yacht properly. Show me the rest of it.”
It was an obvious move and one that he appeared to find slightly funny, but he drained his glass and followed her out on deck.
Half an hour later they steamed back into the haven of Port Quentin. Charles threw, a few instructions to the deck hand, helped Laurette on to the jetty and steadied her as they walked along it to the wide rough road which led up, between overgrown gardens, to the Kelsey mansion.
When she entered the veranda her face was flushed, her hair tumbled. Her father greeted them from his long chair.
“What was it like out there? You must take her again, Charles. The sea has made her beautiful.”
Charles’ glance at her was pleasantly interested. “I shouldn’t give the sea all the credit.”
“I should say not!” she put in quickly. “I had some gin. Will you excuse me now, while I change?”
As she washed and got into a green flowered frock, Laurette found herself humming a catchy tune which was popular on the radio. She made up carefully, happy in the certainty that today she actually was more attractive. It must have been the wind which made her skin glow, and the salt air in her lungs that made it imperative for her to sing.
When Mr. Kelsey arrived, they lunched on the veranda, and afterwards Laurette sat there with her father, desultorily chatting and reading. Later, after she had brought him a cup of tea, she wandered about the garden, snipping off full-blown magnolia blossoms for the floating bowl, and cutting other flowers of varying lengths for the flower-baskets in the lounge. The arrangement of them took a long time and was an enjoyable task.
At five-thirty, when the sun had gone, Charles came back from polo, and at once he called a houseboy to help carry John Delaney in his long chair to his bedroom.
Laurette’s father refused to have done for him those things which he could do for himself. He washed and shaved, gave his reddish hair the military brushing to which it was accustomed and tied his own tie. But whenever he needed to be moved or helped in dressing, Charles was there, jesting a little as he lent a strong arm or a dextrous hand.
It was dark when Laurette had a bath and put on a coral pink frock and a necklace of tiny cornelians. She had no idea who had been invited tonight, but she knew most ofthe people in Port Quentin and was unafraid. Her father was well liked, and everyone would be pleased to see him so bright in spite of the maddening frustration of having to sit most of the time.
She came into the lounge to find it brilliantly lit but deserted. A large silver tray on top of the cabinet was set with many glasses, and soon a boy entered carrying a bucket of ice and a crystal bowl of lemon slices.
Laurette stood at the french window, revelling in the cool air about her neck and shoulders; in Pondoland one could wear off-the-shoulder creations in comfort. The veranda lights threw into relief the immense colonial pillars, and the flying beetles beat crazy zigzag patterns in their frenzy to get at the lamps. Frangipani perfumed the air and the palms whispered.
She heard a sound and turned to find Mr. Kelsey, correctly attired in a white dinner jacket, surveying the severely luxurious scene from just inside the doorway.
“Hullo, my dear,” he said. “You look very sweet. I’ve just had a note from Ben to say that he can’t get along tonight.”
“But it’s Saturday! Did he say why?”
“A doctor doesn’t have to. Don’t look so disappointed. He’ll be here in a day or two to see your father.”
“And, anyway, I shall be starting work on Monday,” she said.
But she was sorry he would not be coming tonight because, since talking with Charles this morning, she felt she owed Ben more than the allegiance of an employee for her boss. It tied her up inside to think of Ben loving her, but it had to be faced and sensibly dealt with. Some time she would have to find out whether he really did feel uncomfortable with,
It was an obvious move and one that he appeared to find slightly funny, but he drained his glass and followed her out on deck.
Half an hour later they steamed back into the haven of Port Quentin. Charles threw, a few instructions to the deck hand, helped Laurette on to the jetty and steadied her as they walked along it to the wide rough road which led up, between overgrown gardens, to the Kelsey mansion.
When she entered the veranda her face was flushed, her hair tumbled. Her father greeted them from his long chair.
“What was it like out there? You must take her again, Charles. The sea has made her beautiful.”
Charles’ glance at her was pleasantly interested. “I shouldn’t give the sea all the credit.”
“I should say not!” she put in quickly. “I had some gin. Will you excuse me now, while I change?”
As she washed and got into a green flowered frock, Laurette found herself humming a catchy tune which was popular on the radio. She made up carefully, happy in the certainty that today she actually was more attractive. It must have been the wind which made her skin glow, and the salt air in her lungs that made it imperative for her to sing.
When Mr. Kelsey arrived, they lunched on the veranda, and afterwards Laurette sat there with her father, desultorily chatting and reading. Later, after she had brought him a cup of tea, she wandered about the garden, snipping off full-blown magnolia blossoms for the floating bowl, and cutting other flowers of varying lengths for the flower-baskets in the lounge. The arrangement of them took a long time and was an enjoyable task.
At five-thirty, when the sun had gone, Charles came back from polo, and at once he called a houseboy to help carry John Delaney in his long chair to his bedroom.
Laurette’s father refused to have done for him those things which he could do for himself. He washed and shaved, gave his reddish hair the military brushing to which it was accustomed and tied his own tie. But whenever he needed to be moved or helped in dressing, Charles was there, jesting a little as he lent a strong arm or a dextrous hand.
It was dark when Laurette had a bath and put on a coral pink frock and a necklace of tiny cornelians. She had no idea who had been invited tonight, but she knew most ofthe people in Port Quentin and was unafraid. Her father was well liked, and everyone would be pleased to see him so bright in spite of the maddening frustration of having to sit most of the time.
She came into the lounge to find it brilliantly lit but deserted. A large silver tray on top of the cabinet was set with many glasses, and soon a boy entered carrying a bucket of ice and a crystal bowl of lemon slices.
Laurette stood at the french window, revelling in the cool air about her neck and shoulders; in Pondoland one could wear off-the-shoulder creations in comfort. The veranda lights threw into relief the immense colonial pillars, and the flying beetles beat crazy zigzag patterns in their frenzy to get at the lamps. Frangipani perfumed the air and the palms whispered.
She heard a sound and turned to find Mr. Kelsey, correctly attired in a white dinner jacket, surveying the severely luxurious scene from just inside the doorway.
“Hullo, my dear,” he said. “You look very sweet. I’ve just had a note from Ben to say that he can’t get along tonight.”
“But it’s Saturday! Did he say why?”
“A doctor doesn’t have to. Don’t look so disappointed. He’ll be here in a day or two to see your father.”
“And, anyway, I shall be starting work on Monday,” she said.
But she was sorry he would not be coming tonight because, since talking with Charles this morning, she felt she owed Ben more than the allegiance of an employee for her boss. It tied her up inside to think of Ben loving her, but it had to be faced and sensibly dealt with. Some time she would have to find out whether he really did feel uncomfortable with,
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