There Will Come A Stranger (3 page)

Even with six of them to tackle it, it took them fully twenty minutes to finish washing up and laying the breakfast table. Valerie would have been lucky if she
’
d finished, on her own, by bedtime! However, hiding her resentment, Vivian remembered the presents she had brought, went up to fetch them from her room, and they all
gathered round the fire, opening their packages, “for all the world like Christmas morning!” Valerie declared, radiant over her peach nylon underwear. There was nylon, too, for all the others—blouses for Monica and Janet, and for Harold and Robert shirts. Everyone was pleased. No one said any more about canasta; they all settled down to talk and share the candies Vivian produced in an outsize box.

Presently Harold, feeling in his pocket for his tobacco pouch, produced as well a sheaf of papers. Some he gave to Monica, the rest to Janet. “I called in at that travel agency at lunch time to get suggestions for our holiday this year,” he explained.

They all began discussing the respective merits of the East Coast, Ireland, Belgium, Scandinavia, Holland, Switzerland, the Costa Brava. Last year Harold and Monica had gone motoring with friends in France, while Robert and Janet spent their holiday in Sweden.

Only Valerie was silent. Vivian turned to her. “And where did
you
go last year? I don
’
t seem to remember that you mentioned it in letters?”

“Oh, I didn
’
t go away! The others had to take their holidays at different times. We couldn
’
t shut the house.” She rose. “I
’
m going to fill the bottles. Have you left yours where I can find it?”

“On the chair beside my bed!” Vivian told her. As the door closed behind Valerie something in Vivian
’
s expression made Harold say uncomfortably “Robert and I can
’
t get away at the same time, you know.”

Janet chimed in: “It isn
’
t as though Valerie did anything to make her
need
a holiday! I mean, it
’
s not as though she worked, or had a job, like all the rest of us!”

Vivian choked down her rising temper with an effort. “Everybody needs a change! A girl of twenty-two needs fun and young companionship occasionally! Valerie must be very much the odd one out. Surely you could get someone in to run the house while she
’
s away?”

“What—leave some unknown female to her own devices here while we were all out? We couldn
’
t possibly!” cried Monica.

As she was speaking, in a flash Vivian knew what was demanded of her in her role of fairy godmother. Calmly she said, “Well—I
’
m afraid you
’
ll have to do it, and very soon, too! Valerie is looking tired to death. I
’
m going to take her for a holiday as soon as it can be arranged!”

Aghast, the others stared at her in consternation, then at one another. Janet was the first of them to recover her breath. She said, “Of course, what
you
do is your own concern! But Valerie can
’
t possibly leave us in the lurch like this!” Monica chimed in. “We pay her quarterly, so she must give us three months
’
notice. It
’
s only businesslike!”—Then she wished that she had held her tongue. That word “notice” might set a note of permanence on Valerie
’
s departure.

“But your arrangement with her is very far from businesslike!” Vivian retorted. “She works for you, and never has a moment to herself as far as I can see, for about a third of what you
’
d have to pay if it were on a business footing.”

“But what are we to do if Valerie goes for a holiday while we
’
re at home?” asked Monica, becoming plaintive. “How could we manage?”

“As other people do—by getting daily help. Otherwise one or both of you will have to work at home instead of elsewhere.”

“Daily help won
’
t come on Sundays,” Janet said. “The weekends will be ruined for us!”

“Valerie has had a seven-day week for years,” Vivian reminded her.

“Surely you could put off this holiday till Easter? Then we shouldn
’
t have to tackle fires!” wailed Monica.

Harold said, “You would be crazy to have a holiday now, in fog and rain and like as not snow!”

Robert exclaimed, “Yes—no one in their senses would think of going on a holiday in January!”

Monica drawled
scoffingly
, “Do they go in for holidays in mid-winter, in America?”

Finally Janet, always practical, asked, “Where would you go?”

But for that conversation in the train Vivian might have been at a loss to know what to reply on the spur of the moment. But with John Ainslie
’
s talk about the holiday he had planned fresh in her mind, she automatically answered, “Switzerland!”

Monica
’
s scoffing faded in the face of her determination.

“How long would you be taking her?”

“Oh, I suppose a month or so. It wouldn
’
t be worth going all that way for less.”

Now it was Harold
’
s turn to play a trump card. “A
month
?
What about the currency restrictions
?
”

“Oh, they don
’
t worry about restrictions in America!” said Monica bitterly.

“We
’
ll go to one of the smaller places—Varlet
-
sur-Montagne, perhaps—and stay at some quiet little inn, not one of the big luxury hotels. And if we don
’
t spend much on extras, we ought to manage to be there a month quite easily.” (What a good thing she had remembered the name of the place John Ainslie had mentioned—really, that conversation had been providential!)

She gave the four glum faces her most charming smile. “
Don
’
t
let her see how much you mind, and spo
il
it for her!” she besought them.

Unwillingly they smiled back: Harold and Robert because of their affection for her, rooted in childhood before Pete and Monica and Janet had entered their lives; Janet and Monica because if Vivian could afford to spend all that on Valerie, there was no knowing what she might do for others of the family, if they played their cards well!

So when Valerie returned, having filled six hot bottles and tucked them into six beds, she was
almost stunned by the
astounding plans that had been made for her while she was absent. Wide
-
eyed and blissful she listened while Vivian announced that ten days hence the two of them would go to London, spend a week there buying suitable clothes, then fly to Switzerland to spend a month among the snow and sunshine. Nothing could cloud for her the happiness of that moment, even when, turning to the others, she asked anxiously, “But won
’
t it be frightfully inconvenient for
you while I
’
m gone?
”
and Monica retorted tartly, “My
dear
Valerie—surely you don
’
t think you
’
re as indispensable as all that!
”

Tired though she was, she could not sleep, but lay awake far into the night, her mind a whirl of smiling foreign faces, dazzling snow, delicious meals she hadn
’
t cooked, sleigh rides in the moonlight to the sound of bells, glamorous evening frocks such as she had never owned, music, and dancing
...
and perhaps romance
...

And Vivian, in the room next door, was feeling less alone, less desolate than since the ghastly moment two long years ago when they had told her that she had lost all that had made life worth living. For now there was a purpose in her life again: someone who needed her; someone she could help towards the happiness that she herself had known and lost so soon.

CHAPTER
TWO

Although
it was as dismal as a day towards the end of January well can be, threatening to drizzle, bleak and raw, Valerie was as radiant as though it were mid-summer at its loveliest when she and Vivian set out from their hotel the morning after their arrival in London. Even the consciousness that in her coat of grey herring bone tweed, bought in the January sales four years ago, never becoming to her at its best and now long past it, she looked as incon
s
picuous and nondescript as one of the downtrodden governesses of Victorian fiction, could not subdue her soaring spirits.

They had decided to go first to a travel agency to make all arrangements for their journey a week hence, so that they might concentrate on shopping, and enjoy themselves with free minds. The agency that Vivian had chosen, since she had had previous dealings there, was in the Haymarket. As they approached it, a faint anxiety that for some time been haunting Valerie suddenly assumed gigantic proportions. What if the planes to Switzerland were so booked up that no seats would be available even a week
h
ence?

Vivian, when she mentioned this disastrous possibility, laughed it off. “Not very probable! But even if it were so, we would get there just the same by train and boat. Where there
’
s a will there
’
s a way. Always remember that, honey, and put it into practice!”

Valerie
’
s fears subsided as the spell of Vivian
’
s reassuring personality, which had throughout her childhood given her a feeling of security, renewed its magic.

In the travel agency no snags awaited them. Seats were booked for them to fly to Geneva, others on the train would convey them thence for the remainder of the journey. Then the agent asked, “And how about hotel accommodation? Would you like me to arrange that on your behalf as well?”

To Valerie
’
s surprise Vivian said, “No, thank you—I have already seen to that myself. We shall be staying at the Casque d
’
Or.”

“Ah, yes! It has an excellent reputation. You have stayed there before?”

“No. It was recommended by—a friend.”

“You were well advised not to delay in booking there.”

Vivian was not surprised by what he said. John Ainslie would of course go to a good hotel. The letter answering hers had told her that the Casque d
’
Or had been fully booked up; only the cancellation of a double room owing to illness had left accommodation free. Again she blessed that conversation in the train. The recommendation of a man who obviously knew his way about the world and would be particular in his choice, gave one more confidence than the impersonal advice of even the best of agents. Briefly, in her mind she saw again his fair, square face, broad shoulders, steady grey eyes, strong, well cut features, wondered idly as she took her cheque book from her bag whether he would be there at the same time as herself. It would be pleasant to meet again. But if they did, she must take care to make it clear from the beginning that she was well able to stand on her own feet—and also that she expected nothing from him on the strength of a few hours spent together on a journey! Naturally independent, in marriage she had learned the joy of leaning upon someone stronger than herself, taking as well as giving. But that was over. In
the last two years she had regained much of her self-reliance. If John Ainslie were at Varlet-sur
-
Montagne she must make that plain to him at once—a woman travelling on her own could be a nuisance if she were the dependent type, used to relying on male advice and help in every tiniest problem
...
But as like as not their paths would never cross again.

When she had written a cheque and arranged to call two days later for their tickets and the final details of the journey, they emerged again into the Haymarket. The drizzle had developed into heavy rain. Valerie was disappointed; it was her first visit to London, and she had been looking forward to sight-seeing and window-gazing. But Vivian was undaunted. They would take a taxi to a Knightsbridge store and look round there at leisure, independent of the weather.

“First of all,” she said when they were on their way, “for clothes! I
’
ve made a list of what I think you
’
ll need. Let
’
s have a cup of coffee while we talk it over.”

Valerie
’
s eyes widened as she read the list Vivian handed her across the table. “But this is far more than I really need! I can quite well manage with one evening dress—I
’
ve got that red one of Monica
’
s, you know. And my dressing
-
gown is perfectly all right—I only got it in the July sales, reduced from seven guineas to fifty shillings. And
—
”

Vivian interrupted her. “That
’
s just the trouble! As far as I can make out, everything you
’
ve got is either a hand-down from Monica, chosen to go with her black hair and dark eyes, or from Janet, who has no taste anyway and is about twice your size, or else you bought it not because you liked it or it suited you, but because it was a bargain. Nothing you possess is
you,
expressive of yourself! And psychologically that
’
s bad for any woman. I want you to scrap everything you
’
ve got and make a fresh start. Let me give you everything on that list. You
’
ll find it
’
s just a minimum of what you
’
ll need!”

“It
’
s—oh, it
’
s darling of you to suggest it! But it
’
s far too much—I can
’
t let you give me all that
—
”

“Listen. You know that saying—
‘
The Lord loveth a cheerful giver
’
?”

Valerie nodded.

“Well, I
’
m quite sure that a cheerful
taker
is every bit as popular in heaven! Think of the pleasure
you
’
ll
be giving
me
by happily accepting a few frocks and things that I can well afford to give you!”

“
Oh ... I hadn
’
t thought of it like that!”

“Well, just you think of it
‘
like that
’
from now on, and we
’
ll both have lots of fun!”

So when they had finished their coffee they embarked on shopping. Vivian, judging by Valerie
’
s present wardrobe, had expected that her taste would need a good deal of unobtrusive guiding if her new clothes were to be becoming. She was surprised and pleased to find that Valerie knew very well what suited her, although she preferred the less becoming of two frocks if it were also the less expensive—a tendency that Vivian nipped firmly in the bud.

Their first purchase was a suit. The jacket was of deep blue tweed, its collar checked in grey and blue. It had two skirts, one of plain blue, the other of the same material as the collar. With it went an overcoat. It was comfortably roomy, with a small roll collar, and was reversible, one side being of the checked material, the other blue. The colours emphasized the grey-blue of her appealing eyes, and by their contrast brightened the pale gold of her hair, stressing her personality, instead of dimming it, as her old grey clothes had done.

Valerie was a small stock size and the outfit fitted her as though it had been made for her, so Vivian suggested she should wear it there and then and have her other, unbecoming clothes sent to the vicar of a poor parish who had been appealing in the personal column of
The Times
for unwanted clothing. The obliging sales assistant, interested in the transformation scene, fetched pullovers from another department, then went for blouses while they made their choice. A twin-set and a long-sleeved pullover were sent to their hotel; meanwhile Valerie wore a shirt of pearl-grey crepe.

By the time that they had found a jaunty little cap of deep blue felt, and bought neat shoes, comfortably and snugly fitting, of dark blue reversed calf with a matching handbag, they were beginning to be tired, and more than ready for lunch.

“What shall we have?” asked Vivian, studying the menu.

“Something we wouldn
’
t have at home!” “D
’
you like smoked salmon?”

“I don
’
t know—I
’
ve never had it!”

“High time to find out, then!”

So they ate smoked salmon, followed by chicken cooked with mushrooms and sweet com, and finished up with chestnut cream piled on meringue biscuits. Then, revived, they started off again.

Gradually, in the week that followed, they worked their way through Vivian
’
s list of all that Valerie would need, from shoes and underwear to an enchanting multi-coloured evening bag to “go” with her two dance frocks and the short ones she would wear for quiet evenings. With the advice and help of experts in the winter sports department at Harridge
’
s they chose their ski-ing outfits. Between bouts of shopping they did some leisurely sightseeing, and of an evening went to a play, or saw a film. Sometimes they ate in Soho, experimenting with dishes cooked as in France or Italy,
Greece or Spain or India, sometimes in the restaurant of a big store, sometimes at some quiet little place tucked in a cul-de-sac or side street in the West End.

So the last evening came. Vivian did her packing first, then went to write a letter to Hawthorn Lodge, to tell the family of their doings since they came to London. Valerie had their bedroom to herself, littered with clothes, and tissue paper, and exciting cardboard boxes.

Blissfully she opened her neat grey cases, banded with navy and maroon for easier identification, light in weight for flying. Contentedly she sniffed up the smell of newness that emerged. The muted murmur of traffic mingled with the rustle of tissue paper as she began to pack her new belongings. She scarcely knew which gave her the most delight: the dance frocks, or the cocktail suit of grey-blue faille; the quilted dressing gown of turquoise lined with peach, or the little frock of primrose silk; the nylon underwear, delicate as gossamer, or the cosier garments she would wear under her ski-ing outfit, warm and light and soft as feathers; the shoes of supple suede, or sturdier shoes of gleaming calf—she had always loved good shoes, but never yet been able to afford them!

Thanks to Vivian, the last week had been one long delight. Strange to think it had been no more than a prelude—an overture to a still more exciting tune!

Valerie wondered, as she packed, what lay ahead. What friends unknown were waiting in the curtained future? Whose arms would hold her, when those drifts of pearly chiffon with the silver sequins sparkling in the misty folds floated about her in the dance?

The engines drummed. Slowly the plane taxied along the runway, gathering speed, then smoothly
took the air. Valerie, who had been smothering faint qualms of anxiety as to her possible sensations when they left the ground—qualms that had by no means been abated by the appearance of the hostess, trim in her uniform, offering a tray of glucose sweets—was relieved to feel no more than a thrill of gay excitement as the airport sank away below.

A chilly drizzle had been falling. Now they were climbing steadily through low cloud. Valerie would have been faintly disappointed, had such a thing been possible in her blissful state: she had been looking forward to a bird
’
s eye view of southern England, then the Channel, and at last “Abroad”! She thought that it would be a thousand pities if they were to arrive at journey
’
s end having seen no more than drifting wreaths of cloud!

For a moment her attention was distracted by the smiling hostess, who, having brought them little individual trays with breakfast—ham, and crisp rolls, and little rolls of butter, and marmalade in tiny plastic pots—was asking how she liked her coffee? No sooner was the matter dealt with than Vivian, smiling, said, “Look there!”
—
and following the direction of her eyes, Valerie saw that they had emerged out of the clouds into a vast immensity of sunlit space. Above and all around was fathomless blue; below, a floor of dazzling cloud that looked as solid as a gigantic bed of cotton wool. The world and all its turmoil seemed incredibly remote, as time and space took on new values in her mind. She murmured, “Even eternity doesn
’
t seem quite so bewildering any longer!”

To Vivian, as always, the sight of beauty that she could no longer share with Pete smote her with renewed awareness of her loss and longing for him. But she gave no sign of what she felt.

“I know. I always feel like that, too,” she answered. “And to think it
’
s always here—this peace and space, while we
’
re all fussing down below because the fish hasn
’
t come, or the scullery tap needs a new washer, or someone
’
s made a silly speech in Parliament!” And then, as Valerie still sat gazing spellbound, she added, “All the same, though breakfast does seem something of an anticlimax, I would eat it up if I were you, before your coffee
’
s cold!”

Secretly Valerie felt it would be more appropriate to sing the Te Deum, but picturing the probable effect upon her fellow travellers if she were to do anything of the kind, she did as Vivian suggested, and found her appetite was unimpaired by her emotions.