The Girl From Over the Sea (27 page)

The summer days wore on with no let-up, for Lesley at
least
. It was as if Blake was determined to get the last ounce of energy from her once her work in the hotel was finished.

She realised sadly that he was working against time himself too, wanting to get the affairs of the hotel settled and his book finished before he and Sorrel were married at the end of the season.

The twins were now on holiday and Rick was spending all his time practising with the groups down at Penpethic Harbour. Lesley lay awake some nights. It was not what she had wanted for Rick, but how could she possibly stand in his way when everybody about her predicted phenomenal success for him?

‘
Not that you
’
ll be able to even if you tried.
’
That was from Blake, as always, grim and direct.
‘
Rick is an artist and nothing and nobody will prevent him fulfilling himself in his own way.
’

Rita was around rather more than the boy. Sulkily she gave
Mrs.
Piper the minimum of assistance in making her own bed, tidying their bedroom and Ricky
’
s and helping with the
w
ashing up. The rest of the time she spent surfing and sunbathing when the weather was kind either on the hotel beach, but more often at Penpethic Harbour with Ricky or on the St Benga Town surfing beach where the Australian rangers gave most of their demonstrations.

Lesley had tried without success to find out Rita
’
s motive in taking Sheba out on that early summer evening. Sorrel had not spoken of it again and Rita always shrugged the subject off. One strange change had come out of the episode. Her animosity against Blake appeared to have vanished, either because his discipline had tamed her—and that seemed an unlikely conclusion to Lesley—or that she had come to admire him for some quality of his own.

But so far as Lesley was concerned, one thing she was determined to do and that was to ignore the suggestion from Dominic and Sorrel that Rita was infatuated with Steve. She might have a schoolgirlish crush on him—in a way it had started in Melbourne before they sailed, but there was nothing more to it than that. Down at Penpethic Harbour at the discotheque she danced with boys of her own age and seemed to enjoy their company.

The golden weeks worn on. In the sheltered parts of the hotel garden the palm trees rustled in the soft westerly sea
-
scented wind. Magnificent hydrangeas in deep pinks and blues and dark wine colour gave dramatic foregrounds to the wide windows and terraces which led down from the back of the new Manor.

In the flower beds
o
f the Elizabethan courtyard,
Mrs.
Sinkins pinks scented the air with idyllic fragrance and petunias, niesembryanthemums and a host of other flowers added colour and glamour to the lovely Manor House basking in the golden summer.

Occasionally in her brief moments of leisure, instead of going on to the cliffs or the beach, now full of hotel visitors, Lesley would wander up the narrow winding lane which led from the Manor to the village, free of the traffic of the busy coast road. Now its high banks and hedges were dotted with wild roses and the sweet-smelling honeysuckle.

The village itself was small, a huddle of cottages of grey Cornish stone, but the church was by contrast large and Lesley had once or twice looked round at the plaques inside, placed in memory of long-dead Trevendones, buried not in the big vault in the churchyard but at sea in naval battles, one killed by pirates on the coast of China and others lying at rest on the American continent.

It seemed a far cry from the peace and old-fashioned atmosphere of the village and the old Manor House to the quiet comfort yet sophistication of the new Manor. One of her pleasures was to sit occasionally over a cup of tea in the kitchen and hear
Mrs.
Piper talk about the old Cornwall—the sup
er
stitions that were still part of village life, the whisper of witchcraft and of course the piskies.

‘
And now we
’
re just praying for the good weather to hold over for the Revel
,’
Mrs.
Piper remarked. Lesley had already discovered that this was the patronal festival of the village church, dedicated to a Co
rn
ish St Freda.

Even Blake Defontaine couldn
’
t ignore the Revel, it seemed.
‘
We are all expected to put in an appearance at some of the events
,’
he told Lesley.
‘
It
’
s one of the things expected of the Trevendones, who were once the feudal lords of the district. There
’
s the church service in the morning, the children
’
s service in the afternoon and then on Monday a jamboree of sorts in the field next to the church and a supper and dance in the evening. We shall just have to split up as to when we go. A pity it comes at the beginning of August just when none of us has time for fun and games. You
’
d better settle for the dance. Jennifer says she
’
ll do reception desk duty on Monday night as she
’
s helping at one of the stalls in the afternoon
.’

As usual he was settling things in his own lordly manner, thought Lesley. He might say none of them had time for fun and games just now, but Sorrel was always hanging around the Manor. Of course they were engaged, if not yet officially, and you couldn
’
t blame her for wanting to be with the man she loved.

Blake
’
s housekeeper had brought Lesley a tray of tea, for she
was
going to work on late into the evening. As she poured herself a cup she saw Blake and Sorrel wal
king across the lawn from the Lod
ge. A wind had risen this afternoon, driving away .the sea mist which earlier had come creeping inland, pressing up against the windows of the little office like spirits trying to get in. Now the wind sent Sorrel
’
s black hair flying as she raised a laughing face to Blake
’
s.

It was the mist earlier on that had made her feel so depressed, Lesley told herself drearily. The sooner she came to terms with herself, the better. She had just got to get her stupid emotions under control.

CHAPTER X

The weekend of the Revel didn
’
t prove particularly kind. There was a thunderstorm on the Sunday and then it settled down to steady rain for most of the night and the next morning. But later it began to clear and in the late afternoon the sun came out, the raindrops glistening on the flowers and leaves.

Lesley had suggested that Steve accompany her to the dance and he had said cheerfully that it sounded as if it would be fun. Then nearly at the last minute he had phoned from some place miles down the coast sa
y
ing there had been trouble over the demonstration and he would have to stay down there and sort it out.

Rita had turned up her nose at the idea of a village dance and gone off with. Rick to the discotheque. However,
Mrs.
Piper had come back from her duties at her stall in the afternoon in
order to give her son Jeff his tea.

Lesley had been lending Steve the Mini as she herself was using it so seldom. Jeff had a motorbike and would have given Lesley a lift up to the village hall,
but there was
Mrs.
Piper, so the three walked along the narrow high-banked lane, the flower scents rising like incense after the day
’
s rain.

Lesley was wearing a sleeveless white dress, a stunning contrast to her lovely honey tan. She was carrying her green sandals and wearing a necklace
o
f flat green stones that matched her eyes.

The gates which broke the banks and the high hedge showed the ripened barley with scarlet poppies and pimpernels at the edges of the fields. In the cottage gardens bushes of buddleia and lavender and large white arum lilies with other colourful flowers gave off their evening scent all the sweeter after the rain.

In the village hall long tables were spread and people were already sitting down to plates of luscious ham and tongue, salads, sandwiches, sausage rolls, Cornish pasties, trifles, bowls of fruit, jugs of Cornish cream and delicious cakes.

Lesley sat between Jeff
and Lennie who ran the village store and ate a larger meal than she had ever eaten in her life.
‘
I
shan
’
t be able to dance a step!
’
she gasped.

At the farther end of the table she could see Dominic, gay and laughing with Sorrel beside him, vivid and beautiful in a scarlet dress of wild silk. Dominic waved to Lesley, but Sorrel, though she looked her up and down with an insolent dark glance, did not appear to recognise her. Lesley searched in vain for one more figure, but he turned up only just before supper was finishing. She was amused by the way so many women jumped up to ply him with refreshments. The Trevendones, he had said, were expected to attend. It went back to the time when they were the feudal lords. And it was so very obvious who was the feudal lord here tonight.

The tables were cleared and pushed aside and a three-piece band began to play, sometimes modem, sometimes old-time, for many of the dancers were middle-aged or even elderly.

Lesley danced with one or two young men whom she didn
’
t know and Dominic, pausing with his partner, one of the hotel guests, enquired about Steve. He didn
’
t ask Lesley for a dance, for he was obviously expecting to claim Sorrel again. She was now dancing with Blake. When her dance was finished, Lesley went back to
Mrs.
Piper, but as the band, struck up again, she saw Blake walking across the floor in her direction. Something like panic seized her by the throat, but before he reached her, Sorrel was at his side, her hand on his arm.

‘
I did think-maister were coming to ask fer yew, m
’
dear
,’
said
Mrs.
Piper comfortably,
‘
but
Mrs.
Lang now, she don
’
t like to see his arm round another maid.
’

Lesley had a partner the next moment, but it wasn
’
t so very long afterwards that she realised neither Blake nor Sorrel were there any longer. Dominic stayed on dancing with girl after girl, drinking just a little bit too much but always gay and courteous. Finally he settled for Lesley, for as he said, she was the prettiest girl in the room, and their steps fitted perfectly. He assured
Mrs.
Piper and Jeff that he would see her home and later, in his expensive sports car, the
y
roared down the lane to the main road.

‘
What about Plymouth?
’
he asked, as they reached the
corner
.
‘
What about making a night of it?
’

Lesley shook her head. She knew how he felt, and she felt rather like it herself, but he had had too much to drink to be safe driving any further. And as far as she was concerned, there was tomorrow morning when she was on duty at eight o
’
clock.

They sat for a little while longer in his car at the front of the old Manor. It was very warm, with more thunder in the air and a feeling of waiting for a storm to break.

‘
Look, little Yseult
,’
Dominic said suddenly,
‘
if you don
’
t want to go back to Australia and this hotel deal goes through, there
’
ll always be a place for you at the Home Farm. You and Ricky and Rita.
’

Lesley wasn
’
t sure whether it was meant as a proposal or not. He had made laughing ones to her more than once before. He had been drinking since Sorrel left the dance and now he was making light-hearted love to her.

‘
I
’
ll bear that in mind, Tristan darling
,’
she said gently, with tears for both of them aching iii her throat.
‘
But now I must go in. It
’
s been a lovely evening.
’

She let him kiss her, then extricated herself and got out of the car.
‘
It
’
s
been a lovely evening,
’
he echoed. Lesley willed herself to disregard her own heartache. At least they had consoled each other.

Before she reached her own room, she heard his car start up and roar away. She sighed, and went to stand by the open window
.
Rita was fast asleep in the bed at the other side of the room.

Lesley stared at the darkling-sky, where now and then a flash of lightning made all the world bright. She was thinking of Dominic, so gay and laughter-loving, so gentle. The temptation to accept that proposal was very great. She loved this magnificent cruel coast, the changing sea, the beautiful setting of the Manor—loved it all
—
as neither of the twins did. But she had no place here
.
She wasn
’
t a Trevendone
.

The morning started badly. Lesley had been sleepless for a long time because—or that was the excuse she made to herself
—
the night had been so sultry one could scarcely breathe, let alone sleep.

Blake had been at the reception desk when she eventually arrived there, ten minutes late, the first time it had ever happened, and it
would
just be the morning when two clients were leaving early.

His face was like granite, but he made no comment and she got down to her own work conscious that she had a slight headache, possibly from over-sleeping, possibly from over-eating last night. Three or four of the accounts on which she was working were incorrect and not sure of her own accuracy with this headachy feeling she had to go through them again. They were Dominic
’
s responsibility, but his methods were slapdash and there
were
inaccuracies. Then, what seemed the last straw over a long and intricate letter right near the bottom of the page, she got her fingers on the wrong keys for the whole of a line. She couldn
’
t possibly erase all that, so the only thing was to retype the page. For the rest of the morning she was working against time and she realised she would have to come in tonight to finish.

The afternoon was to be devoted to Blake
’
s own work in the little office next to his lab. He seemed more impatient than ever about it, and of course one could guess the reason. It was August now and within the next eight weeks there was so much for him to do. Naturally he was under strain too, with his marriage presumably approaching, and Sorrel demanding so much of his company.

Lesley decided to forgo her lunch break. The thought of food anyway made her feel sick. So she went straight from the hotel across the gardens to the office by the lab.

It was unbearably hot, though there had been only a few glimpses of the sun during the morning. If only the storm would come, she thought. Through the inverted vee opening of the Kissing Trees she could see the sea, smooth and oily and pewter-coloured with practically no
swell. Ah ugly sea today, she thought, .and a matching leaden sky.

It certainly wasn
’
t her day. She had managed to get three pages typed before she heard Blake
’
s step in the lab. This part of the work was particularly urgent and he had been taking each page as she finished it and reviewing it. Usually it was passed without comment. Well, he had the three pages to occupy himself with, so she wouldn
’
t see him for a while, she reflected. She had put the finished work on his desk, but after the briefest interval he came storming into the office, his face like thunder.

‘
I
suppose it would be superfluous to ask what
’
s wrong with you today, Miss Trevendone,
’
he said grimly.
‘
Late this
morning, and now
...
this
!’

He flung one of the pages she had just typed in front of her and she stared down at it, at first uncomprehendingly, while the pain in her throat threatened to choke her.

‘
What
...
what
...
?’
she stammered, and her eyes blurred so that she could scarcely see.

‘
You
’
ve missed a whole paragraph out just here
,’
he said, and came behind her, his arm inadvertently brushing against her bare shoulder. She was all too conscious of the faint scent of good soap and an after-shave lotion, as his finger pointed to the paragraph in his original manuscript.

‘
I
’
m sorry. I
’
ll do it again
,’
she said in a low voice.

‘
Yes, do that
,’
he rasped,
‘
and remember I want it in the post by tonight
.’

He paused for a moment and she waited for him to move from behind her. Suddenly he said,
‘
What happened to your Australian friend last night?
’

‘
He couldn
’
t make it
,’
she said mechanically.

He moved now and stood in front of her, and though she didn
’
t raise her eyes, she knew he was standing giving her a long, considering survey.

‘
What time did you get to bed last night, or should I say this morning, Miss Trevendone?
’

The remark was so unexpected that Lesley
’
s first reaction was one merely of surprise,
‘
I didn
’
t stay to the end of the Revel dance. I don
’
t know what time it finished
.’

‘
That wasn
’
t the question I asked you
,’
he said grimly.
‘
I
asked you what time you got to bed.
’

And now Lesley
’
s eyes had frozen to the green of an icy glacier.
‘
I really don
’
t see what that has to do with you,
Mr.
Defontaine
,’
she said in a voice that matched her eyes.

‘
Naturally it has nothing to do with me
,’
he almost shouted.
‘
But what
is
important is that people who work for me should be fit for the jobs they
’
re doing. Not able to concentrate and looking half dead in the middle of the afternoon.
’