The Girl From Over the Sea (2 page)

‘
But nothing like Bondi or Manly,
’
said Rita scornfully.

‘
They
’
ll be mini ones, you can bet, like their cars.
’

‘
How do you know when you haven
’
t even seen them?
If
members of the Sydney Surfing and Life-Saving Association are coming over here this summer to give exhibitions the beaches can
’
t be so bad. Steve
’
s coming, isn
’
t he, Les?
’

‘
So he said,
’
Lesley agreed.

The twins now plunged into another noisy argument to which Lesley tried to shut her ears. They were tired and cold and you couldn
’
t blame them for being fractious. Her lips twitched at the thought. Odd how she always thought of these two as if they were babes in arms. For that matter, in many way
’
s so they were.

She drove on steadily, silently thankful that Rick wasn
’
t pestering her again to drive. What could have possessed her to let him do so earlier on? If they had had a real crash she wouldn
’
t have been able to hide the fact that he was behind the wheel. Though they
’
d probably all have been killed as that man had said. His great juggernaut of a car would have pulped them. He had a car that matched his personality, she reflected.

They were quite high up now, and if it had been light and clear, they perhaps would have been able to see the coast. Lights were visible and they must be those of St Benga Town. In a few minutes they ought to be at the King
’
s Arms where Lesley had booked rooms for two nights. That was the address she ought to have given the dark stranger—not Trevendone Manor—not yet.

The twins had thought it unnecessarily wasteful to book at a hotel, but Lesley had said thoughtfully,
‘
It will give us time to survey the land and have a look-see. We might be able to pick up some local gossip about the Trevendones and about the Manor.
’

They were warmly received by the hotel-keeper and his wife.
‘
What a night!
’
Mrs.
Cleaver exclaimed.
‘
M
’
dear souls, you
’
m be frozen. But the rooms are nice and warm. We had they night storage heaters put in last year and a might of difference they
’
ve made. Let me take you up, m
’
dears, and then when you
’
m tidied up you can come down for a bite of supper.
’

They followed her upstairs. The hotel looked old, but it had been covered in white paint which no doubt was an asset so far as light was concerned but did not give an effect of cosiness. Lesley, who had visualised a Dickensian type of hostelry with oak beams and rafters, was frankly disappointed.

Nor did the supper come up to her expectations. Cold boiled ham and salad was a poor substitute for that huge steaming bowl of soup she had imagined or that sirloin of juicy beef carved by their host, their plates piled high with lovely fresh vegetables.

So much for
Mrs.
Travers who had lived near them at Lactatdo and had once spent a year in Britain. She had told them that one of the places where they would find the real ye olde England, especially out of the holiday season, was Cornwall.

She evidently hadn
’
t stayed at the King
’
s Arms in St Benga Town. Still, there was a roaring fire in the hotel lounge and after they had eaten the three sat sleepily watching it. But soon Lesley decided they would all be better for an early night and for once the twins raised no protest. Lesley and Rita were sharing a two-bedded room and Rick had been given a smaller one at the end of the corridor. The rooms were tolerably warm and there were hot water bottles in the three beds. So With very little in the way of conversation they undressed and crept between the brushed nylon sheets where the twins were soon asleep.

But Lesley tossed and turned and slept only fitfully. She was too tired, she supposed, and had too much on her mind.
W
hen she finally slept she dreamed about the hot dry country they had left so recently; about the snow which they had seen for the first time today and about that ogre of a man who in her dreams seemed to be pursuing her in a big black monster of a car through narrow lanes. In the end she had to turn, cornered, and he gripped her shoulders and said harshly,
‘
You
’
re a liar and a cheat, Lesley Arden.
’

She woke up cold and shivering, wondering how he knew she was Lesley Arden and not Lesley Trevendone. But she had been dreaming. She clutched her hot water bottle, but it had cooled and gave, her very little comfort. Oh, for that warm sunshine back home
!

She crept out of bed and went to the window. Sleep seemed very far away now and she
wondered how long it would be before she could get up. She wished she hadn
’
t had that stupid dream and that she could forget that near-accident last evening.

One couldn
’
t really blame the man for being angry. Rick had been going much too fast, but
she
was the real culprit for letting him drive at all. After all, he was only sixteen, though he had handled the old Hudson on the station at Lactatoo ever since he was ten. Still, a remote sheep station in Lactatoo New South Wales wasn
’
t England.

The man couldn
’
t have seen who was really driving or he would have confronted Rick. Yet he had made that deliberate pause when he
had first looked at her in the light of his torch.

Lesley shivered with something that wasn
’
t the chill of the bedroom. She pushed the curtains aside. There were yellow street lamps making queer topaz flowers in the dark. There was a wind howling rather eerily and the angry roar of a storm-racked sea.

As Rita had said, it was a far cry from Bondi Beach in Australia. Had she been wise in bringing the twins here? But she had promised Margaret Trevendone she would do so, and it was too late to back out now. It was pointless to look back.

But even so, her thoughts
were
going back, at least as far as yesterday. That man! Had he really been so tall and broad, or was it her imagination that was painting him as a giant, the ogre-of a fairy tale?

Would he report them to the nearest police station? She had told him their name, given him an address. Again Lesley found herself regretting that last bit of bravado. He didn
’
t seem the sort of man to let anybody get off lightly. He certainly wasn
’
t the courteous kindly Englishman one sometimes read about—the
‘
gent
’
of whom Rita had spoken. Far from it. That strong line of jaw revealed in the light of her torch, that hardbitten expression reminded Lesley far more of a forthright Aussie rather than one of those effete Englishmen. But this was Cornwall, and people said the Co
rn
ish were different—they were Celts. When you crossed the Tamar you were in a foreign country ... or so they said.

Lesley shivered and let the curtain drop. She crept back into the bed which now seemed warm after the cold air by the window and the damp sleet outside. She curled up into a tight
ball under the thin eid
erdown and soon she was asleep.

It was still dark when she woke again. Winter nights were so long in Britain, the days so short. Not that February was winter, surely. She thought again about that neighbour
Mrs.
Travers who had told her about Cornwall.
‘
Spring comes early down there. You
’
ll find snowdrops and violets there when the rest of the country is covered in snow.
’
The climate must have changed since
Mrs.
Travers
’
time, thought Lesley wryly.

She lay brooding on this until she saw that it was getting light. She crept cautiously out of bed and went to the window. There was no sea view, but beyond the grey roofs of the little town she could see smooth green downs, white-t
y
alled farms with wind-bent trees around them and further away a valley where there were more trees all in a long line, leaning landwards like men carrying heavy burdens from the coast. The snow had miraculously disappeared and-all the land was green, so very very green to Australian Lesley
’
s eyes. The sun coming up over a hill sent out light that glistened on the grass and the trees and the nearby rooftops.

It
’
s going to be a glorious day, thought Lesley, her spirits rising. She found the bathroom, had a quick shower, dried herself vigorously till her body tingled and went back to the bedroom where Rita was just opening sleepy sea-blue eyes.
‘
Bag the bathroom right now, darling,
’
Lesley advised.
‘
Be quick and then I
’
ll give Rick a shout.
’

‘
Are we going to that Manor place first thing?
’
Rita demanded.

‘
No. As I
’
ve said before we
’
ll take a look round first and see what information we can pick up about the Trevendones. The village and the Manor are three or four miles from here.
’

‘
Oh, it
’
s madly exciting. I can
’
t wait I
’
Rita squealed in a mocking fashion.

Lesley gave her a quick warning look.
‘
Pipe down, for pete
’
s sake, Rita,
’
she expostulated.
‘
We don
’
t want to get a
reputation as loudmouthed brash Aussies before we
’
ve been here five minutes.
’

‘
Nobody can tell you
’
re an Aussie,
’
Rita pointed out.
‘
It was a pity Ma couldn
’
t afford to send Rick and me to a fancy school in Melbourne instead of letting us be
“
educated
”
Lactatoo style.
’

Lesley bit her lip. That reproach had been hurled at her .more than once during the past few months and it was hard for her to explain that the money for her education had come from her parents and not theirs. She said now, lamely,
‘
Neither of you liked school, and if you
’
d gone away you would have missed Rick and he you.
’

‘
Too right. Even now I keep thinking of dear old Lactatoo and wishing we were back.
’
Rita shivered.
‘
Is the snow very deep
?’

Lesley pulled back the curtains.
‘
It
’
s all gone and now it promises to be a marvellous day. Do hurry, Rita. I
’
m going to wake Rick and then rush down to look at the sea. I
’
ll tell
Mrs.
Cleaver we want breakfast in half an hour.
’

She dressed quickly, pulling on a thick skirt and sweater of a green that matched her eyes. A few quick tugs with her comb through her bright, nearly chestnut hair and now her leather coat with a green scarf if she needed it.

Downstairs she asked for breakfast to be served in half an hour and then went out into the narrow high street which ran steeply down to the sea and to the little inner harbour where a few small boats were drawn up above the tide line. St Benga Town wasn
’
t a place for fishing. The coast was too cruel, the seas too stormy. On either side the downs rose green and inviting, and between them was a long stretch of sand ribbed with rocks and pools from which the sea, curling lazily into white wavelets this morning, was receding. When the tide was really out they would be able to walk right along the beach, perhaps beyond that headland that loomed dark against the pale blue sky. Beyond that headland was Trevendone.

Lesley took a deep delighted breath. Above her the gulls mewed as they swooped and soared. This air was wonderful. She could smell the seaweed and with it the real tang of the ocean. That wind that she had heard in the night had gone now and there was scarcely a breeze though St Benga had the reputation of being a windy little town.

First thing they would walk over the downs, or perhaps along the beach to Trevendone Bay and look at the Manor House. The sooner the twins discovered what they could about their future home the sooner she could get them settled.

Neither was down when she arrived back at the little hotel, pub it was really, but clean, and breakfast promised, if savoury aromas were
’
anything to go by, better than last night
’
s cold offering.

Lesley fan up the steep stairs two at a time and found Rita dressed and fiddling with her long black hair. It was naturally curly, a disadvantage to her mind as she admired the girls with long lank hair that she had seen on television.

‘
Come on, Rita
,’
Lesley urged.
‘
It
’
s marvellous out, and the air is like wine. I
’
m so hungry I could even eat porridge if
...’

‘
Oh, don
’
t!
’
Rita
’
s face was screwed up in revolted horror.
‘
I
feel terrible. I
’
ve scarcely slept at all. I was so cold, cold
,
’
a
nd
she shivered theatrically.

Darling, were you
?
Why didn
’
t you wake me?
’
Lesley
’
s green eyes were anxious. She hoped a sleepless night would not bring on one of Rita
’
s migraines.
‘
Have you a headache?
’

Rita examined her reflection in the mirror. She had a high colour and wished disconsolately for a skin of
’
the creamy pallor of Lesley
’
s. Red-haired girls had everything, she thought. But still,
she
was supposed to have the Cornish looks of her family, the dark hair and the vivid sea blue eyes and the good, healthy colour.

‘
It hasn
’
t come on yet
,’
she admitted,
‘
but it will if you start talking about porridge
.’

‘
Then I
’
ll talk about bacon and eggs
,’
Lesley said.

Rita groaned.
‘
Yo
u
’
re a mystery to me, Les. You look
—
what
’
s the word?—ethereal—with that creamy skin
and those enormous eyes. You
’
re as slim as can be and yet you eat like a horse, you
’
re as tough as old boots and you
’
re as full of energy as a spring-mad dingo
.’

‘
Your comparisons aren
’
t very flattering
,’
Lesley grimaced.
‘
I must get Richard down or there
’
ll be no breakfast for either of you
.’

Rick was still in bed, not asleep but having, as he explained, a nice daydream. Lesley gave him a shake.
‘
Rick, we
’
ve got so much to see and do today. Hurry
!
’

She
w
as worrying again, this time about the way Richard could, and did, stay up half the night but could never be persuaded to get up in the morning. It wasn
’
t only these cold winter mornings in Britain. He
’
d been the same back home.
If he were going to work on the land, learn to manage an estate, he
’
d have to do better than this. But she mustn
’
t start lecturing him or he
’
d become resentful and uncooperative, and she
’
d got to make both Rita and him see that what she was doing was for the best.

‘
Rick darling, hurry,
’
she coaxed.
‘
I told
Mrs.
Cleaver we
’
d be ready for breakfast five minutes ago. I
’
ll go and placate her.
’

Rick gave her his charming, lazy smile.
‘
Poor old Les! I wonder you bother. Your obligation to the Trevendone family for looking after you when you were an orphan should have finished when Ma died. Now you ought to leave us to follow, our own thing and look after yo
u
rself. It
’
s time you started thinking seriously about your love life.
’

Lesley
’
s green eyes danced.
‘
We
’
ll get this business of Trevendone Manor settled first. Then there
’
ll be time for me to fall in love.
’

‘
There
’
s not all that time,
’
he retorted, his brilliant eyes suddenly very shrewd.
‘
Girls get married very early now. And back in Sydney a certain Steve Wentworth is very popular with the dolly birds.
’

‘
So he is,
’
Lesley admitted, ruffling his dark hair.
‘
I wish you
’
d get some of this cut off, though. I want you and Rita to make a good impression tomorrow.
’

‘
You
’
ll be the one to make the impression, Miss Copper Head,
’
he said with a grin.
‘
Do you think there was a redhead among those Camelot people, King Arthur and those knights and dames of his?
’

‘
Queen Guinevere, perhaps
,’
Lesley laughed.
‘
But she wasn
’
t a very likeable character, married to Arthur and carrying on with Lancelot. Hurry, darling. I
’
ll go and chat up
Mrs.
Cleaver.
’

She ran down the two flights of stairs and saw their hostess carrying in three dishes of tinned grapefruit.
‘
What a lovely morning,
Mrs.
Cleaver,
’
she said cheerfully.

‘
Too bright too early,
’
the other warned.

‘
You should know. Have you lived here always,
Mrs.
Cleaver? You
’
re Cornish, of course.
’

‘
Yes, I be,
’
her hostess replied with natural pride.

‘
You
’
ll have guessed that er
...
we
...
my
...
brother and sister are Cornish too.
’

The other stared at her impassively.
‘
You
sound like most of they folk who come from London, miss, but the young lady and gentleman I
’
d have taken for Australians.
’

Lesley remembered Richard saying last night that they had come from Australia, so that wasn
’
t even an inspired guess. What she
’
d been fishing for was a comment on their name and its local connection.

‘
You
’
d better start, miss. The bacon and egg will be ready in a minute.
’

Lesley sat down, spooning her tinned grapefruit and wrinkling her nose slightly. Perhaps it was stupid to expect as much fresh fruit here as in Australia. And now
Mrs.
Cleaver was back, carrying a plate piled high.
‘
You did say only one egg, miss. You
’
re welcome to two if you can eat
‘
un. I know you
’
re used to big breakfasts over there.
’

Lesley told her hastily that one egg would be sufficient. She had ordered this cooked breakfast for herself only to encourage the twins to follow her example.

Rita now appeared and began to eat her grapefruit in a lethargic manner.
‘
Do try to eat most of your egg and bacon, Rita,
’
Lesley urged.
‘
In this cold climate we all need more cooked food.
Mrs.
Cleaver seems to think, though, that all Australians eat steak or chops at breakfast time.
’

Rita grimaced, but made no remark when
Mrs.
Cleaver came in with two plates which she set down in front of the girl and in the boy
’
s place.
‘
Could you keep Rick
’
s warm for a few minutes,
Mrs.
Cleaver?
’
Lesley asked, getting up.
‘
I
’
ll give him another call.
’

‘
You sit down, m
’
dear,
’
advised the stout woman.
‘
You
’
m told that young man to come down once. Now let
‘
un bide. Young men shouldn
’
t be run after by their womenfolk. It makes
‘
un bad husbands, so it do.
’

‘
Rick is only a boy,
’
Lesley protested.

‘
As the twig
’
s bent, so it grows, m
’
dear. It never pays for a pretty young
‘
ooman to run after a man, m
’
dear. Let
‘
un do the running. I
’
ll keep his plate warm, just for this time.
’
She picked up Rick
’
s breakfast and marched out, leaving Lesley rather disconcerted and Rita giggling.
‘
Do stop it, Rita. She
’
ll hear you.
’