HF - 05 - Sunset (5 page)

'Oh, but it's beautiful,' she cried without meaning to.

Walter Reynolds beamed, and Billy blushed all over again. 'Chose it myself.'

Meg had hurried to the wall mirror, to put the hat on, and turn herself this way and that while she admired herself.

'Well,' said Anthony Hilton. 'New hat, new handkerchiefs, new boots, why, there'll be no stopping you, young lady.'

No stopping me from what, she wanted to ask, but Prudence, wearing her best white apron and her white cap, had appeared in the inner doorway to inform her master that tea was served.

'Don't I get another kiss ?' Billy whispered, leaning against her as she took off the hat.

'No, you do not,' she said. 'But thanks all the same. It is a lovely hat.'

'Well, then,' he said, 'can I cut the cake with you?'

'No,' she said. 'I'm going to cut it with
..
. with Papa.'

Who was obviously pleased, but after the meal the grownups were clearly settling down to drink Percy's rum punch.

'Can't we have some, Papa?' Billy wanted to know. 'Or at least me.'

'One glass each,' Anthony Hilton decided. 'Then you can go off and amuse yourselves.'

'I know,' Alan hissed at Meg. 'Let's take him up to the Grandstand.'

Meg sipped the ice-cooled brown liquid, and felt heat seeping through her belly. 'You can take him where you like,' she said. 'I'm going to wear my hat.' She stood before the mirror to put it on again.

'Well, come on then, let's take a walk.' Billy had already finished his punch. His cheeks seemed to have settled into a permanent red glow.

'When I'm ready.' She drank some more punch, made sure her hat was on straight. 'Do I look all right, Aunt Helen?'

'You look like a dream, my dear,' Helen McAvoy said. 'I really wonder if she should not have a chaperon, Tony.'

'Ah
...'
The thought had obviously never crossed Anthony Hilton's mind.

'Why,
' Meg said, ‘I
am walking with two gentlemen. There's protection enough, surely, Aunt Helen.'

'Well
...'
Helen McAvoy looked at her son.

'We'll bring her back safe and sound,' Alan promised, and held the door for her. 'Race you to the Stand.'

'Race you to the Stand,' she shouted, scattering down the steps, holding on to her hat with one hand and her skirts with the other. Hannibal barked futilely, tugging at his chain behind the front steps, and was joined by Rufus in noisy protest.

'Well, I say, really,' Billy grumbled. But he followed.

Alan went up the street, through the opened gate, and across the pasture beyond. Meg endeavoured to follow at the same speed, but found her boots were too tight for running. 'Oh, bother,' she said, and sat on the grass to untie the laces.

Billy arrived, panti
ng. 'Whatever are you doing?'

Taking off my boots, silly.'

'But you can't go running about the place in your stockings,' he said.

'Oh, I'll take them off as well,' she said. 'You mustn't look.'

He stepped behind her, and she knelt, bending almost double as she thrust her hand up to release her garters. 'You're looking, you monster.'

'I am not,' he protested. But his cheeks were purple. 'Do you often go about with no stockings or shoes?'

'If I want to run.' She stood up, rolled her stockings into a ball, crammed them into the boots. She'd pick them up on her way back.

'Well, I never,' Billy commented.

Meg looked back for a moment, at the factory and the village, at a two-wheeler making its way along the road from Kingston. More guests? Father hadn't mentioned any.

'Come on, come on,' Alan was shouting. He was already at the gate to the paddock. 'Come on,' Meg cried.

'Mind you don't step in any sheep dung,' Billy said, following more slowly. 'Ugh.'

'What kept you?' Alan leaned on the gate.

'My shoes hurt,' she explained, limping towards him. 'And now I've a thorn in my foot'

'I'll pull it out. Sit down.'

She propped her back against the rotting gatepost, still panting, while Alan slowly extended her leg.

Billy arrived, gasping for breath. 'I say, you can't do that.'

'Do what?' Alan was peering at the white instep.

'Well, touch a woman like that. And you're looking up her skirt.'

'You're not, Alan,' Meg begged.

'Of course I'm not. He's just a louse. There it is. Right?'

He stroked her flesh.

'Ouch!' she screamed. 'Oh, that's agony.'

‘I’l
l have it out.' He scrabbled at the bruise, and she screamed again.

'Stop it. Stop it. Oh
...'
She tried to roll away from him and as he was still holding her by the ankle only succeeded in landing on her stomach, her face on the grass. 'Let me go.'

'It has to come out,' Alan said. 'It could be poisonous. I know, I'll suck it out.'

'Well, really,' Billy protested.

'Oh, would you, Alan, really?' Meg cried. She could think of nothing more romantic.

'Of course I will. It may hurt a little. But try to keep still.'

'Don't you realize she has just run across the sheep pasture?' Billy pointed out. 'With that foot?'

'Which foot would you have her use?' Alan inquired. 'Anyway, you're always pretending to be a proper gentleman, and fond of Meg too. Wouldn't you suck a thorn out of her, no matter how dirty it was ?'

'Well
...'
Billy flushed. 'If she was in danger.'

'And suppose this is poisonous?' Alan demanded. 'Next thing her whole foot will swell up, and she'll get gangrene, and they'll have to amputate, and we'll have a one-legged Meg.'

'Oh, God,' Meg wailed. 'Take it out, Alan, please.'

She felt his lips on her flesh, and there was a sudden surge of agony, but it was the sweetest agony she had ever felt, and it ended suddenly, leaving only a slight burning sensation.

'Ugh,' Billy remarked again. 'Wait until your father hears about this.'

'You wouldn't tell him,' Meg cried, rolling over once again and sitting up. Her hat had fallen off.

'Of course I'll tell him,' Billy said. 'Well, he ought to know.'

'Oh, Lord.' She looked at Alan.

'He won't tell him,' Alan declared. 'Because he's going to suck your foot too, aren't you, Billy boy?' 'Me?'

‘
You. Right now.' Alan grabbed his arm, and he tugged angrily. 'You let me go.'

'It's that or rubbing your face in sheep dung,' Alan decided. 'All up to you.'

'Why, you
...'
Billy wriggled, but Alan was far too strong for him.

'Don't you like my foot, Billy?' Meg lay down again, laughing, raised her right leg and rested it on her knee.

'No. Why, you
...'
Billy gave a tremendous tug and broke free. He ran away from them, over the pasture.

'I'll get him.' Alan ran behind.

'Wait for me,' Meg shouted, coming at the back, waving her hat.

'Got you,' Alan shouted, hurling himself through the air to seize Billy round the ankle and bring him heavily to the ground.

'Oh, you
...'
But he was out of breath. 'Sheep dung, sheep dung, sheep dung,' Alan chanted. There,' Meg shouted, now equally excited. 'Well, grab an ankle.'

‘
You let me go,' Billy shouted, attempting to roll away from them. But Alan had retained hold of one ankle, and now Meg seized the other. 'Stop it,' he bawled. 'Oh, stop it' Tears welled from his eyes.

Meg and Alan dragged him across the grass to where the still soft curds lay, and rolled him across them, and then let him go, to stand back and laugh.

'Why, you.' Billy rose to his knees desperately, swept his arms and his fists about in blind anger.

'Ow,' Meg cried, as a flying fist caught her on the knee. 'Oh.' She was hit by a foot as well, and went tumbling over.

'I'll
...
I'll kill you,' Billy shouted, throwing himself at her.

'No you won't' Alan shouted, throwing himself on top of Billy in turn. 'My hat' Meg screamed. 'You're squashing my hat'

They went rolling down the slope in a mingle of arms and legs and gasping bodies, to come to a halt in a hollow, suddenly paralysed at the sound of a voice.

'Why, Meg, whatever are you doing?'

'Papa.' Meg made a frantic effort to get untangled, and only succeeded in falling over again.

'Is that - Margaret?' inquired a voice she had never heard before, speaking an accentless English she had never heard before, in the strongest contrast to the Jamaican brogue, and so icily filled with disapproval she felt a shiver running down her spine. She turned, regaining her knees, and straightened, to stare at quite the most resplendent woman she had ever seen in her life. Beautiful, certainly, and in a familiar way, for she was undoubtedly a Hilton, with strong, fine features, the more dramatic for being set in a flawless pink and white complexion, and a profusion of chestnut hair, quite superbly dressed, for while it was gathered away from the face in front, to reveal her ears, it was apparently loose at the back, and escaped from beneath the cream straw hat with the white plume which was set well back on her head. But even her looks were not quite as
breath-taking
, to Meg's eyes, as her clothes, for she wore a grey poplin gown, far too hot for the climate, but quite magnificently cut to fit her bodice and her hips, with accordion pleats at hem and neck, in ultramarine, and ultramarine bows behind her thighs to support the train.

For a moment the tight lips almost relaxed, at the obvious admiration in the girl's face, then they tightened again. 'Well, child, lost your tongue?'

Meg looked at her father.

'Ah, Meg, do get up,' Anthony Hilton said. 'I would have you meet your cousin, Oriole Paterson.'

CHAPTER THREE

THE MENTOR

MEG reached her feet slowly, cast a desperate look at her new hat. But it was ruined beyond repair.

She stepped away from the two boys, also slowly getting up, and approached the grownups. 'C... cousin?'

'I am your father's cousin, to be sure, Margaret,' Oriole said. 'My father is your Great Uncle Tom. So I am
your
second cousin.' She held out her hand, then hastily withdrew it again as Meg reached for it, her features seeming to freeze while her nostrils dilated. 'Whatever have you been rolling in?'

'Sheep dung. I'm sorry.'

'Sheep dung?' Oriole P
a
terson's voice rose an octave. ‘
Sorry?'

'And in your clean dress, too,' Helen McAvoy remarked. 'Oh, Meg, you are terrible.'

Terrible?' Oriole demanded in scandalized tones.

'And your hat,' exclaimed Lawyer Reynolds. 'It'll never be the same.'

'I
...
I'm sorry,' Meg said. 'We were playing a game, and then I got a thorn in my foot, and
...'

'Oh, Meg,' Helen protested. 'You really are growing too old for rough games like that, you know. Alan, you should be ashamed of yourself.'

Alan stood on one leg.

They should all be ashamed of themselves,' Oriole said severely. 'It has been a great pleasure meeting you, Mrs McAvoy, and if I am to stay here no doubt we shall become

friends, but I'm sure you will agree that it were time to end this entertainment.'

'Oh, I
...'
Helen looked at Tony Hilton, but Oriole's tone had really left very little room for argument.

'Well, I
...
it seems a little early,' Tony said.

'My dear Tony,' Oriole said. 'Your daughter has to have a bath, and quickly. I shudder to think what dreadful disease she might have contracted.'

'From a little sheep dung?' Harry McAvoy inquired.

Oriole turned a gaze on him which might have shrivelled him to the ground. 'Sheep droppings,' she said. 'The thought is nauseating. Come along now, Margaret. Off you go.' She checked, pink spots appearing in her cheeks. 'But you have no boots.'

'I
...
I took them off,' Meg explained. 'They're new, you see, Mrs Paterson, and I didn't want to scuff them.'

'And no stockings ?' Oriole's voice rose an octave higher.

'Well
...
they'd have gone into holes.'

Oriole looked at Tony, her eyebrows arched, her chin rigid.

'Ah, well, I suppose Oriole is right, Meg,' Tony Hilton said. 'You really shouldn't run about the pasture without shoes and stockings.'

'And playing with
boys’
Oriole pointed out. 'Why, I've seen nigger children in Kingston better behaved. And better dressed. Off you go.'

Meg looked at her father.

'Yes, well, I suppose you do need a bath, Meg,' he agreed.

She wanted to stamp her foot with anger. But that would only get her a sore instep. She tossed her head, gathered her skirts, and hurried for the distant village. On the way she passed the spot where she had discarded her stockings and shoes, but she was too angry to pick them up. Let somebody else do it. And who the devil was this beastly woman to come here and start telling everyone what to do ? Well, she couldn't see anyone telling Papa what to do, really. He just had not wanted to be rude in front of the McAvoys and Walter Reynolds. Later on
...