Sweet Sanctuary (8 page)

"A Victorian umbrella stand? Now is it likely? Why should you imagine such a thing?"

"He seemed very interested in it."

"Perhaps he once had one like it—or perhaps he's just fond of Victorian objects. Many people are— they like the solidity of Victoriana, you know, the' vanished glory of a secure age. I'm too much a part of that time, myself, to feel such an emotion. I detest Victorian stuff—heavy, clumsy work. Vulgar."

"You like the eighteenth century?"

Mrs. Butler smiled. "I like things that work, my dear—chairs you can sit on, tables that stand on four good legs. I'm a practical down to earth woman."

Kate laughed. "That's why you prefer the kitchen."

"It's a warm, living room—not a tomb!" Mrs. Butler stood at the door of the drawing-room, looking round the walls. "These rooms were all furnished just as they are now when I first came here—I haven't touched a stick of furniture. I feel an intruder in this part of the house. It was intended to be very grand."

Gently, Kate said, "Just as Sylvia intends it to be?"

Mrs. Butler shut the door with a bang. Kate watched her walk away, straight-backed and erect of head, and sighed.

Sylvia arrived in the middle of the morning, shooting up the drive in her sports car, making a violent commotion on the horn. The horses kicked up startled hooves and fled to another part of the park. Kate, who had been inspecting them for signs of wear and tear on their shoes, since a visiting blacksmith was due any day, looked round in dismay.

Sylvia braked, waving. Kate walked reluctantly over to meet her, saying good morning in a politely colourless voice.

"Are you ready?" Sylvia demanded without answering.

"Ready?"

A flicker of irritation in the lovely face. "Surely Nick told you I was coming to drive you into town to get some new clothes?"

Kate flushed angrily. "I think I can be trusted to buy my own clothes, thank you. I can't just drive off and leave Mrs. Butler…"

"We'll go up to the house to tell her. You'll have to change, anyway. You can't go out in those filthy jeans." The green eyes flicked at the mud-stained edges of the legs.

Kate felt her spine stiffen. Rage made her brown eyes hard, her lips compress.

Sylvia looked up at her, leaning back in her car, a smile touching the corners of the exquisite mouth. "Get in!"

Kate still hesitated, searching for the words with which to refuse, words which would somehow express her anger yet remain at least on the surface totally courteous.

"Look," Sylvia drawled, "if you can't afford to buy some clothes Nick will advance you the money from your salary!"

"I've got plenty of money," Kate retorted indignantly, forgetting the speech she had been carefully preparing.

"Then get in, for goodness' sake," Sylvia said wearily.

Kate found herself obeying. In her own bedroom, a few moments later, she stared at herself in critical irritation. She looked like a schoolgirl, she thought. Or even a schoolboy, in these old jeans, her figure slender and boyish, with the clean fresh-air glow in her face, innocent of make-up as it was.

With a self-dismissing shrug she hurriedly slipped into a pale lemon sweater and tan skirt, brushed her sleek brown hair and put on some make-up.

When she ran down the stairs Sylvia regarded her carefully, one thin eyebrow flickering upward in amused scorn. "Well, at least it's an improvement."

The drawled words stung, as they were meant to do. Kate bit back a retort. Had she really spent half the night guiltily wondering if she ought to leave Sanctuary rather than come between Sylvia and Nick? What man in his senses could even look at her with this almond-eyed blonde around? Her vanity had blinded her briefly. Now she was clear-eyed once more, seeing things as they were rather than as she would have liked them to be.

Her mind jumped involuntarily at that thought. As she would like to be? Was that it? She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

"What's up? Am I going too fast?" Sylvia, glancing sidelong, had caught her expression and misread it. She laughed, accelerating even more, her green eyes malicious.

Kate did not like to drive so fast, but she would have died rather than admit as much to this girl. She gritted her teeth and suffered in silence. After a while Sylvia slowed a little and soon after that they arrived at Maiden, having exchanged no word on the journey.

When they had parked, Sylvia took Kate to a newly opened boutique in the main street. A tall girl with short, curly brown hair greeted them politely. She clearly knew Sylvia very well, but equally obviously did not like her.

"Hello, Helen—I've brought you a client. Do I get any commission?"

Smiling at Kate, the other girl held out her hand. "Hello, client. I'm Helen Cochrane."

Sylvia stiffened. "Sorry, did I forget to introduce you? This is Kate Fox, she's my fiancé's secretary."

Helen had not glanced away from Kate's face. "So you want some new clothes, Kate? Your colouring is useful—you can wear almost any colour. What sort of thing are you looking for? Dress? Coat?"

"The lot," Sylvia drawled, despite Helen's determined cold-shouldering. "Pastel shades would be the best bet."

"Oh, I don't think we'll limit ourselves to colour for the moment." Helen took Kate's elbow and led her towards the old-gold curtain which was draped across the entrance to the fitting-room. It matched the rich piled gold carpet exactly and was a perfect foil to the dark blue of the walls.

Sylvia stood, a spot of hard red in her cheeks, staring at them. Over her shoulder, Helen murmured, "Oh, don't wait, Sylvia—I'm sure you have plenty of other things to do! Kate can meet you in the Copper Kettle for lunch in an hour's time!"

Sylvia, dismissed in so casual a fashion, slammed out of the shop without a word. Helen laughed.

"Exit Lady Macbeth!"

Kate was taken aback and stared at her. "Not that bad, surely?"

Helen shrugged. "I don't know—Sylvia is inclined to go about ordering everyone to have their heads cut off."

"More like the Red Queen in
Alice
than Lady Macbeth!"

Helen grinned at her. "Maybe. I've never liked Sylvia, nor she me—she brought you here today to emphasise the fact that I'm in trade while she's marrying the lord of the manor."

Kate was amused. "Nicholas? That doesn't sound like him."

"Oh, he wouldn't recognise the description, but Sylvia is the most awful snob, and she's determined that he shall assert his 'position'—as she sees it. Sylvia and I were at school together. She's always thought that one day she would marry well—she has an acquisitive mind."

Kate remembered Mrs. Butler saying something like that. She hurriedly changed the subject.

"Have you got any dresses with a longer line? I prefer a low hem."

"Strip to your undies and I'll bring some suitable things in to you," Helen told her.

When she returned she gave Kate's very plain underclothes a long, disapproving stare. "You need new lingerie as well—a girl should be pretty from the skin outwards. Top dressing is only half the answer."

She selected a gay green dress of jersey wool. It slid down over Kate as if it had been made for her, fitting snugly at bust and waist, but flaring out at the hip.

"Semi-Russian style," Helen explained. The calf-length skirt flew out as Kate turned to face the mirror. Around the neck ran a choker of black braid, which was echoed at the hem, in a line of three.

"It suits you. Gives you colour and style—I think you ought to have your hair re-styled, you know." Helen considered her, head to one side. "A page-boy bob, I think—give you a new image. Why not really go for the Russian look? I've got something else which will follow through with the same general look."

Kate felt a timid excitement stirring. "Do you really think—?" She looked at herself, her cheeks pink, her eyes bright. The vivid green deepened the impact of her colouring, gave a new drama to the muted brown of her hair and eyes.

Helen was decided. "Of course—just look in the mirror! You need bold styles and colours. Pastels would make you invisible. Why else do you think Sylvia was so keen for you to wear pastel shades? She wanted to make you look negative."

Kate flushed even deeper. "Why on earth should she bother?"

"Don't ask me," Helen shrugged. "If you don't know the answer I certainly don't. Knowing Sylvia I'd say she was making sure Nick never noticed you. She may be sure of herself, but she's the cold-headed sort who make doubly certain when they can."

"She can't be afraid of me!" Kate was pale now, her colour gone.

Helen was indifferent. "Probably not, but she was always the malicious sort. She just likes to quash all possible opposition, as a matter of course."

She went off to look for other garments and brought back a peacock-blue trouser suit, with a loose tunic belted at the waist, bringing in a Russian look again.

An hour later Kate had bought a pile of clothes, including several new skirts and some delicious, fragile, floating blouses in crepe, with loose sleeves tightly cuffed at the wrist and neat round collars which gave her a little-girl look. She had also insisted on buying two new sweaters, polo-neck and cowl-neck, one scarlet, the other yellow.

"I must have something to wear when I'm working with the horses. I can hardly wear my trouser suit!"

They walked amicably to the Copper Kettle together. There was no sign of Sylvia in the crowded dining-room. Helen left Kate there, shaking hands warmly, and returned to her shop. Kate ordered, after a while, and ate a simple salad. Sylvia had still not appeared, so she went back to the dress shop.

"Why not take the opportunity to have your hair fixed?" Helen suggested.

"I ought to get back to Sanctuary. I do work there, remember."

"How can you leave without Sylvia? The bus is very unreliable. It only runs a few times a day, and I don't know when it's due next."

Kate was undecided, so Helen picked up the phone and began to dial.

"Are you ringing the bus company?"

"No—Nick," said Helen firmly.

"Please, I'd rather not…" Kate was cut off in her stammered dismay when Helen spoke into the telephone.

She was put through to Nick at once, and greeted him in a cheerful, intimate fashion. After a few friendly remarks, she explained the situation. Suddenly she handed the phone to Kate, smiling.

"He wants to speak to you."

Kate nervously said, "Hallo."

"Helen says you want to have your hair done and buy some new shoes—will you be ready to leave at five? I'll drive you back myself if you can be at the Copper Kettle around five." He sounded abrupt but courteous.

"Thank you," she said lamely.

There was a pause, then he said tersely, "Five, then? Goodbye." The phone clicked at his end. She put the receiver down carefully.

Helen looked enquiringly at her. "Well?"

"He'll pick me up at five at the Copper Kettle."

"That's marvellous. Come on, I'll take you down to the hairdresser."

Feeling more like a puppet than a human being, Kate allowed herself to be hustled along to the hairdresser's shop. Helen gave her instructions clearly and left. Kate sat, watching in awed surprise, as the clever scissors clipped and darted around her head.

Later, seated under the dryer, she was dreamily watching the passing traffic when she recognised Sylvia's car. A tangle of some sort had developed. Sylvia was impatiently hooting at the car in front. Beside her, his arm along the back of the seat, watching her with open amusement, was a rather distinguished man with silver-grey hair and a lean, still handsome face. His suit was elegant well-cut, expensive. He was, Kate judged, well on the wrong side of forty.

Sylvia's father? Kate watched them curiously. Whoever he was, the stranger found Sylvia fascinating. Suddenly the blonde head turned and Sylvia looked at him in provocative interest.

Again, Kate pondered on their relationship. There was, even at this distance, no doubt as to the intimacy of their acquaintance. But its nature was more difficult to assess.

The traffic cleared. The little sports car shot away. Kate leaned back, frowning.

When her hair was finished, she was delighted with Helen's inspiration. The sleek brown shine, the gentle wave where it curled inwards, gave her a new appearance. Her features were more interesting in their new frame. She was still not exactly pretty, she sighed, but at least it was an improvement.

Helen was far more enthusiastic when she got back to the shop. She walked all round Kate, exclaiming in pleasure.

"What did I tell you? Aren't you delighted?"

"I do like it," Kate admitted.

"Lukewarm! It's an enormous change for the better," Helen said firmly.

Kate laughed. "I'm beginning to feel like the flower girl in
Pygmalion
! I don't feel myself at all."

"Shoes now," instructed Helen.

Kate groaned. "Must I? I'm worn out!"

"Rebirth is tiring, I believe," said Helen blandly. "Don't spoil the ship for a ha'porth of tar! Shoes!"

Wearily Kate followed her to the shoe shop. Soon the floor was littered with open boxes and discarded styles. Helen was inexorable. She would not settle for anything less than perfection, When at last Kate had acquired several pairs of shoes and a pair of elegant sandals, Helen agreed finally to release her.

Laden with parcels and boxes, Kate sat in the dress shop watching the clock. Helen said happily that she would shut up shop early for once, and join Kate for tea in the Copper Kettle.

"We can have a nice cosy chat over a pot of tea and some cakes, I'm starving. I skipped lunch today because my assistant is off sick."

"Don't you close for lunch?"

"No—we get a lot of our custom during lunchtime because so many of the girls from other shops pop in in their lunch break."

They found a corner table and settled down. The waitress brought them a tray of tea, smiled at Helen and wandered away.

"What do you think of Nick?" Helen asked Kate suddenly.

Kate jumped, her cheeks suddenly very pink. "What? Oh… h—he seems very pleasant."

Helen looked at her in amusement. "Yes," she said calmly, "he's a charmer. Half the girls in Essex have fallen for Nick at one time. I had a crush on him myself when I was sixteen. I know the signs."