The Morning Gift

‘And Verena being such a heroine, too!’ said Helen, a little blood-stained round the fingers from the chicken wire. ‘We’re all so impressed.’

For Verena’s version of what had happened on the Farnes had gained general currency. Everyone knew that a foreign girl had lost her head and jumped into the sea, putting everyone’s life into jeopardy, that Quin had been furious, and that Verena, by keeping calm and holding the boat steady, had been able to avert a tragedy.

‘I’m not quite sure why the girl jumped in the first place?’ asked Helen. ‘Someone said it was to save that mongrel puppy of yours, but that can’t be right surely?’

‘Yes, that seems to have been the reason,’ said Frances.

Though they could see that Frances didn’t really want to discuss the accident, her friends’ curiosity was thoroughly aroused.

‘It seems such an extraordinary thing to do,’ said Ann. ‘And for a foreigner! I thought they didn’t like animals. Though I must say the cowman was the same – when a calf died you had to drag him away or he’d have spent all night weeping over the cow.’

‘How is he getting on?’

‘He’s gone down to London – they’ve taken him on in the chorus at Covent Garden and the dairymaid’s distraught. Silly creature – he never gave her the least encouragement.’ But the change of subject had not, as Frances hoped, diverted her. ‘What’s she like, this girl? The one who jumped?’

‘She’s blonde too,’ said Frances wearily.

Helen Stanton-Derby sighed. ‘Well, it’s all very unsatisfactory,’ she said. ‘Let’s just hope something can be done about Hitler before the place is flooded out.’

But Ann now was looking upwards – and there stood Verena ready to descend!

Just for a moment, the faces of all three ladies showed the same flicker of unease – a flicker which was almost at once extinguished. It was touching that Verena had taken so much trouble, and in the softer light of the drawing room or beneath the Chinese lanterns on the terrace, the colour of the dress would be toned down. And anyway, it wasn’t what they thought of her dress that mattered – it was how she looked to Quin.

They turned their heads and relief coursed through them. Quin had entered the hall and moved over to the staircase. He meant to welcome her, to tell her how nice she looked.

And up to a point, this was true. Reminded of Verena’s unfortunate tumble on the night she came, touched by his aunt’s mysterious but undoubted affection for the Placketts he smiled at the birthday girl and though Lady Plackett was standing by to pay the necessary compliments, it was he who said: ‘You look charming, Verena. Without doubt, you’ll be the belle of the ball.’

As he led her through to the drawing room, a distant telephone began to ring.

Down on the beach, Ruth was gathering driftwood. It was a job she loved; a kind of useful beachcombing. The puppy was with her; ‘helping’, but cured of the sea. When she went too near the water, he dropped the sticks he had been corralling, and sat on his haunches and howled.

‘It’s going to be a lovely bonfire; the best ever,’ said Pilly, and Ruth nodded, wrinkling her nose with delight at the smell of wood smoke and tar and seaweed, and that other smell . . . the tangy, mysterious smell that might be ozone but might just be the sea itself. The happiness that Quin had shattered on the boat had returned. She felt that she wanted to stay here for ever, living and learning with her friends.

Looking up, she saw a man come down the cliff path and go into the boathouse, and presently Dr Felton came out and made his way towards them.

‘Your mother telephoned, Ruth. She wants you to ring her back at once. She’s waiting by the phone.’ And seeing her face: ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I expect Heini’s come early.’

‘Yes.’ But Ruth’s face was drained of all colour. No one telephoned lightly at Number 27. The phone was in the hall, overheard, rickety. The coins collected for it always came out of a jam jar as important as hers for Heini, one spoke over a buzz of interference. Her mother would not have phoned without a strong reason when she was due home so soon in any case. It could, of course, be marvellous news . . . Heini on an earlier plane . . . it could be that.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Pilly.

‘No, Pilly, I’d rather go alone. You keep the dog.’

The servant was waiting, ready to escort her.

‘If you come with me, miss, I’ll take you to Mr Turton. There’s a bit of a row going on at the house with the guests arriving, but Mr Turton’s got a phone in his pantry. You’ll be private there.’

‘Yes,’ said Ruth. ‘Thank you.’ And swallowed hard because her mouth was very dry, and dredged up a smile, and followed him up the path towards the house.