My Sister Celia (10 page)

“Is
sh
e making a good recovery now?” Freda asked.

Brian frowned and shook his head.

“Not too good. The doctors seem worried about the after-affects, and talk about a long convalescence.”

Freda murmured something sympathetic once more. And at that point they arrived at the restaurant Brian had chosen.

It was a quiet, pleasant place, not overcrowded, and he was evidently quite well-known there. They were given a comer table, and an elderly waiter attended to their order with almost fatherly concern.

“How has Celia taken it all?” Freda asked, when they were once more free to pursue their conversation.

“Very well. She
’
s both practical and naturally resilient in spirit, you know. You must have wondered why you heard nothing from her, but she
’
s been a great deal at the hospital. My mother leans on her very much. Perhaps,” Brian said, half to himself, “a little too much.”

“I
’
m sure she
’
s wonderful,” Freda exclaimed warmly. “And please tell her it
’
s quite all right. I did wonder a little why I didn
’
t hear, but I guessed she had some excellent reason.”

Brian smiled slightly.

“What did I say about your being undemanding?” He looked half teasing, half approving. “Quite a lot of girls would have been clamouring to know what my father meant to do for them, in view of the new situation.”

“Oh, no!” Freda was shocked and showed it. “I don
’
t want your father to do
anything
for me. I
’
m quite all right as I am, I
’
ve no claim on him at all, and he has plenty to worry about at the moment without bothering about me.”

“I think he wants to do something, just the same, Freda.”

“Oh, but what?” She looked disturbed.

“I
’
m not quite sure. He hadn
’
t got around to settling anything when this business hit us.”

There was a slight silence, while the attentive waiter set their first course before them. When he had withdrawn, Brian asked,

“How do you like your job, Freda?”

“My job? As well as most people, I suppose,” she said with a philosophical shrug, for her one-in
-
four Saturday morning was now behind her and the weekend stretched before her, which makes a lot of difference to all of us.

What do you mean by that, exactly?” He smiled across at her, with an air of undivided attention, which is much rarer than most people suppose and constitutes a great part of that quality we call charm
.

“Well—I
’
m not going to say that I rush off each morning with a song in my heart because I
’
m going to sit at my typewriter all day—when I
’
m not taking shorthand. But I do it pretty willingly, because it provides me with a reasonable living and the wherewithal to have a few extras too. That
’
s the case with ninety people out of a hundred, I daresay, so why shouldn
’
t I be satisfied?”

“Yes—I see what you mean.” Brian laughed almost indulgently. “I believe my father was thinking about offering you a job in our firm.”

“Was he? How—nice of him,” said Freda a little doubtfully. “What does
‘
our firm
’
do?”

“Oh, we
’
re quite well-known solicitors. Didn
’
t you know?”

Freda shook her head.

“We employ a fair number of short-hand typists. If you
’
re reasonably good, I think my father intends to offer you the next vacancy.”

“Oh.” Freda considered that. “Do you think it
’
s a very good idea?”

“No,” said Brian frankly, and they both laughed. “Why not?” asked Freda curiously.

“For the same reason as you,” he told her. “You would not be exactly part of the family firm. At the same time you would have a slightly privileged position which would probably make you less than popular with your immediate colleagues.”

“I agree. I
’
d rather be independent in my own way,” Freda declared firmly.

“That
’
s one of the things I like best about you,” he said slowly. “In a way, I wish you
were
coming into our firm. But no,” he shook his head, “it wouldn
’
t do. From any point of view,” he added, half to himself, and Freda could not help wondering just what he meant by that.

But then they talked about Celia, and the possibility of her going abroad with Mrs. Vanner for a period of convalescence, and Freda tried not to feel selfishly depressed at the idea of having to lose her sister for an unspecified period, just as she had discovered her.

“And how
’
s the feud over the cottage going?” enquired Brian, leaning back in his chair and relaxing over the coffee, and she noticed, for the first time, that his air of anxiety had almost disappeared. He looked a much happier person than the Brian who had hailed her outside the office.

“Oh—I think it
’
s going to be all right.”

“
Settled so soon?” He looked both amused and surprised.

“Well, you see, Larry feels
—”

“Larry?” He looked mystified.

“Laurence Clumber,” Freda explained sedately.

“
I see.” Brian passed his hand over his mouth, perhaps to hide a smile. “Yes—that does look rather like a break in defences.”

“What does?”

“One doesn
’
t call a man Larry if one means to fight him tooth and nail,” Brian pointed out gravely.

It isn
’
t
my
defences that have given way,” Freda insisted
h
astily. “He
’
s come round to my way of thinking.”

“Good for Larry,” murmured Brian Vanner.
“
Then you
’
re sticking to the cottage?”

“Most certainly. But we had a—friendly talk.
I went to tea at Crowmain Court. And he
’
s going to lend me one of his gardeners to dig up my cottage garden.”

“Mistrust them most when they come with gifts,” murmured her companion thoughtfully.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing relevant, I hope.” He smiled across at her. “It was a sort of quotation. But probably not applicable to this situation.”

“You mean you think he
’
s getting round me in a nice way?” Freda paraphrased shrewdly. “And that when he has me eating out of his hand, he
’
ll demand the cottage?”

“Except that I would never entertain the idea of your eating out of anybody
’
s hand, I suppose that was more or less what I did mean,” Brian agreed. “But I
’
m probably wrong.”

“I
’
m sure you are,” Freda said. But she recalled one or two disturbing features of that charming teatime at Crowmain Court, and she wondered if she had not handled Laurence Clumber more cleverly when she was angry with him.

They lingered pleasantly over their coffee for another quarter of an hour. Then Brian glanced at his watch and said he must go to visit his mother.

“Celia will give you a ring to-morrow morning,” he promised her, as they said good-bye. “Unless you
’
re going down to the country to-morrow?”

“No, no.” Freda hastily and finally decided against visiting the cottage next day. “I
’
ll be in all the morning. I
’
ll love to hear from her.”

Then they parted, and Freda caught a home
-
going bus, no longer feeling that the week had nothing to offer in the way of excitement.

The next morning she waited eagerly for Celia to telephone. But it was Laurence who rang first—quite early in the morning.

“I hope I didn
’
t wake y
o
u up,” he said. “But I
’
m driving down to Crowmain unexpectedly—coming back late this evening. Would you care to come?”

“Oh, I
’
d
love—
Oh, no, I can
’
t. I
’
m waiting for a telephone call.”

“Good lord!
I
t must be an important telephone call if it needs cancellation of everything else,” he protested.

“It
is
important,” she retorted coolly, with the conviction that it was just as well not to tell Laurence Clumber all her business.

“Who
’
s the lucky man?”

“The
—”
? Oh, never you mind.” She was firm
and composed about that, and rather pleased with her own tone. “Thank you very much for asking me. But I can
’
t manage it this time.”

“I
’
m sorry,” he said, with real regret in his voice, she thought. And then he rang off.

She was sorry too. Much more sorry than she liked to admit to herself. It was a wonderful, sunny day, and she knew now, from experience, what a pleasant drive it was. But perhaps, she told herself, it was better to say “No” sometimes to him, and not be quite so eager to fall in with all his plans.

All the same, she had time to regret her decision more than once before Celia telephoned about lunchtime. Then, however, there was no doubt in Freda
’
s mind that she was glad to have stayed.

“Darling, how nice it is to talk to you again!” cried Celia
’
s warm, friendly voice. “I
’
ve
missed
you. But Brian saw you yesterday, I hear, and explained about everything.”

“Yes, I
’
m so very sorry. How is Mrs. Vanner to-day?”

“A little better. But it
’
s going to be a very long job, and we
’
re going to have to do quite a lot of rearranging for the future. Could you come along to tea this afternoon, Freda, so that we can talk things over?”

“Do you mean so that
I
can help to talk things over?” enquired Freda, wondering what contribution she was expected to make to the future planning of the Vanner
ménage
.

“Yes. Daddy wants to talk to you about something. And I
’
m longing to talk to you too.”

“Well, of course, I
’
ll be very happy to come,” Freda said. But her heart sank a little. For she could not see that there was anything much to discuss but the probable long absence of Celia abroad and, possibly, Mr. Vanner
’
s well-meant but unwelcome suggestion that she herself should come and work in his office. “What time would you like me to come?”

“About five. It
’
s no good my suggesting anything earlier, because we shall be at the hospital.”

Freda promised to be at the Vanners
’
house at five, a
n
d Celia then rang off.

It was all very unsettling. And, as Freda ate her solitary lunch and completed her weekend chores, she could not help feeling a trifle depressed. Only when she finally arrived at the charming St. John
’
s Wood house, and was rapturously greeted by Celia, did she feel that nothing really mattered, so long as she and her sister were so entirely
o
ne. How I would love to spend a really long time with her! thought Freda. But it
’
s enough that she
exists.

Celia hardly waited for her to take off her hat before she hurried her off to the pleasant garden
-
room, where Mr. Vanner—looking much older and rather strained—and Brian were obviously waiting for her.

“Tell her
now,
Daddy, and then we can discuss it over tea,” begged Celia, to Freda
’
s profound embarrassment. “Daddy has the most wonderful plan for you, Freda!”

She smiled at Mr. Vanner and tried not to look as though she had already heard the plan and mentally rejected it, and she tried to think of graceful phrases in which to explain that she really much preferred to live her own life and work at her own office.