My Heart Has Wings (10 page)

He saw that she was ashy white and was instantly all concern. “I thought you were looking a bit dicky just now,” he said. “You poor kid, why didn’t you tell me sooner this Black Hole of Calcutta was getting you down? I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. I’m half suffocated myself.” He stood up purposefully. “I’m going to run Jan home, Rikky,” he said. “She isn’t feeling very well. I can bring the car back later for you and Paleski
...
”

Erica, who had been engrossed in conversation with Paleski, turned to Jan with assumed solicitude, but her voice was light and careless, saying, “Oh Jan, what bad luck. I’m so sorry!” She looked rapt and elated, obviously so taken up with Paleski that she didn’t really care whether the others went or stayed. She took his hand as they got up to dance. “Don’t bother to come back for us, Mike,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ll find a cab.”

Mike called a waiter and settled the bill—as Jan had guessed he would. She saw a five-pound note change hands, and inwardly shuddered, her thrifty soul appalled. Would her father’s evening cost as much? Furtively she made her way along the edge of the dance floor, tinglingly aware of the table beside the dais, but it was unlikely their exit would be noticed in the smoky haze, especially as the dance floor was once more crowded.

It was wonderful to be out in the cool night air. Mike tucked her into the open car beside him. “You didn’t think much of friend Paleski’s club, did you
?
” he said. “Neither did I. I’ve never been able to understand what enjoyment people find packed like sardines in these pretentious pint-sized joints. I’m quite grateful to you for getting me out of it.”

All the same she felt she owed him an apology for breaking up his evening. “I’m sorry to have been such a fool,” she began falteringly, “coming over faint like a Victorian heroine!”

Mike laughed consolingly. “Put your head down on Uncle’s shoulder,” he advised, “and shut your eyes and relax. You’ll be as right as rain when you’ve had a little fresh air.”

She leaned against him comfortably, and a false sweet peace came to her. He was being heavenly kind
...
just that and no more, but she would remember as long as she lived this drive through the soft summer night.

He refused to come in when they got to Regency Terrace. “You trot off to bed,” he counselled, and get some rest.”

He stooped and kissed her swiftly... full on the lips. It was so unexpected that she made no response, leaning against the hall door looking up at him limply. He touched her cheek gently with a casual finger tip, mu
r
mured “Good night, young Jan!” and was gone.

His careless tone brought her back to earth. And his kiss, she thought, had been as casual, the kind of salute any escort might offer at an evening’s ending. Slowly she. turned and went back indoors, the puzzle of her father and Gerda flooding back into her consciousness, blotting out all else. She went to bed and lay awake worrying. It was daylight when she heard her father come in.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mike departed for
Merecombe on Monday. His leave-taking was brief and a little abstracted, his whole mind obviously on the immense project ahead of him. But he would be back and forth, he said, until the date for the test flight was actually fixed. “You’ll not be rid of me altogether,” he smiled. “I’ll be bringing you the odd spot of work to do for me, to keep on your toes
...
and keep your fingers crossed for me!” He went out whistling.

Jan sorted the morning mail and tried not to think about him. For a few days at all events she needn’t be apprehensive. The ground tests were routine stuff—and hardly likely to be dangerous.

She felt tired and disinclined for work that Monday morning. It hadn’t been an easy Sunday at home
...
longing for her father to say something about his evening with, Gerda, hoping against hope that even yet there might be some simple explanation of the exotic ending to his “Fleet Street rendez
v
ous”! But he did not confide in her, and went about his usual pursuits looking more at peace with himself than he had done for months.

Jan bore it as long as she could and finally told Carole the whole story. Carole, shocked, hotly disgusted, leaped to the most extreme conclusions. “The day Father marries that woman, I leave the house!” she declared.

They were in the sitting room after supper. Hart had gone to his study to work on his play,
and Peter had not yet come back from his weekend camping. Beyond the open windows the river steamers passed and repassed, bearing their loads of singing excursionists.

“But he can’t be going to marry her!” Jan protested. “He
co
u
ldn’t
!”

Their eyes went simultaneously to the silverframed photograph of their mother on the mantelpiece, and a bleak silence fell on them.

“Gerda wouldn’t dream of tying herself up with someone as poverty-stricken as Father,” Jan said presently, in a forceful practical tone. “It just doesn’t fit in with her character.”

“Maybe she is in love with him,” Carole suggested. “And people in love go sort of mad
...
and
do
act out of character.”

Jan shook her head. “The only person Gerda will ever be in love with is
...
Gerda. If she is stringing Father along just now it’s, because she hopes to get something out of it
...
but what, I can’t imagine!”

“His admiration—she’s the kind who
battens
on being admired,” Carole pronounced scornfully. “So she flaunts her beauty at him and watches the effect.”

“But how
can
he admire her?” Jan demanded despairingly. “She’s so silly and vain
...
and shallow.”

“He’s a poet,” Carole sighed. “Poets don’t see things or people in an ordinary everyday light.
”
And there, unhappily, they left it.

It was a quiet week at the office. Daker was at Merecombe a good deal, leaving Jan with routine work at Kingsfold. She spent a good deal of time helping Helen, trying to teach her the complexities of the filing system. The atmosphere without Daker and his endless demands was tranquil. Helen seemed happier, though the filing still baffled her.

“I have decided to go to Lady Scott-Manly’s party on Saturday evening,” she said to Jan one
day. “Erica has talked me into it, and I think she
’
s right. It’s time I began to go about a bit again. It may,” she laughed, “make me a little less stupid.”

Lady Scott-Manly’s July party was a social event in the works calendar. A function, half soiree, half garden party, to which all the senior personnel were invited, though it was not exclusively a work affair. Erica often included her university friends, or people from the Flying Club. This year, of course, Paleski would be very much in evidence, Jan mused. In spite of parental disapproval. And Mike would fly over from Merecombe for the evening—adding to the undercurrent of strain; he and Paleski loathed one another. Naturally enough, Jan supposed.

She herself had already had her gilt-edged invitation card to the party. Like a royal command. It was unthinkable
not
to go to the Scott-Manly’s July evening, but this year she wasn’t looking forward to it. She didn’t ask herself why, but in the depths of her heart she knew that meeting Mike Carliss socially was becoming increasingly difficult. Fool that she was, his casual friendliness hurt—and if he were engrossed with Erica and ignored her, that would hurt even more.

“I’m actually investing in a smart new frock for Saturday night,” Helen said. “What are you going to wear?”

Jan mentally reviewed her inadequate wardrobe and said dully, “I haven’t really decided.” As though the choice were infinite. There was no choice. She would go in the mercifully dateless black chiffon frock she had worn last year—and the year before.

On Friday afternoon Daker came back from Merecombe, his brief-case stuffed with charts, diagrams and notes on the E.106a tests, as far as they had gone. Summoned to the inner office,
Jan found him with this data strewn on his desk in seemingly hopeless confusion.

“How is Mrs. Stanford’s typing coming along?’ he asked. “Do you think she is up to sorting this lot out for me and making some typescript copies
?
”

“Why can’t I do it for you?” Jan demanded bluntly. It was so obviously her work. Helen would probably make a frightful hash of it—but she didn’t want to say so outright.

Daker gave her an oddly furtive glance. “Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured evasively. “There are other things to occupy you, I expect.”

“No, I’m perfectly free at the moment,” Jan insisted.

Daker wriggled on his seat and, avoiding her eyes, said, “S.M. is anxious for Mrs. Stanford to be pushed along—given as much responsible work as possible.”

Jan pondered this in some bewilderment. “Please don’t think I’m being cheeky, Mr. Daker,” she said after a moment, “but I don’t think you’re being fair to either Helen or me in the distribution of work lately. You give her things like this E.106a report and it worries her to death, she isn’t able for it
...”

“How do you know this lot is the E.106a report?” Daker put in sharply.

Jan stared at him in astonishment. “But it’s so obvious,” she said. “You’ve just come back from Merecombe
...
” Was Daker cracking up under the strain of the forthcoming test? she wondered. He was looking wilder and wilder every moment, a dark angry gnome of a man, tearing at his black tufty hair.

“Listen, Jan,” he said urgently. “S.M. has several bees in his bonnet at the moment and he’s making life darned difficult. Having Mrs. Stanford do certain kinds of work in this office is
...
one bee.” He paused and seemed to come to some decision. “And this,” he said, pulling a
drawer open, “is another.” He took out a copy of
Ariel.
‘Ever seen this magazine before?” he asked.

Jan gazed at it blankly. “No, I haven’t,” she said.

Daker opened it at the marked page and handed it to her. Read those pencilled paragraphs
,”
he ordered.

Jan read through them in silence. Daker watched her closely. Her transparent face showed no sign of uneasiness and her hazel eyes were clear and unclouded as she laid the magazine down.

“Do those paragraphs ring a bell?” Daker
as
ked
.

Yes,” Jan said. “They are very like part of a memorandum on the E.106a which you dictated to me some weeks ago. But I don’t remember you marking it for press release.”

“I didn’t,” Daker said. A great weight lifted from his spirit. Any lurking, half-hearted doubts ne might have had about Jan’s integrity vanished. Innocence beamed at him in her transparent gaze. It quite obviously did not occur to her that the information about E.106a had gone to
Ariel
in an
y
irregular way or that she herself could possibly be involved. He would, he decided, tell S.M. that
he
had tested her and found her steel-true And he would
in
future ignore the ridiculous injunc
tion to
keep confidential matters away from her S.M. must find another suspect ... or let the whole thing drop. It was a trivial leakage after a
l
l, and if there were no further leakages they’d better forget about it.

“Who sent it to
Ariel
, if you didn’t?” Jan asked tranquilly.

“
That
’
s what annoyed S.M.,” Daker replied obliquely.
“
A bit of a slip-up somewhere,” he shrugged it off. “It doesn’t greatly matter. I just thought I’d show it to you.” He pushed a sheaf of notes towards her. “You’re quite right about Mrs.
Stanford. No use loading her with this kind of
work
—as long as there isn’t too much for you to handle. But use her in all the smaller jobs, see that she pulls her weight and makes things easier for you. There are times when I overwork you abominably,” he ended kindly. His sallow face broke into a warm quick smile. “You’re a good scout, Jan, you always bear with me!”

He face pink with pleasure at this small tribute, she gathered up the notes and went out, regarding the whole conversation as just one more of the unaccountable exchanges she so often had with Daker. He was an odd little man and it wasn’t always easy to discover what was in his mind. Today, it seemed to her, he had been letting off steam about S.M.’s unreasonable attitude to Helen’s capabilities ... or lack of them! And an E.106a memo that had been sent to a magazine, by the publicity department presumably ... a little prematurely perhaps. The sort of thing they might be releasing to the newspapers almost daily later on when big tests were accomplished.

Saturday dawned cloudy and warm, one of those lush still days that sometimes come in high summer when a languorous air hangs over the countryside and the birds sit about on their perches in trees and hedgerows, half asleep. In the kitchen garden of Sheldrake Manor the raspberries ripened almost visibly and were warm to the touch' when picked. They were just at their best. That was one reason Lady Scott-Manly always chose this particular time for having her “works” party. The raspberries—served in deep crystal bowls with pitcher
s
of thick cream—were a recognized feature of the lavish buffet supper; everyone looked forward to them.

At Regency Terrace Jan, who was having a morning off from the office, washed her bronze
-
brown hair and ironed the chiffon frock. “I’ll lend you my honey-gold tulle stole and the topaz earrings,” Carole offered. “You ought to have some
colour with that black dress. And with your goldly coloured eyes topaz will be perfect.”

“But a bit arty-crafty,” Jan laughed. “Specially the stole. I’ve never been able to manage the things; I shall be sure to lose it.”

“As long as you don't lose the ear-rings,” Carole said. “I’m going to sell them next week. If we don’t soon pay the electricity account we shall be having the power cut off.”

Jan said stonily, “I know; I hadn’t forgotten that account, but you mustn’t sell your ear-rings. I’ve still Mother’s amethysts to ‘pop’. Only I was keeping them towards your next term’s fees.
”

Carole shrugged. “I think we’d better make up our minds I’m not having a ‘next term’.”

Jan ironed for a while in gloomy silence. If Carole gave up her art training now it would mean she would leave the school without a diploma. A half-trained artist facing a highly competitive market hadn’t a chance of earning a liv
ing’
What could she do? Go into a shop
...
take up nursing? They had discussed it endlessly, heartbreakingly
...

The phone rang in the upstairs hall and, glad of a reprieve from the insoluble problem, Jan ran to answer it. It was Mike Carliss, saying he had just got back from Merecombe. “I’m at the office,” he explained. “Thought I’d find you here.”

It was fantastic to imagine that he sounded disappointed. She was having her Saturday morning “off”, Jan reminded
him.

“Are you going to be at the Sheldrake beanfeast tonight?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!” Jan assured him a little breathlessly—but his call was so unexpected.

“I’ll be seeing you there then,” he said in a satisfied tone, and hung up.

She could picture him in the empty office—using the phone on her own desk perhaps. Why had he bothered to ring her up Because he was accustomed to having her around—and
h
e had
begun to imagine she brought him luck; like seeing two magpies, or bowing to a new moon. A flyer’s fetish. And today it had annoyed him a little not finding her at her desk as usual. He might even have brought some work he wanted done in a hurry. Firmly, she left it at that. But she couldn’t control the eagerness with which she now awaited the evening hours.

The clouds cleared away during the late afternoon. The sun, low in the west, poured brilliant light across the smooth green lawns of Sheldrake Manor as Jan walked up the long curving drive, with its double row of elms and lime trees. Bees were still busy among the tasselled blossoms that filled the air with a honeyed scent. All the trees and shrubs near the house were festooned with coloured lamps. It didn’t seem as if it would ever be dark enough to light them, but later the whole garden would glow with their soft illumination.

Skirting the ranks of parked cars, some glossy, some humble, Jan approached the open hall door. She must, she thought, be the only guest who had come by bus and on foot. A waiting parlour-maid took her to an upstairs cloakroom where she deposited her shabby beige coat and adjusted the honey-gold stole. A few moments later she was being ushered by a manservant into a vast room where guests stood about in that stiff rather self
-
conscious state often experienced in the first half-hour of any formal reception. The manservant announced her, bellowing her name above the subdued buzz of conversation in a way which embarrassed her intensely. Lady Scott-Manly came forward to greet her; a small, plump, kindly woman on whom the family diamonds looked incongruous. It was impossible to imagine her as the mother of the statuesque Erica—regal this evening in ice-blue satin. She was already dancing with Paleski, Jan noticed, her glance straying to the ballroom beyond opened folding doors.

“We must find you a partner,” Lady Scott-Manly said, “but I expect you know everyone here.” Fresh guests were announced and she hurried off to greet them. Jan, feeling a little lost, caught sight of Daker and his wife and went over to speak to them. Daker, in white tie and tails, looked bored and subdued. “Let me get you a sherry,” he offered, and disappeared in pursuit of a passing footman with a tray of drinks.

“I’ve had such a job to persuade Hugh to come!” Mrs. Daker confided. “But he’ll begin to enjoy himself later on—he always does. When things warm up a little. It’s these long summer evenings
...
they don’t put you in the right mood for a party.”

“Group Captain Stuckley and Miss Dupres,” the bellowing voice announced.

Jan turned to watch Lionel and Anne-Marie making their entrance. She was a little surprised to see the French girl. Had Erica in all innocence invited her—or had Lionel mischievously brought her along as a gate-crasher? It was just the sort of gesture that would strike him as humorous.

Daker came back with the sherry—which Jan didn’t want. It was a relief when Parker, the press officer, asked her to dance. “How is Hart getting along these days?” he asked as he piloted her rather clumsily around the dance-floor. Jan told him about the new play her father was working on, trying to make it all sound very hopeful and prosperous. When the dance ended they went into the adjoining library, tonight fitted up to accommodate the running buffet. Jan ate chicken patties and the famous raspberries and cream, talked with works acquaintances and found herself booked up for several more dances. The evening wore on. Mike, glimpsed at a distance, did not come near her. She saw him dancing with Erica more than once, Paleski having been annexed by Anne-Marie, who clung to him in a limpet-like embrace. Sir Mark, holding little Mrs. Daker at
arm’s length, trod a stately measure, while Lady Scott-Manly more cosily revolved with Hugh. All this rather forced mateyness. Everyone on their best behaviour. A works’ party like every other works party. Why had she imagined it would be different this evening—just because of a casual telephone inquiry from Mike? He hadn’t really cared whether she was coming to the party, or not. Why should he?