The Hardie Inheritance (40 page)

‘Boxer and I did all the preparation properly,' she assured Terry. ‘So anyone who's tasteless enough to want just an ordinary door only has to put another coat of paint on.'

‘Why d'you always think that people will want to paint over your work?' asked Terry, ‘It's marvellous as it is. Are you going to do the others? Because if so, we'll hang on to one of these for a bit and take orders.'

Terry had abandoned his early idea of using the shabby warehouse as a wholesale depot and selling individual items only from the brick building at the front of the bomb site. All goods now were displayed in The Shed and could be bought in any quantity, although always cheaper by the dozen. Part of the excitement of the operation was that no one knew from day to day what would be on sale. It was Dan's task to persuade customers that the most unlikely objects were highly desirable, so that someone who arrived in the hope of finding a pair of Land Army boots might leave as the proud possessor of a mahogany lavatory seat.

Dan still rented a weekly stall in three different street markets and a gaudy poster by Trish which he displayed there, detailing the week's bargains at The Shed, was the only form of advertising found necessary. It was word of mouth which brought most of the customers in – that and the knowledge that, unlike the blackmarket spivs who were here today and gone tomorrow, these young salesmen would still be there the following week and could therefore be trusted.

Trish was in charge of sales during Dan's three market mornings, but for the rest of the time she was free to devise her own embellishments to the stock. She and Boxer had their own float for buying objects which could be improved. They had recently acquired ten wooden boxes, old and dirty but solidly made, of the kind used by boarding school boys for
tuck, and for her next project she planned to pattern these with wooden soldiers or teddy bears to be sold as nursery toy boxes.

‘Who else will be coming?' Terry asked her when he had completed his inspection of the painted doors. Trish, who had already forgotten their earlier conversation, looked puzzled until he added, ‘To your twenty-first.'

‘Oh, mostly Slade people. Some girls from school. All on double tickets, so to speak. Some of my schoolfriends are married already, and presumably the others will have boyfriends.'

Terry opened his mouth as if to say something, but paused, putting his hand up to touch his eye patch, in a way which suggested that he had thought of a different question. ‘Will your father be there?'

Trish shook her head. ‘He wrote to explain. He's earning a fantastic salary. If he comes back to England the tax man will take most of it. So if I want to see him I shall have to go out to California for a holiday. But I confidently expect that guilt at neglecting his only child will lead him to cough up a generous present of money. If he does, Terry, would you let me come into partnership with you? In a proper, businesslike, legal way? I might be able to put up enough to buy another site somewhere, in a different part of London, so that we can expand.'

‘Once we do that, we're in a different kind of business,' he pointed out. ‘Employing staff, for one thing. Perhaps splitting ourselves up to make sure that the branch is properly managed. So I'm not so sure about that part of it. But for the rest – well, perhaps you'd better wait until you see what your father comes up with. If he's not prepared to face the tax man, I don't suppose your Uncle Jay will want to either. Will you have any other family at the party?'

‘Max is getting a weekend off school. And Rupert and Julia are coming. And Andy and Jean-Paul. Not that they're exactly family. But then, since I'm not a Hardie, none of the others are either.'

‘Not any of the David Hardies, then, except Max?'

‘I don't think Uncle David's on speaking terms with Grace at the moment. But John and Peter and Lily have been invited.'

‘They're not likely to turn up if it's going to annoy their dad, are they?'

‘You never can tell. I remember something I overheard once, when Grace and Uncle David were quarrelling. He thinks that he ought to own Greystones really.'

‘He can't expect that he ever will.'

‘Not while Grace is alive, no. And even if she died before him, she wouldn't leave it to him. But he might hope that she'd do her duty to the family and leave it to one of his children.'

‘Get you. You mean that they'll be under instructions to suck up.'

‘Well, to keep in touch, anyway. So they might come. We shall have to wait and see.'

Not for the first time, Trish congratulated herself on choosing the right day of the year on which to be born. Although the early-morning clouds had been slow to clear, by the time the first guests arrived soon after noon the June sky was clear, the breeze had dropped and the sun shone with a proper birthday brightness. Mrs Barrett, with two helpers from the village, had produced a luncheon of pre-war magnificence, as though food rationing had ended overnight. Andy had provided a generous supply of his own white wine, and this helped to ensure that the afternoon of games, to ridiculous rules devised by Grace and Trish together, ended in animated shouting and uncontrollable laughter.

Very soon a buffet tea would be ready, to be carried into sun or shade according to choice, but already the party was beginning to split into small groups or pairs. Jay's present – which he had asked Grace to buy for him – had been a radiogram. Placed by an open window, it was providing the music for a few dancing couples on the terrace. Like Trish herself, almost all her girl friends had rushed to surrender their clothing coupons for a New Look outfit and their full, calf-length skirts swayed gracefully as they moved.

‘How nice it is to see girls looking pretty again,' said Rupert, coming to stand beside Trish for a moment, but without suggesting that they should join the dancers. ‘And especially my hostess, the prettiest of them all. But I'm afraid we must slip away now. Her Majesty the Tyrant requires her mother's attention at six o'clock. Thank you for a marvellous party. A wonderful relaxation.'

‘Grace did all the work,' Trish pointed out. ‘I'm just one of the guests. And I must thank
you
, both of you, for your lovely present. Much too generous, but thank you very much.'

How odd it was that she should be able to exchange such formal, unfelt politenesses with someone who once had so deeply thrilled and disappointed her – for Rupert's reference to her prettiness was no more likely to be sincere than her own gush over the birthday present.

They had given her a small leather case, with her initials tooled in gold, containing silver-lidded bottles and jars for beauty preparations. Trish, who rarely wore any more make-up than lipstick, could not imagine why they should have thought that such a gift was appropriate. It must have been Julia who bought it and presumably it represented the sort of thing which Julia herself had liked at the age of twenty-one. Rupert would have known better. What an odd consequence of marriage it was that someone should hand over even his friendships to his wife.

In other respects the day had been a good one for presents. Grace had greeted her merely with a birthday card, but promised that there would be something ready to be taken home when the time came to leave. Of all the guests, only Terry had not offered any sort of gift. Trish guessed that he, like Grace, planned some kind of surprise. From the way he kept nervously lifting a finger to touch his eye patch, she surmised also that he was not sure whether she would like it. She went over to join him as soon as Rupert and Julia had left.

‘I've got something to tell you,' she said. ‘Let's go and walk in Philip's garden.' All the gardens were Philip's in a sense, but particularly associated with him was the twisting grassy path which curved between flower beds and encircled some of his sister's sculptures; the garden which he had laid out when he was still suffering from the effect of shell-shock. Trish had always treasured its seclusion. When she and Terry sat down on the grass together at the furthest end of the walk, they could be sure that no one could interrupt or overhear them without giving early warning of an approach.

‘I had a letter from my father this morning,' she said. ‘He sent it early, to be safe, and asked Grace to keep it till the day. It's just what I expected: money. A lot of money. All the earnings from the film he made in England, except what he spent before he left. Apparently he can't transfer the money to America because of exchange controls, and he doesn't need it anyway because they're paying him the earth out there, so I'm to have whatever's in his special bank account straightaway and there'll be more if the film goes on playing. To set myself up, he says, so that he doesn't have to think of me starving in a garret. And that's exactly what I want to do, if you'll help me.'

‘What? Starve in a garret?'

‘No, idiot. What I was saying the other day. I would like to invest in Terry Travis. If you'd have me. In a partnership or a company or whatever the proper way is. Putting capital in and taking an income out.' She did her best to speak in a businesslike way, while knowing nothing about the organization of business. ‘I mean, I want to go on doing the sort of things I'm doing with you, because I enjoy it so much. But it would be fun to feel that I was helping to build the firm up, that I was more part of it. What do you say?'

‘I can think of quite a lot to say. Mostly along the lines that you're a marvellous, generous girl and that I'm certainly never going to let you get away from The Shed, so that you're bound to win any arguments in the end. Shouldn't think this is exactly what your father had in mind, though. You ought to find someone to give you advice, independent advice.'

‘But would you like it, me coming in with you? Would it be
possible
?'

‘Can we leave that question for a moment while I put another question to you? Change of subject, but connected, sort of.'

Although impatient to hear her own proposition accepted, Trish waited to hear what he had to say. But the words did not come quickly. Once again he fidgeted with his eye patch.

‘I haven't given you a birthday present yet,' he said at last.

‘I noticed. Guessed why, as well. I'm betting that somewhere back at the yard there's some filthy, disgusting, unsaleable object which you're going to confront me with as a treat, a challenge for transformation.'

Terry shook his head. ‘I want to offer you a choice,' he said. ‘I mean I could give you a pair of trousers in a tasteful shade of WRAF blue, size 8 and guaranteed to make you look forty round the hips. Or a wool-lined flying jacket to add the final touch of elegance to your New Look.' He was doing his best to make a joke of it, but could not conceal his nervousness. ‘What I really want to give you, though, is me.'

‘You?' Trish must have looked puzzled for a moment, for he continued in a rush.

‘I know I've no right to ask; you being brought up in a posh place like this, comfortable, plenty of space, enough money, and me starting off in a slum and not out of it yet. Not educated like you, either. Not used to your sort of manners and the way you do things. But one day I'll have as much money as your people, I promise you. I'll work until –'

‘Hold it,' said Trish. ‘You were the one who wanted to change the subject. So we're not meant to be talking about money now. What
are
we talking about? In words of one syllable, because I may have got School Certificate but I'm still a dumb blonde beneath it all.'

‘I want to marry you,' said Terry. ‘I always used to think that getting on and making a fortune was more important than anything else in the world, but it isn't. What I need is you. I want you to want me.'

‘You've never even kissed me!' exclaimed Trish. She couldn't help laughing. ‘I mean to say, there are intermediate stages. One doesn't usually move straight from the employer/slave relationship to that of husband and wife.'

‘I was scared of frightening you. When I first found you in that squat you were so-so – well, you didn't want any kind of relationship with anyone at all, did you? If I'd pushed myself
on you, you'd just have run away. And anyway, you were in love with that handsome Lord Rupert then. I'm hoping that's worn off by now. As for the intermediate stages, we can get through those quickly enough.'

He proved his point by leaning over to kiss her, pressing her back until she was lying flat on the grass. Entering into the spirit of her laughter he began by kissing her lightly, decorously, before moving to lie more closely beside her. The kisses became harder, wetter; his tongue filled her mouth. Any minute now – but then, abruptly, he rolled away.

‘Better not spoil your nice new dress in front of all your guests. But you have to believe –'

‘I believe you.' Trish, still flat on her back, stretched her arms above her head in a gesture of blissful happiness. No one had ever kissed her like this before. No one had ever wanted her like this before. And yet Terry had not swept her off her feet. In some way she counted this to his credit.

‘So will you –?'

‘I don't think I'm interested in getting married.' She sat up, clutching her arms around her knees. ‘I'm not terribly impressed with what I've seen of marriage. It doesn't keep people together who want to walk out on each other, so what's the point? Much better to stay with someone just because that's what you both want, rather than because the rules say you must.'

‘Are you saying –'

‘Twenty-one and still a virgin,' she said. ‘It's a terrible burden. If you're offering to relieve me of it, I accept with enormous pleasure. The next time we have a quiet moment. I shall be happy to live with you. I want to be your partner in every possible way. But as for a wedding ceremony – thanks, but no thanks. It doesn't count for anything except as a notification to friends and relations.'