The Questing Heart (21 page)

'I'd like to go right away,' she told him. 'You've got a job now,' for Alf had found employment. 'I wouldn't go so far that I couldn't get back for weekends sometimes.'

He looked at her with understanding.

'Ay, lass, happen you're wise, but you don't want to go abroad again?'

'No, Dad. I've had enough of travel.'

Friday passed, then Saturday, while Clare was very conscious that only a short distance away Christopher was appearing before the Manchester public. For the price of a ticket she could see him if she wished, but she resisted the temptation. The sight of him would only deepen her wound. She would be relieved when he had left the North, for though she tried to push him out of her thoughts he refused to be banished. On both evenings her father anxiously watched her wan face and muttered imprecations against 'that young swine', for he was convinced that Chris was to blame for her barely concealed misery. But on Saturday he seemed to forget about him, and went to a football match.

On Sunday Clare decided to go for a day into the country. It was fine autumn weather and she enjoyed rambling. She would go to Alderley Edge where the trees would be beautiful in their tinted foliage. She expected her father would offer to go with her, but he did not, only insisting upon knowing where she intended to go.

She wandered rather aimlessly over the Edge, which she had known since childhood. The trees dropped scarlet and gold at her feet, the distant hills were mauve outlines against a blue sky. Alderley Edge is a long spine of hilly country protruding on to the Cheshire plain, the last rampart surrounding the Peak. It was steep in places with outcrops of rock and old mine workings.

Clare sat on a sloping bank of fir needles under the tree that had shed them, gazing down on to the level ground below her, where fields divided by hedges were laid out like a chequerboard, and cows grazed. There were few people about, the summer rush being over, and she had her eyrie to herself. She had a packet of sandwiches with her, but as usual of late, felt disinclined to eat. It was very still and peaceful, without any wind, the sunlight filtering through the tinted foliage in shafts of gold. She saw a couple of walkers coming through the woods towards her and watched them idly—a young man and a girl in anoraks and trousers. Then suddenly as they drew nearer she tensed, recognising Christopher Raines and Valerie Hall. Anxious to avoid a meeting, she jumped to her feet, hoping to find cover in the undergrowth before they noticed her, but the bank gave way beneath her, sending her sprawling. When she tried to get up, a sharp pain in her ankle warned her she had damaged it. She must have cried out when she fell, for the two distant figures came running towards her. She was sitting up feeling her ankle anxiously when Christopher reached her.

'Devil take me, if it isn't Sparrow!' he exclaimed, but she had an inexplicable impression that he was not really surprised to see her at all. 'What have you done to yourself, darling?'

'Oh, just twisted my foot, it's nothing,' she said hurriedly, and tried to stand up. Her leg gave way and she dropped ignominiously at his feet. He squatted down beside her.

'Here, let me see.'

He pushed up the cuff of her trousers and tenderly touched the swelling.

'Looks like a sprain to me,' said a cool voice behind him, a light musical voice that Clare had last heard On stage. 'She ought to have a cold compress put on it. Can you help her back to the house, Chris, and we'll attend to it.'

'Oh no,' Clare protested. 'I can walk, if you'll find me a stick.' The last thing she wanted to do was to accept Valerie's hospitality.

'Don't be stupid, darling,' Chris told her. 'Sparrows with broken wings can't fly. Val's people live on the Edge and their house is only a few yards away. I'll carry you there.'

Heedless of her further protests, he picked her up, saying casually: 'Oh, by the way, this is Valerie Hall, you saw her in the play. Val, my ex-secretary, Clare Underwood.'

'I'm very glad to meet you,' Valerie declared, smiling. 'I've heard such a lot about you.'

What? Clare wondered, surprised that Chris should have mentioned her to this beautiful girl, and Valerie was even lovelier off stage, with a pretty colour in her cheeks, no make-up and her fair hair loose about her shoulders. Slim and graceful, she was enough to arouse any man's admiration ... and love.

Clare had no option but to go where she was carried, and she felt a wild thrill of happiness to be in Christopher's arms. He held her easily, finding her slight weight no embarrassment as he trod surely along the winding path through the wood. They came out on to a main road, which they crossed and plunged into the woods again.

The Halls' house was built in a clearing, a relic from the days when the cotton kings erected mansions all over the Edge before their wealth melted in the slump and trade never recovered again. It was of red brick with large windows and surrounded by lawns, mellowed by time. Chris carried Clare through a french window which Valerie opened for them and put her down carefully on a wide settee. The big room was well furnished but slightly shabby, which added to its homely look. A small log fire burned in the grate, for the days were becoming chilly. A spaniel approached them wagging its tail, and tried to join Clare on the settee.

'Down, Buster,' Valerie ordered. 'You know that's not allowed.'

Clare was to discover subsequently that Mr Hall farmed some land and painted as a hobby. Several of his pictures were hung on the walls, his wife wrote books; they were an artistic family.

Valerie knelt beside the settee and removed Clare's shoe.

'We'll get Hannah to attend to this,' she said, 'she knows a bit about first aid. Hannah was my nurse,' she went on to explain, 'but when I grew up, she stayed on. She's invaluable. Then we'll have some lunch. You'll stay, won't you, Clare? I may call you Clare?'

'Of course, but..

'You haven't any choice, Sparrow,' Chris told her with a grin. 'You can't run away with that foot.'

Recalling their last painful interview, Clare marvelled at his easy manner. He seemed quite pleased to see her, but for him the encounter had no emotional overtones; he was involved with the lovely Valerie and she was just an echo from the past.

Hannah, homely and aged but still agile, bandaged Clare's foot with a cold compress. Food was brought in, not a formal meal, it was put on tables and the company helped themselves. Valerie waited upon Clare with pretty attentiveness. Mrs Hall joined them, a vague woman, physically very like her daughter. Mr Hall was out on the farm. They all talked and laughed a lot, Chris in his usual light bantering manner. The atmosphere was friendly and cheerful, and Clare tried hard to respond to it, but her heart was heavy. Christopher fitted so well into this family who obviously thought a lot of him. She felt a complete outsider. Inevitably they discussed the play.

'How you managed to cope with Chris while he was writing it I can't imagine,' Valerie declared. 'He's awful when he's gestating—pregnant mothers aren't in it! You must be a very patient woman.'

'She is,' Chris corroborated. 'Nothing ruffles Clare, even thunderstorms.'

His eyes met hers with a wicked gleam and Clare blushed. Why did he have to refer to that incident? She noticed he was studying her intently while he was chaffing with Valerie and surmised he was comparing her unfavourably with the other girl.

Chris and Valerie were spending the day at Alderley with her. parents, and they arranged that they would take Clare back with them when they returned to Manchester. Since she knew she could not hobble as far as the station, Clare made no demur, though she wished she could leave at once.

After clearing away the debris of the meal, Hannah insisted that Clare must rest, more because she looked so white than because of her foot. Mrs Hall wandered away and the two younger people went out into the garden. Clare could hear their gay laughter from where she lay until it faded into silence. She lay very still, wishing she were far away, for the sight of their happiness together was hurting her. She was thankful that she had released him before he decided to break the engagement off himself, as she was sure now he would have done when he returned to London.

A shadow fell across the entrance to the garden, and Chris came into the room, walking behind the settee, where he stood, looking down at her, resting his hands upon its back. Clare turned so that she could see his face.

'I'm sorry about this, Chris,' she said. 'I wouldn't have intruded upon you for anything.'

He ignored her apology. 'You look ill, Sparrow. Can it be that you're fretting?'

'Fretting? Me? Why should I?' she returned defiantly. 'I'm perfectly okay. I'm naturally pale.'

'But not so pale, you're positively ashen.' He straightened himself, slipped his hands into his pockets and remarked casually, 'I saw your father on Friday night.'

'You
what?'

In her astonishment, Clare sat bolt upright, and a spasm of pain crossed her face as her ankle gave a twinge.

'You'd better take it quietly,' Christopher cautioned her. 'Grand old boy, your dad.
He'd
no inhibitions about coming backstage. Came barging in like an angry bull before I'd got my paint off.'

Clare's eyes widened in bewilderment. 'But why?'

'He accused me of breaking your heart.'

'Oh, no!' Clare was horrorstruck.

'Your appearance bears him out, my love. You look a bit heartbroken.' He came round the settee and carefully moved her legs to make room for himself to sit down facing her. 'Why did you do it, darling? Were you just being perverse? Why was it necessary to hurt us both?'

'Hurt you?' she was scornful. 'You don't care.'

He said very simply, looking her straight in the eyes, 'But I do.' Clare gave a little gasp and he went on, 'My darling Sparrow, I can't do without you. You don't know how I've missed you, but you snubbed me so unmercifully. The last man you'd ever marry, I believe you said. Oh, I'm no good at the romantic approach, I leave that to you and Madame Monique. I told you during the crossing from France that you were the only woman I could bear to marry, or words to that effect, and you went off about eels, loathsome creatures. When I came up to Manchester I meant to blow the gaff about a convenience marriage, which was only a subterfuge anyway, but you threw your ring at me in the cafe before I could explain and I thought you'd no use for a poor jester.'

Clare was so bewildered by this complete reversal of his former attitudes that she could only stare at him and stammer:

'You're saying you want ... a real marriage ... with children?'

'If we're blessed with them, but I'd rather limit our family to a couple, if you don't mind.'

She said half laughing, half crying: 'I never know when you re serious.

'I'm very serious; marriage is a serious business. It's taken me a long time to make up my mind. I got engaged to you to keep you on a string while we ... tested our reactions. Yours weren't very favourable, but I kept on hoping until you gave me the final knock out.'

'And consoled yourself with Valerie.'

'Val?' he looked astonished. 'She's only a pal. She's got a string of suitors a mile along, and I hate queues ...' His voice deepened and a glow came into his eyes. 'Sparrow, you little nitwit, stop questioning and prevaricating and let yourself feel.'

His arms came round her, lifting her against his chest, and Clare, her injured foot forgotten, clung to him. Their lips met in a long satisfying kiss. The light had begun to fade as Valerie came running into the room.

'How about some tea before we start back? Oh!' She stared at the couple entwined upon the settee and her face broke into a lovely smile. 'So you've settled it? May I be bridesmaid?'

Clare disengaged herself from Christopher's arms, flushed and laughing.

'Of course, if you wish. What a bit of luck I met you on the Edge.'

Valerie and Christopher exchanged glances.

'It wasn't exactly luck,' said Valerie. 'We went to your home on the way here and your father told us where you'd gone. We were looking for you when you sprained your ankle.' She looked curiously at Clare. 'You've worked something of a miracle. We despaired of any woman being able to nobble Chris.'

'On the contrary,' Chris hastened to inform her, smoothing his rumpled hair, 'I did the nobbling, as you call it; it started with ... er ... blackmail, but it took a phenomenal thunderstorm to bring her to my arms, and then she escaped, she's a most elusive bird.' He threw a glinting glance at Clare. 'But this time I've caught her in the noose of matrimony and she'll flutter no more.'

'You're incorrigible, Chris,' Clare declared, laughing. 'But there's no one like you.'

'I should hope not.' He preened himself. 'I'm glad you appreciate my originality.'

When later Valerie went out to see about the tea, Clare asked wistfully:

'Do you love me, Chris? You haven't said so.'

'My Sparrow, I Suppose this funny feeling I have for you must be love. I've never experienced it before, but you must teach me how to put it into words. You're the expert on romance.'

'I don't think I'll ever write another word,' she sighed.

'Of course you will and so shall I, thousands of them. We're both what Vio called us, word-spinners.'

The mention of Violetta caused Clare's face to cloud.

'Was she really your mistress? You said so once.'

'Did I? I've said a great many foolish things, my darling. I probably hoped to impress you. I'll admit there was a time when it nearly happened, but her possessiveness put me off, and I certainly was not going to allow her to throw stones at my Sparrow, who is worth a dozen of her.'

'She's very beautiful,' Clare sighed.

'So is a volcano in eruption, and such temperaments are far too uncomfortable to live with. What drew me to you was your sweet serenity.' An uncharacteristic look of humility came into his eyes. 'I'm not exactly easy myself, Sparrow, as you know by now. Are you sure you can bear with me? For always?'

'I'll do my best,' Clare promised, dimpling. 'Because one thing I am sure about, I couldn't bear to live without you.'