“I’m afraid there is nothing at all. When the bill here is paid, I have just a little money, to pay my fare to anywhere I decide on, and to keep me for a while, when I am looking for a job.”
“But your mother wanted you to come to England.”
“I know, Mr. Malliner, but I would feel such a stranger in England. I know towns like Paris and Rome and Salzburg so well, but London I can hardly remember.”
“I agree with your mother that it is high time you did learn to know London. Now this is what I plan for you, and you must tell me if you do not agree with it. We will fly back together. You have nothing to keep you here? Job, or friends? Any ties at all?”
“No. I have been helping in a big house here with the children—a Countess who has five. I was teaching the two eldest English, and keeping the younger ones amused. But I have already left; and I have no other ties.”
“Then we will go to England together, and you will come to my house to be my guest, until you have had time to look around you, and decide if you like it with us, or would prefer something different.”
“That would be imposing on your kindness.”
“Not at all. Your parents were my very dear friends. I’ll tell you one day what I owe to them. Meanwhile, it will be a pleasure to have their daughter in my house.”
Alison looked at him, hesitating to say what was in her mind. He waited a moment, and then:
“Well, what is it?” he asked.
“Does your wife agree with you about having me?” she asked.
“No wife,” he said, smiling gently at her.
“Oh,” she said.
“But I have an elderly second cousin who presides over household affairs, a
n
d a younger brother who lives with me.”
“Perhaps I could help in the house? I ought to do something.”
“It wouldn’t be necessary, or fitting,” he told her. “You must be content to be my guest, at least for a while. I am sure you need a rest after all that has happened; and it will be very good for you to have a change of scene and country. Now I will see how early I can wangle passage for both of us; and we will soon have you in England.”
“My mother used to tell me how lovely the spring is in England,” she said bravely, to show him that she could now mention her mother without tears. “But I don’t really remember it. Only once, seeing a field of wild daffodils.”
“You shall see it this year,” he promised her.
Alison sat in one of the window seats of the plane, with Peter beside her. The day was cold, and the air hostess had brought them rugs. Peter refused his, but had wrapped one round Alison’s knees and feet most considerately—rather as if she were a child, she thought, as she watched his large, capable hands at work with the rug. He had been amazingly thoughtful of her all through the days of his stay in Lisbon, and even to-day, at the airport, he had asked her if she had flown before, and when she told him that she had flown many times but was frequently air-sick, he had produced tablets for her which he assured her were a certain preventive. So far they had been effective, in spite of rather more bumpiness than usual; and Alison was even enjoying the lunch which had just been brought along. There was something quite cosy about meals on a plane, she thought: the tray that fitted comfortably into the size of the seat, one for herself, one for Peter; the height of the seat in front, which cut the two of them off from the other passengers, into a little world of their own; the feeling that all these people were occupying, for a few hours, a little world cut off from the everyday world.
The air hostess brought her more coffee, and a liqueur for Peter. Later, she came again for the trays, and Alison turned to her magazines, appearing to be reading, but actually allowing her thoughts to wander ahead of her to England and the life that she would find there. She had always enjoyed travel. When school holidays arrived, she would join her parents, but it was quite likely to be in a different place from the last holidays. She would fly to Salzburg, or to Paris, or to one of the lesser known villages of the Riviera; once to Morocco, once to Madrid; but at the end of those flights, she had known she would find her parents waiting for her at the airport. Her life had been punctuated by these joyful reunions. When her father died, she had left school to be with her mother, and then they had travelled very little, lived very frugally. This flight was different from the others. This time, there was nobody waiting for her at the London airport. This time, although she was returning to her native land, she felt that she would be a stranger in a strange land, in a strange house, among strange people.
Peter would be there, of course. Already she felt that one could rely on Peter. He had been a pillar of strength in the last few days, arranging everything for her. Not that she must allow herself to lean on his strength; she had to acclimatise herself as quickly as possible and get herself a job, not to impose on his kindness too far. But during this transition period, it was a heavenly relief to know that he was there to turn to. She was conscious of him and his strength, as he sat next to her, with only the arms of the seats between them; she was even proud of the fact that the air hostess smiled at him so often and was glad to serve him, feeling that appreciation was his due.
So Peter would tide over the loneliness at the end of this flight; see her through the customs and the many formalities; help her with the things that her parents had always seen to.
And Peter, in fact, did. The airport was, after all, no different from other airports, except that it was larger. The customs officials were no different, except that they were calmer and, perhaps, more polite. And when Alison, seeing the bus waiting outside the customs building, went towards it, Peter’s hand on her elbow restrained her. Instead, she was led to a large, low, gleaming car, beside which waited a chauffeur, a short, stocky, powerful-looking man with a ready smile on his weatherbeaten face.
This was Thomas. He gave her a pleasant good
-
evening, and set about getting the luggage into the car. Then they were off, away from the airport, threading through the traffic towards the heart of London.
“How fast the traffic goes,” said Alison, holding on to straps and handles in her alarm. “And how terrifying, to see it all on the wrong side of the road. How
do
they manage not to crash all the time?” And later, still sitting upright, still alarmed: “Oh dear, London
is
big. Immensely big.”
“You’ve only seen one small
corner
,” Peter told her.
“Really?”
“Yes, there’s miles and miles of this, in all directions.”
“I shall be perpetually losing myself,” she said. “All the policemen in London will know me, because I shall be always lost.”
Peter smiled at her. He thought she was rather a charming child. He also thought that youth was resilient, and that one had to have time for grief; and that the more her days were filled for her, the less she would have for remembering.
They came to the quiet street in Mayfair. Alison, looking up at the house, was deceived into thinking it quite ordinary, and entered it with more confidence than if she had realised that it was, in fact, in an exclusive and extremely expensive neighbourhood. Peter left Thomas to deal with the bags, and led Alison into the hall.
Priscilla fluttered out of the morning room towards them, looking doubly anxious this evening, because a new person was here to stay and because their plane had been late and she was afraid that dinner would spoil. She gave Alison a distracted welcome, obviously thinking of something else, and hurried her up the stairs to her room.
“
Thomas will bring your luggage,” she said. “I hope this room will suit you. If you need anything, ring the bell and Nora will come to you. I expect you are tired after your journey. Dinner is quite ready. Will you come down as soon as you can?”
She went to the door.
“You must excuse me,” she said. “I have things to see to.”
Alison looked after her in surprise, as the door closed. “Well,
she
obviously thinks I’m a nuisance,” she thought, as she turned to look about her room. “She flew off the first moment she could ... What a beautiful room! I’m sure I’ve never had a room as luxurious as this. But if I’m to go down to dinner as soon as possible, I’d better tidy up, and leave exploration until afterwards.”
She went downstairs, led by Nora, who had come up to show her the way. Peter was waiting in the hall for her.
“I hope we haven’t hurried you too much,” he said, smiling. “You mustn’t attach too much importance to Priscilla—she was afraid our dinner would be spoiled.” He led her into the dining room. There, a table was elegantly set for dinner, under the light of a small but very beautiful crystal chandelier. Priscilla was already there at one side of the table, and at one end there was a young man seated in a wheel chair.
“Come and meet my brother Douglas,” said Peter, and she crossed to the side of the wheel chair. She looked down at a thin, handsome face, which regarded her quizzically for a moment, and then broke into a broad, amused smile.
“Welcome to London,” he said. “I’m very glad to meet you. As you see, I can’t get up—you must excuse me. Did you have a good journey?”
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, wondering what was so amusing about her. She had not long to wait to find out.
“Tell me,” said Douglas, as she seated herself opposite Priscilla, “you are more than sixteen, aren’t you?”
“I’m nearly twenty,” she said, surprised.
“And, of course, you’re not at school?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Why?”
“We expected a schoolgirl of sixteen,” he said, mischievously. Alison looked quickly at him, and then quickly towards Peter, who was unfurling his napkin and apparently taking no notice.
“Does that complicate matters?” she asked Douglas.
“
I
think it makes them a whole lot more interesting,” he said. He laughed, with a note of pure gaiety in his laugh that caused Peter to glance at Mm quickly. What a good t
hi
ng, he thought, if her coming brings some interest and fun into Douglas’s tedious life. He looked at Alison with more attention, when he was unobserved. Yes, she was more than just a charming c
hi
ld; she was a most attractive one. That golden hair, bright under the many lights of the chandelier, those wide, grey eyes, those sweetly curving lips, still innocent of lipstick, added up to a very pretty picture. He hoped that she would, indeed, enliven the slow tedium of Douglas’s journey to recovery.
CHAPTER TWO
NEXT morning, Alison was awake early, and slipped out of bed to draw back her curtains. There was nothing very exciting in the view of the street presented to her, so she turned back to look once more at her room, and discovered that it really was as beautiful as it had seemed last night. The soft grey-green carpet was thick, comforting to the feet. The quilted bed-head and the heavy silk bedcovers were of restful sea-green, and the white curtains were hand-printed with a leaf design in green. The furniture was simple, in a beautiful wood which Alison did not recognise as sycamore. There was a small writing table with a little armchair before it; the bedside table held a delicate, enamelled clock, and a small bookshelf on the other side of the bed was filled with new books. Everything was there for her comfort, and her heart warmed to Peter for his generosity.
She was ready to go down long before there were signs of other people stirring in the house. She wanted suddenly to go out in the London streets in the sunshine of an early spring morning; and putting on her coat, she slipped downstairs and out of the house. She took notice of the number of the house, and the names of the streets she went through, still obsessed with the fear of losing herself, and suddenly, at the end of a narrow street, she came to a park. The bare branches showed a haze of green along their darkness, and the grass was vividly green, so that Alison crossed the road to walk the paths with delight. When she had gone a little way, she was surprised to see riders on horseback galloping towards her, and behind them, more riders, some sedately walking their horses, others more friskily in tune with the spring. She was filled with joy, not having expected London to present her with pictures like this. One heard of the sprawling mass of grey streets; one read of the London fogs, but one did not hear of the blue skies, the green parks with tall buildings surrounding them, the early riders.
When she returned to Peter’s house, she found Priscilla going through the hall, having just seen that Douglas’s tray had gone up to him.
“Wherever have you been?” asked Priscilla. “We were beginning to be anxious about you.”
“I went for an early walk,” said Alison apologetically, for obviously Priscilla thought it an odd thing to do.
She found that Peter was in the dining room, having breakfast. He greeted her pleasantly, not apparently having worried about her whereabouts.
“Well, you didn’t get lost this time, anyway,” he observed. He was folding his napkin, and Alison saw that he was preparing to go. She wished she had returned a few minutes earlier, when she could have had the pleasure of his company through her meal.
“Will you have tea or coffee?” asked Priscilla.
“Tea, please,” said Alison, smiling at her.
“Oh, then I shall have to order it,” said Priscilla.
“Don’t order it specially,” replied Alison at once. “Coffee will do, just as well. I love coffee.”
“No, if you want tea, you’d better have tea.”
“No, really I would like coffee just as much.”
“Well, there
is
plenty of coffee here, if you’re sure.”
“Quite sure,” said Alison firmly.
Peter had been watching this exchange, with amusement at the corners of his mobile mouth. He said:
“My dear child, if you want tea, you have it.” And he rang the bell.
“But I don’t want to be a bother,” said Alison.
“How are you being a bother? We ring for Nora, and ask her to make you some tea.” He waited a moment, and Nora appeared with a bright smile. “Tea for Miss Vale, please, Nora,” he said.
“Tea for Miss Vale? Certainly, sir,” and she disappeared.
Peter said:
“Now, I’m going to my office, because things will have piled up for me while I’ve been in Lisbon. Can you entertain yourself to-day, Alison, in this overpowering London?”
“Of course. Please don’t bother about me at all—I shall feel an interloper, if you do.”
“You mustn’t feel that. Come over here and choose what you want for breakfast—and enjoy your tea when you get it. And now I must be off. Goodbye. Goodbye, Priscilla.”
He drove himself to his offices in the City, and was soon immersed in his work. He gave a few passing thoughts to Alison, hoping that she would not feel too lost and lonely, and hoping, too, that she and Douglas would prove to be good company for each other. In the middle of the morning, Lydia telephoned him.
“I wondered if you were back yet,” she said.
“I promised to telephone you,” he replied. “I was going to, but this is my first morning in the office.”
“Your journey was successful?”
“Very, thank you. Are you intending to be kind, and have lunch with me?”
“I was hoping you’d ask me,” she admitted, and they arranged to meet later. When Peter met her, and they walked into the restaurant together, she received her usual quota of interested and curious glances; for Lydia was striking, and she wore the latest and most striking fashions. There was nothing pretty or appealing about Lydia. She was soign
é
e, confident, glamorous, and so highly polished in every detail that she gave an impression of hardness. Nobody knew if her hair had always been auburn, but auburn it certainly was now, a rich, dark-red shade that owed a great deal to her coiffeur. The dark green hat and dress, worn with a soft mink jacket, were designed to set off this dark rich auburn; just as the very high heels of her shoes were designed to give her more height.
She had known Peter for two years. She had met him at a party to celebrate a successful theatrical first night, and, taking note of his handsome appearance, had thought he must be an actor. She studied him deliberately, and decided that he would make an excellent adjunct to her own striking qualities. They would look a very handsome pair, and she would get to know him; and if, as was probably the case, he was still trying to get to the top, she might be able to help him.
This somewhat smug decision had to be speedily altered, however. Getting to know him was the not simple process she had imagined. He was not an actor, he did not need her help, he did not even seem attracted to her; and her original admiration of his appearance changed to an admiration of his whole personality. She was intrigued by his indifference, and determined to overcome it. She found that he was at most first nights, and was on good terms with producers, stars, and designers. He was at the important concerts, and was on the same good terms with conductors and distinguished artists. She arranged to be at the same parties, the same plays, the same concerts. By meeting him everywhere, she established an acquaintanceship that slowly, by dint of much perseverance on her part, had developed into friendship; and this friendship, she was determined, was to develop into something much more. She wanted to marry him.
They sat opposite each other at a small table for two.
“You know,” said Lydia, “I’ve been consumed with curiosity about your trip to Lisbon; and this old friend of yours who was so charming. Do tell me more about her.”
“I don’t know that there is much to tell you that you would find interesting. She and her husband were both great friends of mine: they were gay, light-hearted, cultured people. You would never have thought that she fought a constant battle against ill-health.”
“Oh, she was married?”
“Indeed, yes.”
“I jumped to the conclusion that she was an old love of yours.”
“Nothing could be farther from the truth. She and Edward were so much in love with each other that they made other people feel discontented with their lot.”
“But she knew you well enough to ask you to settle her affairs?”
“Yes.”
“Had she much to leave?”
“She had only one thing to leave—and she left that to me. A legacy, you might say.”
“A legacy, to you, who couldn’t possibly need it.”
“A legacy of a most unusual kind,” he said, smiling. “Now you are making me curious again. Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Certainly. Her daughter.”
“Her
daughter
? Peter, you are joking.”
“I assure you I am not. There were no relations who could look after her; she could not be left to wander Europe alone, obviously; and Laura knew that she could trust me to do my best for her.”
“What an amazing thing! Whatever will you do with her?”
“She is in my house now. I brought her back with me. I have an idea of making her my ward.”
“Oh, Peter,” said Lydia, laughing. “It seems quite ridiculous for you to have a ward. Surely it isn’t necessary to go so far. Will she go to school? Is she a child?”
“Not much more,” said Peter.
She looked at him sharply.
“How much more?” she asked. “How old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
There was a short silence.
“I should hardly call her a child,” said Lydia drily.
“She seems like it to me,” he said.
“But you can’t keep her in your house, Peter.”
“Why not? Priscilla is there to help look after her, and I am hoping that she will do a great deal to help Douglas.”
“Ah yes.” Lydia was thoughtful. “That is possible, of course. Perhaps it could be a good thing for Douglas.”
She forsook this subject and began to talk to him of other things, but when he later dropped her in Bond Street before returning to his office, she asked him:
“Are you going to this party for Signor Micotti tonight, Peter?”
“Yes, may I pick you up?”
“No. I’ll pick
you
up, if I may. I’ll come along in time for some coffee with you after dinner. I’d like to say hallo to Douglas, and I do want to see your little legacy.”
“Oh, the curiosity of women,” he said.
“You must allow us a few foibles,” she laughed. “Well, thank you for lunch, Peter, and I’ll see you this evening.”
He left her standing on the pavement, and she began slowly to walk along Bond Street. A girl of nineteen, she thought, brought up on the Continent. This would definitely need looking into.
Alison, who had been left in the dining room with Priscilla that same morning, found herself in a somewhat constrained and embarrassed atmosphere. Priscilla was silent, and Alison thought she was cross at having to order tea when there was already plenty of coffee. In fact, Priscilla was awkward and shy, having no idea what to say to this young stranger who had so recently lost her mother, and who somehow had to be fitted into the household. She excused herself and went away, leaving Alison with a distinct impression that she was annoyed about the newcomer.
Nora came in later to clear away the breakfast things. The new young lady, looking small and forlorn in her black dress, was staring out of the window. Nora proceeded to make cheerful conversation for her benefit.
She was piling things on to her tray, very efficiently, very brisk and cheerful. She added:
“Mr. Douglas sent his compliments, and says he hopes to see you when the morning torture is over.”
“The morning torture?” asked Alison.
“He means the massage, Miss Vale. He always calls it his morning torture; and it’s my belief that’s just what it is, even though he jokes about it. Sometimes, he looks real done-up after it, though I dessay it’s doing him good.”
“Has he
...
” Alison sought for words that would not be too untactful. “Has he always been like this?”
“Lord, no, Miss Vale. You should just have seen him three years ago. A livelier young man you could
not
expect to meet. Mad about speed. Boats, cars, planes, it didn’t matter what it was, as long as he could feel the world racing past him. And two years ago he had an air crash, and nobody expected he would live. How they put him together again was a miracle. And my goodness, he’s paid for his speed craze ever since.”
“Poor dear,” said Alison.
“Well,” said Nora cheerfully, “that’s nearly all over now. They reckon he’ll be walking in a few months. Now it’s simply—what do they call it—habitation of the muscles.”
“Rehabilitation?” suggested Alison.
“That’s right. Well, you ring if you want me, Miss Vale, or if there’s anything you want to know. I expect it feels a bit strange to you 'if you’ve come from Portugal.”
Alison felt decidedly more cheerful after Nora’s departure. She felt that here was a friend. She went into the morning room, and began to read the papers, crouched over the fire, for indeed, she was feeling the cold. A little later, Nora came to inform her that Mr. Doulas was in the drawing room if she would like to see him, and Alison, taking this for a summons, went upstairs at once.
“Hallo,” said Douglas, smiling a greeting. “And how are you this morning?”
“Quite well, but rather cold. And how are
you
?”
“If you’re cold, come over by the fire. It hasn’t long been lit, but will soon be blazing. And there’s always plenty of sunshine in this room, which is why I like it. Oh, and how was I, you asked. Just surviving, my dear
A
lison, just surviving. May I tell you that you’re lovelier than the morning and fairer than the daylight, to this poor battered specimen?”
She laughed. She had not laughed like that for many weeks. Douglas smiled at her.
“Shall I order some coffee?” he asked. “Elevenses?”
“I feel I’ve just had breakfast.”
“Oh, always have coffee at eleven; always have tea in the afternoon; always do the things that take up a little time. Do you know, Alison—by the way, it is all right to call you Alison? Yes, I knew it was really, but thought I’d be polite and get permission. What was I saying? Oh yes. Do you know, Alison I understand all the old ladies now, who like their little ceremonials of afternoon tea. I know just how they feel about it, and how they look forward to it. All the old ladies will find me so sympathetic when I’m about again.”
She said, smiling down at him: