Читать книгу The Silent Pool - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 6

Table of Contents

The drawing-room at Ford House was a great deal too full of furniture. It was a large room with three long windows looking to the terrace, but it was not as light as it ought to have been because the old painted panelling had deepened to what was practically sage green, and the heavy grey velvet curtains obscured a good deal of the glass. In the days when Adriana Ford had entertained there these moss and lichen shades had made a wonderful background for her flaming hair and her whole magnificent exuberance. In her absence it was the furniture which dominated the scene—towering Chippendale cabinets crammed with china; a grand piano in ebony and mother-of-pearl; tables in ormolu, in marqueterie, in walnut inlaid with satinwood; monumental sofas; enormous chairs; a marble mantelpiece like the entrance to a tomb; a clutter of ornaments. Adriana had lighted it all like a torch. Without her it was a gloomy has-been.

Star Somers sat lightly on the arm of one of the chairs. She did not seem to belong to the room at all. She was in grey, but not the storm-grey of the velvet curtains. Her beautifully cut suit had the light silvery shade which went well with her name. A diamond brooch flashed from the lapel, a row of pearls crossed the neckline of a delicate white shirt. She was as exquisite off the stage as upon it. If the light had been twice as bright as it was, it would have disclosed no fault in the perfect skin, the lovely eyes, the pale gold hair. And the perfection owed practically nothing to art. Nature had given her eyelashes just that deeper tinge which flattered the grey eyes, and she wore no rouge and needed none. When she was pleased her colour rose, when she was sad it ebbed. Her charming mouth was emphasized by a most attractive shade of lipstick. At the moment her eyes were wide, her lips parted, and her colour high.

“You weren’t going to tell me!” she said. “You’ve actually let Nanny go off without telling me!”

Edna Ford, who was her cousin Geoffrey’s wife, looked down a long pale nose. Everything about her was pale—the hair which always reminded Star of sun-dried grass, the light blue eyes with their sandy lashes, the thin colourless lips set in a disapproving line. Even the embroidery upon which she was engaged had a pale and faded look, the background dull, the colours indeterminate, the pattern formal. Every time she put the needle in and drew it out again she managed to convey the fact that Star was making a fuss about nothing. There was going to be a scene. These theatrical people were all so emotional. And why couldn’t Star sit down in a chair like anybody else instead of perching herself up on the arm like that? The covers were showing signs of wear anyhow, and it was going to cost the earth to replace them. Since it was Adriana who would have to foot the bill, there was really no need for her to worry about it. She kept her voice even with an effort and said,

“But you knew she hadn’t had her holiday.”

Star looked at her reproachfully.

“But I never can remember about dates—you know I can’t. And you didn’t tell me—you didn’t tell me a thing. You know perfectly well that I would never, never go all the way to America unless I was quite, quite sure about Stella.”

Edna prayed for patience.

“My dear Star, I don’t know what you mean. You seem to forget that Stella is not a baby any longer. She is six years old. I shall be here, and Meeson, and Mrs Simmons, and that nice girl Joan Cuttle who comes up from the village. Surely between us we can look after one little girl—and really Nanny will only be away for a fortnight.”

The grey eyes brightened, the soft voice shook.

“When six people are looking after a child everybody thinks someone else is doing it, which simply means that no one does it at all! And you know perfectly well that Meeson has her hands full with Adriana! Mrs Simmons is a cook, not a nurse. She’s always complaining she’s got too much to do anyhow! And as for this Joan Cuttle, I don’t know a thing about her, and I’m not leaving Stella with someone I don’t know through and through! This is the most wonderful chance for me, but I’d rather throw it up than not be sure about Stella! Nanny must come back!”

Edna allowed herself a faint smile.

“She has gone on one of these motor-coach trips—France—Italy—Austria——”

“Edna—how frightful!”

“I have no idea where she is. She can’t possibly come back.”

Star’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“Even if we did know, she’s as obstinate as the devil—she probably wouldn’t come.” A bright tear splashed down upon the diamond brooch. “I shall just have to cable out to Jimmy and say he must let someone else have the part. It was absolutely written for me, and he’ll give it to that frightful Jean Pomeroy. She’ll ruin it of course, but it can’t be helped. Stella must come first!”

“My dear, you are just being theatrical.”

Star gazed at her, more in sorrow than in anger. Her colour had faded. She produced a small handkerchief and brushed it across her eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t understand. I can’t expect you to—you’ve never had a child.”

An unbecoming flush showed that the thrust had told. The little mournful voice went on.

“No—that is what it will have to be. Jimmy will be furious. He has said all along that there wasn’t anyone else who would be right. It’s just me! But I always have put Stella first, and I always will. I can’t and I won’t leave her unless—unless——” The handkerchief dropped. Her colour flowed back. She clasped her hands and said with leaping enthusiasm, “I’ve got an idea!”

Edna was prepared for anything.

“You can’t take her with you——”

“I shouldn’t dream of it! Of course it would be fun—oh, wouldn’t it! But I shouldn’t think of it for a moment! No, what I have thought about is Janet!”

“Janet?”

Really Star was too difficult to follow. She jumped from one thing to another and expected you to know what it was all about.

“Janet Johnstone,” said Star. “She was the minister’s daughter at Darnach—that place where I used to go and stay with the Rutherford relations. Ninian and I used to see a lot of her. Stella would love her. And I shouldn’t have a single moment’s worry—you couldn’t with Janet. Dependable, you know, without being stuffy. You hardly ever get it, do you? But Janet isn’t—not the very least bit. She would be perfect.”

Edna stared.

“Is she a children’s nurse?”

“No, of course she isn’t! She’s Hugo Mortimer’s secretary. You know—the man who wrote Ecstasy and White Hell. And he’s gone off on a three months’ holiday, shooting, or fishing, or something, so she’ll be on her own, and she could quite easily come down here for Nanny’s fortnight, and I could go off without a care in the world.”

“But, Star——”

Star jumped down from the arm of the big chair. She was as light and graceful as a kitten.

“There aren’t any buts! I’ll go and ring her up at once!”