Next Door to Romance (13 page)

With her hand on the door knob she turned and faced him, contempt in her eyes.

'After this, of course it's quite impossible for me to work for you,' she said icily. 'And if that should inconvenience you, you must remember that you are responsible for having made me change my mind. I shall be glad if you will keep out of my way as much as possible as, I of course, will keep out of yours!'

She slipped through the door and closed it with significant firmness. The last word had been said!

She never remembered having felt so angry or so hurt in her life before! And that Tom—
Tom
, of all people— was responsible for that was the final straw!

Professor Bellairs was entertaining an old friend—that very friend, in fact, who had made him a gift of the sherry whose quality had so surprised Mark. They were enjoying a pre-lunch drink together now in Professor Bellairs' study, and though two men less alike could hardly be imagined, it was very clear that there was both deep affection and respect between them as well as a very very real enjoyment of each other's company.

Professor Bellairs, at his ease in elderly house slippers, uncreased grey flannels and a shabby crested blazer dating from his student days, beamed at the immaculately clad figure in the opposite armchair.

Sir Gerald Tenbury had made his way to the top of the tree in a world which was utterly unfamiliar to Professor Bellairs with his tranquil, scholarly background. Finance on a grand scale meant little or nothing to him, whereas to his friend, a banker of international repute and brilliance, it was an everyday affair. And, Professor Bellairs thought, he was beginning to show the strain of it. Sir Gerald read the thought that lay behind the look.

'All right, I know!' he admitted wryly. 'I've lost weight and I look about ten years older than you do! Serve me right! Why the devil did I ever take on a job like mine?'

'Because you enjoy a fight,' Professor Bellairs told him unhesitatingly. 'You know that as well as I do, my dear chap—just as, if you're honest, you'll admit that much of my sort of limited existence would drive you silly! It suits me perfectly—but it's all a matter of temperament. All the same, it's about time you had a holiday, you know, Gerald—and I think it's more than probable that some expensive consultant has already told you so! H'm?'

'Yes, you're right, confound you,' Sir Gerald admitted. 'But I can't manage it just yet—not with things the way they are—' he hesitated and then went on: 'You see, the devil of it is, Charles, people like me are regarded as—well, one might say as barometers indicating the financial weather. There are everlastingly people on the watch to see what I record—or what they think I do. If I were to vanish from the scene in order to have a holiday—and that's the sort of holiday I want, not a rackety, in-the-public-eye sort of one—then not only would I be hounded down until my hideout was discovered, but heaven knows what might happen to the markets! I know it sounds as if I'm making a lot too much of my own importance, but it's the truth, Charles. There'd be rumours of secret meetings with other financial wallahs abroad—no, I can't risk it! The best I can hope for is the odd week-end off, and as a matter of fact, I've bought a cottage about a couple of miles from here with quite a decent stretch of water—we'll have some fishing together, Charles! And now, let's forget about my affairs and tell me about yours. How's that goddaughter of mine, for instance?'

'Well—' Professor Bellairs said rather uncertainly, 'very happy—I suppose.'

'You don't seem very sure of it,' Sir Charles commented. 'Young man trouble?'

'Well, no, not really, only—'

'Look, you'd better tell me right from the beginning. Not that you or I will be able to do the least bit of good. One never can help young people in love—and you haven't said it isn't that.'

'Oh, it's that, all right,' Professor Bellairs nodded. 'But the thing is this, Gerald, they've known each other only a matter of weeks—'

'And who are you to talk?' Sir Gerald asked with a whimsical lift of his brows. 'Ten days after you and Mary met, you were married! I ought to remember— you borrowed a fiver off me to pay for the wedding breakfast!'

'I know—and that's the sort of impetuosity Mary and I would have understood,' Professor Bellairs explained earnestly. 'But when a young couple come to you and say oh yes, they're frightfully in love and it's the real thing, but they can't expect that other people will realize that and so they suggest that they should wait even before they get engaged—well, does that seem natural to you?'

'Too considerate, you mean, seeing that young love is essentially selfish?' Sir Gerald suggested, caressing his close-shaven chin with his hand.

The Professor nodded.

'Exactly! So what do you make of it, Gerald?'

'Well, the most obvious idea that occurs to me is that one or other of them or perhaps both aren't as sure of themselves as they make out.'

'Just that! Now do you wonder that Mary and I aren't entirely happy?'

'M'm! I suppose young Lisa knows all about your whirlwind courtship?'

'Oh yes, we've never made any secret of it,' Professor Bellairs assured him, lifting the decanter and recharging their glasses. 'To be perfectly honest,' he added rather shamefacedly, 'we've always been rather proud of our good judgment.'

'And surely Lisa would have told the young man that if he started worrying?' Sir Gerald ruminated. 'It is a bit odd!' For a moment he sipped reflectively at the golden wine. 'What's the young man's name, by the way?' he asked.

'Mark Saville,' the Professor told him, and sat suddenly very erect in his chair . 'For goodness' sake, be careful, Gerald! You nearly had your glass over!'

'I know I did,' Sir Gerald said grimly. 'Mark Saville! Does he by any chance work for a man named Simon Cosgrave?'

'Why, yes.' Professor Bellairs looked at him apprehensively. 'Do you know him?'

'Not by personal contact, but by reputation—yes,' Sir Gerald told him grimly. 'Heavens above, Charles, how did you let Lisa get mixed up with that lot? Come on, man, out with it, because this could be important! Where did Lisa meet Saville?'

'At a local dance,' Professor Bellairs explained. 'You see, Cosgrave has bought the Manor over at Bardley and Mark was down for the weekend—'

'Phew!' Sir Gerald buried his face in his hands. 'If I'd known this, I wouldn't have come to live within a hundred miles—do you know, I've been trying to dodge this fellow Cosgrave for years, and now, when I think I'm going to get a bit of peace—' he groaned heart-rendingly.

Professor Bellairs looked alarmed.

'Do you mean to say there's something wrong with him—he's dishonest?' he asked.

Sir Gerald shook his head.

'You're so forthright, Charles,' he complained. 'Your whites are so spotless, your blacks so jet-like! But no, not dishonest in the legal sense of the word at least. It's just that—' he paused, his lips pursed as if he was choosing his words with great care—' he's one of today's financial wizards. A gambler, in fact. No, a juggler would be a better word. None the less, so far as I know, he's never broken the law. At the same time, I doubt if there's a man alive who knows just exactly how far he can go without transgressing. There are a lot of people,' he added reflectively, 'who are convinced that one of these days he'll sail just too close to the wind and that will be the end of Simon Cosgrave. And they're looking forward to that day!'

'And are you one of them, Gerald?' Professor Bellairs asked curiously.

'Oh, me!' Sir Gerald's beautiful hands moved deprecatingly. 'As a banker, I'm supposed to be strictly impartial. But let's say I keep my eyes open—wide open! And I take—or have taken—very good care never, never, never to meet the man socially. He'd make capital of that, believe me! Apparently being on good terms with me could give his enterprises a ballast that is somewhat lacking as a rule!'

The two men were silent for a time. Then Professor Bellairs asked:

'Do you think young Saville is likely to be tarred with the same brush?'

'Almost certainly, I'd say,' Sir Gerald replied grimly. 'Cosgrave hasn't got a son, so the young man stands a good chance of being his business successor. More than that,' he added, 'if he were to marry Cosgrave's daughter, as everyone expected he would do.'

Professor Bellairs didn't reply, and after a moment Sir Gerald asked tentatively:

'Charles, just how serious is this affair? As far as Lisa is concerned, I mean.'

'Entirely, I'd say,' her father sighed. 'You know Lisa. She never does things by halves.'

'No—o.' Sir Gerald didn't sound as if he entirely agreed. 'But what about that young vet you've got here—Farrier, isn't it? I thought Mary had hopes for Lisa there?'

'So she had. We both had. But nothing's come of it. In fact, they avoid each other like poison. Perhaps we made our hopes too obvious. And now, so far as one can judge, there's a possibility that his interests have turned elsewhere—Lisa is firmly of that opinion, anyway.'

'Oh, is she?' Sir Gerald said with interest. 'Now, that might—just might—mean something! I wonder! Well, so far as I can see there isn't a thing you can do, except—look, what about making it absolutely clear both to Lisa and to young Saville that
you
won't raise any objection if they get married the day after tomorrow?'

'But, my dear chap, suppose they took me at my word!' Professor Bellairs exclaimed. 'And they might.'

'I don't think they would,' Sir Gerald said thoughtfully. 'But you've told me one thing, Charles. Quite apart from anything I've said, you haven't liked this business right from the beginning!'

'No,' the Professor said heavily. 'Neither Mary nor I have. I can't exactly put it into words, but I'm thankful for this delay—whatever the reason for it may be!'

'And I think you may say that even more fervently in the future!' Sir Gerald told him. 'In the meantime, if you possibly can, Charles, keep my name out of it. I honestly think it will be better for Lisa that way.'

'Yes,' Professor Bellairs said heavily, 'I think I see what you mean, Gerald. But there's one person whom we can't ask to do that.'

'I know. Lisa,' Sir Gerald nodded. 'Just the suggestion that there's anything the least bit—well, questionable about her young man would put her on the defensive! No, we'll just have to play it by ear, Charles. And—' he lifted his glass, 'here's my every good wish for my goddaughter's happiness!'

When Sir Gerald had gone, Professor Bellairs sought out his wife. She listened in silence to what he had to say, her lips a thin, tight line, her eyes stormy. When he had finished, the storm broke.

'So, in Gerald's opinion, this delay isn't out of consideration for our feelings. It's on Mr Cosgrave's account. If he doesn't approve of our Lisa—who do they think they are, these people?' she demanded belligerently. 'And what precious standards have they got that Lisa couldn't measure up to?'

'I think, from what Gerald said, one might describe them as worldly ones,' the Professor explained. 'And I suppose, looking at it from their point of view, Lisa is somewhat unsophisticated—'

'Well, if by that you mean that she's sweet and honest and straightforward, then yes, thank goodness, she is!' Lisa's mother declared. 'And if Mark doesn't appreciate those characteristics in the girl he says he's going to marry—says he's going to marry—' she repeated slowly. 'Charles, what happens if she—if Mr Cosgrave tells Mark she's not the sort of wife for an ambitious young man? Is he going to jilt Lisa—just like that? Or—' her face grew grey and drawn, 'is he going to try to make her over into the sort of girl that Mr Cosgrave thinks she ought to be?'

'My dear!' His own face was strained, but he touched her hand gently and comfortingly. 'Do you think Lisa could change into that sort of girl?' he asked, half reproachfully, half appealingly, 'Surely, surely not!'

'Oh yes, she could,' Mrs Bellairs replied sombrely. 'When a girl's deeply in love—and Lisa has never been one to do things by halves—then yes, the one thing she wants is to please the man she loves! And you know what that means, Charles, if Mark means as much as that to her? We lose our girl—'

Professor Bellairs could find nothing to say to refute his wife's foreboding, and they sat silent for a while. Then he said slowly:

'You know, my dear, there's one thing we're forgetting. Young Saville may have had just too much self-confidence! Obviously, he thinks he is certain to be the one to make the final decision. But I'm not so sure of that. If what Gerald says is true—and he doesn't usually make mistakes—then the young man has got very real flaws in his nature or personality or whatever you like to call it. They won't show up immediately—he's enough in love with Lisa to take care of that! Perhaps there'll be no sign of them until after the engagement is announced. But that's not such an irrevocable step as marriage, is it? And that's nearly a year off.'

'You mean, Lisa herself may be disillusioned and break it off,' Mrs Bellairs said doubtfully. 'But, Charles, that might break her heart!'

'Yes,' he agreed heavily. 'It might. Oh, Mary, one doesn't know what to hope for or wish! And yet you spoke of disillusion. Doesn't that suggest that at heart you feel that what she feels for young Saville isn't real love but just—illusion?'

'Yes, it might mean that,' Mrs Bellairs agreed. 'Or it might just be the outcome of wishful thinking. But there's one thing, Charles, that's quite certain. We've got to realize that this is something which Lisa has got to settle for herself and that means that whatever happens—' her lips trembled, 'we stand by her!'

'That, always,' Professor Bellairs said firmly, and they found that, after all, they could smile at one another.

Lisa experienced no such doubts. Nor did it occur to her that anyone else, except Tom, of course, might have them. And Tom didn't count. He'd taken an instantaneous dislike to Mark from the first moment they'd met. And people who were subject to violent and unreasonable prejudices like that couldn't be taken seriously.

All the same, it was impossible not to remember her own early impression of Mark—that he was used to entertaining in London on a scale such as she had never experienced. She had been convinced that his guests would be wealthy—men who were at the top of the tree or nearly there, women who were beautifully dressed and completely sure of themselves. Beside them she would feel like a country cousin—if not actually shabby, then certainly dressed off-the-peg, and not even the most expensive obtainable from that source. And as for being sophisticated—well, that would be laughable if it wasn't tragic.