Nurse Abroad(25)
Sarah returned, “You don’t know a thing, Grant. If I was always studying backgrounds, I’d pick the kitchen every time ... the perfect foil. Cinderella leaving for the Ball.”
She swept past him, leaving a faint trace of sandalwood perfume on the air, and sat down, to Mrs. Mac’s horror, on the kitchen table.
Sarah laughed. “Oh, don’t fuss, Mrs. Mac darling, I saw it was clean before I sat down.”
She was glad Jeff wasn’t long. As he came into the kitchen she stood up, swung her white velvet cape about her shoulders, and picked up her bag.
Jeff, tall, debonair, in his formal clothes, quite different from the farmer on the tractor Sarah had first met, clipped the cape about her throat, said with a twinkle to Grant, “Not like you to miss a move like this, is it?” and they were gone.
Sarah told herself as they drove through the scented summer evening that she was mad to feel so suddenly flat. She ought to be glad to be away from Grant’s sardonic regard, his belittling remarks, to be with someone like Jeff, who obviously thought himself lucky to be escorting her.
Actually, she supposed, Jeff was much more handsome than Grant. Grant’s hair was dark but bleached at the ends, his face was rugged, the lines of it a little hard, except when it softened as he spoke to the children, or tended the animals.
Jeff’s face was finer modelled, his brows and lips most symmetrical, and he was tall and lean where Grant was tall and broad. Sarah shut her mind to comparisons and set herself out to forget Grant.
By now Sarah knew quite a number of people, and though this was a formal dance compared with most of the country affairs, it was still a friendly atmosphere. Jeff complained he might just as well not have been the one to bring her—she certainly knew no lack of partners.
Sarah enjoyed it, and it warmed her heart to be introduced not as a stranger or a newcomer, but as one who had won her spurs in two emergencies.
She decided to give herself a spell from the dancing, and found herself beside a broad, fine-looking man she’d not yet met. It didn’t seem to matter.
He said, “I’ve been wanting to meet the girl who brought the Granger twins into the world. That was a fine effort.”
Sarah found her heart warming to him as they talked. He knew London well; that was something Sarah found endearing about New Zealanders ... even the ones who had never been overseas, and because of financial reasons might never make it, knew a great deal about the place they called “Home” even when they were third and fourth generation colonials.
Sarah became absorbed in the conversation, and looked up with a start as she became aware of someone standing in front of her.
She despised herself for the way her heart lurched. Grant! Grant as she had never seen him, looking far from a hornyhanded son of the soil. She quite missed what he was saying to her congenial companion, and came back only to hear Grant say, “So you’ve met my sparring partner?”
Her companion chuckled and said, “You’ll not do much sparring, I imagine. You certainly were fortunate that your uncle bestowed a partner like this upon you, Grant. She has already proved her worth as a citizen. I’ll let you take her away to dance. I’ll be over one day soon to Challowsford.”
The music had just struck up again. Sarah wondered if Grant had intended to ask her to dance.
She said as they moved on to the floor, “I hope I wasn’t thrust upon you, Grant.”
He laughed. “Oh; well ... that amounted to almost a royal command, didn’t it?”
Sarah’s brows twitched together. What could he mean?
She said, “I’d have been quite happy just to have gone on talking to him for ages.”
Grant grinned. “What did you talk about?”
“Oh, various things. Shearing, the speed they achieve here ... farming in Orkney, what breeds they run. And we talked of London, and its various landmarks. He knew them all. He must have travelled a lot. He was very easy to talk to.”
“Yes,” agreed Grant. “He’s never lost the common touch.”
Sarah’s attention was caught by this. “What do you mean?”
“Kipling ... you know ... ‘to walk with kings, nor lose the common touch.’ ”
Sarah was still puzzled. “But I still—”
Grant laughed. “I say—you don't mean to say you don’t know to whom you were talking?”
“No ... he said he was a farmer, and lived not far from here. I’d not got round to asking his name. What are you laughing at?”
“Just that New Zealanders are supposed to be casual—you’re learning fast, Sarah. You take even prime ministers in your stride!”
Sarah stopped dancing. A couple cannoned into them. Grant adroitly steered her into the right orbit again. Sarah danced automatically, her mind more on the conversation than on the intricate steps they were doing.
“You mean—”
“Well, I’d better amend that—a former prime minister. I can never get used to him not being at the prow of our canoe. He resigned through ill-health. He was the leader of the National Party.”
Sarah was still blinking. “National ... that’s the same as our Conservative, isn’t it? Yes, of course—you could only be Tory.”
He looked down on her, a trace of a smile lingering.
“I’m glad you didn’t say a dyed-in-the-wool Tory, Sarah. Though it’s a wonder you let a chance like that slip. I’ve got some personal friends in the Labour camp, as it happens—rattling good fellows too, even if I don’t by any means see eye to eye with them politically.” He paused. “What are you, Sarah? That is, if you don’t mind telling me.”
She opened her eyes wide. “That’s the first time I’ve ever known you reticent about asking questions.”
“Touché,” he said, and added, “After all, a person’s political views are their own. Let it go, Sarah.”
She looked up, a dimple quivered and was suppressed. “I’m a Tory,” she said, “but a dyed-in-the-wool one!”
Their glances locked together, laughter leapt into the two pairs of eyes. For a brief second Grant drew her closer.
“Oh, Sarah,” he said. “What a time we’ll have next election. I do a bit of campaigning. Ever done any public speaking? You’d be a wow on a platform. Everyone would fall for you. Now don’t get all indignant with me, and assert looks shouldn’t come into it. I don’t mean looks, I mean personality. Take that compliment at its face value for once.”
“I will,” said. Sarah demurely. “After all, as you say—for once. Compliments are rare with you.”
He steered her towards a side door. “Let’s have a breath of fresh air and a cigarette.”
They found a secluded corner, a seat under a birch tree. Grant spread a handkerchief across the seat for her.
“It’s beautifully mild,” he said. “You don’t feel at all chilly, do you, Sarah?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s lovely to get a breath of air—though I don’t feel as hot as Jeff. He says he’s felt terribly hot all day. I suppose some feel the heat more than others.”
As Grant smoked, Sarah thought, This is the most companionable silence we’ve ever known. How odd, yet just on hour or two ago we were saying the most bitter things to each other. Perhaps, suddenly, at this affair, Grant has realized I’m accepted in the community now.
His voice broke in on her thoughts. “You hardly ever smoke, do you, Sarah? I’ve only seen you once, and that was when Henri offered it to you. Don’t you care for smoking?”
“It’s a personal preference ... rather a strange one. I like the fragrance of tobacco to be a distinctively masculine one. Just the same as perfume is feminine.” She laughed as mischievously as any girl sitting out with a partner. “It even adds a subtle difference to—” She stopped abruptly. It could be provocative to finish that sentence. She stood up. “We must go back. Jeff will be looking for me.”
He tossed away his cigarette, ground it out, caught her by the elbows. “Finish what you were going to say, Sarah. It even adds a subtle difference to what?”
She shook her head, and her tone was positive. “No. It pays sometimes to have second thoughts.”
His grip tightened a little. “Why don’t you—sometimes—speak without thinking, Sarah? Be natural, not weighing up the effect of your words?”
She looked up at him. “I’ve never been accustomed to weighing my words, Grant. People have hitherto found me sincere. Only with you I find I must—I’m afraid of the consequences otherwise.”
He bent to her a little. “Then, Sarah, just for once—”
At that moment a door swung open and a shaft of light streamed across the lawn to where they were standing. A pile of laughing youngsters came trooping out.
Grant muttered something under his breath, relinquished one elbow, steered her by the other back to the ballroom. Sarah told herself she was glad the interruption had occurred.
She danced with Jeff in silence. Suddenly she looked up into his face, gasped.
“Jeff!” she said. “No wonder you’re hot. You’ve got the measles!”
“What?” Jeff almost stopped, then guided her to the side. The heat of the room had brought out the spots suddenly. His handsome face was almost covered. She gestured to a decorated mirror on the wall.