Clay who had come in with a thickset, heavy man, and was now sitting two tables away. “Can’t,” she was saying, “why can’t I, James? That miserable upstart. God, I could kill her with my own two hands…”
“S-s-h!” Her companion looked around anxiously. Fredericka busied herself with her apple pie and he seemed not to notice her.
“If you weren’t jealous, my dear, you’d see her as others do. She’s a good woman and I don’t know what your mother ever would have done without her.” He, too, sounded angry.
Catherine raised her voice again and fairly spat the next words at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve been charmed, too. Good God, and I thought you loved me!” She lowered her voice, and, as she leant across the table to her companion, her body seemed to quiver with the strength of her feeling. She now spoke rapidly and her thin hands gripped the edge of the table. Fredericka strained her ears and lingered to play with her pie, but she could distinguish no further words. As she looked covertly from the man’s heavy sensuous face to the woman’s, so obviously flushed by anger and passion, she began to tell herself a story worthy of one of her Victorian novelists. She picked up her bill with some impatience and hurried to the door. I wonder who James is, she thought, and then, if I let myself go any more, I’ll be writing an irrelevant chapter in my book, headed, “More Here Than Meets the Eye.”
The “good woman” was obviously Catherine’s cousin, Philippine Sutton who had been found in France by Catherine’s mother. Reason enough for jealousy. And James, whoever he was, had piled fuel on the flames. Fredericka wondered how soon she would see Philippine again. Yes, certainly, if Fredericka were given a chance for judgment, she would choose Philippine every time. But James was obviously smitten—or had been; it was hard to say.
Fredericka was aware that her thoughts were rambling, that she was over-exercising her imagination, and that she had a cold. But as she walked back to her bookshop home under the dripping trees, she was not wholly miserable. There was now the comforting thought that the Colonel would drop by for his books—and perhaps she would ask him to stay for supper. Her tidy mind remembered that there were eggs and cheese for a soufflé.
Chapter 3
The Saturday of South Sutton’s great bazaar dawned clear and hot and the anxious eyes scanning the skies for danger signals were relieved at all the weather signs. There might be a thunderstorm later on in the day, but that was to be expected in July, and would only add a little excitement to the festivities.
Fredericka got up early and sorted the collection of rental library culls promised by Miss Hartwell as the shop’s donation to the bazaar, and she had no sooner finished her task than there was a light knock at the front door. Fredericka waited a moment but her guest was more polite than most, and did not walk in. Fredericka hurried out and was delighted to discover Philippine Sutton on the doorstep. It had been a week since their first meeting on the day of Fredericka’s arrival and she had felt pleased by this first gesture of friendship and then a little hurt to find that she had been welcomed and, it seemed, forgotten.
“I am so sorry I have not been to see you before this. I have never been so busy at the lab and the orders for herbs have been pouring in. Roger and I have been hard at work every moment since you came—” She waved a hand in the direction of the road where Fredericka could see the jeep and in it a man slumped over the wheel. “Now we have come to see if we could take the books over to the church hall for you—and even now, we can’t stay.”
“How good of you. But can’t you both just come in for a cup of coffee? I haven’t met Mr. Sutton,” she added hesitantly.
Philippine frowned and then smiled. “Roger,” she called, and then louder: “Roger.” The man turned but made no reply. “Come and have a cup of coffee.”
“Really, Phil, we haven’t time to stop. You said—”
Philippine, with a gesture of impatience, hurried down the path to the car. She spoke to Roger quietly and, a moment later, the man uncoiled himself and followed Philippine up the walk. But it was obvious in every line of his body that it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
As he came nearer and Fredericka saw his scarred and seamed face, she could understand his reluctance. She also realized that the sensitiveness which made him hate to be seen would also make him bitterly resent any move that might be interpreted as sympathy. She shook his hand which was firm but cold in hers and then said: “Come in,” abruptly, and hurried ahead of them into the kitchen. As the two women sat down at the table in the window, Roger took his cup and stood leaning against the shelves with his face away from the light.
Conversation was difficult at first and soon the two women were doing most of the talking with Roger standing by nervously. It was obvious that he was anxious to be on his way.
“You can see from our clothes that we are off for the day,” Philippine said. “We must collect the wild herbs before they dry up altogether.” Roger was wearing a torn and very dirty pair of khaki trousers but his shirt was clean and his hair neatly brushed. He did not seem to be dressed for anything in particular. Philippine was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, open at the neck. It was true that she looked much less spick-and-span than when she had first met Fredericka, but much less carelessly dressed than Margie and the other village girls were at all times.
“You both look good enough for the party, to me. But aren’t you coming then?”
“No,” Roger announced suddenly. He walked across the room to put down his empty coffee cup in the sink and then stood over Philippine, nervously clenching and unclenching his hands.
I couldn’t stand that for long, Fredericka thought. Then, as she looked across the table at Philippine a look of understanding and sympathy passed between them. We could be friends, Fredericka thought, but we’re both too occupied with our own affairs so there won’t be time.
As if to underline this thought, Philippine got up to go and Fredericka sighed as she returned to her desk. She had wanted Philippine’s friendship and, if one could make the effort, there must be something worth finding out about Roger Sutton—couldn’t he be helped? She reached for the pile of publisher’s catalogues and tried to forget her visitors. She could hope for a quiet morning in the shop since everyone would be busy getting ready for the bazaar. But she had no sooner managed to concentrate on her morning’s work than Margie Hartwell came walking in the back door.
During the week Margie had given up even the formality of knocking, and Fredericka had given up trying to make her change her ways. This morning the girl was excited and looked better than Fredericka had imagined to be possible. Even the bad complexion had been skilfully hidden under a mask of face cream and powder and for once her dress was clean and neat.
“I’m not working today,” she announced at once, “except, of course, at the fete. But that’s more fun than washing bottles and test tubes which is about all I ever do in the lab lately. I guess they’ll shut up shop for the day at the Farm. Mrs. Sutton’s coming, of course. She always does, but Roger won’t—he hates crowds, and I don’t know about Philippine. They say they are going off to hunt wild herbs and heaven alone knows when they’ll be back.”
Fredericka, for some reason, did not feel it necessary to mention her early callers. “Is Mrs. Clay coming?”
“Oh, her! I wouldn’t know. I expect she will if dear James gets back in time.”
“Are they engaged?” Fredericka couldn’t resist asking, and then regretted her question when she saw Margie’s look of Pleased Informer that she had often had occasion to observe before.
