Sister of the Housemaster (8 page)

“
Patrick gone?
”

“
Yes, long ago. I cooked him some breakfast.
”

“
Everybody loved him at the party. He was a great success
...”

She would have gone on talking about Patrick, but Ingrid had slipped away to get her breakfast. When she returned with the tray, however, Sylvia would not allow her to escape so easily,

“
Sit down and talk to me,
”
she said, but what she meant was, to do the talking herself. She enjoyed the evening all over again in retrospect, but at last Ingrid excused herself.

“
If you want to get up,
”
she said,
“
ring your little bell and I wall come and help you.
”

The normal duties of the day took her attention. Miss Everton came in for a few minutes, to hear about the dance and all its glories, but did not stay long. The Dean
’
s wife came to take morning coffee with Sylvia, and to get a lengthier report. The doctor popped in to see if Sylvia had suffered any ill effects, a
nd was pleased with her. Young R
adwell, one of the House Monitors, called
i
n with some flowers his mother had sent for Sylvia; masses of beautiful early spring flowers grown at the Radwells
’
country house. This pleased Sylvia enormously, and she had Ingrid collecting vases from all over the House for her. In these everyday happenings, occupying herself with preparations for lunch, Ingrid tried to forget her altercation with Patrick, and to remember only to keep her fingers crossed for him. If, she thought, his charm worked on men as well as women, he should not be frightened of any committee. But perhaps it did not. When it came to business and aeroplanes and complicated technical and mathematical matters, he had to
rely on other things. Things, Ingrid realised,
that he undoubtedly possessed, but that he had never permitted her to see in him. She wished him success with his committee, and then turned her mind resolutely to lunch.

That afternoon, a clear cold one with a high wind blowing, she walked to the playing fields to watch a rugger match. She went because she knew Laurence liked her to be there, but she also went because it meant an afternoon in the open air, the refreshing sight of boys abandoned to their sport, the excitement and lusty yells of the onlookers
—
all of which she found a fine stimulant. She wore a suit of brown corduroy velvet, with a yellow
woollen
scarf and a small yellow hat on the back of her head. Laurence was aware of her the moment she set foot on the field, although he was not free just then to go to her. He had thought she could never look more beautiful than she had in white net the evening before. Now he saw that brown velvet and a yellow scarf were just as kind to her.

After the match, as she walked back, he caught up with her.

“
Not so fast,
”
he said.
“
We shall get there much too quickly. Do you have to go back at once
?
”

“
There is no urgency. Miss Everton is managing Sylvia
’
s tea for me today.
”

“
Then walk with me into the town. I have one or two things to buy. I might even give you a cup of tea at the Silver Kettle.
”

“
Good. That will be nice.
”

“
Pity I can
’
t hold your arm this time.
”

“
In broad daylight? With boys popping round every corner? I
’
m sure they have you marked down already, without that.
”

“
Yes, I suppose so. Then we will walk sedately apart. I have to go to the bookshop, and ... oh, let us stop here. You would like some flowers, wouldn
’
t you?
”

In spite of her protests, he bought her two large bunches of fragrant violets, and they went on to the bookshop. He had ordered some modern fiction in Italian and French, and when they went on to the Silver Kettle for their cup of tea, he unwrapped the paper to look at the books.

“
How clever you are,
”
said Ingrid.
“
It
’
s always so difficult for me to remember that you are what Arnold calls a language wizard.
”

“
I
’
m glad you find something about me to admire.
”

“
Oh, how modest. You know there is plenty for me to admire.
”

“
Such as?
”

“
That I refuse to tell you. It is deliberate fishing for compliments.
”

“
No, it isn
’
t, Ingrid. It is seeking for reassurance.
”

“
Why should you need reassuring?
”

“
Because, when I am with you, I feel such a clumsy and dull clod.
”

“
But why should I make you feel like that?
”

“
Because you are so f
i
ne-drawn, so vital, so colorful. I feel that you have settled down here among us only temporarily, like some beautiful migrant bird only waiting to be on the wing again
...”

“
Oh, you can go on and on and on,
”
said Ingrid.
“
Nobody ever says such nice things to me.
”

“
But I am serious. And you have interesting work waiting for you, which you must be often thinking of. And as soon as Sylvia can spare you, you will fly away. While I stay here, cramming languages into a lot of grubby schoolboys.
”

“
Well, it doesn
’
t seem like that to me at all,
”
said Ingrid.
“
Clumsy and dull are the last words that I should apply to you. You
’
re thoroughly nice and I like you very much.
”

His face broke into a pleased smile, just as the waitress brought their tea. Ingrid, busying herself with tea and milk and sugar, wondered why her last sentence had such a familiar ring; and then remembered that Patrick had said such words to her. And she had simply mistrusted him. What if Laurence had mistrusted her words and thrown them back at her? She would have been hurt, of course; so perhaps, she had hurt Patrick
’
s feelings, though he had refused to show it. There
’
s no doubt about it, Ingrid Southbrook, she told herself, you can sometimes be very unpleasant.

However, the fact that Laurence obviously thought this impossible reassured her a little.

“
When the Easter holidays come, what are you going to do?
”
he asked.

“
Stay at school, I suppose, looking after Sylvia.
”

“
I thought it would be grand if you could come up to town sometimes, and we could do some shows together, or dinner and dancing.
”

“
That would be lovely. I
’
ll have to see if it can be arranged. But you don
’
t live in town?
”

“
No. In Surrey, but I can easily travel up. Will you do that then, Ingrid?
”

“
If I can arrange it, ye
s
. I shall look forward to it.
”

“
I don
’
t need to tell you how much I shall.
”

They walked back to school later, Ingrid holding her bunches of violets before her, along the twisting streets, through the quiet precincts, under the vaulted roof of the dim cloisters, into the darkness of the Black Alley. There, Laurence
—
took her hand firmly and warmly into his, and before they came to the end of the dark stone corridor, he lifted it to his face, held it for a moment against his cheek, and then kissed it. They both paused involuntarily, but whatever Laurence would have said was prevented by the sudden, silent arrival of a bicycle that almost collided with them, stopped just in time and spilled its rider on to the stone floor. A boy clambered to his feet and recovered his bicycle.
“
What is your name?
”
asked Laurence.

“P
edder, sir.
”

They could hardly see each other.

“
Don
’
t you know, Pedder, that it is forbidden
to ride cycles in the stone corridor?
”

“
Yes, sir.
”

“
Don
’
t you know that you shouldn
’
t ride without a light after dark?
”

“
Yes, sir.
”

“
And that you should be in your own House at this time?
”

“
Yes, sir.
”

“
Well, go along and get there then.
”

“
Thank you, sir
.”
The boy was off at once, relieved, no doubt, at having got off so lightly. Ingrid laughed.

“
And that, you see,
”
said Laurence,
“
it what happens to sentimental incidents at school.
”
Ingrid laughed again, and after a moment Laurence joined in. There was youth and wholesomeness in their laughter.

When Ingrid came into the living-room, Arnold and Sylvia were seated there, both reading. They looked up as she came in, and both, noticed at once how attractive she looked, Sylvia with a pang of envy, Arnold with a surge of affection for her.
“
Did you go to the match?
”
he asked.

“
Yes. The School won
—
as you doubtless know.
”

“
The match was over long ago,
”
said Sylvia.
“
Yes. I knew Miss Everton was getting your tea, so I went into the town.
”

“
To buy flowers?
”
queried Sylvia.
“
When we have the whole place full of spring flowers?
”

“
Somebody bought them for me,
”
said Ingrid smiling.
“
I
’
ll put them in my room.
”

“
Laurence Pinder, I suppose.
”
The tone was sarcastic, though why it should have been, Ingrid could not imagine.

‘
Yes, Laurence. And why not?
”

Arnold interposed, with his usual ability to deflect awkward questions.

“
Patrick rang up this afternoon. He wanted to know if he had left some platinum cuff links here, and he left a message for you.
”

“
For me?
”
asked Ingrid, surprised.

‘
Yes. He asked me to tell you that you must have kept your fingers crossed to good effect. Does it make sense?
”

“
Oh yes, it makes sense,
”
said Ingrid.
“
That is good. Thank you. And he did leave
his
cuff links.
I found them in his room after he had gone.
”

“
Will you get them?
”
asked Sylvia, who did not like Patrick to leave messages for Ingrid that made no sense to herself.
“
I will look after them for him.
”

Ingrid went to bring the cuff links to Sylvia.
“
They look very valuable ones,
”
she said, as she gave them into Sylvia
’
s keeping. They were simple in design, platinum set with diamonds. Sylvia saw at once that they were very valuable, and she wondered where Patrick had got them from. There were a great many things she did not know about her brother, but would have liked to
know.

“
Yes,
”
she said.
“
They are extremely valuable. I know that Patrick pri
z
es them
—
not for their intrinsic value so much as their sentimental value. I believe that Pamela gave them to him.
”