Authors: Isobel Chace
‘
Amman? When? You can
’
t mean it, Lucasta
!
’
‘
But I do! You wouldn
’
t have to do anything, Miss Shirley, except make sure that I don
’
t run away with the nearest oil sheik.
’
She pursed her lips in obvious imitation of her parent.
‘
My mother intends that I shall make a suitable marriage when the time comes and she will not have me running around with anyone who is not suitable in case the worst happens meanwhile. But she
’
ll brief you about that herself. Though what she thinks can happen to her ewe lamb in the middle of a desert, heaven only knows!
’
‘
Lucasta!
’
‘
Oh, don
’
t pretend, Miss Shirley. I can see you think it as ridiculous as I do, but my uncle is
not to be trusted.
He goes behind her back, and does all sorts of other devious things—
’
‘
Lucasta
!
’
Lucasta grinned.
‘
He
’
s nice.
And
quite
the ladies
’
man! You
’
d better do as my mother says, Miss Shirley, and batten down your heart well in advance. If he weren
’
t my uncle, I
’
d fall for him myself and my mother wouldn
’
t stand an earthly of showing me the door!
’
Marion tried not to laugh.
‘
It
’
s very kind of you to
ask me, Lucasta, but I
’
ve already made my plans for these holidays. My mother—
’
‘
I don
’
t
think
you have to worry about her
,
Miss Shirley. My
family
is very efficient when they make up their minds to something and they
’
ll see to everything for you. All my mother asks is that you come home with me today to meet her. It has to be today because she
’
s off to the Bahamas tomorrow and she
’
s only in London for twenty-four hours. You will come, won
’
t you
?
’
Marion had already made up her mind to say no, but the look in Lucasta
’
s eyes prevented her.
The
girl was scared, really frightened that Marion might refuse, and she knew, as clearly as if Lucasta had spoken, that if she didn
’
t produce the Art Mistress for tea her life would be unbearable for the next few hours. Well, it wouldn
’
t hurt her to go and see
Mrs.
Hartley for herself. It would be more fitting to explain to her why she couldn
’
t pack up at a moment
’
s notice and take off for somewhere in the Middle East, leaving her mother, so recently widowed, to fend for herself over the next few weeks.
‘
Yes, all right, Lucasta, I
’
ll come. I
’
ll meet you at the bus stop, shall I
?
’
Lucasta
’
s glance was distinctly mocking.
‘
When my mother
’
s at home, she sends the Rolls to collect me. My family travels first class, Miss Shirley, and so shall we, if and when they bother to remember that we exist at all
!
’
Marion frowned.
‘
Do you think you ought to talk about your family like that
?
’
she asked gently.
But Lucasta only shrugged, and opened her eyes very wide.
‘
You should hear what they say about me
!
’
she retorted.
The rest of the day passed in a whirl for Marion. She tried to telephone her mother at lunchtime, but there was no answer. Marion was glad. It meant that her mother was beginning to go out again, and that
was a good sign, for Marion knew that if she was missing her father
.
Mrs.
Shirley had known desperation at being left alone while still a comparatively young woman. She had needed all her courage to take a hold on her life again without her husband, and not even Marion could guess at the lonely battle she had fought with herself in the long, cold days after Henry Shirley
’
s sudden death.
Lucasta Hartley was standing at the school entrance, scuffing her toes on the gravel drive. She looked younger than her seventeen years and painfully vulnerable. Marion had heard in the staff room that she had been sent out of class during the afternoon and wondered a little wearily why Lucasta had to antagonise everyone whom she felt had been put in authority over her. It was only in the art class, where Marion made a point of leaving the
ol
der girls as much as possible to their own devices, that Lucasta shone at all. She couldn
’
t draw for toffee-nuts, but she had a nice sense of colour and a real feel for fashion and the way clothes should be worn, taught to her no doubt from an early age by her mother.
She looked up as Marion approached and scowled at her.
‘
The Rolls is late,
’
she blurted out.
‘
I can
’
t say I
’
m sorry,
’
Marion consoled her.
‘
I
’
d rather go on the bus anyway.
’
The girl
’
s brow cleared as if by magic.
‘
But we really have got a Rolls-Royce, and a Jaguar too!
’
Marion managed a smile. She couldn
’
t help thinking Lucasta sounded more like a boastful ten-year-old than very nearly eighteen.
‘
What kind of car are you going to have
?
’
she asked.
Lucasta gave her a look of pure outrage.
‘
I
’
ll never have a car
!
’
she declared.
‘
I
’
m not going to add to the pollution problem. No cars, no babies, and a vegetarian diet is the best way to live.
’
She glared overhead at a vapour trail in the sky.
‘
And no aeroplanes!
I think
I
’
ll walk anywhere I want to go.
’
‘
You could buy a bicycle,
’
Marion suggested.
L
ucasta
’
s face fell.
‘
I never learned to ride one,
’
she mumbled.
‘
Oh, look! There
’
s the car! I
’
m afraid you
’
ll have to suffer a chauffeur-driven ride after all.
’
The younger girl stepped into the luxurious interior of the Rolls as if it were no more than a baby Fiat. Marion rather envied her her assurance, especially as the chauffeur tucked a rug in over her knees and saluted smartly before getting into his own seat in the front.
‘
Heavens
!
’
Marion exclaimed under her breath.
Lucasta looked at her earnestly.
‘
Do you know how many miles to the gallon this car does? My uncle thinks it
’
s as awful as I do. He prefers to walk too
!
’
But Marion was in no mood to think about anything that might have
s
poilt the sheer bliss of sweeping through the London traffic almost as if the rush hour didn
’
t exist for that one day of the year.
The house where the Hartleys lived on the rare occasions they were in London was of large, gracious proportions in a quiet cul-de-sac in Kensington.
‘
Don
’
t let it throw you,
’
Lucasta advised as they waited for the chauffeur to release them.
‘
Just keep remembering that it
’
s more than a roof over the Hartley heads, it
’
s a suitable background for the Hartley daughter to be reared in.
’
‘
Very nice too!
’
Marion approved.
Lucasta looked at her curiously.
‘
But you
’
re not envious all the same, are you
?
’
‘
No, I like my own home too much for that.
’
Lucasta looked up at her home, twisting her lips together.
‘
One day, when I
’
ve gone away too, the squatters will find out how often it
’
s empty and move in. What
’
s more, they
’
ll have all my sympathy when they do.
’
‘
I wonder,
’
Marion said.
‘
Wouldn
’
t it be better if the homeless had houses of their own
?
’
‘
But it isn
’
t fair for some people to have a lot and others nothing at al
l.
’
‘
That
’
s rather an extreme view,
’
Marion returned.
‘
Most people have something and, fortunately in my opinion, all people don
’
t want the same things. I don
’
t particularly want to have to look after a whole lot of possessions and have to remember when the Rolls needs servicing, but I expect your parents enjoy having nice things, and why not
?
’
Lucasta raised a rather sour smile.
‘
They don
’
t have time to enjoy anything. You
’
ll find out
!
’
She raised the knocker as if to give emphasis to her threat and the door was opened by a timid young woman in a black dress.
‘
Your mother says you
’
re to take Miss Shirley into the drawing-room, miss,
’
she breathed in heavily accented English.
‘
I bring the tea.
’
Mrs.
Hartley remained seated in the
corner
of a velvet-covered sofa as Marion followed Lucasta into the room. She was much smaller than her daughter and looked considerably younger than her years. She smiled only with care, so as not to disarrange the perfect contours of her face. Marion found herself wondering if she had had her face lifted and, if so, whether it had been recently enough to hurt her when she laughed.
‘
I see you
’
ve come,
’
Mrs.
Hartley addressed her.
‘
I may as well tell you at once that I would prefer my daughter to have had the company of a much older woman, but my brother made himself so disagreeable about having her at all that I felt obliged to give way to him over you.
’
‘
Is he here now
?
’
Lucasta demanded, looking eagerly over her shoulder as if she expected him to walk in at any moment.
‘
No, he
’
s out.
I
’
m
thankful to say that it looks as if he has at last found the ideal girl for him to marry and settle down with. She has no more time for his extraordinary domestic arrangements than I have, and she
’
s all set to persuade him to come back to live in England. It
’
s so inconvenient not to have a relation here to
look after Lucasta when my husband and
I
are away.
’