The Flowering Thorn by Margery Sharp Read Free Book Online Page B

in a letter of five pages; but from old Graham Whittal.
    â€œIf I were an estate agent in heaven,” said Mr. Whittal thoughtfully, when she had finished detailing her requirements, “I might be able to help you. As things are, I can only suggest Harrod’s. Have you tried them?”
    â€œThis morning,” said Lesley. “They’re all too big and beautiful. No, why I came to you, Uncle Graham, was because I thought you’d know land-owners.”
    â€œIn these days, my dear? The ones who could have sold, and the others have gone bankrupt.”
    â€œAll the better, darling, they’ll be quite pleased to let me a cottage. Try and think who you were with at Eton: lots of little boys must have been landed in those days.”
    Obediently, Mr. Whittal thought. Back and back to an age when money was never mentioned and a young man of fashion had bought his first opera hat.…
    â€œThere’s old Kerr. He’s got a place in Bucks.”
    Lesley’s face cleared.
    â€œBucks! That’s just right. An easy run.”
    â€œBut I don’t know whether he’s got any cottages. You see, most of them, my dear, are being lived in already.”
    â€œBut you can find out,” prompted Lesley.
    â€œI’ll write to him, if you like.”
    â€œWhy not ’phone?”
    â€œHe hasn’t got one.”
    â€œHow ridiculous!” said Lesley. “Then I suppose the cottage won’t have one either?”
    â€œYou may be practically certain of it, my dear,” said Mr. Whittal gravely.
    With equal irony she met his glance.
    â€œYes, I’m used to my luxuries, aren’t I, darling? I shall have one put in.”
    â€˜What’s she carrying off now?’ thought old Graham. An uncomfortable young woman, with her bitter-sweet voice and the underlying harshness! And yet—and yet—what did he or anyone else know about the young? Was it the underlying harshness, or the underlying hurt? What had been happening to her all these years?
    And aloud, very gently, he said to her,
    â€œMy dear, have you ever considered the future?”
    Lesley took out and employed a lipstick. When she had finished, and with mouth renewed in a hard scarlet line, she said,
    â€œDon’t worry, Uncle Graham. I know what I’m doing.”
    â€œI know a good deal of what you’re feeling—”
    For a moment she looked at him, startled.
    â€œâ€” And whatever happens in the immediate future, I can promise to get him into Horsham. That takes care of his education. But as for your going and burying yourself in the country, giving up everything you enjoy to play the incompetent nursemaid—it—it’s fantastic. After all, my dear—he’s got along quite successfully for the last four years.”
    In the pause that followed he saw that his niece was trying not to laugh because she still wanted something out of him.
    â€œDarling—”
    He made an odd gesture of irritation.
    â€œDon’t bother, my dear. You can have it without.”
    â€œAll right, Uncle Graham. It’s only a trick of speech.” As quick as thought she was back to that odd underlying bitterness. “But you will talk as though he were my adored bastard. It’s terribly funny.”
    For a moment, under their thin, very wrinkled lids, the old eyes held her in steady scrutiny. At last he said,
    â€œIn that case—what in heaven’s name are you doing it for?”
    (‘Rotten apples!’ thought Lesley.)
    â€œA new experience, Uncle Graham. You will write to the land-owner, won’t you?”
    â€œCertainly, if you wish it. I shall write and say my niece has gone suddenly demented and needs complete seclusion.”
    â€œThank you, darling. That will be perfect,” said Lesley cordially. “I suppose I can’t put you up for the Ballet Circle in return?”
    With his very natural refusal the interview came to an end.