The Other Linding Girl (4 page)

Her distaste for the arrangement must have shown on her face. For Hester said impatiently,

“Hurry, Rachel! You’ll probably find Oliver waiting by the stairs. Just tell him I’ve met the wife of one of Everard’s important colleagues and have to make myself pleasant for a while. He won’t mind having you as a substitute for me. In the circumstances,” she added, inexplicably, “he may well prefer it that way.”

It was on the tip of Rachel’s tongue to say that it was not her practice to tell lies on behalf of anyone. But having issued her instructions, Hester pretty well pushed her young niece out of the room. And, with little choice left her, Rachel went towards the stairs, where—as her aunt had predicted—Oliver Mayforth was standing waiting.

Of Nigel there was, fortunately, no sign, so she had to explain to only one of them.

“Do you mind—?” she began, a trifle nervously— “Hester has sent me to explain. She’s been—delayed by someone, and she didn’t want to leave you standing around. She thought I might act as substitute for—for the time being.”

“Why, of course. Very considerate of her.”

He said that as though he really meant it and looked, in some odd way, relieved. And he actually took Rachel’s arm in an almost intimate fashion as they, proceeded towards the ballroom.

It seemed to her—though she told herself she must be fancying this—that the one or two people who greeted her companion did so with a certain air of surprise and even embarrassment. And then, just outside the ballroom, a particularly gay group stood almost in their path—and on them there fell the most extraordinary degree of constraint when they saw Oliver Mayforth.

The centre of the group was a very charming-looking redhead, who appeared to be showing off a new engagement ring, and she actually stopped in the middle of a sentence at their approach.

Rachel’s escort, however, merely said, without concern,

“Hello, Thea. You haven’t met Rachel Linding, have you?” and proceeded to make some introductions.

The girl made a suitably conventional reply, but it was obvious that she had been caught at some disadvantage, and resented the fact.

“Aren’t you going to show Rachel your ring?” enquired Oliver Mayforth—somewhat surprising Rachel at this easy use of her Christian name. “I gather it was being shown off as we came up.” There was a slight concerted gasp at this, and Rachel had some difficulty in sounding quite natural as she said, “Do let me see it. Have you just got engaged?”

“Yes.”

The monosyllable was almost sulky, but the girl held a out a wellshaped hand, on which there sparkled a very handsome ring. “It’s beautiful,” said Rachel pleasantly. “My best wishes.”

Then she and Oliver Mayforth passed on, and not until they reached the ballroom did Rachel—who had had enough of being a passive agent—ask crisply,

“What was that little scene in aid of?”

He made no pretence of misunderstanding her.

“Thea and I were to have been married next month. She chucked me in favour of another man the day before yesterday,” he said grimly.

“Oh, I am sorry! That must have made the meeting pretty tough. I suppose it didn’t occur to you that she might be here tonight?” “On the contrary, I knew she was coming.”

“But then why did you suggest—even insist—on escorting Hester here?”

“Partly because I don’t like to see her badger Linding, who is the best chief on earth,” said Oliver Mayforth— for which Rachel felt she warmly liked him. “And partly because I wanted to demonstrate that I wasn’t shattered by what Thea—or any other woman—could do to me. I suppose—” he gave a short laugh—“it was some sort of balm to my wounded self-respect.”

“Was it?” She smiled up at him in a friendly way, for it had been pleasant to hear someone speak with warmth and loyalty of her uncle. “Well, I’m glad if my presence was of any help to you.”

“It was vital,” he assured her frankly. “In the circumstances, a very attractive, unknown girl was a much better support than the wife of my senior surgeon.”

“Well, I can see that,” Rachel admitted. And for a moment she wondered if this had been the idea behind Hester’s action. But she dismissed the notion almost immediately. For there was one thing only which prompted her aunt’s every action, she felt morally certain. And that was her own wish of the moment.

“Rachel—“ said Oliver Mayforth abruptly at this point —“May I call you ‘Rachel’, by the way, outside professional hours?”

“Well—yes, if you like.” Rachel was surprised, for he had not struck her as at all a forthcoming person.

“Will you do something for me?” he said, as he swung her on to the dance-floor. “Something more than you’ve done already, I mean.”

“If I can—yes.” Rachel began to think her first evening in London was yielding some odd experiences.

“I’ve shown Thea that her presence doesn’t keep me away— that I’m capable of meeting her on her own terms. But I’d like to go further than that.” He hesitated, but Rachel did not offer to help him out. “I’d like her,” he stated deliberately, “to see that I can enjoy myself extremely well without her. That, in fact, she has not knocked the bottom out of my world, as she imagines.”

“He’s whistling in the dark, poor dear,” thought Rachel, still

sympathetic towards him because of the way he had spoken of her uncle. But aloud she merely said, rather drily,

“And how do you propose to do that? By making love to me?” “Not—exactly.” He looked slightly taken aback at the coolness with which she took his point. “But if we could appear a great deal more friendly than we ordinarily would on first acquaintance—”

“Mr. Mayforth, we really hardly know each other,” Rachel protested.

“That makes it all the easier,” he insisted obstinately. And it struck her that Oliver Mayforth was a determined, one-idea man when his mind was set on anything. “It removes any possibility of embarrassing mistakes between us,” he pointed out, a trifle coldbloodedly, she could not help thinking.

“You mean you want to give the impression of being very, very nice to me—”

“That’s the idea,” he agreed.

“—While I promise not to read anything significant into your behaviour,” she finished, with a sparkle of mischief.

“Correct in every particular,” he said, and smiled suddenly, in a way that reminded her of his almost boyish enthusiasm for her uncle.

“Well, if it’s really going to help you—” she began.

“Thanks. You’re a darling.” And, without any warning, he bent his head and touched her cheek with the lightest of kisses.

She wanted to say that he was altogether too quick off the mark. But he whispered quickly, “Smile—and don’t look so startled.” And she saw suddenly that Thea was looking back over her shoulder in astonishment and something less than pleasure.

Undoubtedly the whole thing had been staged for Thea’s benefit—as was the completely unexpected liveliness and devotion with which Oliver Mayforth now proceeded to treat her. But the odd thing was that it was also extraordinarily exhilarating.

The situation might be one of complete make-believe, but in it Rachel found herself blossoming as she never had before. No one would have described her as “the other Linding girl” in this mood, and her family would simply not have been able to believe it, she felt sure. She found some difficulty in believing it herself, she thought, amusedly. But, because she was being treated (from whatever motives) as the most attractive girl in the room, she quite naturally put forth every scrap of attraction she possessed.

It was quite a heady experience, and she was enjoying herself so much under this very special treatment that she was faintly annoyed when Nigel Seton appeared at her side and put in a claim for some attention.

“You can’t monopolise her, Mayforth,” he declared. “I was under the impression that I was taking Rachel out this evening.” Oliver Mayforth yielded her up with a reasonably good grace. And, since Rachel felt she had more than fulfilled any claims the assistant surgeon might have upon her, she smiled and allowed Nigel to take her away to the supper room.

“You faithless girl, you don’t even look ashamed of yourself,” he said as, having found her a seat in one of the wide window embrasures, he brought her a delectable-looking ice-cream.

“Why should I?” asked Rachel, pretending to give most of her attention to her ice.

“Because the original arrangement was that
I
should be your partner for this evening. How come you shed me so ruthlessly and latched on to Mayforth?”

“I didn’t
latch on to
anyone,” exclaimed Rachel indignantly. "And anyway, didn’t Hester explain to you?”

“Hester? I haven’t seen her since we got here.”

“Haven’t you?” Rachel looked up, with the slightly alarmed realisation that neither had she seen her aunt since the scene in the powder room. “But she said—”

“Never pay too much attention to anything Hester says,” he told her lightly. “She seldom means any of it. But if it was on her instructions that you gave me the old-shoe treatment, I’ll settle with her tomorrow.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter—” Rachel was still wondering uneasily about Hester.

“Forgive me for contradicting you—but it does. In other days I’d have been challenging Mayforth to a duel, and shooting him at dawn.”

“Would you?” She laughed a little. “Or perhaps he would have been shooting you.”

“I think not.”

“No?” She looked at him curiously. “Well, never mind. I’m sorry. But you’re having your turn now, aren’t you?”

“Is that what you call it?” He leaned against the window-shutter and smiled down at her. “Tell me—are you a typical product of Loriville, or whatever the place is called?”

“Pretty average, I suppose.” She dug into her ice-cream and smiled a little to herself, because she didn’t feel a “pretty average” product of anywhere this evening.

‘Then what, in heaven’s name, are the star attractions like?”

“My elder sister is one of them,” Rachel explained calmly. “Elizabeth is really what one means by a beauty. Half the men in Loriville are mad about her.”

“I can well imagine it.” He sounded almost grimly amused, though his eyes sparkled, in that extraordinarily provocative way. “And are you still going to tell me that the other half aren’t mad about you?”

“No, of course they’re not. I’m just—”

“I know. ‘The other Linding girl’. I call that the understatement of the year.”

“But it’s true.” Rachel licked her spoon reflectively, and gave him an innocent stare which had been the family prerogative of Hazel until that moment.

“Then what happened this evening?” he wanted to know.

“I don’t understand.”

“What turned this ‘pretty average’ product of a small provincial town into an extremely eye-catching and intriguing young woman? Don’t tell me it was the dynamic attraction of Oliver Mayforth.” And he gave a laugh which secretly nettled Rachel.

“It could have been,” she said curtly.

“Oh, my dear!”

“Well, why not? He’s kind and loyal and cares about the things that matter. While you—”

She stopped, a good deal taken aback to find she had spoken with such heat.

“Yes?” His smiling eyes narrowed slightly. “While I— what?” “Oh, never mind.”

“But I do mind. It intrigues me to know in what way you contrast me with the worthy Oliver Mayforth.”

“You
needn’t sneer at him!” exclaimed Rachel, goaded into a warmer defence than she had intended. “He
is
loyal and worthwhile. And you, by your own admissions are lazy and lightweight and pretty worthless.”

An extraordinary silence followed this outburst. A silence which, in some curious way, seemed louder than the beat of distant dance music or the chatter of people nearby.

Then, just as Rachel drew her breath to make some sort of apology, someone forced his way through the throng and came to Nigel’s side. He was a good-looking young man, in a pale, feverish, too bright-eyed way, but at the moment he looked nearly distraught.

“Seton! Thank heaven I’ve found you. Can you come? There’s been an accident. Hester’s injured.”

“An accident? What sort of accident?” Nigel Seton straightened up and suddenly became a different person. “A car accident.”

“A
car
accident? But what was she doing in a car? She was here. At least—” All at once his face was grim—“what had you two fools been doing?”

“She—we’d gone for a drive. We were just coming back—” The young man went very white, and the streak of dirt across his forehead stood out strangely.

“Where is she?”

“They’ve taken her to—” he swallowed—“her husband’s nursing home. I’ll drive you there.”

“Thanks. I’ll take my own car.”

“You—you can’t.” He went whiter still, if that were possible. “It was—your car we smashed up. We’d taken it to—”

“To what?” Nigel’s voice was hard as granite.

“To avoid talk.”

“You confounded fool! Well—” Nigel checked himself—“never mind that now. I’ll come. Rachel, find Mayforth—at once.
At once,
understand! Tell him what’s happened and the two of you follow us as quickly as you can to the nursing home.”