Harbinger of Spring (27 page)

‘
But—but suppose Father answers the phone and—
’

‘
Come on,
’
Hugh urged.
‘
You can
’
t keep it from him for ever.
’

‘
All right.
’

Hugh dialled for her, then handed the instrument to her.
Mrs.
Worthing sounded puzzled.

‘
I thought I heard a man
’
s voice.
’

‘
Yes, I
’
ve hurt my hand. I can
’
t manage the dial. Is Father at home?
’

‘
He won
’
t be until about ten o
’
clock tonight.
’

‘
Then I hope you won
’
t mind doing a little job for me. You know where my art school folders are?
’

Sara went on with her request for the folders to be sent to her, then talked about things in general. Before she ended the conversation she said she would telephone again at about half-past ten.

She went back into the sitting room. Hugh was not there. But in a moment or two she heard a rattle of crockery in the kitchen. She sat down and gazed wistfully into the fire. How wonderful if it were always like this—Hugh by her side to guide and comfort when things went wrong—a lifetime of caring for each other. It was what she wanted more than anything on earth, but it could never be hers.

Impatiently, she rose to her feet and crossed to the window. The palms of her hands were stinging again and the future stretched before her uncertain and hopeless. She gazed out at the unkempt garden. The hardy perennial weeds were ready to start into rampant growth as soon as the sun took on some warmth. But all at once she noticed something else, too. Green spears of daffodils were also showing, some of them three or four inches high. For a moment or two she just stared at them, her brain a peculiar blank, then gradually her mind cleared. The daffodils were pushing up their shoots because
nature dictated that they should do so. They could neither stop their growth nor put it forward at the wrong time. She, as a thinking, reasoning human being could do almost as she willed. She could at least pull up the rank weeds in her own life and encourage the flowers
—
or what little talents she had—to develop. She could take a hand in shaping her own destiny.

Except that she couldn
’
t have Hugh. The only way she could lessen the pain of her love for him—forget him, if she ever could—was to get right away from here just as soon as the condition of Aunt Esther
’
s will had been fulfilled.

She turned as Hugh came in with the tea and forced a smile.

‘
I must say you
’
re very domesticated.
’

He gave a thin smile.
‘
To a point. I was brought up to make my own bed, lend a hand with the dishes, cook a meal of sorts when necessary—which is just as well, because Rosa isn
’
t terribly domesticated.
’

At the unexpected mention of Rosamond
’
s name, her heart contracted painfully, so that she simply could make no answer to him. Hugh busied himself pouring out the tea, then he gave her a keen glance.

‘
You
’
re looking tired. When you
’
ve drunk this—
’
he said, putting her cup of tea where she could reach it—
’
I think you should lie down on the settee and have a rest
—before Martha gets back,
’
he added, a humorous quirk to his lips.

‘
Are you—having a cup of tea with me?
’
she asked.

He hesitated, then sat down and picked up the teapot again.

‘
Just one, then I must be off.
’

They sipped their tea in a rather constrained silence. Sara could not think of a single thing to say which would not either sound trivial or give away what she was feeling about him. Hugh appeared to have much on his
mind too, and as soon as he had emptied his cup, he poured another one for her and rose to his feet.

‘
Martha will be back in about half an hour. That will just give you time for a rest. Try to sleep. Your worries will keep—and I
’
ll drop in to see you some time tomorrow.
’

She tried to thank him once more, but he shook his head swiftly, then rested his hand on her head for a moment as if she were a child.

‘
Just take care of yourself, that
’
s all, and get those hands better as soon as possible.
’

Automatically, she did as he had told her when he had gone, and lay down on the settee, but she couldn
’
t sleep. Too many thoughts chased each other round her brain. When Martha returned she dabbed some fresh lotion on Sara
’
s hands and re-bandaged them, then cooked the fish with some tomatoes and made a trifle.

‘
Will you be all right now while I go and cook Ted
’
s meal?
’
she asked.
‘
I
’
ll come back later and stay overnight with you.
’

But Sara would not hear of it.
‘
No, Martha, you mustn
’
t. There
’
s nothing wrong with me except for my hands—and they feel marvellous since you
’
ve done them. I shall be quite all right, honestly. After all, I can use my fingers even now.
’

Martha hesitated, and it was apparent to Sara that she really needed very little persuasion.

‘
Are you sure you
’
ll be all right?
’
she queried uncertainly.

‘
Quite sure, Martha, thanks.
’

‘
Very well, then. But let me take your door key
—
and you stay in bed until I come in the morning to get your breakfast. And I
’
ll give you a ring about nine o
’
clock this evening. And don
’
t bother about those dishes, I can do them in the morning.
’

When she had gone Sara could barely prevent a sigh of relief. Unhappy though her thoughts were, she wanted to be alone with them. Disregarding Martha
’
s
‘
orders
‘
she put the dishes in the bowl with some washing-up liquid and poured hot water on to them, swished the long-headed dishmop around, then rinsed them and put them to drain.

Was it possible, she wondered, that she could ever sell any of her designs? One thing she was certain of. From now on, her designs would be different. She would create clothes which gave a woman dignity and character, clothes which were feminine, not gimmicky. Clothes which made a woman feel good because they had pleasing lines. There were some half-finished drawings still in her folder. She would take note of the ones Hugh liked and go on from there.

Martha rang about nine as she had promised, then just as Sara was thinking it was time to ring her father again, he rang her.

‘
How are you, Sara?
’
he asked.
‘
Mrs.
Worthing said you
’
d hurt your hand.
’

Sara laughed.
‘
You
’
ll never believe it, but I somehow managed to get myself locked in the Mill. The door slammed and I couldn
’
t open it. I made my hands sort of raw trying to break my way out. But eventually Hugh came to my rescue.
’

‘
I
’
m glad of that, anyhow. By the way,
Mrs.
Worthing has posted your folders by first class mail, so you should get them by tomorrow.
’
Then he went on after a pause,
‘
Why do you want them? Any particular reason?
’

‘
Hugh wants to see them. Besides—I—
’
She hesitated, then as Hugh
’
s words came back to her, in a rush of words she told her father what had happened about the business.

‘
Sara, I
’
m sorry. I really am,
’
came his voice over the wire, warm with sympathy.
‘
I want you to believe
that.
’

Deeply touched, she felt a constriction in her throat.
‘
Thanks, Father. You—you were right about Des after all.
’

‘
Of what use is it to be right? It
’
s you I
’
m concerned about. Just put it down to experience, and I
’
ll take care of those debts for you.
’

‘
But, Father—
’

‘
My dear, you can pay me back, if that
’
s what
’
s worrying you. But we must keep it in the f
amily
. You might just as well borrow from me as from the solicitor. Far better. I won
’
t charge you as much interest—only maybe a few shares in your next venture.
’

‘
Oh, Father, I wish I could kiss you!
’

‘
It won
’
t be long before you have an opportunity. I shall come down there as often and as soon as I can.
’

She frowned worriedly.
‘
Father, I shall be co
min
g back home to live as soon as the thirteen weeks I have to reside here are finished. I
’
m going to lease the Millhouse.
’

‘
Just watch out the place doesn
’
t get into the wrong hands. I should sleep on that idea if I were you. But we
’
ll talk some more next time I see you. Goodnight now—and don
’
t go getting yourself locked in that mill again.
’

‘
I won
’
t. Goodnight, Father.
’

A soft smile curved around her lips as she replaced the receiver, but she was determined not to borrow any more money from her father than she would have done from the solicitor. For the rest she would stand on her own feet.

She took some tablets the doctor had left for her and went to bed. Her hands hardly pained her at all now, and when she awoke the next morning they were not paining her at all. An idea occurred to her. She went into Aunt Esther
’
s room and after rummaging around a
little, found a pair of old-fashioned cotton gloves. She cut off the fingers, offering a silent apology to her aunt as she did so. Then she removed the bandages from her hands, treated them with the lotion and slipped on the fingerless gloves, discarding the bandages. To wash, she wore a pair of rubber gloves, and when Martha arrived was already making preparations for breakfast.

As she had hoped Martha brought with her the parcel of folders she was expecting. She could barely wait until after breakfast to take out her sketches and have a fresh look at them. But when she did so, it was with some trepidation. What would Hugh really think of them? Was she any good at all?

She went through them, rejecting first one, then another as being useless, worse even than she had realized. Then she came across the one she had made up herself and worn the evening Des had been here. The one Hugh had admired. Her expression softened. She would never sell this to anyone. Never. And he mustn
’
t see it.
Mrs.
Worthing had included a sketchbook in the parcel. She would slip the design at the back of that.

Feverishly almost, she began to sketch a few ideas. Clothes for relaxing, for evenings. A bridal gown.
A bridal gown.
For a moment despair overwhelmed her. Then she pressed her lips together firmly. She must learn to live with this love she had for Hugh. She must. She must stop feeling sorry for herself. Now, she scarcely heard Martha as she moved heavy-footed about the house, but when she entered the room and asked if there was any shopping she could do for her, Sara felt conscience-stricken. She ought not to be under any further obligation to Martha.

‘
That
’
s—kind of you, Martha, but I shall be going out myself soon. I
’
m perfectly all right now, really. And thanks a thousand times for all you
’
ve done.
’