Pure Juliet by Stella Gibbons Read Free Book Online Page B

might talk to Frank, perhaps; about coincidence. Not about her ambition: that was a secret.
    But she did not get away on her walk at once, because there was that business of having coffee in the drawing-room, as usual.
    ‘How is that poor boy’s head?’ Miss Pennecuick enquired of Maria, whose task it was to bring in the tray.
    ‘He suffers much,’ was the simple and disconcerting reply, as cups and jugs were deftly arranged.
    ‘Oh dear! You don’t think . . . perhaps . . . the doctor?’
    ‘It is in his feelings he suffers.’ On a more sombre note: ‘He is a loving boy, Rosario, our mother say he is.’
    ‘Yes, thank you, Maria. Coffee looks good, as usual,’ said Frank, and he sent her away smiling.
    ‘Dear boy! Are you going to join us?’ Miss Pennecuick paused, holding a frail red and gold cup in one shaking hand.
    ‘Good heavens, no, Aunt dear. Absolute poison. Like me to do that?’ And her cup was whisked away and half full of the poison before she could wipe off two tears of gratitude and love.
    ‘Aren’t you having something else, dear?’
    ‘I’ll wait until tea. I’ve got a new herb brew I’d like you to sample,’ smiling.
    ‘No wonder you’re too thin. Clemence may be here by tea-time – I’ll get her to lecture you.’
    ‘Clem knows it wouldn’t have any effect, so she never tries.’
    ‘It would have an effect if you were married.’
    But the mutter was not heard by Frank, who had turned to Juliet.
    ‘Going for a walk? Mind if I come?’
    She hesitated.
    ‘I won’t talk,’ he added, and the unfamiliar feeling of trust came upon her once more.
    ‘All right. I’ll get me things,’ and she rushed out of the room.
    ‘Frank?’
    ‘What, Aunt?’ turning, as Sarah wheeled in the chair.
    ‘You – you aren’t . . . ?’
    Sarah began to bustle with cushions, listening intently.
    Miss Pennecuick indicated her, and made helpless gestures. ‘Getting – fond,’ she mouthed at him.
    ‘Not a bit. I give you my solemn word.’
    He stood straight before her, looking, for once, grave and without the playful expression that usually made his face attractive. And as he said the words, he felt, with a little surprise, how true they were. Not one glimmer of romantic feeling had he for Juliet Slater.

6
    When Frank went through the hall with Juliet he saw Rosa and Pilar, singing softly as they polished and dusted. Telling himself that he was rejoicing aesthetically in the sight of rounded bosoms and smooth skins, he said, ‘Surely those girls don’t work all day?’
    ‘Fit it in when they like, seems. That old Sarah, she does try to make a kind of timetable, but Auntie don’t mind, so they do as they please.’
    ‘Doesn’t mind, dear.’
    She just glanced at him; no coquettishness, no consciousness. ‘“Doesn’t mind”’, obediently.
    ‘Do you mind my correcting your grammar . . . and . . . calling you “dear”?’
    She looked up at him and smiled, not her usual dutiful grin. Then she shook her head, and he opened the front door and they went out into the quiet golden afternoon.
    ‘That house is too dark and hot,’ he said.
    ‘I know. I’m always gaspin’ for a bit of air.’
    ‘But it isn’t depressing. The girls wouldn’t sing, if it were. That’s Aunt Addie, of course; she’s full of love and kindness, and it gets through the house.’
    ‘Bit too full of it, if you ask me. Gets you down.’
    ‘Aren’t you fond of her, Juliet? She loves you so much and she’s been very kind to you.’
    ‘S’pose so.’
    Withdrawal, and the usual shrug.
    But this afternoon he was not going to be put off by Juliet’s reserve; he meant to find out what she was. When they got back to Hightower, Clem and that old monster, her mother, would be there, and there would be fewer opportunities.
    ‘You don’t like people, do you?’ he asked.
    ‘They’re always on at you,’ sullenly.
    ‘That’s partly because you’re young. They’re always on at me, too, in a different way,