Take What You Want

She paused and her father laughed. ‘I know. You’ve got no money.’

‘How did you guess?’ Sophie actually chuckled. ‘Actually, Mummy said she would buy me some clothes these holidays. All my things are getting too small for me.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ remarked Dr. Kemble dryly. ‘You’re growing up, Sophie. You’re quite a young woman now.’

‘Yes.’ His words had somehow reminded her of Robert’s rejection with painful clarity.

If her father noticed her sudden withdrawal, he chose to ignore it, and went on: ‘Go into Levinsons. Your mother has an account there. Buy anything you want.’

‘Thank you.’ Sophie summoned enthusiasm. ‘But I shan’t buy much today. I’ll wait until Mummy can come, too.’

‘All right, suit yourself.’ Her father was writing a cheque as he spoke. ‘Here.’ He passed the cheque over to her and she stared at the sum he had written in astonishment.

‘But, Daddy——’

‘Take it into the bank, deposit it in your own name. I don’t want you having to come to me every time you ladder your stockings or need a new lipstick.’

‘But, Daddy——’ Sophie pointed helplessly at the generous cheque, ‘this will keep me in tights and cosmetics for years!’

Dr. Kemble screwed the top on his pen with a smile. ‘All the better. But somehow I don’t think it will last as long as you imagine. Everything is becoming more expensive, and I don’t want my daughter reduced to shopping in discount stores.’

‘Oh, Daddy!’ Sophie slid off her chair and hugged him closely. ‘Oh, Daddy, I do love you!’

‘And I love you,’ he answered huskily, pulling her down on to his knee, and at once she stiffened. But only for a moment. It was too familiar. The same room—even the same chair! With a choking sob she wrapped her arms round her father’s neck and burst into tears.

He allowed her to cry for a few minutes and then he pushed his handkerchief into her hand and said: ‘I know all about it—Rob told me. He also told me that you—well, you’d taken it rather badly. Darling, it’s only natural. Rob is a very attractive man. Any girl would feel the same. But you’ve got to get things into perspective. Rob is twelve years older than you are. He has his own life to lead, and you have yours. Now, run along and wash your face and get ready to go with Simon. And—and Sophie——’ This as she halted rather stiffly by the door. ‘Sophie, don’t get any ideas about Simon either, will you, darling?’

Simon’s car was a Chrysler station wagon, a much more conventional vehicle than his brother’s Jensen, and more suitable to the sometimes rugged country roads. Sophie had changed into a plain short-skirted suit of cream wool, which had been bought for her the previous Easter and was therefore reasonably styled, and an olive green shirt. With her hair secured in a tortoiseshell clasp she looked much older, and Simon looked at her twice as she came to join him in the station wagon.

‘Nice,’ he commented, as she slid into the seat beside him. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Hmm.’ Sophie looked back at the house to wave at her father and stepmother who had come to see them off. ‘Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go.’

As Laura had said, it was a dull morning, but gradually the sun was breaking through the clouds, and although it hadn’t the humid heat of yesterday, the day was not cool. Simon drove smoothly and after a while Sophie felt her taut nerves relaxing. She brushed a hand across her cheeks. Had Simon noticed that she had been crying? If he had, he wouldn’t mention it. Not unless she did.

Hereford was busy with holidaymakers and they had difficulty finding somewhere to park. All the regular car-parks were full, but eventually they managed to squeeze into the kerb between a furniture wagon and a Mini. Simon locked the car and they walked back towards the main thoroughfare where Levinsons occupied a prominent position.

‘You don’t have to come into the teenage department with me,’ Sophie told him, as they rode up in the lift. Levinsons was of the older type of store where escalators were not in evidence.

Simon pushed his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket. ‘Don’t you want me to?’

Sophie sighed. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want to.’

‘What?’ Simon shook his head. ‘And have you come out with something like those jeans you were sporting earlier?’ he teased.

Sophie felt her lips twitching. ‘All right. Thanks, Simon.’

Looking up at him in the close confines of the lift she surprised a rather intense look in his eyes, but then it disappeared and he said lightly: ‘That’s okay. I’ll enjoy the floor-show.’

In the event, Sophie bought two pairs of jeans—one in denim like those she had discarded, and a second pair in yellow corduroy. She also chose a couple of shirts and cardigans and a long cotton skirt which was straight to the knee and then fell in layers of frills to her ankles. Simon approved all her purchases and after they were stowed in the station wagon suggested that they had lunch in town.

‘But won’t Mummy be expecting us back?’ asked Sophie doubtfully.

Simon shrugged. ‘I told her we might lunch out. It’s a cold meal at home and it won’t spoil if we’re not there.’

Sophie hesitated. ‘All right, she said. ‘I think I’d like that, Simon.’

‘Good.’ Simon took one hand out of his pocket and slid his fingers down over her wrist and between hers. ‘Where shall we go?’

They ate in a little Italian restaurant which Simon had discovered some weeks before in a side street just off the market place. There were muted lights and low banquettes beside red-clothed tables, and air-conditioning to keep the place cool. They had poached eggs with anchovies, veal cutlets coated in breadcrumbs and fried in butter, and stuffed peaches soaked in wine. Even Sophie could not resist such appetizing delicacies and she made quite a good meal. She sat back at last, unable to finish her peach, but feeling infinitely better. Simon viewed her warmer complexion with satisfaction and said:

‘Did you enjoy it?’

Sophie swallowed the last of her wine and nodded. ‘Mmm, it was marvellous!’

‘Well, it’s the first meal you’ve eaten since you arrived home,’ remarked Simon dryly. ‘You only picked at your dinner last night and I saw the breakfast tray that my mother brought downstairs this morning.’

Sophie looked pointedly round the restaurant. ‘Has this place been open very long? I don’t remember seeing it at Easter.’

‘Three months, I believe.’ Simon rested his elbows on the table, cupping his chin on his knuckles, watching her. ‘Did you know that the parents have arranged for us all to go to France in August?’

‘France?’ Sophie’s head jerked back and she looked at him in surprise. ‘No, I didn’t know.’ She frowned. ‘Who—who do you mean by all?’

‘You, me, Mum and Dad, the Pages——’

‘Oh, no!’ Sophie groaned. ‘Not Vicky Page!’

‘And her parents. Mum and Dad have rented a villa in Brittany.’ Simon grimaced. ‘You should worry. It’s me she’s after, and everyone knows it. In fact, I’m pretty sure the parents approve. After all, she is the vet’s daughter, and she’s a local girl. Entirely suitable. Unfortunately, she doesn’t suit me.’

Sophie watched sympathetically as he picked up his wine glass and swallowed its contents with the fatalistic confidence of a man about to face a firing squad.

‘I suppose they think it’s time you were considering settling down,’ she ventured comfortably.

Simon’s eyes were not grey like his brother’s but blue, and they darkened perceptibly as they rested on Sophie’s understanding face. ‘I think so, too,’ he said steadily. ‘But not with Vicky Page.’

Sophie could feel the colour flooding into her cheeks and was glad of the muted lights to hide her consternation. But no, she told herself fiercely. She must not imagine such things. Simon wasn’t—he couldn’t be interested in her! Surely her experience with Robert had warned her of the dangers of misinterpreting a situation.

‘I—I expect there are plenty of other girls in the village to choose from,’ she exclaimed hastily. ‘And I mean, Hereford is not far——’

‘Sophie!’ Simon’s hand had slid across the table and covered hers. ‘Stop talking nonsense. You know’ perfectly well what I mean. I’m not interested in the village girls or the Hereford girls or any other girls if it comes to that. It’s you I want, and I’m pretty sure you know it.’

‘Oh, Simon!’

Sophie withdrew her hand from under his and pressed both her hands together tightly in her lap.

Simon shrugged and lay back in his seat. ‘That’s okay. I know you don’t feel the same. But you’re too young yet to know what you want.’ He drew out a pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips. ‘I’m prepared to wait. Just don’t try to marry me off in the meantime.’

Sophie shook her head helplessly. ‘Oh, Simon,’ she said again. ‘Why did you tell me?’