Reluctant Relation (2 page)

“So you set off into the world to seek your fortune?” Pearl was evidently a student of the more old-fashioned type of fairy story.

“Just about,” Meg agreed amusedly. And she found, to her surprise, that she felt much less hurt and angry about the situation, now that she was telling the story to this charming little girl.

Not for the world would she have told Pearl about the cold, ugly scene in which Claire had made it clear how little Meg was wanted. And still less would she have wished the child to know of the bitterness and pain she had experienced as she had cheerfully wafted her handsome father off on his second honeymoon, with the airy assurance that she herself would take a leisurely holiday, and then set about finding the right job.

If her father had not entirely believed the bit about her wanting a job of her own, at least he must have been glad she wanted to get one because although he had emphasized that Meg’s home would always be open to her, Claire had not supported this statement. It was only natural that he and his young wife would be free to enjoy their own life together.

Meg saw—indeed, would in any circumstances have seen—the justice of this. It was just that Claire’s attitude had made everything so unnecessarily painful. And so, when her father and his new bride had left for their honeymoon, Meg moved out of the home which was no longer home, determined never to go back except when definitely invited.

The queer little girl was right, in a way. She too had run away. And so determinedly that she had put most of the length of the country between herself and home and was now tramping through the lovely hills of Northumberland, with no immediate purpose in mind.

“You’re thinking an awful lot, aren’t you?” said Pearl kindly. “Are you thinking what you’re going to do next?”

“I was really thinking how nice it is to tell my story to someone who’s interested,” replied Meg, to the obvious and immense gratification of her companion. “But there’s no doubt about what I have to do next, Pearl. I have to find a job.”

“What sort of a job? You couldn’t be a nanny, could you?” exclaimed Pearl, with what she evidently considered to be inspiration.

“Darling,” Meg laughed and put out her hand, which was instantly clasped, “it’s terribly nice of you to think of me in that connection. But I’m afraid I’m not a trained nanny.”

“I just thought—” began Pearl. Then she stopped, because there was the sound of a car stopping outside, and a moment later the garden gate opened, to admit a tall, fair young man, with very blue eyes in a very tanned face.

“There’s my Uncle Dick!” exclaimed Pearl, jumping to her feet. She rushed to meet the visitor, who swung her up and kissed her, with an air of affection that commended itself to Meg.

She stood up as Pearl led her uncle back to the tree under which they had been sitting. And at the same moment as Pearl said, “This is my friend, Meg Greenway,” she began to explain, “I’m afraid I am intruding but—”

“I’m sure you’re not,” replied the young man, with a friendly smile. “No one ever intrudes in the country. I’m Dick Manners, by the way. I suppose you’re a friend of my sister.”

“No, not really. You see—”

“She’s a friend of mine,” Pearl insisted. “And she’s staying to tea. Would you like to stay to tea, Uncle Dick?”

“More than anything else in the world,” said her uncle, collapsing gracefully into a chair.
“
Do you have the kettle on?”

“No. But I’ll go and put it on.” Pearl jumped up again with alacrity.

“Shall I help you?” Meg asked. But Pearl shook her head emphatically.

“You talk to Uncle Dick,” she said. “Tell him about meeting me.” So, as Pearl sped across the lawn and into the house, Meg turned to find the young man smiling, lazily, but admiringly at her.

“How did you meet?” he inquired.

“I’m afraid she was running away.” Meg felt someone should know how deeply disturbed the child had been. “And although it’s not my business to say so, I think if her mother looks into the situation thoroughly, she’ll find she would like to fire the woman in charge here.”

“My sister never goes into anything thoroughly, unless it concerns her own comfort, financial position or artistic future,” declared the young man agreeably. “If possible, she’s even lazier and more self-centered than I am.”

“That’s nothing to be proud of,” observed Meg with dry candor.

“I’m not proud of it. I’m stating a fact: One should always look facts in the face. Even disagreeable ones about oneself and one’s family.” Her companion grinned. But then he hitched himself up in his chair, with slightly less abandon, and went on, “However, tell me why Pearl was running away, and why the current nanny won’t do. Apart from the fact that she’s not good-looking.”

Meg would have liked him to take the situation more seriously, but obviously that was not his style. So, she briefly described what Pearl had told her, adding a few words about the scene that had confirmed her own suspicions.

“Hm, yes. That won’t do, of course,” he agreed. “I’ll talk to Felicity about it. Did Pearl tell you anything else about this interesting
ménage
?”

“No,” said Meg, a little stiffly in case he should think her inquisitive. Then she added, “Except that she said she wished her father would come back.”

“Her father?” the young man looked astonished. “Her father’s dead. He died before she was born.”

“But,” Meg frowned puzzledly, “she said he went away last week, and that her mother told her he wouldn’t be coming back again.”

“Oh,” a thoughtful look came over the good-looking face, “I see. At least, I think I see. As you’ve probably gathered, my sister, Pearl’s mother, is Felicity Manners, the actress.”

“No, I hadn’t gathered that. At least, I mean I hadn’t put the two names together in my mind. But of course I know her name quite well. She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Ravishing,” said her brother absently. “The kind men are always falling in love with. Occasionally she reciprocates. She did while she was here, doing the outside work on her next film. Got herself engaged to a fellow who lives and works in Newcastle, about twenty miles away.”

“Yes, I know.” Meg had studied the geography well before embarking on her hiking tour.

“They were going to have been married in the autumn, and I suppose Felicity had been preparing Pearl for this addition to the household by telling her Leigh was her new father.”

“And now?” asked Meg, as he paused.

“Well, I’m afraid she’ll have to set her heart on something else.” Dick Manners shrugged, though not unsympathetically. “I understand the engagement was broken some time last week.”

Meg was silent. Then she said, as quietly as she could, “Pearl was really distressed. I think that was one reason she decided to run away.”

“Kids usually have that idea once in their lives.”

“True. But few put it into practice with any seriousness.”

“And she was serious?”

“At least she was a long way from home, and rather aimless and hungry. That isn’t usual for a little girl of eight—nine—whatever she is.”

“Nine,” he said absently, but he frowned. “It wouldn’t have happened if this wretched woman had been doing her job.”

“No, of course not. But it did happen. And I think someone should see it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” He was still frowning thoughtfully. “The real trouble is that there’s not much place for a child in Felicity’s life. She’s the typical butterfly, you know. Always changing course and deciding she wants something different.”

Meg was silent, for fear of saying too much. After a moment, Pearl’s attractive uncle went on musingly, “Funny Pearl should pick Leigh as a desirable father figure. I wouldn’t have thought he’d appeal to a child. Sort of real and earnest, and determined to have his own way.”

“Maybe she felt that at least he knew where he was going and what he wanted,” Meg suggested dryly.

“Well yes. I suppose Leigh doesn’t leave any one in doubt about that,” Dick agreed.

Then Pearl appeared with a tea tray and her uncle got up to help her, with more energy than Meg had expected.

It was an enjoyable meal they had together, there in the garden. Evidently Pearl was used to making tea, f
o
r she produced a satisfactory brew. Like all children, she was pleased to have her social efforts praised, and Meg noted again that she and her uncle were on excellent terms.

Lightweight he might be—though not, Meg thought, as light weight as he pretended—but certainly Dick Manners was good company, and there was no lack of chatter and laughter.

At the end, Meg said, “If you are going to stay until your sister comes home, I don’t think that there’s any reason for me to do so.”

“But you promised!” Pearl cried reproachfully. “You said you’d stay until Mommy came in!”

“I know, darling. But your uncle is here—”

“I think I’d like you to tell my sister your own story as well,” Dick Manners said.

“Well, in that case,” Meg ruffled Pearl’s hair affectionately, “of course I’ll stay. Let’s clear up the dishes, Pearl.”

Pearl was quite willing, and together they went into the house, and into a large, light kitchen.

There was still no sign of Nanny and Meg hated to think what might have happened if she had not found Pearl sitting by the roadside. This reflection stiffened her resolution not to leave the place until she had impressed upon Pearl’s apparently flighty mother the necessity of finding someone responsible to look after the little girl.

When they had washed the dishes Pearl insisted on showing her around the house. From the luxurious but impersonal look of the place, Meg judged it was rented fully furnished and that a good part of Pearl’s life was spent in similar, impermanent surroundings.

It could have been worse, of course. The child might have been neglected in poor or sordid surroundings. But somehow the combination of real luxury and so little loving care struck Meg as particularly pathetic.

“That’s Mommy,” Pearl volunteered at this moment, indicating a somewhat idealized photograph. In this case, the subject was so genuinely beautiful that the slightly blurred technique made her look angelic.

“She’s got gray eyes,” Pearl explained, “and her hair’s a sort of reddish-gold. It’s very pretty.”

“It must be,” Meg agreed, and found that she had nothing further to say about the beautiful Felicity Manners.

“And that’s my father.” Pearl brought over for Meg’s inspection a less idealized study of a man with fine eyes, an obstinate chin, and a singularly well-cut mouth.

Wondering if even the casual Felicity would keep a photograph of a rejected suitor around, Meg asked, “Do you mean your real father? or the—the one who went away last week?”

“Oh, not my real father. He died before I was born.” Pearl quite cheerfully relegated him to the vanished past. “That’s the father I almost had. He’s nice, isn’t he?”

“Very,” said Meg somewhat helplessly. “He looks faintly familiar to me, though I don’t know why. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.”

“You wouldn’t have seen a photograph of him in the papers either. He’s a businessman, not an actor or anything,” explained Pearl.

And then again there was the sound of a car stopping outside the house, and Pearl exclaimed, “That must be Mommy,” and hastily replaced the photograph in its inconspicuous position.

Perhaps feeling that Meg might be nervous, Pearl took her by the hand, and, as they stood waiting, Meg heard a sweet voice call out, “Hello, Dick! Come on in. I want to talk to you. Heavens, I’m almost dead!”

Then the front door opened and Felicity Manners came in, followed closely by a small, dry-looking Frenchwoman and, more leisurely, by her brother.

“Why, hello, pet. Have you got a visitor?” Felicity stooped to brush her cheek gracefully against her child’s. Then she
straightened up and smiled at Meg, as Pearl announced proudly, “This is my friend Meg Greenway.”

“Charmi
n
g,” said her mother vaguely. “Come into the living-room everyone and let’s sit down. My feet are killing me.” She swept on ahead and the others automatically fell in behind her, Meg noticed, as a procession.

“Take my coat, Cecile.” She slipped her coat gracefully from her shoulders to the floor, from which Cecile retrieved it and scuttled away.
“
And pour some drinks, Dick.” She flung herself unerringly into the most comfortable chair in the room, kicked off her shoes, and bestowed upon them all impartially the same sweet but absent smile that she had given Meg before.

She was far more vital and interesting than the photograph had suggested. Perhaps the first thing one noticed was her loveliness, but the next, so far as Meg was concerned, was the firm set of her mouth.

Dick Manners passed drinks around, while his sister poured out a stream of light chatter about the events of the day—her day, of course—and Meg tried to find an opening to explain her own presence. Felicity Manners seemed uninterested in how she had come there or what she had to do with Pearl.

“Mommy—” began Pearl once.

“Yes, darling? Take my shoes and ask Cecile for my slippers. The new gold ones. We got the whole of that last scene, Dick. The light was just right, and Charles insisted we do it. It nearly killed me, of course, but I suppose it was worth it.”