Storm In A Rain Barrel. Anne Mather
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lips and turned away, sighing rather impatiently. He seemed determined to treat her as an infant.
Suddenly he said, rather surprisingly: ‘I think we’ll have to take you in hand, Domine.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked defensively. ‘If I’m not to discuss your affairs with Graham, then all right. You needn’t make a big thing about it.’
He smiled. ‘What an aggressive little thing you are, aren’t you? Or perhaps little is the wrong adjective.’ He surveyed her rather mockingly. ‘At any rate, I wasn’t referring to my affairs—I was referring to your appearance.’
‘My appearance?’ she echoed, her cheeks colouring. ‘What’s wrong with my appearance?’
‘There’s nothing actually wrong with it,’ he replied consideringly, ‘however, I don’t find a navy blue pinafore dress and a white blouse particularly inspiring. Nowadays there are plenty of decent, attractive clothes to choose from, clothes with style and colour, that would do something for a girl like yourself.’
Domine put a hand on her plait awkwardly. ‘Your father—Great-Uncle Henry, that is, didn’t approve of ultra-modern clothes.’
‘Nor do I!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘I’m not suggesting you should deck yourself out like some out-of-date hippie; nevertheless you do require something a little more decorative than school uniform to wear.’
‘I have other clothes,’ she retorted, somewhat shortly.
‘Have you? Then by all means find something different and wear it.’ He seemed to grow bored with the topic of conversation, for he poured himself a second drink and walking across the room, seated himself by the window with the pile of newspapers.
Domine compressed her lips, regarded the back of his head for several minutes, then turned and went into her bedroom, finding to her surprise that Graham must have entered through her bathroom, and her bed was made and the room was tidy again.
She opened her large suitcase and studied the contents without much enthusiasm. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she could wear, and although, as she had said, she had other clothes, they were all rather subdued garments, in dark colours, and without a great deal of style. Eventually she chose a dark green velvet dress, with a close-fitting bodice and a pleated skirt, the sleeves of which were long and buttoned at the cuff. The colour did not complement the olive colour of her skin, and without make-up she looked pale and uninteresting. She tugged the comb through her fringe and stared at herself gloomily. It was no good. She was not good-looking, and no amount of wishing would make her so.
When she emerged into the lounge, it was to find Graham there, talking to James Mannering, and as she closed the door, he said that lunch was ready. James Mannering stared at her with those piercing blue eyes, and then with an imperceptible shrug he allowed her to precede him into the dining-room.
During the meal he did not speak, and she could only assume that he was busy with his own thoughts. She supposed she ought to have discussed his morning’s work at the television studios with him, but when he did not speak, she found the silence between them growing into an actual physical thing, and very soon she would not have dared to try to bridge it. Instead, she picked at the fried chicken and golden rice, and merely tasted the lemon soufflé that followed.
They had their coffee in the lounge, and as Domine was obviously expected to preside over the tray, she did so with nervous intensity, spilling her own coffee into its saucer and dropping the sugar tongs with an ignominious clatter. It was about one-thirty by this time, and she was beginning to think he had changed his mind about taking her to Grey Witches today. After all, he was a busy man, that much was obvious, and if he found the time to take her to Yorkshire then she need not expect that he would spend much time there with her. But what would she do? Would she be left to the care of his mother? The thought frightened her a little. After all, if she knew nothing of James Mannering, she knew even less about his mother and she did not imagine that Mrs. Mannering would approve of her son’s new acquisition, an unwanted acquisition, some might say. She shrank within herself, leaning back in her chair feeling that awful sense of inadequacy assailing her again. All this, the apartment, her new surroundings, James Mannering himself, were a little too much for someone who had spent the last nine years in the cloistered atmosphere of a convent. Indeed she might have been better advised to take the faith and become a novice. At least it would not be a life alien to her.
James Mannering looked up from the papers he had been studying and regarded her rather impatiently, she thought. ‘Now what thoughts are running through that agile brain of yours?’ he questioned dryly.
Domine tried to appear nonchalant. ‘Why—nothing,’ she denied miserably.
He put the papers aside. ‘Don’t lie to me, Domine. Your face is as expressive as an open book.’
Domine lifted her shoulders. ‘Well, I was just wondering whether you’d changed your mind about leaving for Yorkshire today,’ she said jerkily.
He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘No, I haven’t changed my mind, why? Have you?’
Domine stared at him. ‘You know very well my wishes don’t count for anything,’ she said shortly.
Mannering looked taken aback. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
Domine gathered strength from a rising sense of frustration. ‘It doesn’t occur to you, does it, that I might find the prospect of going to Yorkshire, of meeting your mother, rather terrifying!’
Mannering frowned. ‘Why?’
Domine bent her head, twisting her hands together in her lap. ‘Well, I’m not exactly used to a social round, Mr. Mannering. My days at the convent were very quiet ones, and the weeks I spent with Great-Uncle Henry followed a symilar pattern.’
‘And was it a pattern you enjoyed?’ he asked, rather tautly.
Domine shrugged. ‘Not—not exactly. Nevertheless, you can’t expect to uproot someone from that kind of existence and expect them to immediately fit in to every preconceived idea you might have of them.’
‘You don’t want to go to Yorkshire?’ he asked bleakly.
‘It’s not that,’ she denied uncomfortably.
‘Well, damn it, what is it?’
She sighed, her eyes shaded by the long lashes. ‘I—well, I’m only just getting used to you, and now you’re going to plunge me into an entirely different environment and expect me to get used to a whole lot of new people.’
He sighed exasperatedly. ‘What would you have me do with you? You can’t stay here!’ His tone was flat and brooked no argument, but she dared to defy him.
‘Why not?’ she asked, looking up. ‘At least—for a few days. Until I get used to everything. I—I could do some shopping. Great-Uncle Henry gave me a little money. I could use some of that and buy myself some clothes. I know you think I look a frump—’
‘I didn’t say that,’ he interrupted her impatiently.
‘You didn’t have to,’ she answered pathetically. ‘I could tell.’
Mannering rose to his feet and paced panther-like about the room. He ran a hand through his thick hair, and stared at her exasperatedly. Then he stopped and faced her. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘what’s frightening you about going to Yorkshire? My mother’s no ogre! Besides, I’ll be there.’
‘Will you? Oh, will you really?’ She got to her feet, clasping her hands together tightly. ‘I—I thought you would just be taking me there and leaving me I—I know you’re a busy man and I never dreamed you’d be taking time off to stay in Yorkshire, particularly as you have this television play coming off, and I know you said you’d had an awful morning when you came home before lunch, and then there’s that Miss Park who’s trying to reach you, and all your other friends, and naturally I thought you wouldn’t have time to bother with me….’ She bit