I shall miss her.”
Mincing brought out the whisky in a tumbler, and a siphon. She put them on the colonel’s table, but she put the glass within reach of Donald’s hand.
“I can trust you, sir.”
Donald nodded. He poured soda into his glass.
“You can. I want the drink too badly to give it away.”
The colonel watched him gloomily.
“Some people have all the luck. Now then, about this bit of bother of yours. Seems to me the only thing to do is to make a clean break.”
“I can’t. I’m a coward.”
“Rubbish! ’Course the best plan would be to get somebody to make her a temptin’ offer, that would save her face. Women like their faces saved. Lot of truth in that sayin’ about a woman scorned.”
“How can I get anyone to offer her a job?”
“Difficult. Pity we can’t get Barbara to help, but we can’t. Never talk about one woman to another, cad’s trick. They don’t mean to let the victim know they’ve heard anythin’, but they can’t help it. It’s all over their faces.” He sipped his milk. “Filthy stuff! I’ve got it! Old Poppy Broadstairs!”
“Mr. Broadstairs at the school?”
“That’s right. It’s just come to me that when he was in seein’ me last week he told me he was wantin’ a lady to run damn near everything in his school. Difficult for a headmaster of a big boys’ school when he’s a bachelor. Never the marryin’ sort. Married to cricket we always said. Beautiful wicket-keep.”
“But I hardly know him.”
“You leave it to me. He’ll lunch with you next Sunday. Miss Batten’s just what he’s lookin’ for. I’ll do him and you a good turn all with one stone.”
Barbara came out of the house. Her face was radiant. She started to run at sight of Donald.
“Have you heard?”
“Yes. I’d know from your face, anyway.”
He got up.
“When are we expecting him?”
“Any time. He’d left when the cable was sent off.” She walked beside Donald up the street. She spoke in a kind of gasp. “I’m almost too happy to be true. I ought really to have gone to the wedding this afternoon, but I had to be alone. Do you know that feeling?”
He slipped his arm through hers.
“I hope you’re going to marry him.”
“So do I, but I couldn’t leave Daddy while he’s stuck in a chair half the day, he’d be so lonely.”
“If Dick’s stationed over here you could divide your time.”
“No. I’d mean to, but if it was possible to be all the time with Dick I’d be with him. I expect we’ll have to wait a little longer. As long as he’s home and safe and I can see him sometimes I can bear it.”
Donald kicked a stone out of his path.
“He’s a lucky blighter; it’s fine to fall in love with a girl who’s solid gold all through.”
“I’m not. You’re making my face red. Oh, look! Old Tom blind to the world.”
Donald laughed.
“My beer, your father’s port, and God knows what else.” Tom came rolling down the street. He had on a black suit, in his buttonhole was a large marguerite.
“Evenin’, Mr. Sheldon,” he roared. “Evenin’, Miss Haines. You ought’r have been at my grandson’s wedding. Beautiful. Miss Iris and Miss Brain were there. Miss Iris was wholly pleased with the cake.” He swayed and Donald steadied him.
“The happy couple gone off on their honeymoon?”
“That’s it!” Tom gave Donald a leer. “Reckon they’re gettin’ on all ri’. You know, Mis’er Sheldon, that’s what you ought to be doin’. Gettin’ married. That gir’s jus’ the one for you. Not her fancified baggage of a sister, she’s no good. No, it’s Miss Janet. That’s the gir’ for you.”
Donald gave the old man an affectionate pat on the arm.
“I dare say. Off you go now, and you be careful how much more you swallow or you’ll spend the night in a ditch.”
Barbara watched Tom roll away, then she turned shyly to Donald.
“It’s a good idea, you know. Now Janet is solid gold all through if ever anybody was.”
He stopped and played with one of Hoover’s ears.
“Is she, Barbara?”
Barbara’s voice rose at his question.
“Of course she is.”
He straightened his back. He seemed to be going to confide in her, then he changed his mind.
“I dare say I’m prejudiced, but there are certain faults I can’t stomach, especially in a woman.” He squeezed her arm. “Good night, my dear.”
She was in two minds about running after him. A feeling she might do more harm than good stopped her. She whistled to Hoover and turned homewards.
“Janet!” she marvelled. “What fault can he have found in Janet? What a pity, for in some ways I’m positive he’s fond of her.”
The day was chilly. Sheila came to the farm for her morning call looking like a chicken, with a yellow angora wool jersey over her linen frock. It was too cold at the window so she drew a chair up to the kitchen table.
“Thanks awfully for your note. What did the telegram say exactly?”
Gladys’ face was paler even than usual; there were black shadows under her eyes, her big mouth drooped at the corners. Her voice was listless.
“I’ve not seen it. Donald went down to see the colonel, and Barbara told him. It said he was on his way home, to be treated for that malaria.”
“Then he might be here any time?”
“Yes.”
Sheila looked at her.
“You look awful. Are you funking Saturday?”
Gladys was unwilling to confide in anyone. She was spending her time forcibly poking Sunday night’s scene into the background, and arguing with her conscience. She poured coffee and milk into two cups and added a minute quantity of sugar.
“Of course not. I’ve not been sleeping well, and then yesterday was awful, Mrs. Honeywell went to the wedding. So inconsiderate of people getting married on a Monday.”
Sheila did not trouble to answer. She could not conceive why Monday should be an inconvenient day, they were all alike to her. Instead she thought of herself.
“When he gets leave will he come straight here?”
Gladys finished her coffee and got up to get on with her cooking.
“I should think so, as he’s no office left, and as he’s been ill”
“How will he come?”
“I don’t know. Train, I suppose.”
Sheila’s face was full of calculation.
“You’ll have to find out, everything. I can’t. If it’s a train I shall go and meet him somewhere down the line, and get in the same carriage with him.” It struck her that if she wanted Gladys’ most vivid help she must take a little interest in her affairs. “Have you thought how you’re working Saturday?”
Gladys could not slide into shifty schemes with Sheila’s casualness. She could not, as Sheila did, see herself as though taking part in a film, in which any method was fair. She flushed.
“Well, after Iris is in bed—the sun sets so ridiculously late with this double summertime—I thought you might take Janet up to the spare room to look at the sunset . . .”
Sheila giggled.
“Janet would think that awfully queer, looking at sunsets isn’t a bit like me.”
“Well, I can’t think of anything else.”
Sheila swallowed the last of her coffee.
“Can’t it be something to do with Iris? I mean, can’t you fix the big kissing act under Iris’ window? If Janet stays to supper it would be natural for her to put Iris to bed, and I can easily go up to say good night to the kid or something; actually, I quite like her, and then I can see Janet looks out of the window.”
“But Iris might look out.”
“Well, if she did, there’s no harm in kissing. I always wonder why there’s such a fuss made about it. Anyway, if you’re going to be her stepmother she’ll have to get used to the idea.”
“Don’t you mind getting your sister to look?” Gladys asked curiously. “I mean, if she’s fond of him she’s going to mind.”
Sheila was surprised.
“Goodness, no! I never liked her awfully. I don’t see why one should like a person just because she’s one’s sister.” She got up. “Well, thanks a lot for the coffee.”
Outside in the yard she ran into Donald. He was busy, but he paused a second for a word, for she made him laugh.
“We can use you,” he teased her; “we want some extra hands for harvest.”
“Actually I shan’t be here much longer. I’m going to work for N.A.A.F.I.”
He grinned.
“That ought to popularize army life.”
Sheila was delighted.
“Everybody teases me. Is Janet being a good governess?”
He became slightly on the defensive.
“Very.”
“Actually you were very lucky to get her instead of me. Aren’t you beginning to think that?”
He turned away.
“You’re a minx, you’re trying to salve your conscience.”
“Oh, no, I’m not. You know people talk a lot about conscience, but I don’t remember ever feeling mine.”
He chuckled as he walked away.
“I shouldn’t wonder if that was true. Well, have a heart and don’t do too much slaughter amongst the troops.”
Iris sat on a chair beside Maggie’s sofa. She was hemming, her tongue held between her teeth, and her breath coming in anxious gasps. Maggie sat up and looked at the piece that was done.
“That’s much better. Now rest a bit.”
Iris relaxed thankfully.
“I’m not what you’d call a born needlewoman.”
“No. We can’t all have the same gifts.”
“I’m afraid Gladys is going to give me a work-basket for my birthday. I saw something that she put away in a hurry, and it was what it looked like.”
“You need a work-basket.”
“If everybody has to have one I do, because I haven’t got one, but if birthday presents are meant to be things people like to have, then it isn’t a good idea at all.”
“It’s nice of Gladys to think of you.”
“Do you know, I was ’traordinary surprised that she thought of having Janet to supper on my birthday night. I wasn’t so surprised about Sheila, but I was about Janet.”
“I expect it was your idea.”
“No, it wasn’t. She told me and Daddy she’d thought of it; it was specially s’prising because she doesn’t love Janet, not like me and Daddy do.”
Maggie’s eyes twinkled.
“Daddy and I,” she corrected. “I’m glad you’re fond of her. So am I.”
“Mothers are always fond of their children.” Iris’ voice was reproving. “It’s different for Daddy an’ me . . .”
Maggie heard Janet’s step. She laid her hand on Iris’ arm.
“Go on with your hemming, here’s Janet. I shall get into trouble if she finds we are not working.”
Janet had milk for Iris and Maggie.
“There’s a letter for Sheila,” she said. “It’s from N.A.A.F.I.” She put a table beside the sofa. “Sit up, dears. There are ginger-nuts this morning.”
Iris took her glass in both hands.
“Goody, goody!”
“That sounds like Sheila now,” said Maggie.
Sheila lounged in.
“Hullo, Iris! I hear your uncle’s coming home.”
Iris beamed.
“Yes. Last time he came we made a fire of bricks and mud and cooked soup.”
“Do you know when he’s coming?”
“No, but it’s soon. Perhaps in two weeks, Daddy thinks.” Janet took a letter out of her pocket.
“This has come for you, Sheila.”
Sheila took it and stared at the envelope. She turned a horrified face to her mother.
“It’s from N.A.A.F.I.”
Maggie smiled encouragingly.
“So I see. Don’t look so startled. You knew you’d hear soon.”
Sheila seemed a child again.
“I can’t go. Not now.”
Maggie was touched; she held out a hand.
“Come here, goose, let’s open it together.”
Sheila came unwillingly to the sofa, she handed the envelope to Maggie. She turned a pleading face to Janet.
“I can’t go.”
Janet put an arm round her.
“Don’t fuss; I expect it will be awful fun once you get used to it.”
“You’re travelling on Monday,” said Maggie. “They’ve sent you a ticket and all.”
Sheila had turned white.
“I can’t go.”
Maggie and Janet exchanged looks.
“Come on, darling, keep your chin up,” Janet urged, and gave Sheila’s shoulders a press.
This seemed to be the last straw. Sheila gulped and then sank on the floor, howling like a child.
Gladys went up to her room. She did not light a candle so that she could draw back the curtains. She leant out. The wind suited her mood and gradually her emotion died. “He didn’t say he didn’t love me,” she comforted herself, “and at least now he knows. Is it awful what I’m going to do? It can’t be; nothing’s wrong when you love. He’s all my life and I’ve got to fight for him. He said he’d talk about it some other time. Saturday is my chance and I’ve got to take it.”
Donald spent a sleepless night. There was more work the next day than his man could do, and he made this his excuse and lunched off bread and cheese in the fields. After tea he managed to slip down to the village to ask the advice of the shrewdest and most honest man he knew.
“Hullo, Donald!” said the colonel. “Fancy seem’ you! Barbara’s goin’ to ring you up tonight. Young Dick’s comin’ home. Had you heard?”
“No, he said nothing about it in his last letter, but he said he’d had that go of malaria. Is it sick leave?” The colonel nodded. “That’s good. I could do with a sight of his old mug.” He drew up a chair and filled his pipe. “Barbara in?”
“No, exercisin’ Hoover. I’ll have the hide off that dog one day. He’s smashed a delphinium. Nearly took a gun to him. Barbara’s taken him out while my temper wears off.”
“I rather wanted some advice. When you were younger, sir, did you ever . . . well, I mean, did a lady ever get fonder of you than you were able to be of her?”
“Pretended they did, anyway. A woman’s always got to have somebody poodlin’ after her. In India the weather’s too hot, and the women haven’t enough to do. Makes for a lot of trouble.”
“But this is a busy woman, very busy, working all day and all night. The devil of it is she’s been so damned good to me. I suppose I’ve been a blind fool.”
“Gladys Batten. Do you mean to say you didn’t know she was in love with you? Why, the whole village has been havin’ bets on whether she’d bring it off.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me? Did Dick know?”
The colonel chuckled.
“Dick’s language about her wasn’t at all parliamentary. Doesn’t fancy her in the family.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Not the sort of thing you talk about unless you’re asked. She said somethin’?”
“Yes. I feel the most damnable cad.”
“Poor girl!”
“The thing is, what’s the kindest thing I can do? She can’t stop on in the house.”
“Awkward managing without her.”
“That’s beside the point. It’s her that I’m thinking of. Mrs. Honeywell will manage until I get somebody.”
The colonel raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, you’ll get somebody else?” Mincing, stout and grey-haired, plodded across the lawn with a glass of milk on a tray. “Put that damn poison down and bring out the whisky and a siphon for Mr. Sheldon. Miller out?”
“Yes, sir. She and Jennings have gone to the wedding.”
“’Course. Sent up a couple of bottles of port for it. They’ll come back rollin’, shouldn’t wonder.”
Donald laughed.
“That’s a good picture. I sent beer, a cheque, and my daughter as a spectator.”
The colonel gave a disgusted look at his milk.
“Better give yourself a drink, Mincin’. Don’t want to be out of things.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mincing turned to Donald. “Two fingers, sir?”
The colonel sat up.
“Now, none of that. You bring out the decanter.”
“Not me, sir. I’m not having your death on my hands. As soon as my back’s turned you’ll have given the milk to that Hoover and yourself a whisky. I know you.”
“You bully of a woman, you do what you’re told.” Mincing shook her head.
“You can’t talk me into it. It’s been queer round the house lately, terrible lot of the people about.”
“I’ve heard ’em, but that’s got nothin’ to do with me and whisky.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always noticed that when there’s a lot of them around it means changes.”
“Certainly be a change if I get a whisky.”
Mincing paid no attention to the interruption.
“Not good changes either. There was a lot about when Jennings’ mother was taken.”
“She’d been bed-ridden for years; it was a blessin’.”
“And they were about when Mr. Dick got orders to go abroad.”
“Well, he’s comin’ back all right. You’re a ghoul, Mincin’.”
“That’s as maybe, sir, but I can read a warning as well as the next, and I’m not risking seeing your coffin come in at the door.”
“Get along with you, coffin indeed!”
Mincing turned back to Donald.
“Two fingers, sir?”
“Three,” said the colonel. “He needs a drink.” He looked thoughtfully at Mincing’s retreating back. “She’s right, you know. Barbara laughs at us and says we imagine our spooks, as she calls them, but there are a lot around just now, and it does mean somethin’. Seem sensitive to change. Maybe it’s Dick comin’ home.” He sighed. “Well, if he and Barbara want to make a match of it, God bless ’em; but I shall miss her.”
Mincing brought out the whisky in a tumbler, and a siphon. She put them on the colonel’s table, but she put the glass within reach of Donald’s hand.
“I can trust you, sir.”
Donald nodded. He poured soda into his glass.
“You can. I want the drink too badly to give it away.”
The colonel watched him gloomily.
“Some people have all the luck. Now then, about this bit of bother of yours. Seems to me the only thing to do is to make a clean break.”
“I can’t. I’m a coward.”
“Rubbish! ’Course the best plan would be to get somebody to make her a temptin’ offer, that would save her face. Women like their faces saved. Lot of truth in that sayin’ about a woman scorned.”
“How can I get anyone to offer her a job?”
“Difficult. Pity we can’t get Barbara to help, but we can’t. Never talk about one woman to another, cad’s trick. They don’t mean to let the victim know they’ve heard anythin’, but they can’t help it. It’s all over their faces.” He sipped his milk. “Filthy stuff! I’ve got it! Old Poppy Broadstairs!”
“Mr. Broadstairs at the school?”
“That’s right. It’s just come to me that when he was in seein’ me last week he told me he was wantin’ a lady to run damn near everything in his school. Difficult for a headmaster of a big boys’ school when he’s a bachelor. Never the marryin’ sort. Married to cricket we always said. Beautiful wicket-keep.”
“But I hardly know him.”
“You leave it to me. He’ll lunch with you next Sunday. Miss Batten’s just what he’s lookin’ for. I’ll do him and you a good turn all with one stone.”
Barbara came out of the house. Her face was radiant. She started to run at sight of Donald.
“Have you heard?”
“Yes. I’d know from your face, anyway.”
He got up.
“When are we expecting him?”
“Any time. He’d left when the cable was sent off.” She walked beside Donald up the street. She spoke in a kind of gasp. “I’m almost too happy to be true. I ought really to have gone to the wedding this afternoon, but I had to be alone. Do you know that feeling?”
He slipped his arm through hers.
“I hope you’re going to marry him.”
“So do I, but I couldn’t leave Daddy while he’s stuck in a chair half the day, he’d be so lonely.”
“If Dick’s stationed over here you could divide your time.”
“No. I’d mean to, but if it was possible to be all the time with Dick I’d be with him. I expect we’ll have to wait a little longer. As long as he’s home and safe and I can see him sometimes I can bear it.”
Donald kicked a stone out of his path.
“He’s a lucky blighter; it’s fine to fall in love with a girl who’s solid gold all through.”
“I’m not. You’re making my face red. Oh, look! Old Tom blind to the world.”
Donald laughed.
“My beer, your father’s port, and God knows what else.” Tom came rolling down the street. He had on a black suit, in his buttonhole was a large marguerite.
“Evenin’, Mr. Sheldon,” he roared. “Evenin’, Miss Haines. You ought’r have been at my grandson’s wedding. Beautiful. Miss Iris and Miss Brain were there. Miss Iris was wholly pleased with the cake.” He swayed and Donald steadied him.
“The happy couple gone off on their honeymoon?”
“That’s it!” Tom gave Donald a leer. “Reckon they’re gettin’ on all ri’. You know, Mis’er Sheldon, that’s what you ought to be doin’. Gettin’ married. That gir’s jus’ the one for you. Not her fancified baggage of a sister, she’s no good. No, it’s Miss Janet. That’s the gir’ for you.”
Donald gave the old man an affectionate pat on the arm.
“I dare say. Off you go now, and you be careful how much more you swallow or you’ll spend the night in a ditch.”
Barbara watched Tom roll away, then she turned shyly to Donald.
“It’s a good idea, you know. Now Janet is solid gold all through if ever anybody was.”
He stopped and played with one of Hoover’s ears.
“Is she, Barbara?”
Barbara’s voice rose at his question.
“Of course she is.”
He straightened his back. He seemed to be going to confide in her, then he changed his mind.
“I dare say I’m prejudiced, but there are certain faults I can’t stomach, especially in a woman.” He squeezed her arm. “Good night, my dear.”
She was in two minds about running after him. A feeling she might do more harm than good stopped her. She whistled to Hoover and turned homewards.
“Janet!” she marvelled. “What fault can he have found in Janet? What a pity, for in some ways I’m positive he’s fond of her.”
The day was chilly. Sheila came to the farm for her morning call looking like a chicken, with a yellow angora wool jersey over her linen frock. It was too cold at the window so she drew a chair up to the kitchen table.
“Thanks awfully for your note. What did the telegram say exactly?”
Gladys’ face was paler even than usual; there were black shadows under her eyes, her big mouth drooped at the corners. Her voice was listless.
“I’ve not seen it. Donald went down to see the colonel, and Barbara told him. It said he was on his way home, to be treated for that malaria.”
“Then he might be here any time?”
“Yes.”
Sheila looked at her.
“You look awful. Are you funking Saturday?”
Gladys was unwilling to confide in anyone. She was spending her time forcibly poking Sunday night’s scene into the background, and arguing with her conscience. She poured coffee and milk into two cups and added a minute quantity of sugar.
“Of course not. I’ve not been sleeping well, and then yesterday was awful, Mrs. Honeywell went to the wedding. So inconsiderate of people getting married on a Monday.”
Sheila did not trouble to answer. She could not conceive why Monday should be an inconvenient day, they were all alike to her. Instead she thought of herself.
“When he gets leave will he come straight here?”
Gladys finished her coffee and got up to get on with her cooking.
“I should think so, as he’s no office left, and as he’s been ill”
“How will he come?”
“I don’t know. Train, I suppose.”
Sheila’s face was full of calculation.
“You’ll have to find out, everything. I can’t. If it’s a train I shall go and meet him somewhere down the line, and get in the same carriage with him.” It struck her that if she wanted Gladys’ most vivid help she must take a little interest in her affairs. “Have you thought how you’re working Saturday?”
Gladys could not slide into shifty schemes with Sheila’s casualness. She could not, as Sheila did, see herself as though taking part in a film, in which any method was fair. She flushed.
“Well, after Iris is in bed—the sun sets so ridiculously late with this double summertime—I thought you might take Janet up to the spare room to look at the sunset . . .”
Sheila giggled.
“Janet would think that awfully queer, looking at sunsets isn’t a bit like me.”
“Well, I can’t think of anything else.”
Sheila swallowed the last of her coffee.
“Can’t it be something to do with Iris? I mean, can’t you fix the big kissing act under Iris’ window? If Janet stays to supper it would be natural for her to put Iris to bed, and I can easily go up to say good night to the kid or something; actually, I quite like her, and then I can see Janet looks out of the window.”
“But Iris might look out.”
“Well, if she did, there’s no harm in kissing. I always wonder why there’s such a fuss made about it. Anyway, if you’re going to be her stepmother she’ll have to get used to the idea.”
“Don’t you mind getting your sister to look?” Gladys asked curiously. “I mean, if she’s fond of him she’s going to mind.”
Sheila was surprised.
“Goodness, no! I never liked her awfully. I don’t see why one should like a person just because she’s one’s sister.” She got up. “Well, thanks a lot for the coffee.”
Outside in the yard she ran into Donald. He was busy, but he paused a second for a word, for she made him laugh.
“We can use you,” he teased her; “we want some extra hands for harvest.”
“Actually I shan’t be here much longer. I’m going to work for N.A.A.F.I.”
He grinned.
“That ought to popularize army life.”
Sheila was delighted.
“Everybody teases me. Is Janet being a good governess?”
He became slightly on the defensive.
“Very.”
“Actually you were very lucky to get her instead of me. Aren’t you beginning to think that?”
He turned away.
“You’re a minx, you’re trying to salve your conscience.”
“Oh, no, I’m not. You know people talk a lot about conscience, but I don’t remember ever feeling mine.”
He chuckled as he walked away.
“I shouldn’t wonder if that was true. Well, have a heart and don’t do too much slaughter amongst the troops.”
Iris sat on a chair beside Maggie’s sofa. She was hemming, her tongue held between her teeth, and her breath coming in anxious gasps. Maggie sat up and looked at the piece that was done.
“That’s much better. Now rest a bit.”
Iris relaxed thankfully.
“I’m not what you’d call a born needlewoman.”
“No. We can’t all have the same gifts.”
“I’m afraid Gladys is going to give me a work-basket for my birthday. I saw something that she put away in a hurry, and it was what it looked like.”
“You need a work-basket.”
“If everybody has to have one I do, because I haven’t got one, but if birthday presents are meant to be things people like to have, then it isn’t a good idea at all.”
“It’s nice of Gladys to think of you.”
“Do you know, I was ’traordinary surprised that she thought of having Janet to supper on my birthday night. I wasn’t so surprised about Sheila, but I was about Janet.”
“I expect it was your idea.”
“No, it wasn’t. She told me and Daddy she’d thought of it; it was specially s’prising because she doesn’t love Janet, not like me and Daddy do.”
Maggie’s eyes twinkled.
“Daddy and I,” she corrected. “I’m glad you’re fond of her. So am I.”
“Mothers are always fond of their children.” Iris’ voice was reproving. “It’s different for Daddy an’ me . . .”
Maggie heard Janet’s step. She laid her hand on Iris’ arm.
“Go on with your hemming, here’s Janet. I shall get into trouble if she finds we are not working.”
Janet had milk for Iris and Maggie.
“There’s a letter for Sheila,” she said. “It’s from N.A.A.F.I.” She put a table beside the sofa. “Sit up, dears. There are ginger-nuts this morning.”
Iris took her glass in both hands.
“Goody, goody!”
“That sounds like Sheila now,” said Maggie.
Sheila lounged in.
“Hullo, Iris! I hear your uncle’s coming home.”
Iris beamed.
“Yes. Last time he came we made a fire of bricks and mud and cooked soup.”
“Do you know when he’s coming?”
“No, but it’s soon. Perhaps in two weeks, Daddy thinks.” Janet took a letter out of her pocket.
“This has come for you, Sheila.”
Sheila took it and stared at the envelope. She turned a horrified face to her mother.
“It’s from N.A.A.F.I.”
Maggie smiled encouragingly.
“So I see. Don’t look so startled. You knew you’d hear soon.”
Sheila seemed a child again.
“I can’t go. Not now.”
Maggie was touched; she held out a hand.
“Come here, goose, let’s open it together.”
Sheila came unwillingly to the sofa, she handed the envelope to Maggie. She turned a pleading face to Janet.
“I can’t go.”
Janet put an arm round her.
“Don’t fuss; I expect it will be awful fun once you get used to it.”
“You’re travelling on Monday,” said Maggie. “They’ve sent you a ticket and all.”
Sheila had turned white.
“I can’t go.”
Maggie and Janet exchanged looks.
“Come on, darling, keep your chin up,” Janet urged, and gave Sheila’s shoulders a press.
This seemed to be the last straw. Sheila gulped and then sank on the floor, howling like a child.
