My Sister Celia Page 12

  Big tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, and, as she stood staring at a great blowsy pink rose, the outlines of the overblown blossom wavered and broke into a blur.

  She must stop being so silly, she told herself. Celia’s conversation might not last as long as had seemed likely. If she should follow her out into the garden...

  But it was not Celia who followed Freda out into the garden. It was Brian. And he came upon her long before she had her tears under control.

  “What’s the matter, Freda?”

  His voice spoke so unexpectedly behind her that she jumped, and said automatically,

  “Nothing!”

  “Well, obviously there’s something.” He spoke in his pleasant, reasonable voice, without any sign of harassing her, but as though he expected to get to the bottom of the matter. “You aren’t the kind of girl to go away and cry on your own for nothing. Suppose you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s so-so silly, really.”

  “Lots of things that hurt are silly,” Brian said kindly. “They don’t hurt any the less for that. Come on, Freda—you’re more or less my responsibility, you know, while you’re in this house and my parents are away.”

  “A-am I?” She blinked her wet lashes and looked wonderingly at him.

  “Well, of course. What’s the matter?”

  “I w-wanted to speak to L-Larry,” stammered Freda.

  “You wanted— ? But there was nothing to prevent you.” He looked surprised, as well he might. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I—couldn’t. It’s all so—complicated. I can’t explain.”

  He did not start protesting or arguing over that. He just looked at her thoughtfully. And then, by what seemed to her an almost uncanny leap of intuition, he asked calmly,

  “Look here, are you keen on him, instead of disliking him thoroughly, as you thought at first?” Freda stared at Brian in awe. Then she nodded slowly.

  “And you wished it could have been you who did all the talking and arranging, instead of Celia?” Again she nodded, fascinated by what seemed to her to be his perspicacity.

  “Well, that’s quite simple.” Brian patted her shoulder encouragingly. “You only have to drop a strong hint to Celia and—”

  “Oh, no!” Freda exclaimed quickly. “No—Celia mustn’t know a word of this!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—Oh, it’s so complicated! Because she too—” Freda stopped helplessly.

  “She’s keen on him too! I say, he is in demand, isn’t he?” said Brian, rubbing his chin reflectively, and she thought he had some difficulty in suppressing a smile. However, to his credit, he did suppress it. And, although his eyes twinkled rather, they rested kindly on Freda’s somewhat woebegone face.

  “So you’re prepared to step aside for your beloved sister, even if it means giving up the man you want?” he said reflectively. “That’s extraordinarily magnanimous of you, Freda.”

  “I—I don’t know what else to do.” Freda drew a long sigh. “I love her. And if she wants to marry Laurence—she must.”

  “Think so?” Brian smiled at her drily, in the faint moonlight which was beginning to filter through the branches of the trees. “Well, I’ll let you into a secret, Freda. I love her too. And she isn’t going to marry any Laurence Clumber—or anyone else but me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “BUT—Brian—” Freda stared at him, hope and incredulity alternating in her face. “How can you be so certain? How do you know you’re going to marry Celia eventually?”

  “I’ve known it for the last two years,” he replied coolly. “It will take more than Laurence Clumber to put me off.”

  “Do you mean—” Freda was impressed in spite of herself. “Do you mean that you won’t let her marry him?”

  “Reduced to its simplest terms, I suppose that’s what I do mean,” Brian agreed.

  “How are you going to prevent her?”

  “The same way I’ve prevented her marrying all the other Laurences,” he replied with a smile. “This isn’t the first time, by a long chalk. Celia’s both romantic and flirtatious. She enjoys falling in love. She even enjoys falling out of love. That’s a very different thing from wanting to settle down and marry someone.”

  “She says this is quite different from the others,” Freda observed diffidently.

  “They’ve all been different from the others,” Brian assured her a trifle callously. “Don’t break your heart about this, Freda. It’ll turn out all right.”

  “If you—say so—” Even now, Freda hardly dared to draw a breath of hopeful relief. “I can’t feel quite so—confident as you appear to be.”

  “You haven’t been through it as often as I have,” he told her, with a sort of kindly cynicism. “I tore myself to ribbons about it the first time.”

  “Then you’ve—you’ve been in love with her for a long time?”

  “Most of my adult life,” he admitted. “For quite a while I didn’t think I had any chance with her. She always regarded me as her brother, and I supposed that took all the romance out of things. But after a while I found that, although she immensely enjoyed a romantic flutter with someone else, it was on my shoulder that she invariably wept a few enjoyable tears when it was all over.”

  Freda laughed reluctantly. But she said diffidently,

  “Couldn’t that be the supreme evidence that she regarded you as a brother only?”

  “I used to think so.”

  “But you don’t now?”

  “No, Freda. Over the years, I’ve found that, by the merciful dispensation of Providence, I seem to have most of the things that Celia wants in a man. I take no credit for it. I’m only humbly thankful that it is so. After a while—she has told me so, with great candour, herself—she compares her latest love with me. And I’m thankful to say the balance has always been tipped on my side.”

  “Aren’t you scared that one day it won’t?”

  “Yes, of course. Only I’m not so scared as you are because, as I said before, I’ve been through it rather often.”

  “I see.” Again Freda gave that reluctant little laugh. “But there’s something I must ask. May I?”

  “Of course.”

  “If she feels you have most of the things she wants in a man, why doesn’t she marry you? Haven’t you asked her?”

  “Yes, certainly. Her reply—as one might expect with Celia—is that she wants her freedom a little longer, that she can’t quite make up her mind. She’s too used to me—I’m a dear, but—you know the sort of argument. I can’t press her too hard. I can only” —he frowned slightly and looked away from Freda with the first hint of restlessness she had seen in him—“give her a little more rope—and wait.”

  “There is such a thing as giving a girl too much rope,” Freda said shrewdly.

  “Yes, I know. I’m not unaware of the dangers, Freda. It’s just that I try not to let them rattle me. Tell me—is she very much attracted by Laurence Clumber?”

  “She—seems to think so,” said Freda, wondering uneasily if she were in some way betraying a confidence by admitting that.

  “Very well. I’ll come down to Crowmain on Friday of next week—and stay as long as I can.”

  “Oh, I’m glad!” Freda heaved a sigh of relief. And at that moment Celia called from the house, “Hello, there! Are you both in the garden?”

  “Yes,” Brian called back. “Come out and join us.”

  She didn’t answer, but a moment or two later they saw the pale sheen of her dress as she came down the path towards them.

  “What on earth were you doing? Watching the moon rise?” she enquired, as she came up with them.

  “That, and discussing you,” replied Brian, with a cool candour that made Freda’s heart skip a beat.

  “You don’t say?” Celia sounded pleased rather than put out. “What had you to say about me?”

  “Oh, quite a lot. We agreed, on balance, that you were a singularly nice child.” Brian ruf
fled her dark hair with a touch of careless affection which—Freda realized now—was exactly what Celia liked. “We expressed mutual anxiety that you might, in your characteristic impulsiveness, one day fall for the wrong man. But we finally decided that your native common sense—not to mention my affectionate supervision—would probably save you from clinching a serious error.”

  Freda was divided between admiration and terror at this apparently joking, but really exact, description of their conversation. But Celia laughed easily, and affectionately linked her arm in Brian’s.

  “You do think you know what’s best for me, don’t you?” she said, in a tone of friendly derision.

  “There have been times when I’ve thought that I have my uses in your life,” he replied good-humouredly.

  “Hark at the self-satisfied male! Doesn’t he need a lesson? Where are you, Freda darling?” She reached out in the gloom with her disengaged hand and slipped her other arm into Freda’s.

  “I love you both.” She laughed and hugged their arms. “And I adore being talked about. It makes me feel important. But, when it comes to managing my own life, I’m pretty good at it myself.”

  “Of course,” said Brian, in a tone which sounded almost bored. “Don’t take us too seriously. Shall we go in now?”

  So they went into the house, and Freda had no way of guessing whether Brian were disturbed or serenely untroubled by that final statement of Celia’s.

  Much later that evening, however, Celia came to her room, clad in a flowered nylon housecoat which made her look so enchanting and appealing that Freda felt she would have given her anything. Well—almost anything.

  “Can I come and talk?” enquired Celia, curling up in the arm-chair by Freda’s bed.

  “Yes, of course.” Freda sat up, and looked at her sister with something between affection and anxiety. “About anything special?”

  “Well—about Brian, I suppose. And myself—and you—and Laurence. I’m not sure”—she frowned slightly—“that it was a particularly good idea of mine that Brian should join us at Crowmain.”

  “Oh, but, Celia—of course it was! There’s no one I’d rather have as a fourth in the party. He’s supposed to be there for—for my benefit. Remember?”

  “Yes. From that point of view, of course he’s splendid,” Celia conceded. “But”—again she frowned—“he may be tiresome over Laurence.” Freda was silent, and then found that she was holding her breath and expelled it on a gentle sigh.

  “You mean he might not approve?” she suggested, wondering if she were being very astute or rather mean. But it was difficult to see how she could be perfectly frank and yet respect the confidence Brian had placed in her.

  Celia nodded.

  “He’s a bit inclined to be—managing about my affairs, you know.”

  “He is very fond of you, isn’t he?” Freda said quietly. “It’s hard not to take a hand in the affairs of someone one loves.”

  Celia moved impatiently.

  “Sometimes I wish Brian didn’t love me quite so much,” she muttered, and she looked rather unhappy.

  “Nonsense.” Freda smiled at her with more composure than she would have believed possible. “What would you do if you hadn’t got him to lean on and confide in? He’s one of the corner-stones of your existence.”

  Celia opened her eyes wide.

  “Have you seen so much in so short a time?” she exclaimed. “You’re very observant, Freda.”

  Freda felt something of a fraud at this point. But she managed to smile and look observant.

  “Well, I drew that conclusion, at any rate,” she said. “I can’t quite imagine you without Brian, Celia.”

  “I can’t quite imagine myself without him either,” Celia admitted, running her hand distractedly through her hair. “But of course, if I really fell in love with someone and married him, there wouldn’t be any place for Brian in my life.”

  “That,” said Freda, wondering if she were being unfair—and to whom, “would hit him pretty hard, I guess.”

  “I know. That’s why—” Celia broke off and sighed impatiently.

  “Did you never,” asked Freda deliberately, “think of marrying Brian himself?”

  “Yes, of course.” Celia was quite frank about that. “But then—I know him so well, Freda. There are no delicious romantic surprises about Brian. I know he’s devotedly mine—and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Isn’t that a dangerous view to take about any man?” Freda said doubtfully.

  “Oh, no. Not with Brian. He’s always there—like the Bank of England,” Celia declared.

  “But he’s very attractive, in his way. I should think he’s the kind that quite a lot of girls would run after?”

  “Oh, yes, they do. Coralie, for instance. That’s why she hates me,” said Celia cheerfully. “You remember her?—at the Ronaldsons’ party.”

  “Yes, I remember her,” Freda agreed. And suddenly she also remembered that Coralie had looked at her in a less than friendly way. “I think”—Freda smiled slightly—“she even thought that I had designs on Brian.”

  “Very likely.” Celia shrugged. “She’s a bit of a cat, anyway. And of course not Brian’s type at all.”

  “What,” asked Freda with a smile, “would you call Brian’s type, then?”

  Celia gave this her serious consideration. And then, after a moment, she said in a rather surprised sort of voice,

  “You, I suppose.”

  “Me?” Freda looked astonished.

  “Yes. You’re really a much gentler, kinder version of me,” Celia explained. “More thoughtful, less impulsive—really, quite up Brian’s street.”

  But Freda laughed with genuine amusement at this point.

  “We’re getting altogether too theoretical,” she declared. “And I have an idea that this conversation is developing into something quite silly. To go right back to your original assertion—I’m sure it was a good idea for us to persuade Brian to join us in Crowmain. So let’s not worry too much beforehand, but just take things as they come.”

  “You’re probably right,” Celia said solemnly, and she got up and stretched herself contentedly. “What a comfort you are, Freda! So calm and detached about things. I don’t believe you ever get into a fluster about anything.”

  This estimate of herself so dumfounded Freda, in her present state of anxiety and indecision, that she could only smile vaguely at Celia and bid her an affectionate good night. But when her sister had gone she lay there in the dark, reflecting that at least it was fortunate she didn’t seem to betray her feelings to Celia, however thoroughly she might have let Brian into her heart’s secrets.

  When Freda’s holiday actually started, she was touched to discover that it was considered sufficiently important to impart an air of festivity to the whole household. A special dinner was provided. Brian took the two girls to the theatre on the Saturday evening. And, on the following Monday, Freda and Celia started shopping for the cottage in real earnest.

  By now they knew almost exactly what they wanted, and Freda knew exactly what she could afford to pay. But then it turned out that Celia—who enjoyed quite a handsome allowance from her parents—had every intention of shouldering at least some of the expense.

  “Let me at any rate pay for the furniture in ‘my’ room,” she begged. “It will make me feel that I really have a stake of my own in the cottage.” With this point of view it was difficult to argue, and so Freda willingly agreed to let Celia have her way.

  It was while they were blissfully drifting from the carpet department to tables and chairs that Celia paused suddenly beside an isolated fashion stand and said,

  “Those are pretty. That’s just the kind of overall we both need when we’re being thoroughly domesticated during the move.”

  Freda also came to a halt, to examine the charming blue and white check nylon overalls which had attracted Celia’s attention.

  ‘They wash in a couple of minutes and need no ironing,” explained a
n assistant glibly. “One needn’t wear a dress under them. They’re ideal for the warm weather.”

  “Have you got them in any other colour?” Freda fingered one approvingly.

  “No, madam. It’s a very special line,” the assistant said rather severely. “And blue and white looks fresher than anything else.”

  “I know. But,” Freda smiled, “no one would know us apart if we dressed alike. You have one if you like, Celia. I’ll choose something else.”

  “No, no. There’s nothing else half so nice,” Celia declared. “And anyway”—suddenly a roguish smile came over her face—“it would be rather fun for once to look exactly alike, and see if people really could tell the difference.”

  The assistant glanced curiously from one to the other, and seemed to take in for the first time the astonishing likeness between them.

  “My, you must be twins!” she said. “I’ve never seen two grown-ups so alike. You see it sometimes in children, but not very often when people get older.”

  “It would be interesting to see if people go by sheer facial likeness, or whether to those who really knows us there’s an essential difference somewhere. Come on, Freda—let’s try it and see,” Celia urged.

  “Oh, I don’t know—”

  Somehow, for some reason she could not explain, Freda felt slightly afraid of the experiment.

  But Celia would hear nothing against a suggestion which commended itself both to her sense of humour and natural curiosity. And in the end the two overalls were bought, wrapped up and taken away.

  During the other excitements of the day’s shopping, Freda forgot about them. But, as soon as they got home, Celia said,

  “Let’s put on our overalls and be sitting in the drawing-room when Brian comes in. He’s the best person we can possibly choose for trying them out.”

  “Oh, Celia—do you really want to?” Again Freda felt that vague reluctance.

  “Yes, of course. I think it’s rather fun. Don’t you?”