Lonely Road (17 page)

I couldn’t argue it, and so I let her have her way. I moved over to the window. “To-morrow we’ll go down to the yard,” I said. “I want to show you all my ships and things. And we’ve not bathed yet, either.”

She beamed. “I’ve got ever such a lovely bathing-dress that I got last autumn in the sales. I haven’t worn it yet—only in my bedroom before the glass. I was keeping it for my holiday.” She paused. “It’s a lovely colour—sort of apple green.”

She looked best in green; all the girls said so. So she had told me. “It sounds all right,” I said.

She dimpled. “You may not like me in it.”

“I expect I shall,” I said comfortably. And so we sat there in the half-light looking out over the harbour, and gossiped, and drank our tea till it was time to go to bed. That night, for the first time since my accident, I slept soundly and dreamlessly till I was called at eight o’clock.

I saw Mollie in the garden that morning while I was shaving, coming up from the fuzzy. She had been down to have another look at the bathing place; so she told me while we were breakfasting. She was itching to go in.

I’d have taken her down to bathe at once, since she seemed to be so keen, but I had to go down to the yard that morning for an hour or so. I made her a promise that we’d bathe before lunch; she was content, and as we breakfasted she told me about everything that she had seen on her morning’s walk—the birds and the flowers and the trees. She had been up at six. Spreading my toast and marmalade, it struck me that she wasn’t missing much.

We went down together to the yard;
Sweet Anna
was still lying out in the stream at anchor. I am a little short of quayside
for the vessels undergoing a refit; I should like to build on, but it would cost a lot. That day there was a smack lying at the shore end of my quay and
Pearl Maid
at the outer end; we had been setting up her mizzen with new standing gear, so that there was a great smell of Stockholm tar all round the place. Entering the gates one can always tell what work is going on from the smell: paint, the bark we use for tanning sails, wood smoke, tar—all these in turn provide aroma for my yard.

Mollie came with me into the office, and sat quiet in a corner while I did my letters; I think it was a new experience to her. It was certainly a new one to the staff, and must have given them cause for gossip for a week or so. Miss Soames came in and took my letters and never raised an eyelid from her pad; Tillotson came in to talk about his cost accounts, but took no account of Sixpence sitting in her corner trying to read the
Marine Transporter’s Journal and Monthly Advertiser
. He went away, and I sent for Penhill to tell him that
Irene
was to be ready for Stenning by the evening and, as an afterthought, told him that I should be wanting
Runagate
next day. Then a short talk with old Captain Sammy Gore, of
Sweet Anna
. He wanted new rudder pintles, or thought he did, but I think it was only because some rumour had reached him far away up on the north-east coast that we had given them to
Mary Thompson
at her last refit. I told him that
Sweet Anna
was a better built vessel than
Mary Thompson
, which was nearly true and matched his own belief, and that we’d have a look when she dried out.

Then the watchman came, as watchmen always do, to say that it wasn’t that he wasn’t willing, but he couldn’t work miracles, and he was doing three men’s work and not complaining, and he ought to have some help.

Then I was free to go and bathe.

I took Mollie out of the office and showed her something of my yard and ships. We didn’t stay very long because I knew she wanted to get back; that green bathing-dress was pulling very strongly. However, I found that she was still worrying
a little about Joan and Stenning, because she said, quite suddenly:

“Please, Commander Stevenson, about this evening. When Lady Stenning comes, do you play cards—bridge, or anything? Because I’m afraid I couldn’t. I don’t know any card games hardly, except Sevens.”

I thought for a moment that I’d telephone to put them off, to tell them that they’d better sleep in the
Irene
for the night. And then I thought I wouldn’t. For some obscure reason I wanted Joan to meet her, and there was really nothing for her to be frightened of in meeting Joan. That wasn’t to say that I could prevent her being frightened. It was the title that did it, of course. If Joan had been Mrs. Stenning it would all have been plain sailing.

I smiled. “They don’t play bridge,” I said. “Not unless they’re made to. Stenning’s game is poker—he’s a tiger at that. But they won’t want to play cards, and if they did they wouldn’t get the chance. They’ll just sit and talk. Stenning talks about yachts and flying, and Joan talks about water-colours and Cairn terriers.”

She looked up at me despondently. “I don’t know about either. I mean, not to talk to anyone who does. But I do love dogs.”

“That’s good enough,” I said. “Just say that, and Joan’ll talk for hours.”

We got into the car and went back through the town. Mollie wanted to stop and buy a bathing-cap, and wanted me to come into the ladies’ outfitters and help her choose it. Dartmouth is a small place and I am quite well known; for many years, of course, my life has been something of a scandal and a bye-word in the little town, but always in connection with wine, not women. It took us nearly half an hour to buy that cap and the rest of the things she wanted; by the time we came out and got into the car, Mollie clutching her purchases and laughing with me before all the virtuous housewives of the town, I knew that I had added fresh laurels to my wreath.

We drove up through the town back to my house, left the
car on the drive, and went to get our bathing things. Then we went down together through the fuzzy; it was sunny and warm, with the wind somewhere in the south-west so that my beach was in the lee of the cliff. The tide was about half flood; I couldn’t have picked a better day to introduce her to the place.

I gave her the hut to change in, and went and undressed among the trees myself. I was ready long before she was, and I can remember sitting on the rocks in the sun down there waiting for her and wondering how this was going to end. I didn’t get much further with that speculation because I had little experience to guide me; in all my life I had never lived in such intimacy with any girl before. There’s a lot to be said for co-educational schools, I suppose.

She came at last, looking like a coloured picture from a summer magazine. I sat and watched her as she came towards me from the hut, admiring her slim grace. I can see her now.

“That’s an awfully pretty dress,” I said.

She smiled. “I’m glad you like me in it.” Now that wasn’t what I said at all, although I might have done.

She could dive a little, and chose to go in that way, near the beach. I dived in with her on the seaward side; she was a weak swimmer and made straight for the shore. I followed her, and in the shallows we told each other how cold it was. One more dive, and she was ready to go and sit in the sun; I think to her that was the best part of the game. I fetched her towel and we sat on the warm rocks for an hour or more, sunbathing and watching the small traffic of the harbour mouth, the sparkling sea in the Range, and the white surf around the chequered buoy.

There was a small cloud on the horizon still. She asked:

“Malcolm, when Lady Stenning comes, what ought I to wear? Will the coat and skirt I’ve been wearing be all right?”

I rolled over and looked at her, and grinned. “I’d wear what you’ve got on now, if I were you,” I said. “That suits you best of all.”

She rippled into laughter. “You are awful! I mean, really, what ought I to wear?”

I knew that it would be all right when Joan arrived. “I’d wear something rough and countrified, if you’ve got anything like that,” I said.

She nodded. “I’ve got a terribly old tweed skirt and a jumper, that I had for walking in. Would that be the right thing?” She was very doubtful. “I’ll show it you when we go up.”

I smiled at her. “Just anything you like, so long as it’s not too smart.” She was utterly puzzled. “Don’t make her feel too dirty by comparison. You see, she’s coming down by air—about two and a half hours’ flight in an open machine. She’ll arrive with her face covered in oil, or if it’s not she’ll feel as if it was. She always wants a bath directly she arrives, when they fly down.” I paused. “And anyway, Joan always goes about in the most awful things herself.”

“You don’t think she’ll be dreadfully smart?”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

T
HAT
evening we went up to Thompson’s field and sat and waited for the aeroplane. Mollie had gone up to her room directly after lunch, and had come down in half an hour to find me working in the model room. She had changed into a jumper and an old brown skirt, and she had come to ask me if she would do. “I haven’t put hardly any powder on, or anything,” she informed me. “Do you think I’ll be all right like this for Lady Stenning?”

Her mind was still running on Joan. I laid my set-square down and grinned at her. “You’re quite all right,” I replied. “Looking very nice. You don’t want a lot of powder and stuff in those sort of clothes. It doesn’t go, does it?”

She smiled, and looked up at me. “You don’t like a lot of that, do you?” she inquired. “It’s funny how people are about that. Lots of the gentlemen just don’t care about taking you out unless you’ve got a lot on.”

She glanced down at her shoes; they were black, high-heeled, and ornamental. “I didn’t bring my other pair of walking shoes down with me,” she said ruefully. “I thought they’d be too old for me to bring here. Does it matter?”

I laughed. “Not a hoot. But would you like to get a pair of country shoes? We’ll slip down in the car, if you like.”

She said: “I’d love it, ever so. But not now—when you’ve finished working.” And she indicated the drawing-board.

“Playing,” I said, “up here. I do my work down at the office.”

“What is it?” she inquired.

I moved aside the T-square for her to examine the drawing. “It’s a ship,” I said. “The hull lay-out of a little yacht I want to build.”

She stared at it, uncomprehending. “You do love ships,” she said at last. “I wish I knew about them more.”

And so we left the house and went down to the town at gossip time, and drew the Bentley up before the local shoe emporium to provide fresh matter for discussion at the local tea-tables. I knew all that before we went, of course, but Mollie came back in new brown brogues with tasselled laces and was happy for the afternoon.

They say that a man has licence to take off whatever clothes he puts on to a girl. I thought that I might take that risk, with shoes.

We sat on the gate to Thompson’s field for half an hour and waited for the aeroplane. We heard it first, and then we saw it in the sky, a speck above Kingswear. We watched it closer till the engine was shut off above the harbour, and the Moth came in on a wide gliding turn, side-slipped down across the hedge, and ran gently to rest in the middle of the field. Stenning swung her round and taxied in towards us; Mollie turned to me: “Wasn’t it pretty the way it did that?”

“He’s not got much to learn about an aeroplane,” I said.

Joan waved a hand from the front cockpit as they drew abreast of us; I got on to the wing tip and guided the machine towards the barn. Stenning taxied up to it and throttled back; then he reached out and switched off the engine. The propeller kicked and came to rest, and the silence of the evening closed on us again.

Stenning heaved himself up out of the rear cockpit and jumped down; he was in plus fours and a flying-helmet. Joan came climbing down the plane from the front seat.

“Had a good trip?” I asked.

“Thick as far as Salisbury,” said Stenning. He pulled his helmet off and smoothed his hair. “You’ve got it nice down here.”

Joan dropped down on to the ground. She had taken off her helmet, and she shook her shingled hair into some sort of order. “Cheer-oh, Malcolm,” she remarked. “You’re looking very fit.”

“So I am,” I said. “A bat or two still flying round the belfry, perhaps, but nothing to make a song about.” I turned to Sixpence: “Joan, I want you to meet Miss Gordon. She’s staying here with me for a few days.”

Lady Stenning stopped scratching her hair and composed her features into a smile. “Afternoon,” she said. “I hope he’s been remembering his duties as a host. He doesn’t often, I may say.”

Sixpence smiled diffidently, and said: “Good-afternoon.”

I turned to Stenning. He was staring at Mollie in perplexity, slowly passing one hand over his disordered hair. “But we’ve met before,” he said. “Of course we have.” He looked inquiringly at her. “Now where the devil was that?”

I asked in some surprise: “Do you two know each other, then?”

“I’m damn sure we do,” said Sir Philip. “We’ve met some place or other.” He smiled at her. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t just pin it down.”

I glanced at Mollie. She caught my eye despairingly, sending an appeal for help. Something was evidently wrong; I didn’t know what, but I did all I could to help her out. “Perhaps you met him at some party,” I remarked. “I’ve often met people like that, and couldn’t think of where we’d met before.”

She forced a smile. “We did meet once before. But I didn’t know you were Sir Philip Stenning, then.”

“Don’t suppose I was,” said Stenning equably. “But where was it that we met?”

There was nothing for it, then. “In the Salford Road Palais de Danse,” said Mollie bravely. “In Manchester—about two years ago. You came in one night with a party, rather late, and booked me for the evening.”

There was a momentary silence after that—the very slightest pause. I moved to her and slipped my arm through hers. “Miss Gordon teaches dancing in the North,” I said easily. “She’s spending her summer holiday down here with me.”

Stenning had recovered by that time. “By God, yes,” he replied. “I remember now. I was with Dick Annesley and
Holt. I say, it’s splendid meeting you again down here.”

And Joan said practically: “Now’s the time to get my quickstep right. Philip’s always going on at me because I can’t do enough tricks.” She turned to Mollie: “I’d love it if you’d show me, some time.”