The Waterfall Of The Moon

When dinner was over, they all adjourned to the lounge for coffee, and Ruth seated herself beside Julie on a low couch. Julie's father and Patrick Hardy were standing by the windows. Their conversation had turned to farming matters, and Mrs. Stephenson came to join the girls, shaking her head in resignation.

“Sooner or later your father always brings the conversation round to the practical applications of modern research in methods of breeding,” she remarked, sitting down beside them. “Poor Pat! I'm sure he's not really interested in such things.” She sighed. “Still, I shouldn't grumble. We did well to get through dinner without James mentioning the hormone treatment he's considering using in the battery houses!”

Julie giggled, and Ruth was unable to prevent herself from casting a surreptitious glance towards the windows. But the two men seemed engrossed in what they were saying and did not appear to have noticed Mrs. Stephenson's slightly caustic comments.

When her mother picked up a magazine and began flicking through the glossy pages, Julie turned to Ruth and murmured in an undertone: “You didn't mention that you'd had breakfast with Patrick this morning.”

Ruth moved her shoulders carelessly. “I forgot about it.”

“I gather he didn't live up to your expectations,” remarked Julie wryly.

“I wouldn't say that,” Ruth was determinedly casual.

Julie raised her eyebrows. “Even so, last evening you seemed fascinated by him –”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Ruth glanced uncomfortably towards Julie's mother, but fortunately she seemed not to have heard them. “I was curious to know who he was, that was all. I told you at the time.”

“I know.” Julie studied her friend's hot cheeks speculatively. “Oh, well, if that's how you feel.” She shrugged. “How about playing some records in the library?”

Ruth jumped at the chance to get out of the same room as Patrick Hardy, but Mrs. Stephenson looked up as they got to their feet. “Where are you two going?”

“To play some records,” replied Julie. “You don't mind, do you?”

Her mother frowned. “Not exactly.” She looked towards her husband and Patrick Hardy. “But really, James can't monopolise Pat all evening. I'm sure the man must be bored to tears as it is. Why don't you bring some records in here, Julie? Some of your less noisy ones, I might add. You young people could dance.”

“Oh, Mummy, really!” Julie was not at all suited. “How can Ruth and I dance in here – in front of you?”

“Well, why not? Young people don't seem to require partners these days, do they?”

Julie sighed and Ruth felt a twinge of impatience. It seemed they were not to escape so easily.

“All right,” said Julie at last. “I'll get the records.”

“Good.” Her mother smiled up at Ruth. “Come and sit down again, and tell me where you went this morning.”

“This morning?” Ruth subsided rather quickly.

“Yes. On your ride.”

“Oh – oh, yes.” Ruth gathered herself. “I'd forgotten.”

Julie came back with several records of groups popular at the moment and some more orchestrated pieces. Ruth joined her by the stereo equipment and managed a rueful grin. “Never mind,” she whispered. “I'm sure your parents will soon get tired of listening to these.”

“Let's hope so.” Julie was glum, but before they had time to put any records on the turntable the sound of a car accelerating up the drive came to their ears.

“I'll get it,” exclaimed Julie eagerly, and was out of the door before anyone could protest.

“I wonder who it can be,” remarked Mrs. Stephenson, laying aside her magazine, and the men were distracted from their discussion.

“Probably Hayes about the point-to-point,” replied her husband. “He said he'd let me know when it was to be held.”

But when Julie came back into the lounge she was accompanied by a young man whom Ruth recognised as Peter Forrester, one of the guests at the party last evening.

Mrs. Stephenson smiled a welcome. “Oh, hello, Peter. This is a pleasant surprise.”

Peter Forrester was a thin, attractive young man in his late twenties. Recalling what she knew about him, Ruth decided he looked very much the outdoor type he was. His father farmed the land to the north of Julie's father's estate, and Peter had been to agricultural college and was at present acting as bailiff for another landowner in the district. Ruth also knew that he was very fond of Julie and that she would probably finish by marrying someone exactly like that. Julie was a country girl at heart, and although she enjoyed coming up to town and staying with Ruth and her father, deep down she preferred the open spaces.

Peter looked awkwardly round the company, and said: “Well, actually, Mrs. Stephenson, I didn't realise that Ruth was staying over for another night. I thought Julie might be on her own. I was going to suggest taking her out for an hour or two.” Julie visibly brightened, but her mother merely nodded. “Never mind, Peter. Now you're here, you can stay. Julie was just about to put on some records, weren't you, darling?”

Julie hesitated, looked mutinous, and then acquiesced. “Yes, Mummy,” she murmured resignedly.

Ruth was feeling rather de trop. “If you'd like to go out with Peter, Julie, I don't mind,” she began.

“Nonsense.” Julie's father entered the conversation. “Julie knows better than that –”

“Perhaps I might make a suggestion.” Patrick Hardy's voice was quietly compelling. “Why don't we all go out for a while? We could drive into Devizes and stop off somewhere for a drink.”

Julie's mother looked at her husband questioningly. “Do you want to do that, James?”

Ruth's nails curled into her palms. No one was asking her opinion, and the very last thing she wanted was to be thrust into Patrick Hardy's presence for several hours.

James Stephenson considered the suggestion frowningly. “Well, I'm not really enthusiastic,” he admitted. “I was looking forward to a quiet evening.”

“Good.” His wife looked as though this submission had pleased her. “I don't particularly want to go out either. But you four can, can't you?”

Ruth felt terrible. She couldn't be placed in such an intolerable situation! “I – I don't particularly want to go out either,” she said.

“Don't be silly, Ruth!” Mrs. Stephenson overruled her protest. “Of course you do. We're just too old, that's all.”

Ruth looked helplessly towards Julie, but Julie was far too delighted with this turn of events to do anything to help her. There seemed nothing for it but to agree.

“Fine.” That was Patrick Hardy again. He walked across to where the three young people were standing. “I suggest you and Julie go in your car, Forrester, and Miss Farrell and I will go in mine.”

Ruth looked up at him angrily, trying to compel him to look at her and witness her frustration. But he seemed indifferent to her feelings completely, and she was forced to accompany the others into the hall to collect their coats.

In fact, Ruth had no coat, only a tweed cape which she wore for all occasions, but at least it was warm and she shrugged herself into it, spurning anyone's assistance.

“There's a good pub outside of Sharning,” said Peter, helping Julie on with her coat. “The Beeswing, do you know it?”

“I'm afraid not.” Patrick pulled on a dark grey overcoat with a fur lining. “But you lead the way – we'll follow.”

“Okay.” Peter was obviously feeling pleased with himself. “Ruth knows the Sharning road and it's just beyond the village.”

“Right.”

Patrick nodded and they all went outside to get into the cars. Ruth had to wait while Patrick brought his car out of the garage and the others waved and drove off as the Mini came to a halt beside her. Patrick pushed open the door from inside and Ruth got in quickly, folding her long skirts about her legs.

“I hope you don't find this too confining,” he commented dryly, as she was wondering how he managed to get behind the wheel. “But I needed some form of transport and as I don't intend to do any great distance this seemed ideal for towns.”