Harbinger of Spring (8 page)

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Authors: Hilda Pressley

Tags: #Harlequin Romance 1972

BOOK: Harbinger of Spring
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Hugh
!
We seem to be following each other around.


Yes.

He looked at her critically.

You know you really ought to wear more suitable clothing.


Oh, I won

t be doing any bird-watching.


Even so, five minutes in these easterly gales is enough to give you pneumonia if you

re not wearing the right sort of gear. I

ll wait for you while Harry shows you
around the lifeboat. You

ll find it quite interesting.

Sara followed the lifeboatman and tried to absorb the information he gave her. But although it was fascinating and she had every admiration for the crew and their work, a part of her mind was on Hugh. She was almost beginning to enjoy being bossed about by him. There was a hint of caring which she found satisfying and which she welcomed.

When she rejoined him he took hold of her arm and marched her at once to a hotel facing the sea.


Tea, that

s what you need, my girl. You

re really not fit to be allowed out on your own.

Sara laughed.

You

re sounding more like my father every minute!


Thanks,

he said tartly.

She looked at his expression and knew she had said the wrong thing.


I

m sorry, I didn

t mean—


No need to apologize. A few more years either side and I suppose I could be.

But something had gone wrong. She didn

t want to widen the gap in their years, she would rather close it.


How old do you think I am?

she demanded.

He gave her a hard look.

I

m no good at guessing. Most of you girls look much younger than you really are

and I suppose you

re no exception.


I

m twenty-one,

she informed him, and waited for his reaction.

There was a slight raising of his eyebrows.

That proves my point.


Appearances can be deceptive,

she said quietly.

A waiter came and asked what they would like.


This young lady is new to Norfolk and this is her first ever visit to Cromer. I think she should have a taste of Cromer crab, don

t you?


I quite agree, sir.


Crab
!’
The only crab Sara had ever tasted was from a tin and she had thought it grossly overrated.


Shellfish doesn

t upset your digestion, does it
?

Hugh enquired.


Heavens, no
!’


Then try it. It

s out of this world.

He was right, it was. But Sara

s attention was only half on what she was eating. She was now beginning to feel like a schoolgirl being given a treat, and she wished she had not made that stupid remark about her father. She supposed her hair-style and her clothes made her look younger than she was. But she had to look young and dress this way because of her business. She knew in her heart, though, that this was not strictly true. All her friends dressed in the same trendy fashion, and until now she had never even thought about it.

Hugh bega
n
to tell her of places further along the coast. A place called Blakeney, he said, which was a paradise for birds and bird-watchers, and he again made a reference to being suitably dressed. With an effort she held her tongue in check. She had no wish to be rude to him or make him look silly—if that were possible—by telling him th
a
t clothes were her business, and that had she planned a trip like this she would naturally have worn jeans and a sweater. Neither could she tell him that the dress she had worn that morning was put on for his benefit.

What sort of girl—or woman—did he like
?
she wondered.

 

CHAPTER III

It
was shortly before
seven when Sara arrived at what she was
now
thinking of as home and put her key in the door. It had been a very full day one way and another. She had never dreamed of seeing Hugh again in Cromer. But
how
easy it would be to quarrel with the man. He was
so
sure of himself, so assertive. She supposed she
really
ought to have told him about her business in London. She was not usually so reticent. What would he think of her boutique? she wondered. She had a strong feeling he would be slightly contemptuous. Then she shrugged. At the end of thirteen weeks they would
probably
never see each other again, so what did it matter whether he approved or not
?

She was surprised by the ringing of the telephone, and even more surprised when Desmond spoke.


How

s my Sara doing? Still marooned?


Not quite.


Good. What

s the info, for coming to see you? Do I hire a horse and buggy
?


It

s not as bad as that. There are good trains from Liverpool Street and I would pick you up at Norwich. When were you thinking of making the trip
?


Tomorrow morning.


But the shop—


Not to worry about it. I

ve had a nice little chick working here for the last four days and she

s quite capable of taking charge of things for one day. What

s the night life there?


I don

t know. I

ve not had a chance to try it.


We

ll put that right on Saturday night.

Sara thought for a moment.

That

ll be fine. There

s a train out of Liverpool Street about nine-thirty, but
check on it, will you, and I

ll meet you in Norwich.


Sure, sure, leave it to your Uncle Des. Be seeing you!

Sara put the phone down smiling to herself. Des coming to Norfolk for the weekend was something she could hardly believe. To his way of thinking any place which did not have an underground railway station a few yards away was the back of beyond. She would just have to find an exciting place for them to spend the evening.

She picked up the local paper she had bought, and found a whole page given to advertisements of places to wine, dine and dance. She decided that what she needed was some place on, or close to, a main road. Country clubs were fine if you knew just where they were, but she had seen enough of the tangle of minor roads in the area to know how easy it was to get lost.

Then a name she knew well seemed to jump from the pages at her and she went quickly to the phone. Within a few seconds she had booked a table for two.

Aware of how vastly her spirits had lifted within the last ten minutes, she realized for the first time how dependent she was on other people to give zest to life. This place had great charm, and in the spring and summer it would undoubtedly be very beautiful. But she was a
born
and bred Londoner and hardly existed away from the bright lights, the crowds and the sounds of traffic. Tomorrow evening could not come too soon, she told herself.

Saturday morning was clear and bright with hardly any wind. Sara breakfasted, then telephoned hairdressing salons for an appointment. She was lucky enough to get one for ten o

clock and hurried to be in time for it. At the boatyard Ted walked towards her in his unhurried manner, but she called to him,


Morning, Ted. In a hurry—hair-do in Norwich.

He laughed and waved to her.

Mind
how you go,
then.

As she reached the main road she
remembered about
his and Martha

s invitation to lunch on
Sunday. She
wou
ld
have to ring up when she returned
and ask to be
excused; although perhaps Martha might
not mind the
extra guest, Sara could not bring
herself to ask the
favour. She put the matter at the back
of her mind and
concentrated on driving. She would
need to keep up a
good pace if she was to be on time for
her appointment.

The city was crowded when she reached
it and she had
a little difficulty in finding a parking place.
However,
she reached the hairdresser

s on time
and going from
there to the station she had two or three
minutes in hand.

The train was punctual and Desmond
came through
the barrier resplendent in lavender-coloured
slacks, a
rainbow-hued shirt and a very broad
gold necktie, his
blond shoulder-length hair looking newly
rinsed and
waved.


How was the trip?

Sara asked.


A drag, chick. An absolute
drag. I tried some
breakfast, but what with things
rattling and dancing
about the table, I didn

t have
the stomach for it.
Where

s the buggy?


Just outside.

She noticed
him
give
a sudden shiver.

You should have brought
a
topcoat.


I

ve got a black plastic thing in
the bag, but since
you have a jalopy—

Sara walked quickly with
him the
short
distance to the
car and opened the doors.
He
got
in and lolled on the
seat, head thrown back
as if he had not the slightest
interest in his surroundings.

There was a traffic light at the station
exit and while
Sara waited for it to turn
to
green
she pointed to the
river.


That

s the River Wensum.


Oh, yes?

Later, when they were making the one-way street circuit around the castle, she pointed it out to him. He gave it a brief glance.


Why don

t they pull it down? It

s in the way of the traffic.

Sara felt mildly shocked.

I suppose they like it, and it

s probably got a lot of history.


History is just bunk. They could get a big department store there.


You

ll see some as we go down the hill.

She concentrated in getting the car into the correct lane for the right-hand turn at the bottom of the hill, then veering into the left-hand stream of traffic as they passed the other side of the castle. Desmond did not speak again until she was negotiating a number of obstructions in a street which was being much rebuilt then he startled Sara by suddenly sitting bolt upright.


Hey, this area would be a swell place to start a boutique. It

s handy to the centre of town and on a bus route. Take a good look.


I can

t. I

m driving,

Sara said shortly.

Ten minutes later she was clear of the town and making a good pace.


Were you serious about a boutique in Norwich?

she asked.


Sure I was. That street looked a good trading place to me. What was the name of it?


Magdalen Street, I think.


Well, I could ship you the very latest from the Smoke just as fast as you sold it. After all, two hours by train—


And I

d stay here permanently?


Well, you do have a pad. This windmill, or whatever it is. Remember how tough it is finding a place to live in London?


I do have a home there,

she reminded him.


Yes, but you

re not exactly free in it, are you? Daddy makes it pretty clear he doesn

t like me, for instance. You think it over.


I am doing. Thinking very hard.

She was silent until they reached Wroxham and were bumping slowly over the humped bridge.


The River Bure,

she said.

I

m told it

s very busy in the season.


Looks a bit of a hick joint. What you want is a place that

s busy all the year round. Season work isn

t any good. Suppose you get a wet, cold summer?

Sara did not answer and was beginning to regret Desmond

s coming. Then she remembered that she did not have to take any notice of the business idea he had put forward and that the rest of his conversation was probably caused by the fact that he was off his own ground. She recalled little incidents since she had known him. His contempt for her idea of a walk in one of the parks when the evening was hot and clammy. His refusal to walk a yard if he could ride. And London could be very pleasant to stroll about in after business hours.

It seemed, now that she thought about it, that Des had a dislike of open spaces and quietness which almost amounted to a phobia.

Neither of them spoke again until Sara turned the car into the narrow lane leading to the boatyard. Then he gave an exclamation.


Where in heck are you taking me?


It

s just about a mile down here to the boatyard.


Boatyard?


I did tell you when I first phoned you that the mill could only be reached by boat for the time being.


Phew! I have got myself into something!

As Sara stopped the car near the edge of the quay she got out very quickly and went to pull back the canopy of
the launch. For a reason she could not quite fathom she did not wish Ted to meet Desmond, and at the moment, Ted was not in sight. Desmond followed her and looked down at the tiny craft.


In this! Is it safe?


Of course it

s safe. Get in while I put the car away.

She laughed.

Put one of the lifejackets on if you feel nervous. At any rate it

ll keep you warm.

She ran back to the car and drove it into the shed. Then as she was closing the door she remembered she would have to let Ted know that it would be after dark when she returned from Norwich, also that she wanted to beg-off tomorrow

s lunch date. Then she turned and saw that Ted was already talking to Desmond. She hurried to them.


Have you two introduced yourselves
?

she asked brightly.

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