The girl in the blue dress (10 page)

His manner was rather that of
a slightly old fashioned but highly gifted actor-manager, and Beverley could
not help thinking that if Madeleine had any grounds for visualizing herself
succeeding in a stage career, she must have inherited these from her
father.

He seemed to be on
unexpectedly good terms with his future son-in-law. And, if Franklin Lowell
listened to the dissertation on Binwick with obvious amusement, it was a sort
of indulgent amusement. At the end, he got to his feet, stretched himself
lazily, so that Beverley could not help noticing how tall and strangely graceful
he was, and said, "Well, shall we go now?"

In contrast to Mr. Wayne's
rolling periods, there was something almost comic about the curt economy
of that.
But Sara, it seemed, was
quite ready to go. She said goodbye to her mother and went out to the car with
Franklin, Beverley following a tactful step or two behind.

Just as they had seated
themselves, however, Sara remembered that she had forgotten something she wanted
to take over to Franklin's housekeeper. "I won't be a minute, " she
promised. "Wait for me." And, jumping out of the car, she ran into the
house once more.

It was very pleasant, sitting
out there in the late afternoon sunshine, the windows of the car open to the
breeze which almost always blew round the small plateau on which Huntingford
Grange was built. And leaning back in her seat, Beverley relaxed with a slight,
contented sigh.

Franklin Lowell turned round
in the driving-seat and smiled at her.
"Settling down all right here?" he enquired
good humouredly.

"Oh, yes, indeed!
Everyone is very kind to me.
And they are a delightful, an interesting family to
work for."

"Yes, they're interesting,
all right. Is that the first
time you've met Mr. Wayne?"

Beverley said it was.

"Amazing fellow."
Franklin Lowell grinned reminiscently. "Now my old man wouldn't have
managed to say as much as that about the place where he was born and bred. And
I don't expect Mr. Wayne has passed through Binwick more than a dozen times in the
car. You would think he'd left half his heart
there."

Beverley laughed. "He
has a wonderful speaking voice, " she said
sincerely.

"Yes. I suppose he's
what you mean by a spellbinder, " her companion agreed, but without
rancour.
"They
all have a touch of it. I think that's why they
fascinate me as a family."

"Do they fascinate
you?" Beverley was interested,
and a little amused to hear him admit to that. "I mean,
I understand that your fiancée fascinates you, naturally. But, as a
family?"

"Yes. The whole lot of
them. Even Toni. There is nothing the least bit standardized about them, in an
increasingly standardized world. Sometimes I don't think I understand any of
them. Not even Sara. Perhaps least of all Sara, " he added, half to
himself.

But before Beverley could ask
him what he meant by that, if, indeed, she could have done so in any case, Sara
herself came out of the house again and
rejoined them.

"I'm sorry. I hope I
didn't keep you too long."

"It's all right."
Franklin smiled at her, with an air of affectionate indulgence which Beverley
found charming.

They drove off then. And, sitting
there in the back
seat
of the car, Beverley unobtrusively watched the
other two, as they chatted to each other in
front.
Once or
twice Sara turned round and included Beverley in the conversation. But mostly
she and Franklin appeared to be talking about the' structural alterations they
were going to see.

In a sense they were on good
terms, Beverley supposed. That was to say they seemed to agree quite pleasantly
about what should still be done, and several times he turned to flash that
singularly attractive smile at Sara. And yet, all that Beverley could say to
herself was that she would have felt and behaved quite differently if she had
been driving out with Geoffrey to inspect their future home.

But this, she reminded
herself, could be quite easily explained by the difference in temperament between
her and Sara Wayne. Why should Sara be eager and expansive and excited, if that
were not her
disposition?

The drive took less than
twenty minutes and brought them to Eithorpe Hall, which had, Beverley remembered,
been inhabited during most of her growing-up years by an elderly recluse who
had died about five years previously.

"Why, I didn't realize
you lived here!" she said to Franklin Lowell. "It was empty for
several years,
wasn't
it?"

"Yes. I bought it about
a year ago. And now Sara and I are gradually having it changed to suit our future
plans."

"Then my portrait, I
mean the picture of me hasn't been hanging here long?"

"Oh, no. I had it in my
flat in London."

"In your flat?"

"Yes. Why not?" He
glanced round, rather amused,
she realized.

"Oh, I, don't know, "
Beverley said. But what she was really thinking was that there was something extraordinarily
intimate about living with a portrait in a flat. Even a big flat. And even if
the portrait were of a little girl.

In a big country house one
might not notice it for days on end. It might even become part of the general
surroundings. But in a flat, somehow, it was like a day-to-day personal
contact. She thought she saw now why he had spoken of her picture as "my little
girl in the blue and white frock" in that half amused, half-fanciful way.
And the reflection curiously touched her.

When they came into the big
panelled entrance hall of the house, the very correct and elderly housekeeper
came out to greet them, and almost immediately Sara excused herself and went
off with her.

"Show Miss Farman her
picture, " she said to Franklin over her shoulder. "I shan't be
long."

And so, rather to Beverley's
pleasure, she and Franklin Lowell went off together to look at her
picture.

It was hanging, in an
excellent light, in a small panelled room, which had long windows opening out on
to a terrace at the back of the house. There was
no other picture in the room and, either because it
really was very good, or
because it had been very skillfully placed, it was extraordinarily effective.

"I say, " Beverley
stood smilingly surveying it, "it's rather nice, isn't it?"

"It's the nicest picture
I know, " said Franklin Lowell.

She laughed.
"Have you told Geoffrey
that?"

"No. I don't think
so."

"You should do. It's an
expression of opinion that
any artist would like to hear passed on his work."

"I don't know that it's
only the work which
prompts the opinion, " Franklin Lowell said. "The
subject's nice too."

"Oh, " Beverley
laughed again and flushed that time, "children always make effective
models."

"Indeed they do not. I
have seen some child studies
which make me sick."

"Oh, well, haven't we
all?" Beverley said feelingly. "Does Sara, does Miss Wayne like the
picture?"

"Very much. I think that
was why she was so
eager
to have Revian paint her."

"Was it?" thought
Beverley. But aloud she said, "I should love to see the portrait of her, if
I may."

"Yes, of course. It's in
my study. Come this way."

As they crossed the hall again,
Sara rejoined them and asked in such a friendly and casual way how Beverley had
liked her picture that suddenly Beverley was almost sure that all her fears and
imaginings were ridiculous fancy.

"I think it's
enchanting. I had forgotten how well
Geoffrey did it, " she said. "And now I'm
curious to
see
his portrait of you."

"Oh, yes. It's in the
study." Sara came with them,
to the rather austere room where it was obvious that a
great deal of serious work was done.

The beautiful, curiously
romantic portrait was rather out of keeping with the rest of the room. And yet
its
intrinsic
loveliness justified its position anywhere.

"It's absolutely
lovely!" Beverley exclaimed. "I
don't think even Geoffrey ever did anything better. It's
exactly like you. Oh, he is clever!"

The others both laughed at
her enthusiasm, and Sara turned once more to examine the portrait appraisingly,
while Franklin said teasingly to Beverley, "You are an admirer of his, aren't
you?"

"Oh, yes!" Beverley
flushed again, with the intensity of her feelings. And then suddenly, she could
not have said whether it was simply that she could no longer keep her news to
herself, or whether it was the imperative desire to put all her doubts to the
test, she looked at Sara's unconscious back and added, "As a matter of
fact, I became engaged to him yesterday evening."

"YOU'RE engaged?" repeated Franklin, on a
note of amusement and surprise. "To Geoffrey Revian? Why, congratulations,
" He held out his hand to her. "How did you keep that news to
yourself until
now?"

"Oh, there, there were quite a lot of other
things to attend to today, " she assured him, and she tried to make her
voice sound naturally frank and happy.

But she looked past him as she spoke, to the very still
figure of Sara, who even now had not turned
round.

"Did you hear that, Sara?" Franklin too
looked over at his fiancée then. "Did you know about Miss Farman's
engagement?"

And then, at last, Sara did turn to face them, and Beverley
saw that she was very pale.

"Yes, I heard." Sara spoke in a quiet, strangely
flat voice. "But I didn't know about it before. I, hope you will be very
happy, Miss Farman."

"Thank you, " said Beverley in a small
voice, for she felt most strangely as' though she had struck some unoffending
person in the face. She had not intended to hurt Sara like that. Before she
spoke the fatal words, she had almost convinced herself that the other girl
really had no interest in Geoffrey, after all. Now, in face of that blank look
and inescapable pallor, she could no longer cherish any illusions. Whatever
Geoffrey's attitude might be, there was no doubt of Sara's fondness for
him.

"Aren't you well, darling?" It was
Franklin who spoke suddenly, galvanizing both girls into the realization that
they must somehow disguise the immense gulf which had all at once been torn in
their relationship.

"I'm all right." Sara roused herself.
"I have a slight headache, but it's nothing much. Don't we want to show
Miss Farman the rest of the house?"

With the eager assurance that she would love to see
more of Eithorpe Hall, Beverley seconded this attempt to return to normality.
And, as they started on an informal tour of the house, she forced herself
to make easy conversation, so as to hide the fact
that
Sara had become strangely silent again.

She asked Franklin all sorts of questions, how he
had come to buy the place, and what other alterations he and Sara proposed to
make.

"I always wanted a place of this kind, "
he told her candidly. "I suppose, " he grinned reflectively, "it's
something in me from some farming ancestors, way back in the family. Then, when
my father died, he left me a controlling interest in a variety of concerns, mostly
to do with plastics. A lot of our work is done in the Tyrfe Valley, and it
seemed the reasonable moment to combine my business interests with the
pleasures of owning a country estate. Now, all I need is a beautiful wife to
grace the scene. Isn't that right, my sweet?" And he put his arm round
Sara.

"Yes, " she said. But that was all.

In other circumstances, Beverley would have been truly
interested to see over Eithorpe Hall. But, as it was, she felt the strain of
the present situation increasing with every room she looked at and admired.

She supposed that what she wanted more than any
thing else in the world was to have Sara to herself for ten minutes. And yet, even
if she achieved that, what was there, she could say?

In the end, the opportunity came with almost frightening
suddenness and simplicity. They had all returned to the pleasant drawing-room
overlooking a
terraced garden where
excellent coffee and sandwiches
had been set out by the housekeeper. And,
just as they had sat down, a servant came to say that Franklin was wanted on
the telephone.

"Don't wait for me, " he said. "If
it's Thompson about the new barns I may be some while." And then he went
away, leaving the two girls together.

There was silence for a moment. Then Beverley, unable
to sit still and exchange no more than social pleasantries, got up from her
chair and walked restlessly to the window.