Chase A Green Shadow. Anne Mather
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once and we didn’t exactly take to one another, which is only natural, I suppose.’
‘The other woman,’ remarked Gerry dryly.
‘Yes.’ Tamsyn lifted her untouched cup of coffee and sipped it experimentally.
‘Have you ever been to Wales before?’
‘No.’ Tamsyn frowned. ‘I can hardly remember London, let alone anywhere else. I was only seven when they split up, you know, and Mummy came back to the States.’
‘Your father must be like a complete stranger to you.’
‘He is. Although on the rare occasions he’s visited Boston he’s tried to be kind. It’s rather a difficult situation for me. I can appreciate the difficulties on both sides. Not that I sympathise with what my father did, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘He made my mother terribly unhappy.’
‘Did he?’ Gerry hunched his shoulders sceptically. ‘Knowing your mother as I do I can’t somehow see her ever being at a loss.’
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say,’ exclaimed Tamsyn indignantly. ‘When has she ever been other than polite to you?’
Gerry shook his head. ‘Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off. I’m just feeling a bit fed up, that’s all.’
Tamsyn’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, Gerry, truly I am. But I’ve got to go to Wales. Perhaps we could arrange something for the Christmas vac.’
‘Who wants to go hitching in the middle of winter?’ asked Gerry gloomily. ‘Besides, by then your mother will be good and married to this guy, and who knows, he may decide to move to the west coast if this trip appeals to him.’
Tamsyn’s dark brows drew together. ‘You don’t think he’d do that, do you?’
‘How should I know?’ retorted Gerry shortly. ‘Gee, what a day!’ He indicated the rain outside. ‘And I was going to suggest we went to the ball game tonight.’
Tamsyn smiled and her companion wondered, with a pang, however Lance Stanford would bear to let her go once she had spent some time with him. In his eyes, Tamsyn was perfect, his ideal, and not the teenage crush his mother thought she was. Tall and slender, yet warmly rounded, Tamsyn was as tall as he was, with straight corn-coloured hair that fell several inches below her shoulders. He had seldom seen her in anything other than jeans and sweaters, and the kind of loose smocks that were so popular nowadays. Yet for all that she retained a certain femininity that attracted her fellow students without any effort on her part. She was a popular girl at college, but she would be the first to admit that boys figured more largely among her friends than girls.
Now she slid off her seat, brushing back her hair with a careless hand. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I promised Mummy I’d be home early. Charles is coming to dinner.’
‘Charles Penman, I suppose.’
‘Correct.’ Tamsyn slid the hood of her coat over her head. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’
‘I guess so,’ conceded Gerry, sighing. ‘Aw, heck, Tamsyn, won’t you change your mind?’
‘I can’t, Gerry.’ Tamsyn was firm. ‘Goodbye.’
‘’Bye, Tamsyn.’ Gerry gave her a swift kiss on the mouth, but before he could prevent her she had slipped away, a hand raised in farewell.
About half an hour later, Tamsyn let herself into her home in Vestry Square. It was one of those tall, narrow old Boston houses which had been successfully modernised and was now a fitting background for Laura Stanford, Tamsyn’s mother. Softly textured carpets ran into all the corners, while the elegant staircase which mounted out of the entrance hall was panelled in mellow oak.
Rebecca, Laura’s housekeeper and personal maid, encountered her employer’s daughter in the hall and gave her slow Southern smile. ‘You’re back early,’ she said in her drawling voice. ‘Your mother’s not home yet.’
Tamsyn slipped off her coat. ‘Mr. Penman’s coming to dinner, so I thought I’d give myself plenty of time to bathe and change.’ She sighed and looked thoughtfully at Rebecca’s shiny black face. ‘I suppose you’ve heard that I’m to stay with Daddy while Mummy and Charles are away.’
Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Tamsyn. Your mother told me this morning.’ She frowned, tipping her head on one side. ‘Why? Don’t you want to go?’
‘No.’ Tamsyn tugged impatiently at a strand of hair. ‘Well, after all, it’s more than three years since I’ve seen him and then only when he visited Mummy here. I hardly know him.’
Rebecca folded her arms across her ample stomach. ‘Then perhaps it’s time you did,’ she said, with the familiarity of an old servant. ‘My, visiting England and all! You’ll likely have a wonderful time.’
‘My father lives in Wales,’ remarked Tamsyn distinctly, walking through into the comfortable lounge that overlooked the quiet square. ‘And I’m sure I shan’t enjoy it at all. Good heavens, I’ve scarcely exchanged more than two words with Joanna—she’s his second wife, you know.’
Rebecca had followed her and was standing squarely in the doorway. ‘It will do you good to get away,’ she insisted. ‘Besides, you know your mother never approved of you planning that holiday with Gerald Thorpe.’
‘I know that.’ Tamsyn flung herself moodily into an armchair. ‘Why do I have to go away, though? I could perfectly well stay here with you!’
‘I shan’t be here. I’m to visit my sister in New Orleans.’
Tamsyn pressed her lips together mutinously. ‘Then I could stay here alone.’
Rebecca was scandalised. ‘Now don’t you go upsetting your mother with talk like that. She’s only thinking of what’s best for you. Why, if I was to be offered a trip like that, I’d be thrilled!’
‘Would you, Rebecca?’ Tamsyn was doubtful. ‘I wonder. I just can’t see myself fitting in with them. My father’s a doctor, as you know, with a country practice. I’ve always lived in the city—mixing with eggheads like Mummy and Charles—not nature-lovers!’
‘Miss Tamsyn!’ Rebecca couldn’t hide her impatience. ‘Don’t you talk like that no more. Your mother’s going to be home soon, and how do you think she’d feel if she thought you were so opposed to going to England?’
‘Wales,’ said Tamsyn automatically, getting to her feet. ‘I think I’ll take my bath. Oh, don’t look so anxious, Rebecca. I shan’t say anything to spoil the idyll. I just wish sometimes I was consulted before plans were made for me.’
She was in the bath, her body concealed beneath scented soap bubbles, when her mother entered the bathroom. Laura Stanford was not much like her daughter. Although they were of a similar height and build, Laura’s hair was brown and undistinguished, and now she wore it dragged into a rather severe knot which added years to her age. She wore horn-rimmed spectacles, too, and looked every inch the university lecturer she was. Tamsyn had sometimes wondered whether it was her mother’s lack of femininity which had driven her father into the arms of a woman who hadn’t an original thought in her head. She couldn’t really understand how they had ever got married at all. They were not alike. Her mother was so much that breed of American woman who needed to feel intellectually superior to her mate and her father had obviously disliked the image. But such thoughts were faintly traitorous, Tamsyn had decided long ago, and she usually kept them at bay. However, this evening, with the prospect of spending several weeks with her father and his wife uppermost in her mind, she couldn’t help the inevitable comparison.
Laura was carrying a sheaf of papers and waved them in her daughter’s face playfully. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’ve got your tickets and travelling arrangements.’
Tamsyn smoothed soap over her arms. ‘When do I leave?’
Laura appeared not