The girl in the blue dress (8 page)

Toni went to school, with a marked lack of enthusiasm,
each day in Castleton. She had been enjoying a long half-term week-end when
Beverley first met her, but now reverted to what she considered to be a brutal
and exacting imposition on her free time. However, she usually returned in time
to have a talk with Beverley in the late afternoon.

She never again mentioned her
sister's engage
ment, and on the one
occasion that Beverley saw Franklin Lowell at the Grange, he seemed on very good
terms with everyone. Indeed, the role of rich but unwanted suitor appeared
anything but appropriate. Except that Beverley could not detect any signs of
loving, uninhibited familiarity in Sara's manner to him. But then, perhaps that
was not her way.

She seemed genuinely interested when her fiancé
claimed acquaintance with Beverley, who had been
passing
through the hall just as he came in, and
said,
"Did you know that Miss Farman was the model for that painting I
have of the little girl in the blue and white dress?"

"Why, no." Sara turned wide, interested
eyes on Beverley. "The early Geoffrey Revian, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Then you must have known
Geoffrey a long time, "
was what
she said to Beverley.

"Since I was about twelve." Beverley
contrived to make that sound casual and natural. "We've lived in the same
village for years, you know."

"Oh, yes. Of course." Sara smiled sweetly,
but a little vaguely. And Beverley found herself wondering what was really
going on in her mind and heart, behind that cool and slightly enigmatic
exterior.

"I have promised to take Miss Farman over to
see the picture again, one of these days, " Franklin
Lowell remarked. "You will have to come too, Sara, and do the
honours of the place."

Sara again smiled and said, "Yes, of
course."

And then Beverley had to hurry
to catch her bus, and
the chance
encounter was over. But seeing the two together inevitably set her wondering
once more what the real situation was.
And
partly because this made her restless and un
happy, and partly because it
was her usual habit
to go in and see him
fairly often, she decided to look in and have a talk with Geoffrey again that
evening.

It had been a warm day, but as
she walked down the street to his cottage, a fresh evening breeze had sprung up,
which seemed to lighten the slight depression which had settled on her since
she had
seen Sara and Franklin Lowell
together.

Geoffrey was in the garden
when she arrived there,
lounging
comfortably in a deck-chair. And although
he
had a sketching block on his knee and a pencil
in his hand, it was
obvious that he was amusing himself, rather than engaging in any serious or
concentrated work'.

"Hello, there." He
gave her his quick, friendly smile, which always seemed to her to give such
warmth to his dark eyes, and to make one feel that there was
no one else in the world he would rather see.
"Come and sit down and tell me your news. Will you have a drink?"

"Only if it's lemonade or something
cooling." Beverley subsided into the other deck-chair and relaxed happily.

"I'll get you some
lemonade." He got up.

"Oh, don't bother, "
But he had already started towards the cottage, and, looking after the tall, well
set-up figure in grey slacks and a blue shirt, she thought how pleasant it was
to have Geoffrey perform
even this
small service for her.

He returned almost immediately
with her drink, and stood smiling down at her while she sipped it.

"Have you been taking time off to make a new
dress for yourself?" he asked. "That
green is extra
ordinarily becoming."

"Is it?" She smiled
and flushed. Though at one time she would have taken Geoffrey's careless compli
ments in her stride. "No, it's not new. I had
it last
year. But it's the first time I've
worn it here."

"It's nice." He gave it his emphatic
approval. "Like its wearer." And he ruffled her fair hair. It was a
gesture he had used sometimes when she was much younger. But certainly since she
had come back from London he had not treated her with such easy-going, affectionate
approval, and suddenly Beverley felt her heart begin to beat heavily;

She looked quite calm, however, as she smiled and said,
"Thank you, kind sir. Don't you want to hear about my first days at
Huntingford Grange?"

"Yes, of course. They aren't working you too
hard, I hope."

"Oh, no. Though we started with a bit of a
rush, because both the older girls, 'Madeleine and, Sara" she got the name
out with a hardly perceptible pause, "are going to a big charity dance at
the end of the month, and they want new dresses."

"Lady Welman's affair, I
suppose?"

"Why, yes." She looked surprised.
"How did you know?"

"I do hear of some of the social highlights of
the local season, " he assured her, with a grin. "Besides I rather
thought of going."

"On, going, Geoffrey?" She was astounded,
for she had never known him bother about any such thing.

"Yes. And of taking you too, " he added.

"Of taking, me? Are you crazy, Geoffrey?
What's come over you?"

"Nothing. What's crazy about wanting to go to
a dance and take one's nicest girl friend with one?"

She was dumb for a moment. Partly at this description
of her, partly with astonishment at this sudden and totally unexpected interest
in social affairs.

"Wouldn't you like to come?" he pressed
her.

"In a way, yes. Immensely! But, " she bit
her lip doubtfully, "it's a little 'awkward, with the Wayne girls
going."

"Why should it be? Anyone who likes to buy a ticket
in aid of All Saints can go."

"Yes, of course. But, though they are terribly
friendly and nice to me while I'm there, I'm really just the girl who makes
their dresses, " Beverley said
a little
anxiously.

"Don't be an inverted snob, " Geoffrey
retorted.
"I'm just the chap that
painted Sara Wayne's portrait,
come to that."

Beverley laughed.
"That's quite different, " she said.
"I wouldn't like them to think that I was trying to worm my way into the
same social life as they have, just be
cause
I've come to know them as clients."

"They wouldn't be so stupid as to think
anything of the sort. You will be there as my partner."

"But they might think, at least, Mrs. Wayne might
think, that I had persuaded you to take me, so that I could push my way into
what is much more their circle than mine."

"Don't you believe it!" Geoffrey laughed,
and suddenly he put out his hand and drew her to her feet, so that she was
close against him for a moment. "They
will
understand exactly why you are there with me,
my dear little goose.
Because you are going to get engaged to me beforehand, and go with me as my
fiancée, " he told her.

FOR A wild, improbable moment, it seemed to
Beverley that the setting sun rushed up the sky again and shone in fullest
glory.

She could not, she could not, she thought,
have heard Geoffrey aright. And yet how could she
have mistaken such wonderful, pregnant words? He had smiled as he said them, it
was true, and he was looking teasing and indulgent now. But then that was
often
Geoffrey's way. To say something of importance, with an air of amused
casualness which gave it a delicious novelty.

"Well, " he touched her cheek with gentle
fingers, "no comment?"

"I, " she turned and hugged him suddenly,
"Geoffrey, did I really hear what I thought I heard?"

"If you, heard me say we are engaged, then
it's all right, "" he told her with a grin.

"But, without the slightest warning, without any
preparation, how could you? How do you expect me to be anything but
stunned?"

He laughed. "Haven't you
noticed in the last ten years, that
I'm
extremely fond of you?" he enquired.

"Of course. But, " She was silent
suddenly. For, she could not have said why, she was strangely and disagreeably
struck by his exact choice of phrase. "Extremely fond of her" might
most properly describe the various degrees of affection he had felt for
her from the time she was a child until he asked
her to marry him, of course. But why could he not have said that he loved her?
That was what she wanted
to hear. Extremely fond! An expression one used
to other
people, besides the one girl of
one's heart. Why, it was the expression one might use to someone who was, second
best.

"Geoffrey, " she put her hands flat
against him, almost as though she would have pushed him away, "why did you
say just that?"

"Just what, darling?"

"That you were extremely
fond of me."

"Because I am." He
looked-amused and puzzled.

"But, I'd rather you
said that you, that you
love me. It, means
more."

"Then I love you, my dearest child. Do you
need to be reassured of the fact?"

She did. That was exactly the case, of course. And
yet she felt almost ungenerous as the idea came
to her. This was the moment of her life. The moment she had hoped for during
more years than she could assess. Was she to spoil it now because of some
melodramatic misunderstanding implanted in her mind by
an over-talkative child?

"Oh, Geoffrey, " she pressed her fair
head against his shoulder in an access of affection, "it's so wonderful
that I can't take it in yet. How could you lead up to it so-casually, just by
way of Lady Welman's silly dance?"

"It isn't a silly dance. It's rather a swell
affair, " he
told her, as he dropped a
kiss on the top of her head.
"And
you mustn't disparage it, if we're going to
appear there for the first time in public together as
an engaged couple. I take it you are coming with
me,
now?"

"Why, of course. Everything is all right
now!"
Even as she said that, she
wondered if it were
quite true. But
what could be wrong, if Geoffrey had
asked
her to marry him?

"When did you first think of, of doing
this?" she asked, half-diffidently.

"Of going to the
dance?" he asked teasingly.

"No. Of marrying
me."

"About eight years ago.
When I first did that portrait of you in the blue and white dress."

"Oh, Geoffrey!" She
was enchanted, and almost
completely
reassured.

"Then I forgot about it, "

"Oh, Geoffrey!" she
said again, and this time she was not so enchanted.

"Until quite recently.
When I re-examined the idea once more, " again he gave her that teasing smile,
"and found it quite a sound notion."

She laughed. She knew that
she was meant to laugh, and that this was no unusual way for Geoffrey to talk.
But some utterly perverse side of her kept on discovering a second, disturbing
meaning in everything he said. He had found it "a sound notion" to
propose marriage to her. Why?

"Are you really so
surprised that I want you to
marry me?" he asked her at that moment. "You
reacted as though nothing were further from your thoughts. Did you never think,
in all the years we have known each other, that it was the logical, almost the
inevitable, conclusion?"

"Yes, " she said
quietly and frankly, "I did think so sometimes. I, it doesn't matter my
saying so now, I hoped so. But you told me once, years ago,
that you couldn't ever afford
to marry."

"Well, I suppose that's still true, so far as
many
girls are concerned." He laughed
rather shortly, she thought. "Maybe some people would say I oughtn't to
ask you now, Beverley. I haven't a great deal to offer you, in the worldly
sense."

"It doesn't matter, " she said quickly.
"You'll be a success one day, I know. And, even if you're not, I still
don't mind."

"You're a darling." He held her close and
kissed
her, with an odd touch of something
like remorse.
Perhaps because he
felt that for her sake he should abandon his artistic struggles and accept the
hum
drum prosperity which his father still offered. "I'm not really
half good enough for you, you know, " he exclaimed.

"That's for me to say, isn't it?" She
smiled up at him.

"I don't know. Perhaps I'm being a selfish
hound in asking you." And for a moment he looked sombre, and somehow a
good deal older than his age.

"No, you're not. You are making me very happy,
" Beverley told him. "And no man can do more for a girl than
that."