Farr laughed. ‘I don’t think you are a pacifist.’
‘You do not think I am what?’ Pilar seemed puzzled by a word which had not previously entered her vocabulary.
‘Do you forgive your enemies, señorita?’
Pilar shook her head. ‘I have no enemies. But if I had – ’
‘Well?’
He was watching her, fascinated anew by the sweet, cruel upward-curving mouth.
Pilar said gravely: ‘If I had an enemy – if anyone hated me and I hated them – then I would cut my enemy’s throat like this…’
She made a graphic gesture.
It was so swift and so crude that Stephen Farr was momentarily taken aback. He said: ‘You are a bloodthirsty young woman!’
Pilar asked in a matter-of-fact tone: ‘What would you do to your enemy?’
He started – stared at her, then laughed aloud. ‘I wonder[13] – ’ he said. ‘I wonder!’
Pilar said disapprovingly: ‘But surely – you know.’
He checked his laughter, drew in his breath and said in a low voice: ‘Yes. I know…’
Then with a rapid change of manner, he asked: ‘What made you come to England?’
Pilar replied with a certain demureness. ‘I am going to stay with my relations – with my English relations.’
‘I see.’
He leaned back in his seat, studying her – wondering what these English relations of whom she spoke were like – wondering what they would make of this Spanish stranger… trying to picture her in the midst of some sober British family[14] at Christmas time.
Pilar asked: ‘Is it nice, South Africa, yes?’
He began to talk to her about South Africa. She listened with the pleased attention of a child hearing a story. He enjoyed her naïve but shrewd questions and amused himself by making a kind of exaggerated fairy story of it all.
The return of the proper occupants of the carriage put an end to this diversion. He rose, smiled into her eyes, and made his way out again into the corridor.
As he stood back for a minute in the doorway, to allow an elderly lady to come in, his eyes fell on the label of Pilar’s obviously foreign straw case. He read the name with interest – Miss Pilar Estravados – then as his eye caught the address it widened to incredulity and some other feeling – Gorston Hall, Longdale, Addlesfield.
He half-turned, staring at the girl with a new expression – puzzled, resentful, suspicious… He went out into the corridor and stood there smoking a cigarette and frowning to himself…
III
In the big blue and gold drawing-room at Gorston Hall Alfred Lee and Lydia, his wife, sat discussing their plans for Christmas. Alfred was a squarely built man of middle age with a gentle face and mild brown eyes. His voice when he spoke was quiet and precise with a very clear enunciation. His head was sunk into his shoulders and he gave a curious impression of inertia. Lydia, his wife, was an energetic, lean greyhound of a woman. She was amazingly thin, but all her movements had a swift, startled grace about them.
There was no beauty in her careless, haggard face, but it had distinction. Her voice was charming.
Alfred said: ‘Father insists! There’s nothing else to it.’
Lydia controlled a sudden impatient movement. She said: ‘Must you always give in to him[15]?’
‘He’s a very old man, my dear – ’
‘Oh, I know – I know!’
‘He expects to have his own way[16].’
Lydia said dryly: ‘Naturally, since he has always had it! But some time or other[17], Alfred, you will have to make a stand.’
‘What do you mean, Lydia?’
He stared at her, so palpably upset and startled, that for a moment she bit her lip and seemed doubtful whether to go on.
Alfred Lee repeated: ‘What do you mean, Lydia?’
She shrugged her thin, graceful shoulders. She said, trying to choose her words cautiously: ‘Your father is – inclined to be – tyrannical – ’
‘He’s old.’
‘And will grow older. And consequently more tyrannical. Where will it end? Already he dictates our lives to us completely. We can’t make a plan of our own! If we do, it is always liable to be upset[18].’
Alfred said: ‘Father expects to come first. He is very good to us, remember.’
‘Oh! good to us!’
‘Very good to us.’ Alfred spoke with a trace of sternness.
Lydia said calmly: ‘You mean financially?’
‘Yes. His own wants are very simple. But he never grudges us money[19]. You can spend what you like on dress and on this house, and the bills are paid without a murmur. He gave us a new car only last week.’
‘As far as money goes[20], your father is very generous, I admit,’ said Lydia. ‘But in return he expects us to behave like slaves.’
‘Slaves?’
‘That’s the word I used. You are his slave, Alfred. If we have planned to go away and Father suddenly wishes us not to go, you cancel your arrangements and remain without a murmur! If the whim takes him to send us away, we go… We have no lives of our own – no independence.’
Her husband said distressfully: ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like this, Lydia. It is very ungrateful. My father has done everything for us…’
She bit off a retort that was on her lips. She shrugged those thin, graceful shoulders once more.
Alfred said: ‘You know, Lydia, the old man is very fond of you – ’
His wife said clearly and distinctly: ‘I am not at all fond of him.’
‘Lydia, it distresses me to hear you say things like that. It is so unkind – ’
‘Perhaps. But sometimes a compulsion comes over one to speak the truth.’
‘If Father guessed – ’
‘Your father knows perfectly well that I do not like him! It amuses him, I think.’
‘Really, Lydia, I am sure you are wrong there. He has often told
I wonder – (
in the midst of some sober British family – (
give in to him – (
to have his own way – (
some time or other – (
it is always liable to be upset – (
never grudges us money – (
As far as money goes – (
