Across the Lagoon (2 page)

'Yes, I know it,' Carol replied, clutching frantically at memories of family outings ih the area.

'Right. I'll see you in about an hour. There's a train at three o'clock, I believe.' He took his leave with a brisk 'Goodbye' and rang off.

Carol, exploding with dreamy excitement, clapped the phone back on the hook. She had done it I She was on her way! It had all been so easy. A few words on the phone and she had a job. She glanced at her watch. Heavens, three o'clock, he had said, and she had to get to the station.

She took her shoes off and flew along the carpeted hall and up the stairs. She couldn't say she cared for the sound of the man she had spoken to. He seemed a bit of a bear. But from the way he talked, as her employer, she probably wouldn't see much of him.

In her room she threw off her skirt and blouse and washed quickly. In her slip she stood in front of the wardrobe mirror and sighed. Her figure caused her long moments of pondering dissatisfaction. She despaired of her bust, and her hips were practically non-existent. Because she was inclined to be tall she could wear nothing but low-heeled shoes.

However, there was no time to moan about that now. She chose an A-shaped dress in a sober blue colour to give her style and dignity. Then, diving for a suitable pair of shoes and flicking a brush through her hair, she grabbed up her handbag and hurried off.

She was lucky with the buses and got to the station with minutes to spare.

Aboard the Southampton train her mind was full of the conversation which had taken place on the phone.

The embankments scattered with wild flowers, the resplendent pine forests crowding in at the sides, were lost on her as she sat marvelling at her good fortune. A summer in Italy! She couldn't believe that anything as wonderful as that could so easily drop into her lap. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure that she wasn't dreaming.

Ideas for the trip began to tumble around inside her head. Her brother Clive had done a language course at school. She was sure he had an Italian phrase book somewhere. And she had just bought a pair of linen slacks in brilliant lemon which would be just right for the beach.

The train was stopping at every tiny station. She began to grow impatient. At last they slid into Lyndhurst. Leaving the carriage, she stepped out on to the leafy- shaded platform and made for the exit. The little station had a sleepy air about it. In so small a community she guessed that the ticket collector might be able to help her.

'Rowan House? Mr Barrett's residence.' The man gave her a sharp twinkle as he took her ticket. 'Aye. Ye take the road to the left of the Forest Arms,' he pointed across a gravelled car park, 'and turn left again at the bridge. Ye'll see it. It's a big place.'

Carol thanked him and started off. The June sunshine was warm on her head. Walking was pleasant. She passed the village inn with its seats outside and straw-hatted cronies nodding over their beer.

The road soon took her out into the open country. It was several minutes before she came to the old stone bridge where a stream chuckled over sunlit pebbles. She turned left along a lane, flanked by rolling fields and clusters of trees. Occasionally the thatched roof of a cottage showed amongst the greenery, or the white paddock rail of a country house. Every gate was fronted by a grid of steel rollers to keep out the wild ponies of the forest.Looking ahead, Carol slowed down and moved along the lane uncertainly. She had no idea which residence was Rowan House. She might have overshot it some- . where. She was wondering whether to turn back when her eye caught sight of a tall rooftop hidden beyond the swirl of trees in the distance. Taking a chance, she walked on.

On the curve of the lane she found, reading the name on the gate with a sigh of relief, that this was the house she was looking for.

A grey mellow-stoned structure with heavy oak doors under a porticoed entrance, and tall chimney stacks at each end of the sloping roof, it stood back from a crescent of green lawn. From the open imposing gateway a gravelled drive led round to the front of the house and continued on, following the curve of the lawn, to a twin imposing gateway further along the lane.

Carol walked along the drive feeling her confidence slipping away from her. Apart from an expensive- looking car parked opposite the doorway there was no sign of life. The windows, tall and highly polished, were unadorned save for sombre brown drapes at the sides. Much of the exterior was covered in ivy.

It was a beautiful old house, but it had a bleakness about it as though it had nothing left to draw on but its memories.

On the front steps Carol rang the bell and waited with a thudding heart. After a few moments, a grey- haired woman in oatmeal-coloured dress and apron came to the door. Her features were stern, but her eyes had a kindly light.

'Good afternoon,' Carol smiled nervously. 'I'm Carol Lindley. I was on the phone earlier about the job in the paper.'

The woman gestured her in and led her across a chequered hall into a carpeted room sombre with ebony- based Jable lamps, gold-framed pictures and dull-patterned vases.

'I'll go and tell Mr Barrett you're here.' Her head erect with its neat grey bun, the woman went off.

Carol stood and waited listening to the hollow, metallic tick of a grandfather clock in the corner of the hallway. She could see several other rooms across the chequered space, their open doors showing similar ponderous furnishings.

A polished wood stairway at the side led up to a landing which bordered the entire hall. Around it, pale alcoves held art pieces, and standing against the walls carved chests gleamed dully. There was no denying that flooded with sunshine, with the scent of summer breezes dancing through it, the house would have a mellow beauty. But at the moment, closed and silent, it emanated only a gloomy orderliness.

Carol fidgeted in its weighty presence. She was used to family chatter and noise, and rollicking thuds around untidy rooms. The brooding atmosphere began to stretch her nerves. She felt the panic rising within her again. Then a voice was calling from the far end of the hall, 'Mr Barrett will see you now, miss.'

Thankful for any kind of action, Carol jerked to where the aproned figure beckoned her. She was shown into a large room. With thudding heart she felt the door closing behind her. Along with a blurred impression of book-lined walls, oak panelling and leather armchairs she was conscious of a man sitting behind a heavy desk to one side of the room. She couldn't miss the view out of the big uncurtained window opposite, which was one of rolling tree-bordered lawns and blue sky. Near by an old stone fountain sprayed glistening jets of water within a circle of flowers.

The vista was lost on the man at the desk, presumably Gray Barrett, who sat, pen in hand, frowning over papers before him. Because he didn't look up, Carol felt obliged to move into the centre of the room if only to attract his attention. He went on scribbling, casting his glance up only for a second to flick it over her with a curt, 'Miss Lindley, I take it?'

Carol nodded while she searched around for her voice. She needn't have worried. It seemed that nothing - was expected of her—or at least not until several seconds later when the man suddenly looked up again. He fixed her with a sharp eye and rapped, 'Are you the person I spoke to earlier on the phone?'

'That's right,' Carol replied, a resentment growing in her at his brusque manner. Face to face with him she had a full view of his appearance. He had fleshy, rather angular features toned down to what one might call attractiveness by a head of tightly curling dark hair. His brown eyes reminded her of his house, broody and withdrawn.

Glueing them on her now, he threw his pen down as though it was a nuisance to him. She thought she detected exasperation in the movement. He rose to a formidable height, his well-cut suit covering an athletic, if somewhat bulky frame, and came round the side of the desk to rasp at her, 'And you think you could take care of a girl of fifteen in a place like Italy?'

Completely unnerved now by his manner, Carol stood slightly petrified, fighting the pink on her cheeks. She felt like a horse being looked over as he moved around her. His raking gaze taking in her pale straight hair, candid blue eyes and rather thin figure, he commented testily, 'You're little more than a child, yourself.'

This was enough to trigger off Carol's rising indignation. 'I'm going on for twenty,' she retorted spiritedly. 'And I've been used to helping at home with my six younger brothers and sisters.'

'My niece is an only child,' the man said with smug implication as though large families were distasteful to him, 'and as such, she has a way of being different.'

Carol was silenced by his overbearing manner. He took himself back to his desk and sat down heavily, the scowl -on his face deepening.

'I was depending on you for the job,' he flicked a morose look over her. 'I pictured you with a little more' ... his humourless mouth sloped grimly as he searched for the right word ... 'maturity.'

Annoyed at the way he was blaming her for everything, Carol was stung to reply, 'I wonder you didn't ask my age over the phone 1'

'I was relying on your judgement of your capabilities,' he snapped. 'I haven't time to do other people's thinking for them.'

Carol braved his displeasure to persist pertly, 'I think I'm capable of looking after your niece.'

He looked at her long and darkly, then swivelling impatiently in his chair he fired his verdict at her. 'Well, quite frankly, I don't. As a chaperone for my niece, you'd only add to my problems.'

Carol heard his words with no surprise. He had made no secret of his disappointment from the moment he had set eyes on her. She couldn't say she was sorry to be saying goodbye to the idea of haying
him
for a boss.

'It was a last gamble, trying the local paper for one afternoon,' he said grouchily, picking up his pen. 'As I've no more time to waste on the matter I shall have to make do with my housekeeper.' He settled down to work again, shooting Carol a glance to add finally, 'I will of course be glad to refund your train fare.'

'Please don't bother,' Carol said, her cheeks reddening haughtily. 'I'm not that hard up.'

'Very well,' he dismissed her with a nod towards the door, 'Mrs Vernon will show you out.'

Carol turned away. Her legs trembled beneath her as she made her way out of the room. The housekeeper was on hand to show her to the front door. Once out on the drive she wasted no time in putting as much distance as she could between herself and Rowan House.

Well! Her cheeks were still on fire and her eyes had an embarrassed brilliance about them as she gazed blindly ahead. She wouldn't want to go through that again! What an awful man! She could consider herself lucky that he hadn't accepted her for the job. There was no telling what she might have let herself in for if she had allowed herself to come under
his
iron hand.

And imagine! Dragging her all the way out here, then calmly telling her she was too young for the job 1 Just because
he
was busy,
she
was supposed to know that he wanted someone at least a hundred years old!

She fumed all the way to the station, but once on the train, amidst crested-blazered schoolchildren bouncing around the seats and flicking rulers at one another, she resolved smartirigly to put all thoughts of the detestable man out of her mind. She hoped his summer in Venice would be a wet one, that he would trip up into a canal or something. And she never wanted to hear the name Gray Barrett again.

From the station she caught the bus into town. Walking up the side of the Common she saw her two young sisters tugging at a toy handcart up the path between the lawns. 'Hey, Carol!' they called, waving vigorously. 'Come and give us a pull!'

'Not just now,' she smiled good-humouredly. 'I want to get home.'

When she arrived her mother was hoovering the hall carpet. A duster round her head, her harassed though good-natured features dark with concentration, she looked up to shout over the din, 'How did the job- hunting go? I saw the paper by the phone.'

'Oh, it was nothing much,' Carol called off-handedly. 'The man thought I was too young for the post.'

'You'll have that trouble wherever you go.' Her mother switched off the electric current and set her lips knowingly. 'Seems to me there's nothing wrong with being a salesgirl.'

'I have a feeling that's what I'll be doing again— being a salesgirl,' Carol said wryly. 'That's about all the towns got to offer.' She didn't say that this afternoon's ordeal had somewhat soured her ambitions to look for something out of the ordinary. She had no wish to repeat the experience. Comparing the gloom of Rowan House with her own bright sunny world since stepping off the bus, she had, still nursing her bruised feelings, quickly given up the idea of trying to get out of her rut. If anything now, she was grateful for it. After what she had been through at the hands of a certain despotic would-be employer, the job of selling lampshades seemed blissfully safe and uncomplicated. She was thankful, almost relieved, to have something like this to return to.

'They're paying good wages at Rankworths,' she said, going up the stairs. 'I'll probably take the rest of the week off, then start there on Monday.'

'I think that would be very sensible.' Her mother returned to her work with prim approval.

Upstairs in her room Carol tossed her handbag on the bed and flopped down beside it to gaze at the sun- washed ceiling. Life wasn't too bad, when she thought about it. Her new salesgirl job would pay more money for her holiday with the family in September. And on top of that she had a whole week now to do as she liked. The weather was good. She could go to the beach every day if she wanted to. Feeling light as air again, she changed into old slacks and tee-shirt and went to join her sisters on the Common.

The next morning she packed enough sandwiches for the day and took herself off early to the beach. It was idyllic lazing amongst the holidaymakers pretending she was one of the idle rich.

On Wednesday, on her mother's advice, she went to make sure of a position at Rankworths, the big store in the centre of town. There were no problems. She was experienced and they were crying out for salesgirls to cope with the summer rush. Carol wished she could have felt a little more enthusiasm as she was shown round the huge pillared sections.