Authors: Sara Seale
Orphan Bride (21 page)
“
If you remember, I suggested it a little while back,” he said. “At that time you were rather missing the country.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” she said hastily, and avoided
Luke’s bright glance which told her that he, too, thought Julian’s decision sudden.
The conversation seemed to lag after that. At six Luke said he must be going.
“Shall I drop you, Jennet, or does Julian want to bring you back, later?”
“Unfortunately, I’m dining out,” Julian replied, “so if
you wouldn’t mind, Luke
—
”
Jennet fetched her things with relief, and once in the car, enquired of Luke what had upset Julian.
“That I saw your portrait before he did,” said Luke
carelessly
.
“Oh
...”
She gave a soft little laugh. “Like a little boy. Poor Julian.”
“Not so much of the poor little boy,” said Luke whimsically. “It wasn’t the only thing that upset Cousin Julian, let me tell you.”
“Not?”
“He thinks I’m beginning to take too much interest in
you, my sweet, and for once he’s right
.”
She wriggled in the darkness.
“Oh, Luke, that’s silly.”
“Why is it silly? You ought
to know by now when man finds you attractive.”
“Yes, but—you and me and Julian—that’s
different. We’ve always been a trio, and you—well, you’ve just been very kind to me, that’s all.”
“So
much for my weeks of delicate approaches and nuances,” he said with a laugh. They were outside Piggy’s flat now, and he switched off the engine, and turned to her,
his
arm resting along the back, of the passenger’s seat.
“Don’t you know when a man’s making love to you?” he asked, his head bent to hers. “Or did you think in your ignorance that it simply consists of being seized and clasped to a manly bosom?”
“Of course not, but
—”
“But what?”
“All t
hose silly and charming things you say. They don’t mean anything. You talk like that to all women
.
Julian once said you couldn’t resist flattering and charm
ing
—perhaps he meant making love. I don’t know
—”
His arm tightened round her shoulders.
“Julian!” He scoffed affectionately.
“Julian
knows
nothing about the art of making love, and never has. For it is an art, you know, Jennet. More can be achieved by the right phrase than it ever can by the conventional embrace.”
“Yes,” she said, with a little sigh. “Yes
,
I can imagine that.”
“Not that kissing and all the rest of it isn’t very pleasant—like this,” said Luke and drew her head against his shoulder.
He had kissed her before, but never quite like this. For an instant he was conscious of something too facile, too practiced in his approach, then she yielded to the comfort of the moment.
It was cosy sitting in the darkness of the car with the rain pattering on the roof and Luke’s experienced fingers playing over her closed eyes and parted lips. Comfort
...
No man shall uncomfort thee
...
But Luke was not like that. He would bring comfort to too many.
She sat up, drawing away out of his arms.
“I must go in,” she said. “Piggy will be waiting.”
“You’re so sweet,” he said, turning her face up to his again. “And so ready for love. What a fool Julian is.” She thought of Julian, of his dark, bitter face that still could be gentle, his firm hands which held all the strength and freedom denied to the rest of his body, and suddenly she wanted to cry.
Inside the badly lighted hall he drew her to him
and kissed her with infinite gentleness.
“Don’t be upset, darling,” he said softly. “It’s all so very natural, and so very sweet.” Her lashes were wet and he touched them with a satisfied finger.
“You don’t understand at all,” she said, and knew in that moment with instinctive wisdom that people like Luke would never understand.
“Of course I do, silly one,” he said. “You’re shy. But why are we standing here with a perfectly good evening before us? Run up and change into that white debutante’s frock of yours and we’ll go to Pirrelli’s to-night instead of Friday.”
“No,” she said. “Thank you very much, Luke, but I don’t think I will, all the same.”
“As you like, sweet.” Luke never made the mistake of overloading his advantage. “I’ll run up with you and just say good evening to Pigling Bland.”
Piggy looked up from her crocheting as they came in, and her eyes rested rather sharply on Jennet’s flushed face.
When Luke had gone, she remarked with apparent irrelevance:
“The Danes and the Fentons lived next door to one another when Julian and Luke were small.
Mrs. Dane had a great fondness for Luke. I think she really preferred him to her own child—you see he was so much more charming.” Jennet said nothing, and Piggy finished prosaically: “And Julian, of course, adored his mother. It must have been a little hard to bear.”
CHAPTER
T H I R T E E N
The weekend at Pennycross was not altogether a success.
Bibi had died, and Emily was mourning him with a grief that irritated Julian and filled Jennet with wistful amazement.
“Bibi might have been a child,” she said wond
e
ringly to Julian. “Such an ugly, horrid little creature for Aunt Emily to have loved so much.”
“She’s making a perfect fool of herself,
” J
ulian returned impatiently.
“I’m sorry, Jennet, we wouldn’t have come if I’d known. It’s not a very cheerful week-end for you.”
“I don’t mind,” said Jennet quickly. “
O
nly I can’t help her. She won’t take comfort.”
“She’ll get
over it. There are plenty of the little
perishers yapping away in the kennels to take this one’s place. I’m rather surprised at Aunt Emily. She’s usually so level-headed.”
“But everyone has to have affection in some shape
or form,” said Jennet softly. Only Julian was without need,
she thought, denying others as he denied himself.
“When one witnesses a display of this kind,” Julian was saying, “it would seem to be an excellent thing to have a sense of proportion.”
“Yes, but one doesn’t know,” said Jennet, “one doesn’t know what happens in people’s lives to make them what they are. Aunt Emily may have loved someone once, or she may never have loved anyone, so she has to have an outlet somewhere.”
H
e glanced at her sharply.
“Is there supposed to be a moral in that?” he asked.
“No,” she said, “a truth. Everyone wants an outlet of
some kind. Even you, Julian, have your music.”
“What do you mean by even you, Julian? Am I to be considered above normal outlets, as you call it?”
She considered him gravely.
“You like to think you are,” she told him, and added carefully: “Perhaps you are. Perhaps you’re different.”
A curious expression crossed his face.
“I’m beginning to think—” he said slowly, then finished with an odd gentleness: “You’re a strange mixture, Jennet. One moment you’re just a child, and the next you produce some comic little profundity that puts us all in our place.”
Jennet smiled.
“But
then, you see, you still think of me as a child, Julian, and I wouldn’t dream of putting you in your place. That’s what you do to me.”
He laughed a little self-consciously. “Do I, indeed? And very good for you, too, no doubt, with Luke and old Jeremy falling over themselves to make a fuss of you.”
She
crinkled her nose at him.
“They don’t pounce,” she said: “
I
t makes a lot of difference
.
”
He grunted.
“H’m. They don’t pounce, and they flatter very charmingly. I wonder what you’d say if I was to try some of these pretty speeches on you.”
“I’d think it very odd,” she said politely, and he gave her hair a half-exasperated tweak.
“One day you may get a surprise, so don’t be too sure
o
f me,” he said, and watched the faint flush mount in her bony little face, but she only said:
“Be patient with Aunt Emily while we’re here. She really is unhappy.”
To Emily she said impulsively the night before they left:
“Would you like me to stay, Aunt Emily? I don’t need to go back with Julian.”
Emily looked surprised.
“No; thank you, dear child. You must go back for that final sitting, and in any case, I prefer to be alone with Homer just now.”
But she was touched by Jennet’s offer, and the next morning, although she did not ki
s
s her good-bye, she held her hand for a brief moment, giving it a squeeze which was the nearest approach to emotion that she had ever shown her.
They reached Piggy’s flat in time for a late tea, and Piggy herself rose to greet them from what seemed to be a bower of flowers. The room was filled with great shaggy-headed chrysanthemums.
“What’s all this?” exclaimed Julian with amusement. “Have you been spending a fortune, Piggy, or has some secret admirer been busy in our absence?”
“Luke brought them for Jennet,” said Piggy shortly. “Said they were a welcome-home offering and he would be looking in to-night with more.”
“Oh!” Jennet, flushing, went from one cluster of flowers to another, touching their petals with loving fingers.
J
ulian’s eyebrows went up and he remarked a little acidly:
“Luke always did rather overdo things. Well
, J
ennet
,
you ought to be flattered.”
“Luke’s gestures are always extravagant when he wants something,” said Piggy dryly.
Julian’s eyes narrowed.
“And what do you mean by that remark
?
”
“Only that when you were little, I remember Luke presenting you with all the expensive surplus of his schoolroom to get your one most treasured possession in exchange. Stop admiring your flowers, now, Jennet, and sit down.”
Julian left soon after tea, telling Jennet he would see her at Jeremy’s studio the next afternoon. She ran downstairs ahead of him and into the street to look for a taxi for him, and he came and stood beside her on the edge of the pavement, tapping his stick against the curb wit
h a
nervous gesture.
“This street is too quiet,” Jennet said. “I'll run up to Cromwell Road and fetch one back for you.”
He turned to stop her, but she was too quick for him, and calling after her to be careful of the traffic, he picked up his heavy suitcase, and started to walk slowly along the pavement to meet her.
She found a taxi very quickly and came back with it,
standing on the step, leaning outwards as she had seen street urchins do, her hair flowing behind her.
“I’d make a good page-boy, don’t you think?” she said, opening the door for him with a flourish.
He paused, and taking her chin in his hand, turned her
face up to him.
“Jennet, I
—”
he began.
She waited, her clear eyes raised enquiringly to his, and the expression in his face puzzled her. She shivered a little, and he picked up his suitcase and got into the taxi.
“Run on in,” he said abruptly. “You’ll catch cold. I’ll see you tomorrow at Jeremy’s. Good night
.
”
True to his promise, Luke arrived just before seven, carrying a large spray of orchids.
“Quite wrong for you, darling, really,” he told her as he watched her pin them to her dress. “But orchids do seem to have a great moral uplift for most women. Hurry up, my poppet. I’ve booked a table for dinner
a deux
.”
Jennet had not expected to be taken out
to dinner and she was grateful for such flattering attention as Luke was bestowing on her. After the rather depressing weekend, it was exhilarating to sit opposite him in the softly lighted restaurant, surrounded by warmth and chatter, and listen to his charming compliments again.
She asked him how he had spent the week-end and he told her he had been working hard on his new novel and had seen nobody.
“It’s going well,” he said. “My heroine’s
shaping very nicely, thanks to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes, don’t you remember I told you she was very like you? Would you like to read the first chapters some time? You might be able to put me right on some points of character.”
Jennet was flattered. She did not imagine her criticism
could be of real value, but she was curious to see how she herself appeared in his eyes.
“I’ll bring the typescript along next time we meet,” he said, then proceeded for the rest of the evening to make delicate love to her in those skilful phrases which he had once said were so important.
“I’m so fond of you, Jennet,” he told her in the car. “You have such a store of giving tucked away there for the right man. Don’t let Julian make you like poor Aunt Emily.”
She turned a startled gaze to him.
“You sometimes talk of him as if he was some inhuman monster,” she said.
Luke laughed and patted her knee.
“Not a monster, but a little inhuman perhaps—don’t you agree? Are you going to let him rule your life for ever?”
Her eyes widened in the darkness.
“I don’t know. I have no choice really,” she said, and he replied softly:
“You have the choice given to every individual—your own free will. Marry him if you must, but don’t deny your
own fulfilment. There are other men who’d like what Julian doesn’t want, you know.”