Summer Pudding, page 19
The summer-house was perfect from Sheila’s point of view. There was a honeysuckle climbing over it, and the table and basket chairs inside were practically identical to those she had seen used in a dozen films. She thought regretfully that it would have been nice if Richard had arrived on horseback. She always thought men looked their very best on horses. Still, he was good-looking enough to satisfy anybody. The tan he had picked up in the desert suited him. Sheila did not start her big effort with him until the waitress had brought the tea. Then she gave him a carefully planned shy smile.
“Would you like me to pour out? If you’ve been abroad I don’t expect you got much waiting on, did you?”
“Not feminine waiting. I’ve been in the Near East.” Sheila raised eyes rounded with admiration.
“Fancy! Riding on camels and all that?”
Richard looked at her with amused tolerance. He took his cup from her.
“Camels are a bit out of date; but look, you mustn’t talk. You eat all there is on the table.”
Sheila looked at a large plate of bread and, presumably, margarine, and another of the sort of cake that is bought by the yard. She wondered if she dared say she had got past eating, but discarded the thought immediately, seeing the risk of the party coming to an end. A girl who could be bored for months in Worsingfold was not going to see a lot of food, however unpalatable, standing between her and her chances. Metaphorically she threw back her shoulders; actually she moved the muscles of her stomach as if to warn it of what was coming. Systematically she began on what was on the table.
Richard was a most unsatisfactory player in the scene. He was friendly and kind like an elder brother taking a schoolgirl sister out to tea. Not for a second was her plate empty, but not for a second did she hold his interest. His head kept turning to peer out of the cobwebby window; his mind was obviously somewhere else. Sheila, chewing away, decided that she must change her tactics, this hungry schoolgirl act was getting her nowhere. She got her chance when Richard surreptitiously looked at his watch under the table. She laid down what she was eating and half got up.
“Oh, I am sorry . . . I . . . I’m keeping you. I’ve really had quite enough—I’m not a bit hungry now.”
Richard was disgusted with himself. What a bore and a cad he had become! This poor little kid couldn’t know that every second that was not at least travelling towards Barbara seemed time wasted. He gently pushed her back into her seat.
“Go on with your tea. I’m in no hurry.” He smiled as she doubtfully took up her slice of bread. “Tell me about the canteen you’re off to.”
“It’s N.A.A.F.I.”
He eyed her with an amused twinkle, picturing her effect on the troops.
“I expect you’ll have a royal time.” Then he gave her a closer look. “Do you know, I think I’ve seen you before somewhere.”
She gave him one of her shyest glances.
“I don’t think so. I expect actually it’s that I’m very ordinary looking.”
What a nice, unaffected little thing she was, Richard thought. Good to meet a girl with a face like that who did not know she was pretty. On the word pretty he studied her more closely. My word, she was pretty! Quite startling, really. Of course she was not his type; he did not care for that chocolate-box sort of face. All the same, surely she was outstanding. Of course he had been abroad and got his eye out a bit, but she did seem unusually lush. He was certain he had seen her before, but he could not place where, and had a feeling, anyway, it had only been a case of seeing and not knowing. Most likely in a bus or train. He certainly was not going to spoil the little creature by telling her she was pretty if she did not know it. That would come soon enough.
“We sat opposite each other somewhere, I expect. Did you lose everything when you were bombed?”
Sheila tried to remember stories she had read, but she only skimmed newspapers.
“Nearly. I was”—suddenly the right phrase came to her “pinned under the wreck.”
“Good Lord! Were you injured?”
“I was shocked, but I hadn’t much time to think of myself; you see, I had my mother, she needed help so much more than I did.”
“Was she injured?”
“I thought she was dead. There she lay, her face as white as a sheet.”
“Didn’t the lights go?”
Sheila never batted an eyelash.
“I still held my torch. And oh, I forgot, actually one of my arms was free.”
“What had happened to your mother?”
“Concussion. Presently, after what seemed like hours, I heard hammering, and then the rescue men came. They tried to release me, but of course I said, ‘No, take Mother first.’”
“What a time you women have had! Is your mother all right now?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m able to leave her.” She paused to think how she was to reconcile her original story, that she was being sent to work on a canteen, with her present role of war heroine. “That’s one reason why I was crying. I do want to work for the country, of course, but I feel Mother needs me.”
“I dare say it will pull her together to manage on her own,” he suggested consolingly. “I hope it won’t be too much for you though. I mean, what you’ve been through is a pretty good shock. Where are you living now?”
Sheila filled her mouth to give herself time before she answered. Somewhere near enough for meetings, but indefinite enough to put off the day of his finding out exactly who she was as long as possible.
“A cottage, a new one, just outside Worsingfold.”
“Worsingfold! My word! It’s a small world. I’m going there. Staying with my half-brother. I expect . . .”
She broke in quickly.
“We hardly know anybody. We didn’t want to, really. We just wanted time to get strong again.”
He watched her admiringly. Plucky little thing! Buried in a cottage, no wonder nobody had told her how lovely she was. He was glad she was making a good tea. Not much money perhaps, though it seemed a pretty smart rig-out she had on. She still looked a bit frail. He hoped she would not have too tough a time.
“If you live near Worsingfold I can give you a lift.” She smiled at him gratefully.
“How kind you are,” she sighed. “Honestly, I didn’t know anybody could be so kind. I wish I could think of something I could do for you.”
Nice little thing though she was, he wished she would hurry up. He gave a friendly nod.
“You get on with your tea.” He got up. “I’m going to find the waitress and pay her. I’ll be back in a few minutes and I expect to find every plate empty.”
Sheila peered out of the window to be sure he had gone. Then she quickly shovelled the last of the bread and margarine and all the cake under one of the basket chairs. She let out a deep breath. “Gosh!” she said out loud, “am I full!” Then she got out her mirror and touched up her face. While she was working she was thinking hard. She had not made much progress, but she had awakened his interest. What came next? In the car going home she must charm him. Be very feminine. Make herself so attractive that when Barbara saw him she had got a tremendous lot to live up to. When Richard came back she looked up at him with obvious adoration.
“You can’t think what an exciting day this is for me. It’s so wonderful to be looked after. I shall remember you all my life.”
Barbara got away from her troop party earlier than she had expected. She had not gone out in her own car but had been given a lift. She was dropped off outside the village, having said she would enjoy the walk home. It was nice with the breeze in her face after the stuffy canteen. “I hope,” she thought, “the country doesn’t dry up before Dick gets home. It’s so green and full of flowers just now.” Dick! She hugged herself at the thought of him. They would have a gorgeous time; they wouldn’t waste a minute. Thinking of Dick somehow switched her mind to Donald and Janet. What had Donald meant? “Certain faults I can’t stomach, especially in women.” Janet was an angel. What faults?
Wondering about her friend made Barbara feel mean; it was as if she didn’t trust her. She was as near the cottage as she was home. She turned to the cottage.
Maggie was in her chair on the lawn. She was delighted to see Barbara. With Janet in bed, and Sheila out, she was feeling lonely.
“Where’s Hoover?”
Barbara explained what she had been doing.
“So I had to leave him with Daddy for the day, and by now he’ll have drunk all Daddy’s milk, and dug up several pet plants. I bet I’m going home to trouble. Where’s Janet?”
Maggie’s face clouded.
“In bed with a sick headache. They went to the cinema yesterday for little Iris’ birthday. I never knew her to have a bad head like this before, I hope it’s not a germ. I always say cinemas are dirty places.”
“Would she see me?”
“I expect she’d like to. She’s bad company, though, poor darling, just lying there with the blinds down.”
Barbara knocked on Janet’s door. The listlessness of the “Come in” shocked her. The cretonne curtains were drawn, but not the black-out. Janet was lying facing the wall. She turned her head as Barbara came in and sat up.
“Barbara!”
Barbara was horrified at Janet’s appearance. ‘Drained’ was the word that came to her. It seemed as if all vivacity and colour had poured out of her. She sat down at the end of the bed.
“Sorry your head’s bad.”
Janet made an obvious effort to appear herself.
“Where’s Hoover?”
Barbara again explained what she had been doing. Janet seemed to listen, but her eyes wandered. Barbara broke off.
“You do look ill. Is there anything I can get you?”
Janet clasped her hands and gripped them together so tightly the flesh turned white under the pressure of her fingers.
“Don’t be nice to me, please. I can’t stand it.”
There is nothing more moving to watch than somebody’s fight for self-control. Barbara sprang up and knelt by the bed. She put her arms round Janet.
“What’s wrong?”
Janet’s head sank into her hands, her body shook.
“I didn’t mean to tell anybody, but you’ll understand because you love Dick. I love Donald. I can’t help it, but I do.”
“And doesn’t he love you?”
“I thought he was beginning to, but he was up and downish. One minute I’d think he’s starting to, then the next minute he was being stand-offish again, at least that’s what I thought; but now I know he’s in love with Gladys.”
Barbara sat up on her haunches.
“That’s not true!”
“It is. I saw him kissing her. I expect he’s made love to her ever since Anna died; anyway, if it’s not love he’s made her think it is.”
Barbara gasped.
“Goodness! When did you see them kissing?”
“Sheila and I stayed there to supper last night and . . .”
Barbara stopped her.
“All right, don’t tell me. I can guess. How hateful of him!”
“Oh, well, he was lonely, I expect.”
“It’s not that part I think hateful, it’s . . .” Barbara broke off, no point in adding to Janet’s misery by telling her that when she had talked to Donald about marriage he had excused himself on flaws in Janet’s character. “It’s deceiving everybody,” she finished lamely. She turned back to Janet. “What are you going to do?”
Janet shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know. My head aches so that I can’t think. I don’t believe I can go on working at the farm, and I can’t live here doing nothing. You see, when I was working in London I sent Mum money every week. She’s hardly any. She used all Dad left on bringing us up. Sheila will only earn money for herself.”
Barbara got up.
“Gosh! It is a mess!” She kissed Janet. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something, I promise you we will, and, after all, Donald isn’t the only man in the world.”
Janet looked at her.
“Would you say that if it were Dick?”
Barbara was at the door. She turned. It was as if her smile was a lamp it shone so brightly.
“No. I was a fool to say that. For everybody, however many second bests they may find, there’ll always be only one man that really matters.”
Barbara slipped down the side of the clover and bean fields to the main road. She did not want to risk running into Donald. In her present mood she felt she might give him a piece of her mind. There was a hedge between the main road and the bean field. There was no way through it, and she had to follow it until it joined the farm road. She was nearly at the end of the hedge when a car stopped on the other side. She had her breath taken away at the sound of Dick’s voice.
“Are you sure this is where you want to be put down?”
“Quite sure.” There was a pause, and then Sheila’s cooing voice. “Thanks awfully for tea and everything.” There was another pause and the sound of the car door opening and shutting. “Well, good-bye. You’ve been simply marvellous to me.”
Dick’s answer was lost in the noise of the engine as the car moved on.
Barbara crouched back against the hedge. She watched Sheila, her frock gleaming in the sunlight, walk up the farm road and turn off at the track to the cottage. She had not known jealousy before. Now it racked and tore at her. Dick home and picking up Sheila for an afternoon’s fun! How could he! Simply marvellous to her! Well, two could play at that game. He probably thought she would be out and wouldn’t see him. Well, he’d soon find he’d made a mistake. She wasn’t going to be slighted. If he thought he was coming home to open arms, he had a big surprise coming.
Sheila slipped into the cottage unnoticed. Maggie was on the lawn and Janet in bed. On tiptoe she crept up the stairs and into her room, softly she shut the door. She studied herself in the glass and saw that she looked lovely.
“Goodness,” she said to her reflection, “it does seem mean to make myself ill after an afternoon like that.” She felt in the back of a drawer and got out a bottle of castor-oil. The sight of it made her retch. “Still, for a man like that any sacrifice is worth while,” she told herself severely. “I wish he’d tried to kiss me. He treated me like a stranger. I suppose that sort of man doesn’t like to be friendly too soon. I suppose he’d think it familiar, and he holds himself back however keen he is.” She gave another look at the bottle. “He said he’d got three weeks’ leave. If I take a really good dose and manage to keep it down, I bet I could get the doctor to say I oughtn’t to work for another three weeks at least.” She picked up her tooth-glass and gloomily poured out a large measure of the oil. “Gosh, it does look disgusting! What a girl has to do when she’s in love!” She put the cork back in the bottle and replaced the bottle out of sight in her drawer. Then she held her nose and tilted the castor-oil down her throat.
Maggie, knitting on the lawn, had her mind busy. Where it was showed in her movements, she kept raising her head and looking in a worried way at Janet’s drawn curtains. She had hoped that Barbara’s visit might have cheered her, but Barbara had called out good-bye some while ago and Janet’s curtains remained drawn. “I don’t like it,” Maggie said to herself. “I never knew her to give way like this, not even when she had influenza so badly. I think I’ll get the doctor. Anyway, I’ll take her temperature.”
Maggie had not seen Janet’s face; it had been carefully turned from her when she brought her morning tea, and some soup at midday. It would have been turned from her now if Janet could have managed it.
“I haven’t got a temperature,” she protested.
“I dare say not,” Maggie agreed, “but I’d like to take it just in case. Anyway, your bed is a mess and I’m going to tidy it.”
Janet unwillingly turned and stretched out her hand for the thermometer. Maggie looked at her. Then laid the thermometer down and held out her arms.
“My lamb, what is it?”
Janet knew she could not fool her mother, and knew that if she did not tell her the truth she would worry, and it would be bad for her heart. It was no easier for Janet than for any other girl to make a confidante of her mother. She prefaced her story with: “You won’t understand,” and, since her face was against Maggie’s shoulder, she did not see the half-tragic, half-amused smile flick across Maggie’s face, as she remembered her own lack of belief in the understanding of her mother. Had any girl in history believed her mother understood? Yet as her story, jerkily and haltingly, crept from her, Janet felt easier. Maggie said no real words, merely cosy sounds, and gentle pats, but she made the position feel less desperate.
