her mouth.
Julie pulled her hand free and nodded. ‘That’s what he said.’
Pam shook her head. ‘My God!’
Julie regarded her half irritably now. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she demanded, popping the wedge of toast into her mouth, and wiping her fingers on her napkin. ‘It’s a common enough name, isn’t it? I mean, he’s not an escaped convict or anything, is he?’ Her features sobered somewhat at the thought.
‘No, no.’ Pam shook her head vigorously now, half getting up from her chair and then flopping down again as she realised Julie deserved some explanation. ‘Julie, Dan Prescott is Anthea Leyton’s nephew!’ She made an excited little movement of her hands. ‘Anthea Leyton was a Prescott before she got married, and the New York Prescotts are the Scott National Bank!’
Julie put down her knife and lay back in her seat. ‘So what?’
‘So what?’ Pam licked her lips. ‘Julie, don’t you realise, you’ve been talking to Lionel Prescott’s son!’
In spite of herself, Julie’s nerves prickled at the thought. The names meant nothing to her, but banking did, and judging by Pam’s awed expression the Prescotts were no ordinary banking house. New York bankers tended to be immensely rich, and she had no doubt that it was this which had stunned her friend.
Forcing herself to act naturally, she poured another cup of coffee, and taking the cup between her cold fingers she said: ‘I rather fancy you might be wrong, Pam. He—er—he said his mother was English, not American.’
‘No, she’s not!’ Pam was really excited now. ‘Heavens, that confirms it, doesn’t it? Sheila Prescott is English. I think she was only a debutante when they met. You know how these stories get around.’
Julie took a deep breath. ‘Well—’ She tried to appear nonchalant. ‘I’ve provided a little bit of gossip to brighten up your day.’
‘Julie!’ Pam looked at her reprovingly. ‘Don’t say you’re not impressed, because I won’t believe it. I mean—imagine meeting Dan Prescott! What was he doing here? What did he say?’
Julie put down her cup as David Galloway came into the dining room looking for his wife. He grinned when he saw them sitting together by the window, but before he could say anything Pam launched into an extravagant description of how Julie had made friends with Anthea Leyton’s nephew.
‘That’s not true,’ Julie felt bound to contradict her, looking apologetically at David. ‘As a matter of fact, I was rather rude to him. I—er—I told him this was private land.’
‘Good for you!’ David was not half as awed as his wife, and she adopted an aggrieved air.
‘You know how Margie Laurence always talks about the Leytons going into her store,’ she protested, getting up from the table. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing her face when I tell her about Julie.’
‘Oh, no, Pam, you can’t!’ Julie was horrified, imagining Dan Prescott’s reaction if the story ever got to his ears. Pam had no idea what she was dealing with, but she did, and her face burned at the thought of being gossiped about in the local chandlery. ‘Please—forget I ever told you!’
‘You’ve got to do it, Pam,’ David asserted, shaking his head. ‘Besides, if what Julie says is true, the least said about this the better.’ He grimaced. ‘Just remember, we lease this land from the Leytons, and I’d hate to do anything that might offend them.’
Pam looked sulky. ‘You mean I can’t tell anyone?’
‘What’s to tell?’ exclaimed Julie helplessly. ‘Pam, I’m sorry, but I wish I’d never told you.’
Pam hunched her shoulders. ‘But Dan Prescott, Julie! Imagine it! Imagine dating Dan Prescott!’
Julie gazed at her incredulously. ‘There was never any question of that, Pam. Besides, have you forgotten Adam?’
‘Adam? Oh, Adam!’ Pam dismissed him with an impatient gesture. ‘Adam’s too old for you, Julie, and if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit it.’
‘Pam!’
David was horrified at his wife’s lack of discretion, and even Julie was a little embarrassed at the bluntness of her tone. It seemed that meeting with Dan Prescott had been fated from the start, and now she was left in the awkward position of having to accept the apologies David was insisting Pam should make.
‘All right,’ she was saying, when he nudged her to continue, ‘I know it’s not my business, but—well, I’m only thinking of you, Julie. Adam was your father’s partner, after all, and he’s at least old enough to take over that role. Are you sure that’s not what you were thinking of when you accepted his proposal?’
There was another pregnant pause, and then, to Julie’s relief, the Edens came into the restaurant, the children’s voices disrupting the silence with strident shrillness. It meant Pam had a reason to go and summon the waitresses, and David, left with Julie, squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.
‘She means well,’ he muttered gruffly, his homely face mirroring his confusion, but Julie only smiled.
‘I know,’ she said, grimacing as one of the Eden boys started doing a Red Indian war-dance around the tables. ‘Don’t worry, David. I’ve known Pam too long to take offence, and besides, I have disappointed her.’
‘Over the Prescott boy? Yes, I know.’ David shook his head. ‘Take my word, you’re well out of it, Julie. I wouldn’t like to think any daughter of mine was mixed up with him. I don’t know how true it is, but I hear he’s been quite a hell-raiser since he left college, and there’s been more scandal attached to the Prescott name …’
‘You don’t have to tell me all this, David,’ Julie said gently. ‘I’m not interested in Dan Prescott, and he’s not interested in me. We—we met, by accident—and that’s all.’
‘I’m glad.’
David patted her shoulder and then excused himself to attend to his other guests, leaving Julie to finish her breakfast in peace. But as with the swim earlier, her appetite had left her, and despite her assertion to the contrary, she could not help pondering why a man with all the lake to choose from should have swum in her special place, and at her special time.
JULIE’S CABIN was just the same as all the other cabins, except that in the month she had been there she had added a few touches of her own. There was the string of Indian beads she had draped over the lampshade, so that when the lamp was on, the light picked out the vivid colours of the vegetable dye; the Eskimo doll who sat on the table by her bed, snug and warm in his sealskin coat and fur cap; and the motley assortment of paperweights and key-rings and ashtrays—chunky glass baubles, with scenes of Ontario imprisoned within their transparent exteriors.
The cabins were simply but comfortably furnished. The well-sprung divans had rough wood headboards, and the rest of the bedroom furniture was utilitarian. There was a closet, a chest of drawers
