hunched her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you just say you don’t want me here whatever the circumstances and be done with it?’ she demanded hotly. ‘You don’t really expect me to stomach all that rubbish about my clothes and mixing with the opposite sex—and being protected, do you?’
Sheila stiffened. ‘All right, Christina. As you insist on putting everything in such crude terms, I’ll be honest. I admit I don’t want you here. But regardless of anything I feel personally, the situation remains the same. You simply wouldn’t fit in.’
‘What’s going on here? Christina!’
The male voice that broke into their conversation brought both women up short. Bruce Ashley stood in the doorway, tall and broad and to Christina, dearly familiar. She flung herself out of her chair and across the room into his arms, uncaring what Sheila might think.
Bruce held her closely for a few minutes and then he held her at arm’s length and stared at her as though he could not believe his eyes. ‘Christina! What the hell do you mean by appearing like this? Why didn’t you let me know so that I could meet you? Have you come by air?’
Christina shook her head quickly. ‘Where would I get the money to buy an air ticket?’ she asked meaningfully, holding his eyes with hers, trying to convey wordlessly what had passed between herself and Sheila.
Bruce frowned, but he seemed to gather what she meant, for he inclined his head slowly, and said: ‘Well, anyway, you should have written and told us when to expect you.’
Sheila looked at him suspiciously. ‘Did you know Christina was coming, Bruce?’ she asked sharply.
Bruce hesitated. ‘I thought she might. Why not? We’re her only kin. Why shouldn’t she come here? This is her home?’
‘Christina is eighteen, Bruce. Not a child.’
‘Eighteen? What’s eighteen?’ Bruce chewed his lip. ‘If we’d still been living in Kensington, she’d have come to us then, wouldn’t she?’
‘Maybe. But we’re not still living in Kensington, Bruce. The situation here is different—I’ve been trying to explain. Christina just wouldn’t fit in here. She’s not used to restrictions.’
‘What nonsense!’ Bruce released Christina and felt about in his pockets for his cigarettes. ‘Why shouldn’t she fit in here? She—er—she could help about in the hotel. That way she’d earn her keep.’
Sheila pushed past him and walked into the kitchen to make the tea. When she came back with the tray a few moments later Christina could see she was having difficulty controlling her temper.
Meanwhile Bruce had flung himself into a comfortable chair and was asking Christina about her work at the university. It had been unfortunate that Mr. Ashley had died within a week of her taking up her studies, but the different environment had in some ways allayed the grief she would otherwise have suffered. They had been very close, she and her father, particularly since Bruce was married and his wife had never shown any desire to involve herself with her husband’s family. Christina’s mother had died when she was twelve, and she remembered her only as a rather fragile individual, always suffering from headaches and ill health, spending her days on the couch in the lounge of the house they had had in Wimbledon.
The previous May, Bruce and Sheila had left England to open this hotel in Porto Cedro, and the last time Christina had seen Bruce had been when he flew home for her father’s funeral. During the subsequent Christmas and Easter holidays she had found accommodation and work to support herself, but it had been Bruce’s suggestion that she should come and spend the long summer vacation with them. The little money her father had left barely kept her in spending money during term time and she had been glad of the chance to see Bruce and possibly help him in whatever capacity she could. She had fondly imagined Sheila had mellowed towards her. It was only now she realised how hopeless that thought had been.
Now Sheila placed the tray on the low table before Bruce and added milk to the cups, pouring the tea with precise movements.
‘Sugar?’ she enquired of Christina, but Christina shook her head awkwardly.
‘No, thanks.’
Sheila left her husband’s tea on the tray and then went to sit in another chair. ‘And where is she to sleep?’ she asked, at last.
Christina stood down her cup. ‘Really, Sheila, I think it would be as well if I left,’ she said carefully. ‘It’s obvious you don’t want me here, and it would be impossible for me to stay under those circumstances.’
Sheila’s features relaxed slightly. ‘I’m glad you see—–’ she was beginning, when Bruce interrupted her.
‘Sheila!’ He bit out the word angrily, and got to his feet. ‘I will not allow you to speak to my sister like this! I don’t give a damn what your opinion is, this is my home, too, and I’ll invite who I like to it, do I make myself clear?’
Sheila froze. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? Just because Christina chooses to land herself upon us—–’
‘She didn’t choose to land herself upon us!’ snapped Bruce shortly, and waved away the restraining hand Christina placed on his sleeve. ‘I wrote and invited her to stay with us for the summer vacation. I also sent her enough money to cover the air fare. As she hasn’t used it, I can only assume she didn’t want to feel beholden to me to that extent!’
Sheila rose now. ‘You sent her the money!’ she exclaimed disbelievingly.
‘Yes. Why not? For God’s sake, Sheila, be reasonable—–’
‘Reasonable! Reasonable! When I’m slaving my fingers to the bone to make this place pay, and your blessed sister spends her days doing nothing more arduous than attending lectures and writing up a few notes in a book! She’s eighteen, Bruce! In the circumstances, I think it’s high time she was earning a living!’
‘Oh, please—–’ began Christina helplessly. ‘Don’t go on! I’ll—I’ll go back to England tomorrow.’
‘You will not!’ Bruce turned an angry face towards her. ‘Leave this to me!’ He looked back at Sheila. ‘Must I remind you that it was my money that leased this hotel? You haven’t done a stroke of work outside our home since we got married, and if I choose to send a little of my money to my sister, then I don’t think you should complain.’
Sheila’s face suffused with colour. ‘That’s a foul thing to say!’ she exclaimed, her voice less belligerent now.
‘Yes. Well, don’t you think what you’ve already said is foul, too? Making Christina feel as though she’s some kind of hanger-on? I repeat—this is Christina’s home for as long as she wants it to be.’
Sheila sought the refuge of her chair, putting a hand to her forehead. ‘I’ve got the most dreadful headache now,’ she said, rather faintly. ‘You don’t care about me at all, Bruce. Just so long as your sister doesn’t suffer.’
‘For God’s sake, Sheila, that’s not true.’
‘It is true.’ To Christina’s horror tears of self-pity overflowed from Sheila’s eyes and ran down her pale cheeks.
Bruce looked
