Duelling Fire

‘Does she?’ Harriet’s response was contemptuous, but with a great effort of will she managed to control the impulse to say any more. With her fingers locked tightly together, she gave him silent permission to leave them, and Jude cast Sara a mocking glance as he let himself indolently out of the room.

Alone, the two women exchanged awkward smiles. Sara was embarrassed at having witnessed such a scene, and Harriet seemed absorbed with her thoughts, and less than willing to share them. If only she knew Harriet well enough to offer some advice, Sara thought indignantly, her earlier sense of repugnance giving way to compassion. If what she suspected was true, and Harriet did nurture some affection for the young man, she ought to be warned of his insolence and his disloyalty, for whatever else could one call his overbearing arrogance?

‘Harriet—–’

‘Sara—–’

They both started to speak, and then broke off together in the same way. Sara, half glad that she had not been allowed to finish what she had started, insisted that Harriet have her say, and the older woman patted her arm before putting down her glass.

‘I just wanted to say you mustn’t take my arguments with Jude seriously,’ she said. ‘He and I—well, we’ve known one another a long time, and sometimes—sometimes, I’m afraid, I allow familiarity to get the better of me.’

Sara was taken aback. ‘Honestly, Harriet, you don’t have to explain yourself to me—–’

‘Oh, but I do.’ Harriet was quite recovered from her upset now. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want you to think that Jude and I don’t—understand one another.’

‘Really, Harriet—–’

‘Jude’s a little wild sometimes, that’s all,’ the older woman carried on, almost as if Sara hadn’t spoken. ‘He likes to show his independence. That’s natural. We all like to show our independence sometimes, don’t we?’

Sara shook her head. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Oh, but it is.’ Harriet hesitated for a moment, and then, as if having second thoughts, poured herself another drink. ‘After all, you’re going to be living here—for a while at least—and so is Jude. I don’t want you to—well, take sides.’

The qualification of Harriet’s comment did not register right then. What did was the information that Jude actually lived here, in the house. But where? And how? And to what purpose?

A tap at the door brought Sara round with a start, but it was only Janet come to tell her mistress that dinner was served.

‘Yon young devil’s gone out then, has he?’ she demanded, her sharp beady eyes searching the room. ‘Rob thought he heard the car five minutes since.’

‘Yes.’ Harriet finished her second Scotch and soda and returned her glass to the tray. ‘There’ll be just the two of us, Janet, so please, let’s hear no more about it.’

Dinner was served in an attractively furnished room, with half panelled walls and a beamed ceiling. The rectangular table and heavy chairs matched their surroundings, as did the long serving cabinets and gleaming candelabra.

During the meal, Sara made a conscious effort not to think about Jude, or of his relationship with the woman she had always regarded as her aunt. After all, her position had not significantly changed. She had come here to be Harriet’s companion, and the fact that there was someone else living in the house should make no difference. She sighed, as she helped herself to spiced chicken, creamy in its rich white sauce. Why should she feel so surprised anyway? Harriet was still a very attractive woman. It was natural that she should enjoy a man’s company. But what really disturbed Sara, if she was totally honest, was the identity of the man involved, and the fact that he must be at least fifteen years younger than Harriet.

When dinner was over, they adjourned to the sitting room where they had had tea. The tray containing the coffee was set between them, and Sara relaxed before the comfortable warmth of the fire. It was going to be all right, she told herself firmly, and ignored the little voice that mocked her inexperience.

While they were eating, Harriet had said little of consequence, the comings and goings of Janet, and the young village girl, who Harriet explained came up daily to help her, serving to make any private conversation impossible. But now that they were alone again Harriet became more loquacious, casting any trace of melancholy aside, and applying herself to learning more about Sara herself.

‘Tell me,’ she said, confidingly, leaning towards her, ‘you’re what? Twenty-one years old now?’

‘Almost,’ Sara agreed, and Harriet continued: ‘Twenty, then. Reasonably mature, in these permissive days. You must have had lots of boy-friends, mixing with the kind of people your father generally cultivated.’

Sara shrugged. ‘Not many. Daddy—Daddy was quite strict, actually. He—he didn’t encourage me to accept invitations from other journalists.’

Harriet seemed pleased. ‘No?’ She hesitated. ‘I suspected as much. Charles, in common with others of his kind, probably followed the maxim, do as I say, not as I do!’

‘Daddy wanted to protect me.’ Sara could not let Harriet cast any slur on her father’s reputation, no matter how deserved. ‘But it wasn’t necessary,’ she added, pleating the skirt of her dress with sudden concentration. ‘I was quite capable of taking care of myself. Boarding school taught me a lot.’

Harriet nodded. ‘So—no boy-friends?’

Sara shrugged. ‘Some.’

‘But no one serious.’

‘No.’ Sara didn’t quite know whether she liked this form of questioning, but then she consoled herself with the thought that no doubt Harriet wanted to assure herself that no young man was likely to come and take her away, just as they were getting used to one another.

‘Good.’ Harriet smiled now. ‘I think we’re going to get on very well.’

‘I hope so.’

Harriet finished her coffee, and then lay back in her chair, regarding Sara with apparent affection. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’ve always wanted a daughter. Someone to talk to, to share my thoughts with, someone young and beautiful like you …’

‘You’re very kind.’

Sara grimaced, but Harriet was serious. ‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘Once I hoped, but—it was not to be.’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t know what it means to me, now that you’re here.’

‘I just hope I can make myself useful.’ Sara paused. ‘You still haven’t told me what you would like me to do.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’ Harriet lifted her hand, as if it was of no consequence. ‘There’s plenty of time for that. Settle down first, get the feel of the place, adjust to our way of life. Then we’ll start worrying about what there is for you to do.’

Sara sighed. ‘I don’t want to be a parasite.’

‘You won’t be that, my dear.’

‘No, but—well, if there’s not a lot for me to do here, perhaps I could take a job, even a part-time one, to help support—–’

‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Harriet sat upright. ‘I’m not a poor woman, Sara. One extra mouth to feed is not going to bankrupt me. And besides, there’ll be plenty for you to do, you’ll see.’

Sara was doubtful. Her foolish ideas of changing library books, reading to her aunt, or taking her for drives in the country, seemed so remote now and she didn’t honestly see what she could do to earn her keep.

‘Now, you’ll need some money,’ Harriet went on in a businesslike tone. ‘I propose to make you a monthly allowance, paid in advance, of course, and deposited to your account at the bank in Buford.’

‘I do have a little money,’ Sara protested, but Harriet waved her objections aside.

‘Keep it,’ she said. ‘You don’t know when a little capital might come in handy. Take the allowance, Sara. It would please me.’

Sara shook her head a trifle bemusedly. She was grateful to Harriet, more grateful than she could ever say; but vaguely apprehensive too, although of what she could not imagine. It was like a dream come true, this house, her room—Harriet’s kindness. Surely even Laura could have no complaints in such idyllic surroundings.

Jude had not returned when Sara went to bed. Janet brought hot chocolate and biscuits at ten o’clock, and by the time Sara had drunk hers, her eyes were drooping. It had been a long day, and in many ways an exhausting one, not least on her nerves, and she was relieved when Harriet suggested she should retire.

‘You must get your beauty sleep, darling,’ she remarked, lifting her cheek for Sara to kiss, and the girl hid her slight embarrassment as she quickly left the room.

The stairs were shadowy, now that the chandelier was no longer lit, but her room was warm and cosy. Someone had been in, in her absence, and turned down her bed, the rose-pink sheets soft and inviting, folded over the downy quilt.

Sara quickly shed her clothes and replaced them with a pair of cotton pyjamas. Then, after cleaning her teeth and removing her make-up, she slid between the sheets with eager anticipation. It was so good to feel the mattress yielding to her supple young body, and she curled her toes deliciously against the silky poplin. Sleep, she thought, that was what she needed. Right now, her mind was too confused to absorb any deeper impressions.

She must have fallen asleep immediately. She scarcely remembered turning out the lamp, but she awakened with a start to find her room in total darkness, so she must have done. She knew at once what had awakened her. The sound was still going on. And she lay there shivering unpleasantly, as the voices that had disturbed her sleep continued. She couldn’t hear everything that they were saying. Only now and then, Harriet’s voice rose to a crescendo and a tearful phrase emerged above the rest. For the most part it was a low and angry exchange, with Jude’s attractive tenor deepened to a harsh and scathing invective.