"Yes, I was. But I manage to create my own theatre right here," said Clarissa with a laugh.
"But you ought to lead an exciting life in London."
Clarissa laughed again. "What – parties and nightclubs?" she asked.
"Parties, yes. You'd make a brilliant hostess," Jeremy told her, laughing.
She turned to face him. "It sounds like an Edwardian novel," she said. "Anyway, diplomatic parties are terribly dull."
"But it's such a waste, your being tucked away down here," Jeremy persisted, moving close to her and attempting to take her hand in his.
"A waste – of me?" asked Clarissa, withdrawing her hand.
"Yes," Jeremy responded fervently. "Then there's Henry."
"What about Henry?" Clarissa asked as she moved away to pat a cushion on an easy chair.
Jeremy looked at her steadily. "I can't imagine why you ever married him," he replied, plucking up his courage. "He's years older than you, with a daughter who's a school-kid." He leaned on the armchair, still observing her closely. "He's an excellent man, I have no doubt, but really, of all the pompous stuffed shirts... Going about looking like a boiled owl." He paused, waiting for a reaction from Clarissa. When none came, he continued, "He's as dull as ditch-water."
Again Clarissa said nothing. Jeremy tried again. "And he has no sense of humour," he muttered somewhat petulantly.
Clarissa looked at Jeremy, smiled, but said nothing.
"Oh, I suppose you think I oughtn't to say these things," Jeremy exclaimed.
Clarissa sat on one end of a stool. "Oh, I don't mind," she told him. "Say anything you like."
Jeremy went over to sit beside her on the stool. "So you do realize that you've made a mistake?" he asked eagerly.
"But I haven't made a mistake," was Clarissa's softly uttered response. Then, teasingly, she added, "Are you making immoral advances to me, Jeremy?"
"Definitely," was his prompt reply.
"How lovely," exclaimed Clarissa. She nudged him with her elbow. "Do go on."
"I think you know how I feel about you, Clarissa," Jeremy responded somewhat moodily. "But you're just playing with me, aren't you? Flirting. It's another one of your games. Darling, can't you be serious just for once?"
"Serious? What's so good about 'serious'?" Clarissa replied. "There's enough seriousness in the world already. I like to enjoy myself, and I like everyone around me to enjoy themselves as well."
Jeremy smiled ruefully. "I'd be enjoying myself a great deal more at this moment if you were serious about me," he observed.
"Oh, come on," she ordered him playfully. "Of course you're enjoying yourself. Here you are, our house-guest for the weekend, along with my lovely godfather, Roly. And sweet old Hugo's here for drinks this evening as well. He and Roly are so funny together. You can't say you're not enjoying yourself."
"Of course I'm enjoying myself," Jeremy admitted. "But you won't let me say what I really want to say to you."
"Don't be silly, darling," she replied. "You know you can say anything you like to me."
"Really? You mean that?" he asked her.
"Of course," Clarissa assured him.
"Very well, then," said Jeremy. He rose and turned to face her. "I love you," he declared.
"I'm so glad," replied Clarissa cheerfully.
"That's entirely the wrong answer," Jeremy complained. "You ought to say, 'I'm so sorry' in a deep, sympathetic voice."
"But I'm not sorry," Clarissa insisted. "I'm delighted. I like people to be in love with me."
Jeremy sat down beside Clarissa again, but turned away from her. He now seemed deeply upset. Looking at him for a moment, Clarissa then asked, "Would you do anything in the world for me?"
Turning to her, Jeremy responded eagerly. "You know I would. Anything. Anything in the world," he declared.
"Really?" said Clarissa. "Supposing, for instance, that I murdered someone, would you help – no, I must stop." She rose and walked away a few paces.
Jeremy turned to face Clarissa. "No, go on," he urged her.
She paused for a moment and then began to speak. "You asked me just now if I ever get bored, down here in the country."
"Yes."
"Well, I suppose in a way, I do," she admitted. "Or, rather, I might, if it wasn't for my private hobby."
Jeremy looked puzzled. "Private hobby? What is that?" he asked her.
Clarissa took a deep breath. "You see, Jeremy," she said, "my life has always been peaceful and happy. Nothing exciting ever happened to me, so I began to play my little game. I call it 'supposing.'"
Jeremy looked perplexed. "Supposing?"
"Yes," said Clarissa, beginning to pace about the room. "For example, I might say to myself, 'Supposing I were to come down one morning and find a dead body in the library, what should I do? Or 'Supposing a woman were to be shown in here one day and told me that she and Henry had been secretly married in Constantinople, and that our marriage was bigamous, what should I say to her?' Or 'Supposing I'd followed my instincts and become a famous actress.' Or 'Supposing I had to choose between betraying my country and seeing Henry shot before my eyes?' Do you see what I mean?" She smiled suddenly at Jeremy. "Or even..." She walked over to the armchair and sat. "'Supposing I were to run away with Jeremy, what would happen next?'"
Jeremy went across to Clarissa and knelt beside her. "I feel flattered," he told her. "But have you ever really imagined that particular situation?"
"Oh, yes," Clarissa replied with a smile.
"Well? What did happen?" He took her right hand in his.
Again Clarissa withdrew her hand. "Well, the last time I played, we were on the Riviera at Juan-les-Pins, and Henry came after us. He had a revolver with him."
Jeremy looked startled. "My God!" he exclaimed. "Did he shoot me?"
Clarissa smiled again as she recalled the imaginary occasion. "I seem to remember," she told Jeremy, "that he said..." She paused, and then, adopting a highly dramatic delivery, continued, "'Clarissa, either you come back with me, or I kill myself.'"
Jeremy rose and moved away. "Jolly decent of him," he said, sounding unconvinced. "I can't imagine anything more unlike Henry. But, anyway, what did you say to that?"
Again Clarissa smiled in reminiscence. "Actually, I've played it both ways," she admitted. "On one occasion I told Henry that I was terribly sorry. I didn't really want him to kill himself, but I was very deeply in love with Jeremy, and there was nothing I could do about it. Henry flung himself at my feet, sobbing, but I was adamant. 'I am fond of you, Henry,' I told him, 'but I can't live without Jeremy. This is goodbye.' Then I rushed out of the house and into the garden, where you were waiting for me. As we ran down the garden path to the front gate, we heard a shot ring out in the house, but we went on running."
"Good heavens!" Jeremy gasped. "Well, that was certainly telling him, wasn't it? Poor Henry." He thought for a moment, and then continued, "But you say you've played it both ways. What happened the other time?"
"Oh, Henry was so miserable, and pleaded so pitifully that I didn't have the heart to leave him. I decided to give you up, and devote my life to making Henry happy."
Jeremy now looked absolutely desolate. "Well, darling," he declared ruefully, "you certainly do have fun. But please, please be serious for a moment. I'm very serious when I say I love you. I've loved you for a long time. You must have realized that. Are you sure there's no hope for me? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with boring old Henry?"
Clarissa was spared from answering, for the door from the hall suddenly opened and a young girl entered – a thin, tallish child of twelve, wearing a school uniform and carrying a satchel. She called out, "Hello, Clarissa" by way of greeting as she came into the room.
"Hullo, Pippa," her stepmother replied. "You're late."
Pippa went over to an easy chair and put her hat and satchel down on it. "Music lesson," she explained laconically.
"Oh, yes," Clarissa remembered. "It's your piano day, isn't it? Was it interesting?"
"No," said Pippa. "Ghastly. Awful exercises I had to repeat and repeat. Miss Farrow said it was to improve my fingering. She wouldn't let me play the nice solo piece I'd been practising. Is there any food about? I'm starving."
Clarissa got to her feet. "Didn't you get the usual buns to eat in the bus?" she asked.
"Oh, yes," Pippa admitted, "but that was half an hour ago." She gave Clarissa a pleading look that was almost comical. "Can't I have some cake or something to last me till supper?"
Taking her hand, Clarissa led Pippa to the hall door, laughing. "We'll see what we can find," she promised. As they left, Pippa asked excitedly, "Is there any of that cake left – the one with the cherries on top?"
"No," Clarissa told her. "You finished that off yesterday."
Jeremy shook his head, smiling, as he heard their voices trailing away down the hallway. Then, as soon as they had got out of earshot, he moved quickly to the desk and hurriedly opened one or two of the drawers. But suddenly hearing a hearty female voice calling from the garden, "Ahoy there!" he gave a start, and hastily closed the drawers. He turned towards the French windows in time to see a big, jolly-looking woman of about forty, in tweeds and gumboots, coming into the room from the garden. She paused as she saw Jeremy. Standing on the window-step, she asked brusquely, "Mrs. Hailsham-Brown about?"
Jeremy moved casually away from the desk and ambled across to the sofa as he replied, "Yes, Miss Peake. She's just gone to the kitchen with Pippa to get her something to eat. You know what a ravenous appetite Pippa always has."
"Children shouldn't eat between meals," was the response of Mildred Peake, the Hailsham-Browns' gardener, delivered in ringing, almost masculine tones.
"Will you come in, Miss Peake?" Jeremy asked.
"No, I won't come in because of my boots," she explained with a hearty laugh. "I'd bring half the garden with me if I did." Again she laughed. "I was just going to ask her what veggies she wanted for tomorrow's lunch."
"Well, I'm afraid I – " Jeremy began, when Miss Peake interrupted him. "Tell you what," she boomed, "I'll come back."
She began to go, but then turned back to Jeremy. "Oh, you will be careful of that desk, won't you, Mr. Warrender?" she said peremptorily.
"Yes, of course I will," replied Jeremy.
"It's a valuable antique, you see," Miss Peake explained. "You really shouldn't wrench the drawers out like that."
Jeremy looked bemused. "I'm terribly sorry," he apologised. "I was only looking for notepaper."
"Middle pigeon-hole," Miss Peake barked, pointing at it as she spoke.
Jeremy turned to the desk, opened the middle pigeonhole, and extracted a sheet of writing-paper.
"That's right," Miss Peake continued brusquely. "Curious how often people can't see what's right in front of their eyes." She chortled heartily as she strode out of the room through the French windows. Jeremy joined in her laughter, but stopped abruptly as soon as she had gone. He was about to return to the desk when the door to the hallway suddenly opened, and Pippa came in, munching a bun.
CHAPTER THREE
"HMM. SMASHING bun," said Pippa with her mouth full, as she closed the door behind her and wiped her sticky fingers on her school costume.
"Hello, there," Jeremy greeted her. "How was school today?"
"Pretty foul," Pippa responded cheerfully as she put what was left of the bun on the table. "It was World Affairs today." She opened her satchel. "Miss Wilkinson loves World Affairs. But she's terribly wet. She can't keep the class in order."
As Pippa took a book out of her satchel, Jeremy asked her, "What's your favourite subject?"
"Biology," was Pippa's immediate and enthusiastic answer. "It's heaven."
Jeremy sat on one end of the sofa as Pippa continued, "Yesterday we dissected a frog's leg." She pushed her book in his face. "Look what I got in the second-hand bookstall. It's awfully rare, I'm sure. Over a hundred years old."
"What is it, exactly?" Jeremy asked her.
"It's a kind of recipe-book," Pippa explained. She opened the book. "It's thrilling, absolutely thrilling."
"But what's it all about?" Jeremy wanted to know.
Pippa was already enthralled by her book. "What?" she murmured as she turned its pages.
Jeremy rose to his feet. "It certainly seems very absorbing," he observed.
"What?" Pippa repeated, still engrossed in the book. To herself she murmured, "Gosh!" as she turned another page.
"Evidently a good tuppenny-worth," Jeremy commented, as he went across to the stool and picked up a newspaper.
Apparently puzzled by what she was reading in the book, Pippa asked him, "What's the difference between a wax candle and a tallow candle?"
Jeremy considered for a moment before replying. "I should imagine that a tallow candle is markedly inferior," he said. "But surely you can't eat it. What a strange recipe-book."
Much amused, Pippa got to her feet. "'Can you eat it?' she declaimed. "Sounds like Twenty Questions." She laughed, threw the book onto the easy chair, and went across to the bookshelves to get a pack of cards from the bottom shelf. "Do you know how to play demon patience?" she asked Jeremy.
