The Girl From Over the Sea (20 page)

The affair was over in a few minutes and the couple departed, not at all sure that they had come off best. But then, so far as Lesley was concerned, had come the deluge. She was determined not to involve Jennifer, so she had said nothing to justify herself and that had enraged him even more.

‘
I gave you credit at least for being able to carry out orders
,’
he said sweepingly.
‘
What would you have done had
Mr.
Forsyth changed his plans and turned up unexpectedly last night—as was well within his rights? He hadn
’
t cancelled his reservation. He had merely had the courtesy to let us know that he couldn
’
t arrive until today
.’

Lesley stared down unhappily at her fingers and found nothing to say.

When on the following morning Blake came to where she
was sitting at the reception desk, Lesley scarcely raised her eyes. She had spent a disturbed night, and felt weary and unrefreshed. Before she had finally gone to bed, she had stood for a long time by the window looking at a star-spangled sky which seemed to mock her mood of burning anger and resentment by its very remoteness.

Remote as
he
was. It had satisfied some dark devil in him to hold her in his arms till her bones melted, kiss her once, and leave her to feel like this,
’
unsettled and bereft and with
a
knowledge that for her life would never be quite the same.

And more
or less at the same time, he had been discussing with his girl-friend and Jennifer the pros and cons of her marrying another man, deciding whether he would approve or disapprove, give his consent or withhold it.

At the moment Lesley felt that she hated everybody here at the Manor. What a fool she was to stay—to become, as they thought, a pawn in their schemes.

‘
I
’
d like a word with you, Miss Trevendone, in private
,’
Blake said above her head.

That constricted feeling was in her throat again. If he referred to that kiss; if he
dared
to apologise, she would walk out even if it meant leaving Rick and Rita here.

She said, in a muffled voice,
‘
I
’
m very busy. These accounts have to be checked
.’
It was Dominic
’
s work, but as usual he had left it to her.

‘
I won
’
t keep you for more than a few minutes
,’
he said, and it sounded to her as if there was half the Arctic Ocean in his voice. He walked behind her chair to the small office and after a moment she followed him.

‘
Sit down
,’
he said, and when she had sat in front of the typewriter he closed the door and leaned his broad shoulders against it.
‘
Why didn
’
t you tell me the real facts about the Forsyth booking yesterday?
’
he questioned, his eyes bleak.

Lesley was so relieved that this was the subject he wanted to see her about that she almost sighed with relief. The unexpectedness of the question left her unprepared and in an off-hand manner she said,
‘
Why should I?
’

It wasn
’
t really what she would have answered, given time, but at the moment there was little room in her mind to think of anything else except his intolerably insulting behaviour yesterday afternoon beside which his sarcasm of the morning
paled into insignificance.

His face went darker than ever.
‘
Doesn
’
t it matter that you were blamed for something that wasn
’
t your fault?
’

She gave him a quick look and saw that his black brows were drawn in a forbidding bar across his face. With a sudden spurt of anger she stood up.
‘
Where
you
are concerned,
Mr.
Defontaine,
’
she said,
‘
it doesn
’
t matter in the slightest.
’

He moved from tire door so that she could pass, and it was surely just a trick of the light that on his face was an expression of hurt bewilderment. Which was, as Lesley told herself when she sat down at the reception desk, about as wild a flight as her imagination had ever taken her.

CHAPTER VIII

Now it was early May and in the hedgerows of the Cornish lanes the primroses had faded to give place to a wealth of spring flowers whose names Lesley did not know, while the cliff sides and edges were bright with sea pinks and yellow vetches.

Lesley glanced through her last sheet of typing, flicked it out of the machine into the wire basket and flexed her fingers. If she was going for a stroll on the cliffs before dinner she
’
d better start now, she told herself apathetically. She didn
’
t expect Blake to come in with more work for her tonight, but as she was typing in the little office off his lab next to the Lodge, it wasn
’
t beyond the bounds of possibility.

It was still lovely and sunny outside and Cornwall in May was out of this world, but tonight for some reason Lesley could feel no thrill. Why did life seem so empty just now? she wondered. Was it just the
malaise
of spring when most people became restless or was she homesick for Australia
...
and Steve?

Since she had arrived in England, Steve had written to her every week, short scrawled air mail letters with no more than a sentence or two. Now he was coming to England with the surfing and life-saving demonstration group who were giving displays up and down the coast during the summer. Steve wasn
’
t an actual member of the group, but somehow he had got himself attached to them and since his father was a wealthy pastoralist, Lesley suspected he might be helping to finance the party.

Lesley recalled the time she had been the Wentworths
’
guest at the Royal Show in Sydney and how proud she had been of Steve dressed in what was practically the uniform of the rich pastoralists
’
sons—cavalry twill and a wide-brimmed hat. It had been gay and exciting and she had known that Steve
’
s parents liked and approved of her. They would have welcomed an engagement, and then had come the message from Lactatoo that Margaret Trevendone was ill.

In the end she had quarrelled with Steve about the twins. He had poured scorn on Lesley
’
s promise to Margaret Trevendone to bring her children to Cornwall to claim their father
’
s inheritance and in a temper Lesley had handed him back her eternity ring—the one he had given her as a
‘
friendship
‘
ring
when
they had first met while she was still at school.

Steve had recovered his temper before they sailed and had come to Melbourne to see them off. He had looked at Lesley with upraised brows and a quizzical expression when both Rita and Rick had declared gloomily that they didn
’
t want to
go
—

Well, they had come, and
now
Lesley never heard either of them speak of returning. In the past weeks they had been making lives for themselves quite apart from her, simply because she had been so busy adjusting herself to the strenuous tasks that had been piled upon
her.
Yet could she have done anything else in view of the fact that she had to earn not only her own keep but theirs in addition to doing an infinitesimal amount to paying off
the
Trevendone debt to the slave-master?

Lesley
’
s brow creased. That was Rita
’
s phrase these days rather than anyone else
’
s. She just hadn
’
t reconciled herself to life at the Manor in the way Rick had. At one time she had
spoken
a great deal about Steve
’
s forthcoming visit because in Melbourne she had obviously had a schoolgirl crush on him, but now his name was never mentioned.

It
all seemed to
stem, Lesley
thought,
biting her lips, from that
night of the
family discussion when
she
had said rashly that
she was
returning to Australia to marry.

Rita
had
uttered that one c
r
y of outrage, Lesley recalled, and never
once
since had she referred
to
the subject again.

What
had
possessed her to say that about marrying? In
a way it had just come into her mind when
she had wanted
to make it clear to the Trevendones that
they need feel no
responsibility for
her
—that it was
the
twins who must be
considered.

That surely had been
her motive.
Or had
there been another
one? A desire to show that arrogant,
impassive man who had
sat at the head of the table
that
though he
might despise her as
an awkward, red-haired, green-eyed young woman from over the sea, there were men, and one man in
particular,
who admired and loved, her sufficiently to
want to marry her.

Lesley brushed her thoughts away impatiently,
put the cover
on her typewriter and picked up her yellow sweater.
‘
There had been a high wind all day, and though it was very sunny, it might be a bit chilly on the cliffs.

‘
Lesley.
’
Blake Defontaine stood in the doorway, looking across at her with those cold repellent handsome eyes of his. Lesley
’
s own eyes widened slightly. Odd for him to use her Christian name. Usually he was formality itself. Always
‘
Miss
...
Trevendone
’
with that hesitation between the two words that even now left her feeling uneasy. As if he knew she had no claim to the name, and was mentally accusing her.

‘
Yes,
Mr.
Defontaine.
’
Formality there too. She might think of him as Blake and sometimes as
‘
the slave-master
‘
, but ta his face it was always formality.

‘
You have a visitor,
’
he said coolly, and stood aside to let a squarely built fair young man follow him into the room.

‘
Steve!
’

‘
Lesley!
’

They moved instinctively towards each other, met in the middle of the room where Steve
’
s arms went round her in a bearlike hug.

‘
Les, it
’
s seemed like years,
’
he said, kissing her again and again.

Lesley managed to release herself.
‘
Steve, it must be telepathy! I
’
ve been thinking about you tonight, and now here you are, though I didn
’
t expect you for weeks. Surely the party isn
’
t coming till June?
’

‘
I decided I couldn
’
t wait any longer,
’
he grinned.
‘
Oh, Les, I
’
ve missed you.
’
He would
have begun to kiss her again, but Lesley drew back.

‘
Steve, this is
Mr.
Defontaine. I told you in my letters that I
’
m working as his secretary.
’

‘
It
’
s a bit on the late side to be still working, isn
’
t it?
’
Steve
’
s blue eyes were faintly hostile as he turned to nod to Blake. Lesley had always thought of Steve as tall and broad, but beside Blake he looked almost a boy.

‘
We work all hours here,
’
Defontaine returned, giving Steve an assessing stare.
‘
Actually I think Miss Trev
e
ndone has just finished work now. Where are you staying,
Mr. ...
er
...
Wentworth, isn
’
t it?
’

He was being, as Steve was to remark later, a Limey at his worst.

‘
Les said there was a hotel set-up here
,’
Steve said bluntly.
‘
I
’
d thought of getting a room here
.’

‘
I
’
m afraid the hotel is completely booked, isn
’
t it, Miss Trevendone?
’
Blake said, with no regret whatever in his voice.

‘
Yes, Steve, I
’
m afraid it is
,’
Lesley looked rather embarrassed, for Steve was staring at her in a puzzled fashion. This wasn
’
t Australian hospitality. She could read the expression in his eyes and knew what he was thinking.

And now it was Blake Defontaine
’
s turn to be blunt.
‘
Mrs.
Trevendone is ve
r
y old and though she had extended her hospitality to Miss Trevendone and the twins, in the old Manor, I don
’
t think Miss Trevendone would care to impose on her further.
’

‘
No, no
,’
Lesley said hastily, her face flaming. How could she think of asking the Trevendones to entertain one of her friends when she herself was an impostor? Oh, why hadn
’
t Steve written to say he was arriving earlier than the other life guards
?

‘
We
’
ll get you a room at the King
’
s Arms in St Benga Town, Steve. It
’
s only three miles away and
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Cleaver who run it are very pleasant people.
’

‘
Quite a good idea,
’
said Defontaine blandly.
‘
I suggest you ring the Cleavers up, Miss Trevendone, and then you
’
ll be able to run your friend down in your car.
’

He went out and Steve opened his mouth to say something uncomplimentary, but Lesley put a slender hand up to his lips to restrain him.
‘
Wait till we get up to my car, Steve, and I
’
ll explain,
’
she said hurriedly.
‘
There was a lot I couldn
’
t write.
’

And indeed why should she? It was Steve who had broken with her in his first anger at her leaving Australia with the twins, and the distance and the weeks of separation and all that had happened had created a gulf which couldn
’
t be bridged in five minutes.

Mrs.
Cleaver had a vacant room and she would reserve a table for dinner for two. Lesley suggested that Steve should leave his bags in the porch of the Lodge where they could pick them up when she drove down. Then she took him up the drive across the garden and into the courtyard. He stood staring at the pseudo-Elizabethan front of the new Manor and
shrugged.
‘
Quite a place, isn
’
t it, Les? But no room for a visitor from Down Under
!’

‘
Steve, it
’
s terrifically popular. People come year after year, and there just isn
’
t one vacant room. After all, I
’
m the receptionist, so I really do know
.’

‘
You seem to be running the place, if you ask me
...’
His voice changed.
‘
Why, if it isn
’
t Rick! Say, old chum, I
’
m real glad to see you, too right I am!
’

It was Rick, with Dingo on the lead, who had just walked round into the courtyard. The puppy, of course, set up his usual chorus of excited welcome and in desperation Lesley drew Steve away from the front of the hotel and round to the old Manor in the stable yard of which her Mini was parked.

Rick followed, declaring as soon as he heard that Steve was booked in at the King
’
s Arms that he was coming too.

.
’
Where
’
s Rita?
’
Lesley asked, once they were out of earshot of the new Manor.

‘
She
’
s rushed to do her face and hair
,’
Rick said laconically.
‘
The slave-master phoned up to say Steve had arrived and that Les was taking him down to St Benga Town in the Mini. It seems the limit that we can
’
t put Steve up here in our own place, Les
,’
he finished in some disgust.

Lesley was busy trying to puzzle out why Blake should have bothered to phone up to the twins of Steve
’
s arrival. It almost seemed as if he was ensuring that they should accompany her when she drove Steve down to the King
’
s Arms.

She said almost absently,
‘
Rick darling, it
’
s still old
Mrs.
Trevendone
’
s house in theory at least, and she
is
very old. We can
’
t expect her to entertain any more strangers
...
and the hotel
is
full.
’

Ricky frowned.
‘
I suppose you
’
re right, but I don
’
t like it. Steve coming all this way and our not offering him hospitality. We
’
re still Aussies and always will be.
’

‘
Never mind about that
,’
Steve smiled, putting a careless arm round the boy
’
s shoulder.
‘
But what
’
s this slave-master caper? Some ye olde English custom?
’