My Sister Celia (12 page)

To make the arrangements doubly satisfactory, Laurence Clumber telephoned on the Friday evening to know her weekend plans, and, on hearing that Freda wanted to go to Crowmain, he offered to drive her down there.

“Can you fetch me fairly early?” she asked. “I
’
d really rather be out of the house before Mrs. Vanner comes from hospital. She
’
s evidently in a nervous state still, and I don
’
t think the appearance of a virtual stranger in her home is going to make her feel any better.”

“Yes, of course. What time shall I come?”

“I
’
m not quite sure when she is coming home,” Freda explained. “They
’
re all at the hospital now, seeing her. But I can
’
t imagine she
’
ll be brought home before ten. Could we start about nine?”

“We could,” he assured her cheerfully. “I
’
ll be there on the stroke of nine.”

“Thank you so much, Larry. You
’
re not making this jou
rn
ey on purpose for me, I hope?”

“It would be as good a reason as any,” he told her gallantly. “But, in point of fact, I have to go on business in any case.”

Very well satisfied with the arrangement, Freda
rang off and went up to her own lovely room, to change for dinner. Here, ten minutes later, a rather dejected Celia came to her.

It was the first time Freda had seen her sister look depressed and unhappy, and she was distressed to see how completely her radiance was quenched.

“Why, darling—what
’
s the matter?” She took Celia
’
s hand anxiously.

“Oh, it was really quite harrowing at the hospital this evening,” Celia explained, with a sigh. “At the last minute Mother wanted me to go to Switzerland too, and was a good deal upset because I wouldn
’
t. Couldn
’
t, I mean.”

‘
You—you could, I suppose,” said Freda, her heart sinking.

But Celia shook her head.

“No. There was no question of it. Both Daddy and the doctors were against it. They seem to think that, in this queer nervous state, she
’
d lean on me for everything, and that, once having got that way, she would find it almost impossible to reassert herself or make decisions for herself again.”

Freda tried to imagine the forceful Mrs. Vanner in such a state, and failed.

“I
’
m very sorry,” she said—inadequately, she felt.

“It can
’
t be helped.” Celia sighed again. “One can only do what the doctors advise. So, in order to avoid
another—scene, I said good-bye this evening, and I
’
m to be out of the house when she comes here for a short while to-morrow. Can I come down to the cottage with you, Freda?”

“Why—of course, my dear.” Freda could not imagine why she allowed even that faintest pause in her eager agreement. “There
’
s nothing much there, you know. No furniture or anything.”

“It doesn
’
t matter. I
’
d rather like to see it in the raw first,” declared Celia, beginning to cheer up at the prospect. “Then I
’
ll have a better idea of it when we go to buy furniture and things.”

“Well, then, most certainly you shall come.”

“Do we get quite an early train?”

“Oh—no. We
’
re not going by train. I—we, I mean—are being driven down by Laurence Clumber.”

“Laurence Clumber? The handsome fellow you
don
’
t like?”

Freda cleared her throat.

“I don
’
t know that I
’
d describe him just like that,” she said. “Anyway, the new owner of Crowmain Court. He
’
s been kind to me in—in some ways.”

“Coming round, you mean?” suggested Celia, with insensitive cheerfulness. “Well, that
’
s fine. It will
make
quite a nice expedition of the whole trip. Oh, Freda, I
’
m so glad I
’
ve got you.” She brushed a careless but warm kiss across Freda
’
s cheek. “I
’
d have been absolutely
miserable
otherwise.”

Freda felt indescribably touched and pleased, and wondered then how she could, for even half a second, have been taken aback at the thought that Celia should share to-morrow
’
s expedition.

Mr. Vanner approved the arrangement heartily when he heard of it later that evening, and both he and Brian looked less strained and anxious.

“Thank you, my dear. That
’
s a very good solution,” he said to Freda, and she felt glad that there was even so small a way in which she could return some of the kindness he had shown her.

The next morning there was, inevitably, a far from cheerful atmosphere at breakfast. Mr. Vanner was obviously worried about his wife and depressed at having to leave his daughter. But both Brian and Freda strove to impart an air of optimism to the scene. It was hard going, however, and Freda was profoundly relieved when she heard Laurence
’
s car draw up outside.

Without waiting for Essie, the maid, to open the door, Freda ran out to greet him.

“Hello.” He climbed out of the driving seat and stood smiling down at her in the sunshine. “All ready and waiting?”

“Not exactly. At least—yes, I
’
m practically ready. But I must explain, Larry. Celia is coming
too. You see
—”
she hastily recapitulated the
events which had led up to Celia
’
s joining the party.

“I see,” he said, without enthusiasm or protest.

“You don
’
t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not. Shall I wait out here for you both?”

“No, no. Come in.” She led the way into the house, aware that some of the sparkle and gaiety had gone out of him. But that might, of course, be in deference to the shadow over the household.

He exchanged a few courteously sympathetic words with Mr. Vanner, while Freda and Celia went to fetch scarves and coats. But Freda thought, when she returned, that he and Brian had failed to strike any harmonious note between them.

There were very quick good-byes then, since nothing was to be gained by prolonging them, and Laurence and the two girls went out to the car together. Celia had tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away as she said,

“May I sit in front? I get a bit car-sick if I sit at the back. You don
’
t mind, do you, Freda?”

“No,” Freda assured her. “I don
’
t mind at all.” But she minded very much indeed, she found. At no time had she visualized herself being relegated to the back seat while someone else—even Celia—sat in front and enjoyed Laurence
’
s exhilarating company.

She was surprised to realize that this was how she described him to herself. Exhilarating—that was what he was. Even when he annoyed her or teased her he never bored her. He stimulated her and made her feel that she wanted to see more of him. It was tantalising now to see no more than the back of his head and his broad shoulders—or an occasional glimpse of his profile when he turned to smile at Celia or make some remark to her.

Celia, for her part, soon began to cheer up and to enjoy herself. It simply was not in her to be low
-
spirited for any length of time. And, long before they had left London behind, her laughter—and Laurence
’
s too—floated back to Freda, as she sat behind in the back seat.

Of course Celia turned several times to include Freda in the conversation. But, unless one leans forward and more or less breathes down the back of the driver
’
s neck, it is extraordinarily difficult to conduct a quick and lively conversation with two people sitting in front of one in a rapidly moving car.

Freda found herself continually saying, “What was that?—I didn
’
t quite catch—Tell me afterwards. I think I missed the point.”

It was not an enjoyable journey. Not, in the remotest degree, like the amusing and charming time when she had driven down with Laurence on her own. And Freda was unashamedly glad when they arrived in Crowmain, even though she had told herself several times that it was nice to see Celia
’
s good spirits restored.

Once they arrived, things improved. Celia made an immediate hit with both Mr. Merry and Bill Token, and Freda was proud and happy to show her off. Laurence drove on to Crowmain Court, though somewhere on the way down, it seemed, he and Celia had arranged that the two girls should join him for lunch at the big house.

“I usually lunch at The Peacock and Peahen,” Freda explained, a trifle put out when Celia informed her of the new arrangement.

But Celia was evidently unaware that this remark was at all in the nature of a protest. She merely said, “Do you? Well, this will be
much
nicer, won
’
t it? Once we
’
ve seen the cottage—I can
’
t
wait
to see it!—we can walk up to the house. Laurence says it isn
’
t far.”

If they had arrived at the Celia and Laurence stage so quickly, and were perfectly capable of arranging the day without consulting her, Freda supposed there was no more to say. But, wondering a little what had hit her, she walked rather soberly beside Celia to the cottage.

Here, however, everything was as near perfection as it could be. The cottage had been put in apple-pie order, Freda
’
s choice of decorations proved even more enchantingly suitable than she had dared hope, and above all, Celia was beside herself with admiration and congratulation.

“Freda, it
’
s heavenly! It
’
s the prettiest cottage I
’
ve ever seen!”

“Well, it
’
s not exactly picturesque outside,” Freda said deprecatingly, in the manner of a mother admitting that her child
’
s hair was straight, in the confident hope and expectation that this would provoke the assertion that uncurled hair was the thing most to be desired in any child.

Celia rose, handsomely and instantaneously, to the bait, and Freda herself could not have defended the cottage with more affectionate emphasis from any suggestion of lack of charm.

As they went from room to room, Celia seemed to pick out the very features which had most delighted Freda herself. And when she finally asked, “Which is going to be your room, and which mine?” Freda was so overwhelmed with the pleasure of the occasion that she generously told Celia to make her own choice.

This naturally necessitated a great deal of discussion and going to and fro from one small room to another. So that finally, when the great question was settled, Celia glanced at her watch and exclaimed, “Good heavens! Is that the time? We must hurry, or we shall be late for lunch.”

Freda nobly refrained from saying that if they had been lunching at The Peacock and Peahen they could have suited themselves as to time. Besides— perhaps that was not correct.

The two girls walked through the cottage garden, and up the grassy slope to Crowmain Court, Celia full of admiration for almost everything she saw.

“It
’
s a lovely place. And, to my way of thinking, a very attractive owner
,”
she declared.

“Well
—”
began Freda. But Celia magnanimously rushed in.

“You don
’
t have to think the same way as I do, just because we
’
re sisters,” she assured Freda. “That would just be dull for both of us. I can quite see he might be aggravating if one didn
’
t like that lively
type
—”

“I wouldn
’
t say I don
’
t
—”

“And anyway, of course,” went on Celia, absorbed in her own line of argument, “I don
’
t wonder you got on the wrong side of him if he wanted your cottage. I quite understand your being ready to fight him to death over that.”

“It doesn
’
t seem I shall have to do anything of the kind,” Freda interjected hastily. “We
’
ve come to a perfectly amicable understanding about it and—”