As she turned away from the shop window. Myra Hutchinson waved to her from across the street. She was a decorative creature, vivid as a poster in brown corduroy slacks and an orange cardigan above which her hair glowed like a newly minted penny. When they were at school together she had been a wisp of a white-faced girl with sandy eyelashes. Those days were gone. The lashes were now dark enough to set off the grey-green eyes. There was colour in the cheeks, there was a brightly painted mouth. The effect was cheerful and attractive. She had been married for five years and she had three children. She was a couple of years older than Althea, and she looked half a dozen years younger.
Althea turned round and went back to Burrage’s.
TWO
IT WAS WHEN she was walking up the High Street on the way to the bus stop that she encountered Mr Martin. She was passing his office – Martin & Steadman, house-agents – and he was seeing a prosperous-looking client out. The client went off in the direction from which Althea was coming, so that Mr Martin really couldn’t help seeing her.
He was a sidesman in the church which Mrs Graham attended, and they had known each other since she was a little girl. A couple of years ago he had let their house for them, and she had taken her mother down to the sea for three months. It had not been a very successful experiment, and she had no wish to repeat it. She bowed, gave him a grave smile and was about to pass on, when he said,
‘Oh, Miss Graham – good morning. How very fortunate, running into you like this. Could you spare me a moment?’
She said, ‘Well…’ and found herself being ushered across the threshold, through the outer office, and along the narrow passage which led to his private room. The house was an old one. There were two meaningless and inconvenient steps down at one end of the passage and two more up at the other end, but the room itself looked pleasantly out upon a garden full of old-fashioned flowers. As she sat facing Mr Martin across his writing-table she could see a round bed full of roses set in a square of crazy paving, and beyond it two wide borders full of phlox, helenium, carnations and gladioli, with a paved path running between them. Mr Martin fancied himself as a gardener. His own garden up the hill was a show piece, and nothing pleased him better than to hear people stop and admire it as they went by. He beamed at Althea and said,
‘Now I expect you are wondering why I wanted to see you.’
‘Well, yes…’
He leaned back in his chair and put his hands together in a professional manner.
‘Of course I could have rung you up, but I didn’t want to make it too formal, if you know what I mean.’
Since she hadn’t the least idea, she said nothing at all. After a moment he went on again.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I have had a client making inquiries about house property in this neighbourhood, and it did just cross my mind to wonder whether you would be interested.’
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Martin.’
Well, he had put it to her, and she had come out with what looked like a flat enough ‘No’. He frowned, pushed out his lips, and said in a casual tone,
‘It’s a Mr Blount and his wife – delicate sort of lady – Fanciful, if you know what I mean, and it seems Grove Hill has taken her fancy. Thinks it’s healthy, which of course it is. Thinks it suits her. They are staying at that guest house of Miss Madison’s half way up the hill, and she says she doesn’t know when she’s been anywhere that suited her better. She says she doesn’t know when she’s slept better anywhere, so they are all set to buy and it just crossed my mind to wonder…’
‘Oh, no, Mr Martin, we haven’t any idea of selling.’
‘No?’ said Mr Martin. ‘Now you know, your mother gave me quite a different idea. Just a few words I had with her over the hedge the other evening. I was passing, and I stopped to admire your begonias in the front garden – very fine indeed, if I may say so – and Mrs Graham certainly gave me to understand…’
‘What did she say, Mr Martin?’
He searched his memory.
‘Oh, nothing definite of course. Pray do not think I meant to imply that there was anything definite. It was just she gave me the impression that the house was larger than she required – in point of fact that it gave you too much to do, and that she would not be averse to a sale if the terms were sufficiently advantageous.’
A little colour had come into Althea’s face. Mr Martin admired it. He had a benevolent disposition, and he had known her since she was ten years old. She had had quite a bright colour then. He liked to see a girl with a colour. He was afraid Althea Graham had a very dull time of it, shut up with an invalid mother. Very charming woman Mrs Graham, of course, but a girl needed younger friends. She was the same age as his Dulcie, and Dulcie had been twenty-seven a month ago. Married young, both of his girls, and no good saying he didn’t miss them, because he did, but a young woman needed a home of her own and a husband and children. He looked at Althea who had none of these things and said,
‘Mr Blount would give a very good price…’
Mrs Graham was pottering in the garden when Althea came up the road. It was a warm sunny day, and other people besides Mr Martin stopped and looked over the hedge to admire the begonias. Mrs Graham had a pleasant feeling that the admiration did not stop at the flowers. A garden was the most attractive setting a woman could have. Her hair was hardly grey at all, and she had kept her complexion and her figure. She had a picture of herself, graceful and fragile amongst her flowers.
She came into the house with Althea and told her about the people who had passed and what they had said.
‘And the Harrisons and Mr Snead will be coming in to bridge. Well, you must make a cake and some of those nice light scones. It really was very pleasant in the garden. Did you get that Sungleam stuff? Now I wonder would there be time to get my hair washed and set? It would have to be before lunch, because of my rest in the afternoon.’
‘Mother, I’ve got to cook the lunch. Of course if you could manage it yourself…’
There was a pause, after which Mrs Graham said gently,
‘You are sometimes a little thoughtless, dear. Do you think it is kind to remind me that I am a burden to you?’
‘No, Mother…’
Mrs Graham smiled bravely.
‘It’s all right, darling – I don’t want to complain. It’s just – Mrs. Harrison is always so well turned out, and it would have been rather nice. I’m really longing to try the Sungleam, but of course, as you say, there’s lunch.’ She broke into a sudden smile. ‘No, darling, I’ve had an idea. You’ve been rather a long time this morning, but we can manage if we are quick. We’ll do my hair, because I do feel that is important. You know, Mrs Justice is having her cocktail party on Saturday, and I don’t like to leave trying a new thing like the Sungleam to the last minute in case it didn’t turn out all right, so we’ll get on with it now. We’ll just have an omelette for lunch, and some of that last cake you made. It is a particularly good one, and there isn’t really enough of it to come in for tea. So hurry, darling, hurry, and you’ll see it will all fit in beautifully.’
The Sungleam proved very successful. It was while she was setting the abundant fair hair that Althea said,
‘What did you say to Mr Martin to make him think that we should be willing to sell the house?’