Authors: Elizabeth Gilzean
She knew the Woodward children could swim but she judged that their younger guest wasn
’
t quite happy as Gillian and her brother Tommy stood balancing on the broad gunwales of the flat-bottomed boat. But Sally
’
s warning only seemed to stir the children into further feats of showing off. And then it happened. The young visitor scrambled to her feet in terror as the boat rocked violently. Before Sally
’
s horrified eyes the child slipped into the gap between boat and shore, still clutching a clump of grass.
Sally stood still for a fraction of a second as the brown water closed over the child
’
s head and then she leaped into action. She forced her way through the thick hedge and scrambled down the slippery bank. The child
’
s white face bobbed up once just out of reach so Sally could only jump down into the waist-deep water and make her way slowly toward the spot where she had last seen the child. Soft mud squelched up alarmingly around her ankles and slimy weeds wrapped themselves threateningly about her legs. Her groping hands clutched at long hair and thankfully she pulled the small body to safety above the water.
For the first time she looked toward the boat and the two children who stood in frozen silence.
“Pole the boat toward me very carefully,” she ordered sternly.
Tommy
’
s hands were shaking as he slowly obeyed instructions. At last the boat was within touching distance and Sally heaved a sigh of relief.
“Kneel down, Gillian, and catch hold of my dress and don
’
t let it go whatever you do while I lift her into the boat.”
Very cautiously she eased her sodden burden on to the floorboards of the punt.
“Is ... is she dead?” Gillian whispered.
Sally turned the little body over on its side and saw with considerable relief that the child was beginning to take a few convulsive breaths.
“Not quite,” she said grimly. “Tommy! Start hauling the rope slowly. There isn
’
t room for me in the boat.”
There might have been room, but she didn
’
t want to risk another accident. She shuddered as the mud and weeds tried to hold her back as she made her way to the shore. She was gazing in horror at the slippery bank that she would have to try and scramble up when a voice said suddenly, “Guess you could do with a hand, honey. What
’
s been happening?”
Sally grasped the hand without a word and allowed herself to be hauled up like a very wet sack of coals and then began to run toward the little landing. John followed her and took in the situation swiftly.
“I
’
ll deal with this, if you like, honey, while you scramble into some dry clothes. That
’
s all the kiddie needs by the look of things, thanks to you.”
Sally felt a little helpless as she watched John scoop us the wet child and start toward the Woodward house escorted by two very
s
ilent children. Then for the first time she glanced down at herself and began to giggle weakly. Her crisp pink gingham which she had put on that morning hung in limp folds crisscrossed with slimy bands of clinging water weed, and her once-white sandals were covered with brown mud that was thickly smeared on her legs as well. She walked slowly toward her own house dreading the barrage of questions.
“Sally, is that you? What have you done with Dr. Tremayne? I sent him to look for you.”
“He found me all right,” said Sally and began to giggle again.
Her mother, startled by the unexpected tone, looked closely at her daughter. “Good heavens, Sally! What have you been doing?”
“Got myself wet, Mother. I
’
ll have to change. He
’
ll be back in a minute.” Sally brushed past before her astonished mother could think to ask what had happened.
Rather crossly Sally stripped off her wet things and began to sponge off the mud. She could hear a man
’
s voice downstairs that wasn
’
t her father
’
s and she knew that John must have come back. That meant that the child must be no worse for its dunking, but it also suggested that John was telling them what had happened as
f
ar as he knew. She could only guess at which stage he had arrived on the scene. For a moment she was tempted to make some excuse and not go down, but it wouldn
’
t be quite fair to John. It wasn
’
t his
f
ault that he had arrived at the wrong moment and she could no longer create the cool detached impression upon him that she had planned.
Clean once more she surveyed her wardrobe gloomily. She was getting t
h
rough it rather faster than she had intended. She chose a white broderie anglaise.
Rather shyly she went downstairs and was thankful to see that they had already started tea. Sally knew her parents were watching her but she refused to be drawn completely into the circle. Possibly it was reaction from the near accident, or it could be shyness, or perhaps it was merely a chance to be a spectator and to wonder idly why John had come. She knew him well enough by now to realize that he wouldn
’
t depart without revealing his reasons. And if no opportunity presented itself, he was more than capable of making one.
Tea seemed to finish all too quickly and Sally found herself slowly shepherded out of the way with John to keep her company. They were out to the garden and Sally showed him around and was quick to see that John was even more shy and self-conscious than she was.
“Let
’
s sit down, honey. This morning was one of those and my dogs are killing me.” He glanced down at Sally
’
s second-best sandals. “Maybe if I could wear something like those it would be kinder to my poor feet. What have you been doing with yourself apart from rescuing kids from drowning?”
S
ally flushed at the warm admiration in his tone. “It wasn
’
t really deep,” she said defensively.
John edged a little closer on the garden seat and captured one of her hands. “Can I ask you a question, honey?”
Sally moved uneasily. “If you like.”
“Are you afraid of me or something?”
The question wasn
’
t quite what she expected. “Not of you exactly
but...”
She found she couldn
’
t go on.
“You mean of the sort of feeling that seems to be between us? Is that it?” He was pressing her for an answer.
“John, don
’
t! Can
’
t you just leave
things ...
alone?” Sally pleaded miserably.
He was silent for a moment and his fingers were caressing hers absently. “You
’
re trying to tell me you don
’
t like
me...
”
It was accusation rather than query.
“No, John ... not that. Can
’
t you understand? I don
’
t want to feel like this. There
’
s so much I want to do
first ...
have to do.” Too late Sally realized how much she had betrayed.
John
’
s arm went around her and he pulled her closer to him so that her head was against his shoulder. He didn
’
t say anything but she could feel an occasional quiver run through him. Sally knew a moment of utter peace and complete happiness and wished that it need never end and that nothing more would be demanded as the price of her ambitions, but she was aware of how unfair she was being to John.
She tried to move away.
“Don’t ...
John
...
”
He glanced down at the face so close to his. “What
’
s the matter, honey? Trying to tell me you don
’
t like this as much as I do?”
Sally twisted around so that she could look at him properly and then she wished she hadn
’
t. It was only making more difficult the words that had to be said.
“It isn
’
t
that ...
it
’
s only that I don
’
t want to be serious.” There was a very long moment
’
s silence and all the tiny sounds, of the garden were so loud in
contrast ...
the humming of the bees, the scolding of a wren, the chirping of a
cricket...
“Who said anything about being serious?” John drawled. “Can
’
t I put my arm around a pretty girl and hug her if I like ... kiss her if I feel like it
..
.
?”
He matched his final words with kisses that left Sally breathless and angry. They were hurting kisses, casual and contemptuous and passionate all in one. She tried to break away but the grip of his hands held her still.
“Relax, Sally! Love doesn
’
t have to be serious ... it can be as gay as a summer
’
s breeze and make you feel like singing and if you want to change your mind tomorrow ... that
’
s okay, but let
’
s have today. You know I like you ... more than
a lot ...
and I think you could like me the same if you let yourself. You
’
re not engaged to George or anything, are you? I did get a few hints
tossed at me...”
He shook her a little: “Be honest!”
“George is just a good friend ... a very good friend.” She hoped George wasn
’
t hearing his dismissal. Then some imp of ill fortune tempted her. “What about you and Claris?”
His hands tightened and his eyes seemed to take on a wary look. “What
’
s Claris got to do with it? I
’
ve got to work with the woman, haven
’
t I? If she chooses to make a song about it, it doesn
’
t have to mean that I
’
m singing too, does it? There are times when I could hate all women or kiss them to
death ...
like this!”
His kisses were different this time, more tender and yet more demanding. Sally felt everything slipping through her fingers— time, ambitions ... everything. It was John who drew away and his voice was shaky beneath his anger.
“Guess I was a fool to think I could play with you and not get serious! Sally, you
’
re bad medicine for me. I have work to do and plans and things and they don
’
t include getting entangled with a blue-eyed black-haired witch who is twanging a love song on my heart strings this very minute! What did you do it for anyway?”
His words were so unfair that Sally flew at him. “I didn
’
t do anything! It was you all the time. I only want to be left alone. I don
’
t want to mess up your plans! I
’
ve got plans too and they don
’
t include you, so there! Why don
’
t you stick to Claris?”
He stepped back. “Maybe I shall at that. She at least knows how to
play...”
Sally was almost in tears. “Why did you have to come? Why did you have to kiss me? You
’
ve spoiled everything. Why can
’
t you go
away and leave me in peace? I wish I
’
d never seen
you...”
“Sally, if I thought you really meant
that...”
John stopped and his hurt penetrated the screen of Sally
’
s anger.
With a great effort she calmed herself. “I
’
m sorry,” she whispered. “It
’
s just that I
’
m so mixed up. Can we stop talking about us?”
John stood looking down at her, his hands hanging loosely by his side. “Sure, if that
’
s the way you want it. Guess I
’
m sorry too for upsetting you. Maybe I
’
m in too much of a hurry. You staying home all your holiday or taking a trip somewhere?”
“Home as far as I know. Why?”
“Just wondered if you
’
d be here if I called by on Friday, that
’
s all.” He said the words so casually that Sally attached no importance to them.