a state of p leasant expectancy.
Neil, of course, was waiting on the wide lawn which slo pe d up from the principal court. Fleetingly she doubted whether he had reported at his cousin’s office at all today; he was not particularly conscientious.
“I’ve bagged our seats,” he said. “Let’s slip over to the pavilion for a cooler.”
She acquiesced, and as they angled round the court, enquired, “Doesn’t your cousin object to your forsaking the desk twice in one week?”
“ Mildly, but he’s not so old that he forgets his own heyday, though he’s occasionally bitter about it—his youth, I mean. It was a long, hard stru g gle with demon poverty so I believe. You’ll have to meet him some time.”
“It’s rumoured that he doesn’t care for women.”
“He certainly shuns them these days, and it’s only this last week, in Ellisburg, that I’ve discovered that poor old Mervyn once had a kidney punch. You’d be amazed at the gossip that goes on around here.”
At the steps to the modest pavilion Neil grasped her elbow. What a boon was the sudden shade of the terrace. Venetia drew off her sun glasses, blinked, and stared a little blindly into the dark velvet eyes of Natalie Benham.
Why, hullo!” exclaimed the other woman agreeably, her thin black eyebrows lifted. “I’d no idea you were still in town or I’d have invited you to the races with our crowd yesterday. It was a marvellous day in every respect. You didn’t go, I suppose?”
“No. I know hardly a thing about racing.”
Natalie cast an oblique, smiling glance at Neil. “I didn’t see you there either, and you do know a thing about racing. You two probably went off together somewhere else.”
“No such luck,” he replied, with engaging candour. “I spent six solid hours stewing over maps and plans. It was plain purgatory—enough to last a lifetime. Won’t you sit down and have a drink with us?”
He pulled out the chairs from the nearest table and called one of the attendants. When he had ordered, got out cigarettes and made his lighter work, he smiled from one woman to the other.
Natalie inhaled slowly, her strong, rose-tipped fingers drawing the cigarette from narrow, red lips. Thoughtfully she followed the drift of a curl of smoke.
“Is Mervyn still hard at it?” she asked casually. “He was always a dogged worker. With all these building and irrigation schemes coming along he’ll soon be a rich man. ”
“ Possibly, but he hasn’t much interest in money. After all, a bachelor of his sort has little incentive to become wealthy. It doesn’t cost him much to live out of town in the midst o f a game reserve, and he seems to have chosen to do so for the rest of his days. Beats me how he can face it. I f eel sorry for him.”
“You do?” she said, a trifle sharply. “Why?”
He smiled charmingly. “Why shouldn’t one pity a man who dwells five days a week with blueprints and textbooks and the other two with the birds and beasts?”
“Your cousin derives tremendous pleasure from both his work and the wild things. He doesn’t need your pity, Neil.”
Venetia had listened and looked on. Natalie, in a cream linen suit with tan shoes and bag, and an outsize tan ruffle cascading over the cream lapels, had beauty and the type of poise which comes with years and self-knowledge. She must be nearly as old as Thea, an age which seemed to Venetia the most desirable in a woman: when doubts and fears had commonsense solutions, and despair could be tempered by wisdom and experience. And she liked Natalie for defending Mervyn Mansfield’s delight in his hobby. There couldn’t be much wrong with a woman who loved animals as she apparently did.
Yet when Natalie turned an appraising glance in her direction Venetia felt her whole body steeling in self defence.
“When do you return to Bondolo, Venetia?”
“The day after tomorrow—Friday.”
“Of course. Blake said as much on Sunday. It slipped my memory.”
“You went
Neil, of course, was waiting on the wide lawn which slo pe d up from the principal court. Fleetingly she doubted whether he had reported at his cousin’s office at all today; he was not particularly conscientious.
“I’ve bagged our seats,” he said. “Let’s slip over to the pavilion for a cooler.”
She acquiesced, and as they angled round the court, enquired, “Doesn’t your cousin object to your forsaking the desk twice in one week?”
“ Mildly, but he’s not so old that he forgets his own heyday, though he’s occasionally bitter about it—his youth, I mean. It was a long, hard stru g gle with demon poverty so I believe. You’ll have to meet him some time.”
“It’s rumoured that he doesn’t care for women.”
“He certainly shuns them these days, and it’s only this last week, in Ellisburg, that I’ve discovered that poor old Mervyn once had a kidney punch. You’d be amazed at the gossip that goes on around here.”
At the steps to the modest pavilion Neil grasped her elbow. What a boon was the sudden shade of the terrace. Venetia drew off her sun glasses, blinked, and stared a little blindly into the dark velvet eyes of Natalie Benham.
Why, hullo!” exclaimed the other woman agreeably, her thin black eyebrows lifted. “I’d no idea you were still in town or I’d have invited you to the races with our crowd yesterday. It was a marvellous day in every respect. You didn’t go, I suppose?”
“No. I know hardly a thing about racing.”
Natalie cast an oblique, smiling glance at Neil. “I didn’t see you there either, and you do know a thing about racing. You two probably went off together somewhere else.”
“No such luck,” he replied, with engaging candour. “I spent six solid hours stewing over maps and plans. It was plain purgatory—enough to last a lifetime. Won’t you sit down and have a drink with us?”
He pulled out the chairs from the nearest table and called one of the attendants. When he had ordered, got out cigarettes and made his lighter work, he smiled from one woman to the other.
Natalie inhaled slowly, her strong, rose-tipped fingers drawing the cigarette from narrow, red lips. Thoughtfully she followed the drift of a curl of smoke.
“Is Mervyn still hard at it?” she asked casually. “He was always a dogged worker. With all these building and irrigation schemes coming along he’ll soon be a rich man. ”
“ Possibly, but he hasn’t much interest in money. After all, a bachelor of his sort has little incentive to become wealthy. It doesn’t cost him much to live out of town in the midst o f a game reserve, and he seems to have chosen to do so for the rest of his days. Beats me how he can face it. I f eel sorry for him.”
“You do?” she said, a trifle sharply. “Why?”
He smiled charmingly. “Why shouldn’t one pity a man who dwells five days a week with blueprints and textbooks and the other two with the birds and beasts?”
“Your cousin derives tremendous pleasure from both his work and the wild things. He doesn’t need your pity, Neil.”
Venetia had listened and looked on. Natalie, in a cream linen suit with tan shoes and bag, and an outsize tan ruffle cascading over the cream lapels, had beauty and the type of poise which comes with years and self-knowledge. She must be nearly as old as Thea, an age which seemed to Venetia the most desirable in a woman: when doubts and fears had commonsense solutions, and despair could be tempered by wisdom and experience. And she liked Natalie for defending Mervyn Mansfield’s delight in his hobby. There couldn’t be much wrong with a woman who loved animals as she apparently did.
Yet when Natalie turned an appraising glance in her direction Venetia felt her whole body steeling in self defence.
“When do you return to Bondolo, Venetia?”
“The day after tomorrow—Friday.”
“Of course. Blake said as much on Sunday. It slipped my memory.”
“You went
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