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Authors: Jane Arbor

Tags: #Harlequin Romance 1966

High Master of Clere (17 page)

BOOK: High Master of Clere
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Ira

s reply was a mock pitying look.

Oh dear,

she sighed.

Just how pompous and

sour grapes

can the young get
?
If I didn

t know before that you

d got it pretty badly, that last crack alone would give you away! But if you won

t accept

How To Get Your Man, Lesson One from me, what about Lesson Two? Or no—perhaps on second thoughts I won

t pass that on. Sometimes it works, sometimes not, and you

re so dewy naive that I

d
back you to muff it if you could. No, maybe you

d better learn the hard way—and on your own, except for one more word—don

t despise technique. It can be the only weapon a woman has, against the dozen or so that the social set-up has given a man.

She swung the key again.

Do I bring this back to you, or what?

Verity glanced at the school timetable, then at her watch.

You

ve got just ten minutes before the Sixth will be coming to the library for their Current Events class. You

ll take that time, I dare say, to choose something to read, so leave the key with
Mr.
Pedecker, will you, and he

ll return it here.

But Ira was not ready to go.

About this date

is it on or not?

she asked.


Not, as far as I

m concerned.


You mean you

re afraid of a snub if you suggested it? You are a prize invertebrate! But you wouldn

t be laying it on—I should. So?


No. I

m sorry.

Ira lifted a shoulder.

Well, pardon me for living, won

t you? I only wanted to help. The rough idea was that we

d make a party for this Gala Anniversary Night at that four-star place—what

s the name of it—between here and Brancaster
?’


The Golden Strand?


That

s it. I

ve got four complimentary tickets through Viking Vision. But if you

re not interested I

ll ask Jane and Nicholas and do a

Pretty please

escort me?

at your
Big
Man myself. That
is,
if you

ve no objection?


How could I have?
Anyway

—Verity had
rarely before come to so headlong a decision—

anyway, I couldn

t have accepted for that night as I

ve already been invited to the Gala by—someone else.

Ira threw her a long calculating look.

Oh, you have? Well, isn

t that nice?

she drawled, making every slow syllable carry her veiled disbelief in a claim which, even to Verity

s own ears, hadn

t rung true.

 

CHAPTER VII

There was only one person—Bob Wales—who could help her out of her self-sown fix, and as soon as she was free Verity rang him up.


Bob? Do something for me if you can?

she appealed.

‘C
ome hell or high water, did I ever refuse? What is it?


It

s one of our face-saving rescue operations.
You
know—rallying round and all that

You
know the Golden Strand?


Who doesn

t? When I

m in funds, my favourite hostelry. What about it?


They

re having a Gala Night on December the second, and
—’

B
ob cut in,

And that rings a bell. Your birthday—no?


Yes, so it happens. But about the Gala

I rather specially want to go to it, and I wondered if you

d take me. If you aren

t doing anything else, of course. With Rosemary, for instance?


The second? Just a minute—diary forward.

There was a pause. Then Bob said,

Saving emergencies, which are always with me, that

s all right. Anyway, in such a good cause I

d ditch even Rosemary. But am I to hear what the cause is, or not? Is it just that you feel a need to kick up your heels, or am I being deployed as your partner in Intrigue with a capital I? Above which I

ve never yet set my face on your behalf, as your experience should tell you.

Verity laughed.

I know, bless you. But this isn

t intrigue. It

s just that I—boasted to someone
that I

d be going and now I

ve got to be seen there. Bob, dutch treat, of course?

Bob scolded,

Naughty, naughty vanity! And dutch be blowed!


Dutch,
please
! I asked
you
!


Insist on dutch and you can find someone else to take you,

threatened Bob, and rang off.

Verity replaced her own receiver, feeling both grateful and guilty. Grateful that he had taken her reason at its face value; guilty because she knew it had deeper roots than she had probed before ringing him. Her boast to Ira wasn

t nearly as important as she had let Bob think. The truth was that she needed him, not as a face-saver for her pride, but as her gesture at the gossiping tongues; at Jane Dysart, busy at detraction; even perhaps at Daniel himself in case he believed her mother really had matchmaking in view. To be seen about with Bob once or twice should fog the issue, she had thought. But now she doubted her right to make use of him so, however little she encroached on his devotion to Rosemary Baird in the process.

Fortunately Bob himself suffered no such doubts, to judge by the showiness of his birthday present to her. It was a magnificent spray of tiger-tinted orchids, delivered express from a Norwich florists

and accompanied by Bob

s card scrawled boldly,

Love. Till this evening. I can hardly wait.

Verity herself took it in from the messenger, just as Daniel was crossing the hall. Hearing him, she turned quickly. Bob

s card skittered from her hand to reach the floor almost at his feet and he was before her in stooping to retrieve it.

He gave it back, its

Love

in the black ink Bob favoured staring up from it, then glanced at the orchid spray in its transparent be-ribboned box.


That

s rather lovely
,’
he said.

When do you mean to wear it?

She traced the edge of the box with a forefinger.

Tonight, I hope. It

s from Bob—Dr
.
Wales, and he

s taking me to the Gala thing at the Golden Strand.

Daniel nodded.

So your mother said when I told her I

m going myself in the Dysarts

party. And isn

t this a gala day for you too—your birthday?


My
?
Why, yes, but I didn

t think you
knew. Oh
!’


Exactly. You

re a Sagittarius and your mother furnished the date. I was able to calculate for myself that you

re a newly minted twenty-five and I hoped you might find an everyday use for this—say, when orchids might be a shade too dressy?

As he spoke he produced a small jewe
ll
ers

box which she took from him, her heart lurching with pleasure at the gift, whatever it was. It proved to be a lapel clasp in dull silver, a replica of Clere

s emblem which every Clere boy wore on cap and blazer pocket—linked hands above a stylized ripple of sea, surrounded by the wording of the school motto
—Fide et Amore
—By Faith and Love.

Nothing could have pleased her more, and her face must have showed it as she looked up to thank him.


You approve?

he smiled.

Well, put it on. It

s meant to go—there, isn

t it?

Jabbing a forefinger at the lapel of her jersey suit, he took the clasp from her and pinned it in position. He stood back.

There, now you

re labelled and shouldn

t get lost,

he said, his crisp tone making a triviality of a gift which, coming from him, meant more to her than he could possibly guess. When he had left her she fingered its shape lovingly.

Everyday

?
And so it should be, she vowed. She would
wear it always—and defy anyone to recognize it as secret treasure masquerading as a school badge!

Ira had exaggerated when she had described the Golden Strand as

four-star
.’
As yet it had earned no such positive distinction, but owed its swift, wide acclaim to knowledgeable management, excellent and imaginative cooking and its welcoming atmosphere at all hours.

It was a restaurant, not a club, but maintained the friendly air of one. It was expensive, but stinted nothing on the value it gave. Tastes and foibles were noted and remembered; everyone was greeted by name at their second visit and always afterwards as a friend who had been missed.

This place flatters my ego so much that I feel ten feet tall,

murmured Bob that evening, and Verity laughed back,

I know. The effect on me is that I want to arch my back and
purr
!’

In the bar, where an outside water-wheel kept an overhead horizontal millwheel in constant gentle motion, they heard of some of the arrangements which were to make the evening

gala

. One of these was that guests were to be given the choice of dining as usual at individual tables or of joining others at one long table, in the way of a festive occasion at home.


What do you say? Shall we?

asked Bob.


Yes, let

s. It might be rather fun,

Verity agreed, feeling the fates to be on her side. For if her motive for the evening was to be seen with Bob, this was a way of ensuring that she was. Only one or two elderly couples were electing to dine at private tables; the long table was most invitingly laid with sparkling glass and silver and bronze and gold chrysanthemums, and at Verity

s place, though at no one else

s, there was a gold candle in a flower-sconce
and tied to the neck of the half-bottle of champagne which nestled in an ice-bucket was a card saying

Happy Birthday to You
.’

She turned to Bob with shining eyes.

Bob, what a nice thought! But how did they know? Did you tell them?

He grinned.

I—mentioned it, and they seem to have caught on. Let

s open it, shall we? Waiter
!’

When the cork popped he invited their immediate neighbours to join in toasting Verity as a birthday girl, and while it lasted the little ceremony made them the centre of attention. All down the table strangers smiled their good wishes and a few places up on the opposite side Daniel said something to Nicholas Dysart, who passed it on to his wife and sister-in-law, and all four raised their glasses to Verity.

Then Ira made a remark which Daniel bent towards her to hear. When he straightened he looked directly at Verity, then away—seeming to dismiss her in the way he had when his thoughts had moved on.

What had Ira said? It seemed likely to Verity, following on their toast, that it had to do with Bob and herself. She would have liked to know—and even more why Daniel had searched her face briefly before turning away, not to glance in her direction again.

The meal got under way to a lot of laughter and friendly gaiety. After the sweet course there were crackers to be pulled and a cascade of balloons to float down. People made up parties to take coffee and liqueurs together, and Verity and Bob were about to adjourn to the lounge when a waiter touched him on the shoulder.


A transfer call for you, sir. It

s being held for you at Reception.


Oh
no
!
All right, thanks, I

ll come.

Bob turned to Verity.

I

m sorry, honey. I had to transfer and keep my fingers crossed that I wouldn

t be called. Still, it may be nothing much. Come with me while I find out.

He took the call in a booth and turned down an expressive thumb when he had hung up.

A babe of three has swiped the whole of a bottle of adult cough-mixture—why do parents leave such things about?

he grumbled.

I

ll have to go, V. What will you do?


Oh, I

ll come away too.


You

ll do no such thing! I

ll be back, if only in time to do a nuts in May
—’


A what?


Dumb!

Here comes Bob Wales to fetch her away

, of course. Meanwhile, no reason why you shouldn

t have your fun. Now

—he pinched his lower lip in thought—

shall I leave you with that couple who shared your bubbly? Or no, perhaps not—the chap was beginning to get a bit high. Better park you with your chief and the Dysarts, if that

s all right with you. I

ll be back as soon as I can.

As he refused to hear of her leaving with him, Verity gave in. In the lounge again she whispered,

It

s Ira Cusack

s party. You

ll have to ask her if she minds,

then Bob was explaining what had happened and Ira was all sympathy at once.


But of
course
we

ll look after her for you! Won

t
we
?

a right and left turn of her head appealed
to both other men, then she patted Bob on the arm.

So kiss her goodnight if you want to. We aren

t
looking

Oh, you

ll be back for her later?
Fine!

Daniel and Nicholas stood. Daniel pulled forward a chair and Verity, murmuring her thanks to Ira,
slipped into it and accepted the cup of black coffee which Ira poured.

BOOK: High Master of Clere
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