Unknown (3 page)

"Will you sit down, Miss Drummond, or are you utterly entranced by my view?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Elizabeth turned from the window, a little nervous now that Jason had gone. "I didn't hear you come in."

"My older grandson tells me that I tread like a cat. I'm not quite sure what he means," Mrs. Abercrombie laughed, "because Charles can be quite obtuse when he likes. Have you met him?" The brown eyes were suddenly quizzical.

"No." Elizabeth saved herself from adding 'not yet' because there was no firm reason why she should ever meet Charles Abercrombie.

"Ah," said Grand'mere, "you have that hurdle to clear, I see."

She spoke with the barest suggestion of an accent, which was delightful, and somehow Elizabeth knew that it was cultivated because the old lady would never willingly relinquish her right to remain a Frenchwoman. Loyal and completely dedicated to Abercrombie's throughout her married life, she was still French at heart, as Elizabeth's mother had remained a Scot to the end.

"We'll sit here, in the sun." She pulled forward a chair to face the balcony. "I like to watch the yachts go by. Jason has a sailing dinghy, but I expect he told you about it. He probably gave you lunch."

"It was very thoughtful of him."

"Oh, Jason is thoughtful enough. We must give him credit for that, at least. Sometimes I ask myself about his judgment, however. He is apt to make snap decisions which Charles would never arrive at, but we cannot all be alike." The brown eyes probed beyond the smile on Elizabeth's face, frankly assessing. "Jason said you want to go to Scotland. Is that your only reason for applying for the position, Miss Drummond?"

"It was my main reason, I suppose, apart from the fact that I need to work," Elizabeth returned frankly. "My mother and I often talked about going together, but—but it hasn't turned out that way. She died a few months
ago."

"And you are alone?"

"I have a brother at Mount Isa."

"A long way away. Is he married?"

"Yes."

"I see."

What she did see was probably the truth. Elizabeth had found herself unwanted in a household dominated by an aggressive sister-in-law and she had been too proud to stay in her brother's home for more than a couple of weeks. After that it had been her heartbreaking task to sell the family home and make a new life for herself elsewhere. She had chosen Sydney because it was far enough away from her former ties and because it had seemed to offer the wider opportunity she sought.

The old lady sitting in the armchair opposite her seemed to see it all without explanation, the shrewd gaze taking in the moment of emotion as she talked about her former home and the happiness she had known there.

"Tell me about your mother," she suggested.

Surprised by the intimacy of the question, Elizabeth hesitated.

"It's something I want to know," Mrs. Abercrombie said.

"She was a wonderful person." Elizabeth's eyes were suddenly alight with love and admiration. "I never heard her say a harsh word about anyone. She was invariably kind."

"But not colourless."

"Oh, no, anything but colourless! She had a tremendous personality, with so many interests that it was often difficult to keep up with her. After my father died she helped in all sorts of ways. She was well known in Brisbane, and she plunged right back into the swim of things. Her appetite for voluntary work surprised even the hospital authority, and because she had no longer a family 'to neglect' she was there most of the time. I was at college, but she made a point of being at home when I got back in the evenings. We were friends."

The last three words were the ultimate accolade she had to offer, and Adele Abercrombie nodded her understanding.

"Il va sans dire!
I, too, had a wonderful mother," she remembered. "She taught me never to prevaricate and never to sell myself short. In these days girls had far less freedom than you have now, but there was no question of my family choosing a suitable husband for me. I was left to make my own decision, and when I fell in love with Douglas Abercrombie I married him, unaware that we would build up a flourishing shipping line together and a robust and happy family which, to me, was far more important. My oldest son died in the war without leaving an heir., but the younger one— Alex—had two sons. One of them you have met."

Elizabeth nodded.

"Jason is so like you." She bit her lip. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that," she added diffidently. "It was much too personal."

"But everyone says so, and I like to think that it is true," Mrs. Abercrombie declared. "He has my adventurous nature, certainly, and sometimes I wish that he would pause to think more often, but we are not all made perfect. It would be a dull world if we were, don't you think?"

Elizabeth agreed.

"My mother used to say that our faults endeared us to her so long as we didn't step too far out of line, and I don't think we ever made her—ashamed."

"What more would you have!" Mrs. Abercrombie glanced at the gold fob-watch pinned to her blouse. "I have set a tray for tea. You will find it in the kitchen, through that door over there, Miss Drummond. Will you bring it in, please?"

Elizabeth got up to do her bidding, aware of a warm friendliness between them which she had not expected on first acquaintance. If she was lucky enough to get the job in the end she knew that she would be happy in it.

The kitchen was light and airy, with ultra-modern fittings and glass, sliding doors leading on to the balcony which suggested that the owner of the flat took many of her meals in the open air. The little balcony reminded Elizabeth of the sleep-outs in the Morningside house in Brisbane where she had been born and the many happy hours she had spent there. Mrs. Abercrombie had seemed to understand about that, too.

She found the tray, carrying it back to the sitting-room where the old lady had lit the silver spirit kettle which stood on a small table near her chair.

"Tea becomes a ritual as one grows older," she declared. "It is a splendid excuse for pausing for a moment to reflect The world is so busy nowadays I often wonder if we are not all rushing to some terrible end. My older grandson, Charles, never has any time for tea. He is always involved with one thing or another, never able to relax, I fear. Even when he is at Glen Dearg he can always find something to be done which he must see to immediately. We are all very proud of our Scottish home. It is in one of the most beautiful parts of Scotland, although it is quite near the Clyde where all the money is made. That is a great feature of Glasgow, by the way," she ran on. "In so short a time— a mere twenty minutes' motoring—one can be in the lovely heart of the mountains. Loch Lomond is at our back door and the Campsie Fells shelter us from the north wind. The house is very old, of course, but each generation has done something to it in their individual way, contributing to the beauty of the whole. One day you must see it and judge for yourself."

One day, perhaps, Elizabeth thought, if Charles Abercrombie did not turn her down.

The thought of the future head of the Abercrombie family was never very far from her mind, as if some sixth sense warned her that he would be critical of her no matter what kind of impression she tried to make.

When the kettle came to the boil Mrs. Abercrombie made the tea, allowing it to infuse as Elizabeth set out the cups and saucers on the table between them. The sun streaming through the window behind her burnished her red-gold hair to a glowing halo around her head and when she looked up from her task the old lady was smiling.

"You have such beautiful hair, my child," she said spontaneously. "It was my great ambition to have hair like that, and I was as black as a crow! Now I am speckled grey, like an old hen.
Que voulez-vous?
We must all grow did!"

The luminous eyes under their dark brows belied her statement. She was far from accepting the limitations of age, even at seventy-three.

Elizabeth helped herself to a buttered scone, eyeing the French pastries covetously.

"You're not on a diet?" the old lady asked. "Surely you don't have to be?"

"I haven't seen a real French pastry in years," Elizabeth told her.

"I make them myself," Mrs. Abercrombie confessed with pride. "Just to remind me that I'm a Frenchwoman at heart. I also bake Scotch shortbread, which is very patriotic of me, don't you think? My husband loved it, and he said that nobody baked it quite like me, but that must have been flattery, I think. Was your mother a great baker?"

"She taught me all I know," Elizabeth answered. "We had a book of old recipes, handed down from my grandmother, but I haven't been able to bake much recently. It's so easy to buy things here in Sydney and there isn't much room in our kitchenette."

"You should see the kitchens at Kilchoan," the old lady said, supping her tea. "They are very old, but one could waltz around the table! We have electricity, of course, but we also have a grand old coal oven which bakes the most delicious bread. French bread," she added pointedly.

"Glen Dearg must be a wonderful place," Elizabeth smiled. "You must love it."

"After fifty years of living there it has become part of me, more a part of me than my native France, if I am to tell the truth. But then Scotland and France were always closely united. The Auld Alliance was a very vital thing, you know." Mrs. Abercrombie set down her teacup. "Have you travelled much?" she asked.

Elizabeth shook her head.

"I've never been out of Australia. That's why this job means so much to me," she confessed truthfully.

"Everyone should travel as much as they can. It is the greatest education," her hostess returned. "But if you are to go back to the city as you promised, my dear, we must continue our conversation some other time."

Elizabeth got to her feet, glancing guiltily at the little ormolu clock which adorned the mantelpiece. Time had certainly flown.

"I had no idea it was almost five!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps Mr. Abercrombie won't want to wait till I get to the office. I can call in in the morning or—or phone for your decision."

Mrs. Abercrombie rose to escort her to the door.

"I'm going to phone Jason now," she said. "He'll have my decision before you reach the office. I'll tell him to wait till you arrive."

Elizabeth went down in the lift with her heart full of hope for the future. The job was hers. She felt sure of it because there had been so much kindness in Mrs. Abercrombie's eyes as they had parted and a promise in the way she had spoken about her Scottish home. 'One day you must see it and judge for yourself...'

Her heartbeats quickened as she reached the street. Surely nothing could happen now to defeat her purpose, to cancel out the dreams she had lived with for years. Surely this was the chance she had prayed for, the lucky break which would take her to Scotland far sooner than she had thought possible and in the most congenial of company into the bargain. Even after only two hours in Adele Abercrombie's company she knew that they would get along well together, that they would travel to the other side of the world in each other's company in mutual admiration and respect.

I can hardly wait, she thought. I can hardly wait to go.

CLIMBING the wide staircase to the Abercrombie office, she passed the staff coming down.

"Mr. Abercrombie?" she asked anxiously. "Mr. Jason Abercrombie?"

A tall girl in a grey coat paused on the stair beside her.

"They're both up, there," she said. "Mr. Jason and Mr. Charles."

"Mr. Charles?" Elizabeth repeated blankly, the smile fading from her lips.

"He came in half an hour ago." The girl gave her an odd look. "You were here this morning, weren't you? One of the applicants for the post?"

Elizabeth nodded, sharply reminded of her competitors for the first time since her meeting with Adele Abercrombie. Of course, there must be others, all eager and willing to go off to Europe with a wealthy old lady as her secretary-companion. Others better qualified than she was,, no doubt.

The girl went on down the staircase to join her companions, casting a final, doubtful glance over her shoulder as she reached the street door. Elizabeth stood hesitating for a moment, half inclined to make her escape because the mere mention of Charles Abercrombie's name had unnerved her for a reason she could not understand, and then, with set lips and her head held unconsciously high, she climbed the remaining flight of stairs and knocked on the door of the outer office.

There was no response from within. After a moment she pushed the door open to find the long outer office deserted, the typists' desks tidied and the covers on their machines. Behind the opaque glass screen at the far end of the room she could hear voices, two people in heated conversation over some issue or other. She approached the glass door, which stood slightly ajar.

"The whole thing is ridiculous." The strong male voice had an edge of authority about it which was unmistakable. "The girl appears to me to be completely unsuitable. She's far too young, for a start, and she has absolutely no experience for the job. The other woman —Mason, I think her name was—would be a better choice."

"She's
as old as the hills and twice
as hard. I didn't even send her to Rose Bay. Grand'mere would have had a fit!"

With a sense of shock Elizabeth recognised Jason Abercrombie's amused voice. Both men were keeping their tempers, but she knew that they were in earnest Jason was defending her.

"You haven't even met Miss Drummond," he continued. "You're condemning her on age only."

"And her lack of experience." The deep masculine voice was coldly incisive. "According to her letter she's never been out of the country before. It's a logical conclusion that she wants a free trip to Europe, which is no recommendation as far as I can see. I'll admit she appears to be clever enough, using us for her own ends."

"She's a very nice person and Grand'mere likes her," said Jason loyally.

"Don't tell me she's another of Grand'mere's lame ducks!" The second voice was scathing. "We've had several of these in the past, remember, and the result has always been disastrous."