Sister of the Housemaster (7 page)

“
What do you mean?
”

“
People in glass houses shouldn
’
t throw stones.
”

“
Don
’
t you think I am doing a job?
”

“
At the moment, yes; and very well, I am sure. But keeping a small establishment temporarily doesn
’
t really give you the right to scoff at others.
”

She stared at him. Did he not know what her job was? Was it of so little interest to anybody in her circle that it had not even been mentioned
?
She was a little hurt that it should be so, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he did not consider radiography to be a useful job. Then a little demon of obstinacy kept her quiet. Let him find it out for himself.

“
How do you know
,”
she asked,
“
that I am not a pillar of somebody
’
s existence?
”

“
You are a pillar of Sylvia
’
s at the moment. But you have been here some weeks already, and you talk of looking forward to the spring in this blessed and peaceful place. If you were a pillar of somebody else
’
s existence, he (or she) would have collapsed by now.
”

“
Oh, you are clever, aren
’
t you?
”

“
No, but I think you are intolerant.
”

“
And you, of course, are the champion of tolerance. Do you think, then, that I
s
hould tolerate uselessness
?
”

“
I think you should be careful of sitting in judgment. On the old assumption that it takes all sorts to make a world.
”

“
I can understand your championing the people at the Orindeans
’
tonight, but I shall still keep my own opinions.
”

“
Of course you will
—
you are being obstinate.
”

“
Well, well,
”
said Ingrid
, “
I am
—
let me see
—
intolerant, obstinate, and living in a glass house.
”

“
And childish,
”
he said, smiling at her.

“
Childish too! Then I can
’
t flatter myself that I am suitable company for a person of Mr. Edgeworth
’
s calibre. Why don
’
t you go back to the dance?
”

He looked at her for a few seconds in silence, looked at her sparkling brown eyes and dark hair, and the soft, white skin of her shoulders. He held out a hand for her wineglass, which she was twisting in her fingers, and put it on the tray with
his
own. Then he said
:

“
Why don
’
t you like me, Ingrid?
”

The question surprised her by its directness. She flushed and looked into the fire.

“
Have I said or done something
—
not this evening, but earlier
—
to offend you, to give rise to dislike?
”

“
I don
’
t dislike you,
”
she said, turning a little farther away from him, still looking into the flames.

“
But you don
’
t like me either; and indifference is a challenge to my pride. In this ease, at least.
”

“
Why in this case?
”
she asked.
“
Must you have everybody fawning on you?
”

“
I don
’
t want anybody to fawn on me,
”
he said quietly.
“
I should dislike that.
”
He was standing behind her, and quite
close
to her.
“
Indifference is a challenge to me, in this case, because I like you very much indeed, Ingrid.
”
Suddenly, she felt
his
hands on her shoulders.
“
Can
’
t we try to be friends
—
would it be so difficult?
”
His voice was low and persuasive and very pleasant.

For a moment, Ingrid stood still under the touch of his hands, then she twisted herself away with a swift movement. Almost an angry move
men
t. Yet when she turned to face him she was completely calm.

“
If people have to try to be friends,
”
she said,
“
it doesn
’
t seem worth the effort. Friendship should be something spontaneous, surely.
”

“
And in thi
s
case, it isn
’
t? Is that what you mean?
”
He turned away from her, picking up his white silk scarf from an armchair.
“
I don
’
t enjoy being snubbed any more than most people,
”
he said.
“
I think I will go back to the dance.
”

“
Oh, I
’
m sorry,
”
she said quickly.
“
I have been very rude.
”

“
You have been very frank, but I asked for it. Don
’
t worry, Ingrid. It has penetrated into my thick skull that you have no particular use for me
..
. Are you coming back?
”

“
No, thank you.
”

“
Then I will say good-bye. I am making a very early start in the morning
—
I have important appointments tomorrow that I must not miss. In fact, it will hardly be worth while to go to bed at all.
”

He paused at the door and looked back at her.
“
Goodnight, Ingrid.
”

“
Good night, Patrick.
”

He had gone. Ingrid stood by the fire, motionless, still watching the door that had closed quietly behind him. She had enjoyed their brief exchange while it was going on, but now she began to feel ashamed of herself. She had been childish, as he had been quick to see and to point out, while he had behaved very well. And most charmingly. That was the rub. It had almost worked on her this evening, this charm of his. She could feel again the touch of his cool hands on her shoulders, hear his low, persuasive voice saying,
“
but I like you very much indeed, Ingrid,
”
and asking if they could not be friends. She might have turned back to him with a smile, agreeing that they might, and then she would have been one of the many who could not hold out against him. Why, even now, he was going back to the dance, probably to dance until the early hours of the morning, the not-so-early hours of four or five, seeing the majority of the guests, and then joining forces with the few privileged ones who would raid the kitchens for bacon and eggs
—
the privileged ones who could sleep well into the ne
x
t day. His hands would be gentle on somebody else
’
s shoulders, on the softness of silk or the roughness of lace, and she could hear his voice saying:
“
Good, then we are friends now, for I like you very much too, Pamela
”
—
or Letty, or Dorothy, or whoever else he happened to be with.

“
Of course,
”
she told herself suddenly, frankly,
“
You are being grossly unfair to him. He shows no signs of being a philanderer. He is a busy person with plenty of work to do, and why shouldn
’
t he enjoy his free hours? The trouble is that you can
’
t be fair to him because you just don
’
t like him. And yet it isn
’
t exactly that either, as I told myself this evening. It
’
s just that he riles me, something about him annoys me. I won
’
t think about the man. He will be off early in the morning, and I can stop being irritable.
”

Early in the morning, however, she was still attacked by a feeling of guilt. She heard him moving about quietly in his room, and decided that she would c
o
ok him some breakfast. She had not heard him come in, but the fact that he had had time for some sleep suggested that he had not been as late as she had thought possible. She dressed hurriedly, and slipped out into the kitchen.

A little later, the door opened, and Patrick stood

“
I thought
,”
he said,
“
I smelt the beautiful smell of frying bacon, but decided my hunger and imagination were responsible. You shouldn
’
t have done this, you know
.”

“
I must show that I have some uses,
”
she said, and was instantly sorry to have dragged up that subject. I can
’
t help it, she thought, he just has that effect on me.

“
Oh come,
”
he said,
“
bury the hatchet.
”

He came across to her, smiling. Reluctantly, she smiled back.

“
That
’
s better,
”
he said.
“
Buried?
”

“
Buried. Have some coffee.
”

“
Yen, if you will with me. Aren
’
t you tired this morning?
”

“
No.
”

“
Ah, the resilience of youth. Well, I
’
m tired, I admit it.
”

“
You were probably much later than I, getting to bed.
”

“
No. I didn
’
t stay long.
”

“
I imagined you having bacon and eggs at about five in the morning.
”

“
No. I have my bacon and eggs, like a respects able citizen, after my sleep, at
—
let me see
—
seven in the morning. I must hurry. I have a long drive, a report to pick up and study, and a committee to face at eleven o
’
clock. If you were more kindly disposed to me, I would ask you to keep your fingers crossed for me at eleven. I
’
m trying to put over a design that nobody likes but myself. Too revolutionary. They
’
ll turn it down again today, I
’
m afraid.
”

“
I will keep my fingers crossed for you,
”
said Ingrid.

“
Fine. Just one more cup of coffee, and I must be off.
”

Very soon he had gone, and Ingrid sat at the kitchen table sipping hot coffee and going over, in her mind, the events of the previous evening. Arnold came in later, drank some coffee while he chatted to her, and went about
his
day
’
s duties, Ingrid washed up, tidied her kitchen, and went to peep at Sylvia. Sylvia was wide awake.

“
Good morning,
”
said Ingrid.
“
Too early for your breakfast?
”

“
No. I
’
ll have it now. What a lovely morning.
”

“
Yes, the sun is out early. How do you feel? Very tired?
”

“
No, I feel fine. I don
’
t think I shall stay in
bed after all. I’ll get up after breakfast.”

“Do you think you should? Well, have breakfast first,
and se
e
how you feel.
”