My Sister Celia (16 page)

“Yes, of course.” Freda sat up, and looked at her sister with something between affection and anxiety. “About anything special?”

“Well—about Brian, I suppose. And myself—and you—and Laurence. I
’
m not sure”—she frowned slightly—
“
that it was a particularly good idea of mine that Brian should join us at Crowmain.
”

“Oh, but, Celia—of course it was! There
’
s no one I
’
d rather have as a fourth in the party. He
’
s supposed to be there for—for my benefit. Remember?”

“Yes. From that point of view, of course he
’
s splendid,” Celia conceded. “But”—again she frowned—
“
he may be tiresome over Laurence.” Freda was silent, and then found that she was holding her breath and expelled it on a gentle sigh.

“You mean he might not approve?” she suggested, wondering if she were being very astute or rather mean. But it was difficult to see how she could be perfectly frank and yet respect the confidence Brian had placed in her.

Celia nodded.

“He
’
s a bit inclined to be—managing about my affairs, you know.”

“He is very fond of you, isn
’
t he?” Freda said quietly. “It
’
s hard not to take a hand in the affairs of someone one loves.”

Celia moved impatiently.

“Sometimes I wish Brian didn
’
t love me quite so much,” she muttered, and she looked rather unhappy.

“Nonsense.” Freda smiled at her with more composure than she would have believed possible. “What would you do if you hadn
’
t got him to lean on and confide in? He
’
s one of the corner-stones of your existence.”

Celia opened her eyes wide.

“Have you seen so much in so short a time?” she exclaimed. “You
’
re very observant, Freda.”

Freda felt something of a fraud at this point. But she managed to smile and look observant.

“Well, I drew that conclusion, at any rate,” she said. “I can
’
t quite imagine you without Brian,
Celia.”

“I can
’
t quite imagine myself without him either,” Celia admitted, running her hand distractedly through her hair. “But of course, if I really fell in love with someone and married him, there wouldn
’
t be any place for Brian in my life.”

“That,” said Freda, wondering if she were being unfair—and to whom, “would hit him pretty hard, I guess.”

“I know. That
’
s why
—”
Celia broke off and
s
ighed impatiently.

“Did you never,” asked Freda deliberately, “t
hink
of marrying Brian himself?”

“Yes, of course.” Celia was quite frank about that. “But then—I know him so well, Freda. There are no delicious romantic surprises about Brian. I know he
’
s devotedly mine—and that
’
s all there is to it.”

“Isn
’
t that a dangerous view to take about any man?” Freda said doubtfully.

“Oh, no. Not with Brian. He
’
s always
there
—like the Bank of England,” Celia declared.

“But he
’
s very attractive, in his way. I should think he
’
s the kind that quite a lot of girls would run after?”

“Oh, yes, they do. Coralie, for instance. That
’
s why
sh
e hates me,” said Celia cheerfully. “You remember her?—at the Ronaldsons
’
party.”

“Yes, I remember her,” Freda agreed. And suddenly she also remembered that Coralie had looked at
her
in a less than friendly way. “I think”—Freda smiled slightly—
“
she even thought that I had designs on Brian.”

“Very likely.” Celia shrugged. “She
’
s a bit of
a
cat, anyway. And of course not Brian
’
s type at all.”

“What,” asked Freda with a smile, “would you call Brian
’
s type, then?”

C
elia gave this her serious consideration. And then, after a moment, she said in a rather surprised sort of voice,

“You, I suppose.”

“
Me
?” Freda looked astonished.

“Yes. You
’
re really a much gentler, kinder version of me,” Celia explained. “More thoughtful, less impulsive—really, quite up Brian
’
s street.”

But Freda laughed with genuine amusement at this point.

“We
’
re getting altogether too theoretical,” she declared. “And I have an idea that this conversation is developing into something quite silly. To go right back to your original assertion—I
’
m sure it
was
a good idea for us to persuade Brian to join us in Crowmain. So let
’
s not worry too much beforehand, but just take things as they come.”

“You
’
re probably right,” Celia said solemnly, and she got up and stretched herself contentedly. “What a comfort you are, Freda! So calm and detached about things. I don
’
t believe you ever get into a fluster about anything.”

This estimate of herself so dum
f
ounded Freda, in her present state of anxiety and indecision, that she could only smile vaguely at Celia and bid her an affectionate good night. But when her sister had gone she lay there in the dark, reflecting that at least it was fortunate she didn
’
t seem to betray her feelings to Celia, however thoroughly she might have let Brian into her heart
’
s secrets.

When Freda
’
s holiday actually started, she was touched to discover that it was considered sufficiently important to impart an air of festivity to the whole household. A special dinner was provided. Brian took the two girls to the theatre on the Saturday evening. And, on the following Monday, Freda and Celia started shopping for the cottage in real earnest.

By now they knew almost exactly what they wanted, and Freda knew exactly what she could afford to pay. But then it turned out that Celia—who enjoyed quite a handsome allowance from her parents—had every intention of shouldering at least some of the expense.

“Let me at any rate pay for the furniture in
‘
my
’
room,” she begged. “It will make me feel that I really have a stake of my own in the cottage.” With this point of view it was difficult to argue, and so Freda willingly agreed to let Celia have her way.

It was while they were blissfully drifting from the carpet department to tables and chairs that Celia paused suddenly beside an isolated fashion stand and said,

“Those are pretty. That
’
s just the kind of overall we both need when we
’
re being thoroughly domesticated during the move.”

Freda also came to a halt, to examine the charming blue and white check nylon overalls which had attracted Celia
’
s attention.

‘
They wash in a couple of minutes and need no ironing,” explained an assistant glibly. “One needn
’
t wear a dress under them. They
’
re ideal for the warm weather.”

“Have you got them in any other colour?” Freda fingered one approvingly.

“No, madam. It
’
s a
very
special line,” the assistant said rather severely. “And blue and white looks fresher than anything else.”

“I know. But,” Freda smiled, “no one would know us apart if we dressed alike. You have one if you like, Celia. I
’
ll choose something else.”

“No, no. There
’
s nothing else half so nice,” Celia declared. “And anyway”—suddenly a roguish smile came over her face—
“
it would be rather fun for once to look exactly alike, and see if people really could tell the difference.”

The assistant glanced curiously from one to the other, and seemed to take in for the first time the astonishing likeness between them.

“My, you must be twins!” she said. “I
’
ve never seen two grown-ups so alike. You see it sometimes in
children, but not very often when people get older.
”

“It would be interesting to see if people go by sheer facial likeness, or whether to those who really knows us there
’
s an essential difference somewhere. Come on, Freda—let
’
s try it and see,” Celia urged.

“Oh, I don
’
t know
—”

Somehow, for some
reason she could not explain, Freda felt slightly afraid of the experiment.

But Celia would hear nothing against a suggestion which commended itself both to her sense of humour and natural curiosity. And in the end the two overalls were bought, wrapped up and taken away.

During the other excitements of the day
’
s shopping, Freda forgot about them. But, as soon as they got home, Celia said,

“Let
’
s put on our overalls and be sitting in the drawing-room when Brian comes in. He
’
s the best person we can possibly choose for trying them out.”

“Oh, Celia—do you really want to?” Again Freda felt that vague reluctance.

“Yes, of course. I think it
’
s rather fun. Don
’
t you?”

Freda didn
’
t. But she supposed that, since the overalls had been bought, there was no reason why Ce
li
a shouldn
’
t amuse herself with them. And so she yielded to her sister
’
s pleas.

Undoubtedly, when they were both arrayed in the fresh, charming blue and white check affairs, they looked unbelievably similar.

“I hardly know which is myself, if you know what I mean,” exclaimed Ce
li
a, surveying them both in the mirror. “Come on downstairs and let
’
s be sitting down by the time Brian comes in. They say people can often be identified by their walk, so we won
’
t give him that much to help him.”

“If you
’
re sitting there quietly he
’
ll know it
’
s not you,” Freda declared. “You never sit quietly anywhere.”

“But we shall
both
be sitting there quietly,” Celia pointed out. “Though I suppose,” she added reflectively, “you
’
ll look natural and I
’
ll look as though I should be bouncing up at any moment. We must do something else about it.” She frowned consideringly, while Freda watched her, half amused, half inclined to protest further.

“I know! I shall just smile and go on sitting there looking relaxed—if I can. And you say, rather pertly,
‘
Well, which is the home perm?
’
It
’
s the sort of thing I would say.”

Freda laughed reluctantly.

“All right. Though I think it
’
s rather a shame.”

“Nonsense. Brian will be amused,” asserted Celia, though she probably meant that, as she found the situation amusing, Brian must surely do the same.

So down they went to the drawing-room, to pose themselves as naturally as they could.

“We both look thoroughly self
-
conscious,” remarked Freda, after a moment. “At least, you do, and I feel as though I do.”

“Well, that
’
s all right so long as we both do,” Celia declared. “That still leaves us both looking alike. Ssh—that was Brian
’
s key in the door.”

For some reason or other, Freda again felt a slight tremor of apprehension. But Celia gave her a reassuring glance of mischievous amusement, before composing her features into as innocuous an expression as she could achieve. And Freda herself only had time to sit forward in her chair, with a spurious air of suppressed energy, before Brian came into the room.

“Hello,” he said collectively. Then he glanced in surprise from one to the other. “What
’
s the idea?”

“Well, which is the home perm?” demanded Freda brightly.

“You goose,” he said, and, bending down, he gave her the light but affectionate kiss he often gave Celia. And then, almost before Celia could draw triumphant breath, he turned to her and added, “That shook you, Celia, didn
’
t it?”

“Oh, Brian!” Celia sprang to her feet. “Did you really know?—in the very first moment?”

“Of course.”

“But
how
did you know?” she persisted, while Freda, without knowing it, lightly touched her cheek, where he had kissed her.

“Masculine intuition,” Brian assured her teasingly. “Though I must say”—he glanced from one to the other and laughed—
“
it
’
s simply amazing. Anyone who didn
’
t know you well would be completely taken in.”

“Would they really?” Celia seemed pleased at that thought. “And from the back?—even you would have been taken in if you
’
d just glimpsed us from the back—or seen one without the other—wouldn
’
t you?”

“Having come through the test triumphantly, I
’
m not going to admit to anything,” Brian declared with a shake of his head. “But—yes, I suppose from the back it would be virtually impossible to tell you apart.”

Celia seemed satisfied with that, and the two girls ran off upstairs to change.

In her own room, Freda stood in front of the glass and looked at herself. Not because she wanted to study her strange likeness to her sister, but because in some odd way, she felt something in her had changed. It was not just the over-elaborate joke, in which she and Celia had almost merged identities. It was
...

Well, she just could not say. But she put up her hand to her cheek again, in a half puzzled manner. And she thought perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Brian had kissed her. As he might have kissed Celia.

It was a gay evening after that, Brian proving a good audience for Celia
’
s lively account of their day. And the next day they completed what Celia described as their orgy of shopping.

“I think we
’
ve thought of absolutely everything essential,” she declared happily. “And one needs to leave a few pleasant extras to buy at leisure later. Oh, I do hope they really do deliver it all safely on Thursday. We
’
ll catch the earliest possible train, Freda, so as to be more or less waiting on the doorstep.”

As this was Freda
’
s fixed intention too, she only had to smile and agree. And it would have been difficult to find, in the whole of London, two more eager and excited girls than Freda and Celia, when they set out almost at crack of dawn on the Thursday morning.

Inevitably their early train was a slow one. But, as it wound its way through the countryside, both girls found every detail of the journey enchanting. Arrived at Dalling, they had toast and coffee while they waited for their bus, and then travelled the last lovely miles to Crowmain.

“It
’
s a lovely world,” Celia said, “and I do believe that the prettiest comer of it is Crowmain. I never can get over your good fortune in having your cottage left to you at just the moment when I was there to enjoy it with you. It does make it nicer hav
i
ng someone else equally interested, doesn
’
t it, Freda?”

“Why, darling, of course it does!” Freda assured her. “I wouldn
’
t have you out of this for the world.”

And that, she supposed, was the absolute truth, Laurence or no Laurence.

They arrived at the cottage at least an hour before the furniture was delivered, and so they had time to go round and admire the transformation which Mead had wrought in the garden. He himself put in an appearance soon after their arrival and—except for being perpetually confused between them, since they were already arranged in working apparel—he greatly enjoyed pointing out in detail all that he had done.

“You see, miss—it all worked out much as I told you it would,” he explained to Celia. “As you
yourself sai
d—”