Man Of Stone

The younger girl’s eyes were hard and calculating.

‘So what do you intend to do? Stay here until you’re forcibly evicted? How do you think that will affect Tom? I’m leaving for the States at the end of the month, Sara, and nothing’s going to stop me.’

Why on earth did she feel that her stepsister had delivered a threat rather than a warning? Sara wondered miserably, concealing her shock at the swiftness with which Cressy had made her arrangements.

‘I can’t think,’ she protested. ‘Cressy, I can’t just go up there. I’ll write to them first.’

She knew without looking at her that Cressy was furious with her. How could she make the younger girl understand that she still had her pride, that she just could not throw herself on her grandmother’s charity? And yet, hours later, when Cressy had stormed out in a vicious temper, telling her that she was being criminally stubborn and selfish, she found herself standing in her father’s book-lined study in front of the shelves containing all his maps and reference books.

Her hand seemed to reach automatically for what she wanted. She lifted the book down and flicked through it, stopping when she reached Chester.

She read what was written there, and tried to subdue the tiny flicker of emotion that touched her. It had been so long since she had felt anything other than weary exhaustion, that it took her minutes to recognise it as hope.

She studied a map of the county, wondering just which part of it her family inhabited. As a child, a natural reticence and over-sensitivity for the feelings of others had stopped her from questioning her father about his in-laws. She had assumed that he found talking about her mother painful, and therefore that any mention of her parents must be doubly so. And yet, apparently, he had discussed them quite freely with Cressy.

Pointless now to feel cheated, to feel that something very precious had been denied to her.

Her family had lived in the same house for three hundred years, her father’s solicitor had discovered. What sort of house? Again that curl of sensation, this time aligned to a quivering inner excitement that brought a soft flush to her too-pale face.

The strain of the last few weeks had robbed her of much-needed weight. Unlike Cressy, she was not fashion-conscious, and her clothes had started to hang loosely on her slender frame. Even her hair, which was her one real claim to beauty, with its shiny, silky texture, seemed to have become dull and lifeless.

Suppose she was to write to her grandmother and that lady proposed a visit? The excitement grew. She felt like a child again, confronted with the beginnings of an especially exciting adventure. Her eyes sparkled, her air of plain dowdiness dropping away from her as hope took the place of misery.

There was no way she could do what Cressy was suggesting and simply inflict herself upon her grandmother, but a letter, explaining what could be explained without betraying her father…

The tiny seed of hope grew, and for the first time in weeks she slept peacefully and deeply.

Cressy believed in very late nights, and mornings that did not begin until close to twelve o’clock unless she was auditioning.

Sara took her a light breakfast tray at eleven, and wondered a little enviously how on earth her stepsister managed to look so good, even with most of last night’s make-up still round her eyes and her forehead creased in a bad-tempered frown.

‘God, my head’s splitting this morning! Whoever said that you couldn’t get drunk on champagne was a liar. What’s this?’ she demanded, grimacing as she saw the tray. ‘Breakfast? Oh, for God’s sake, Sara, don’t be such a fool. Phone’s ringing,’ she added unnecessarily. ‘If it’s for me, take a number and say I’ll ring back.’

It wasn’t, and, when she had listened to the voice on the other end of the line, Sara felt that tiny seed of hope wither and die.

She walked back to Cressy’s room slowly.

‘Who was it?’ Cressy demanded carelessly.

‘Tom’s school. Apparently, he had a very bad attack of asthma yesterday. Dr Robbins was very kind about it, but he feels that Tom’s health is too precarious for him to continue to stay on at school. We must go and see him, Cressy—now!’ She was shaking so much, she had to sit down, but Cressy ignored her obvious shock and said angrily, ‘Now?’

It was only an hour’s drive to the small, well-run prep school Tom was attending.

They were shown immediately into the headmaster’s study. Dr Paul Robbins was a tall, confidence-inspiring man in his late forties and, a little to Sara’s surprise and Cressy’s obvious resentment, it was Sara whom he led to the chair in front of his desk, and to whom he addressed his remarks, leaving Cressy to take a very much disliked back seat.

Paul Robbins wasn’t particularly impressed by pretty faces. He had enough experience of them to know they weren’t worth very much without something to back them up. The pretty, pouting blonde he had recognised as one of the world’s takers straight away. The other one, the quiet, hesitant girl, with the air of fragile vulnerability, she was the one who would be burdened with the care of the young boy at present lying in one of the ‘San beds’, being worriedly cared for by his wife.

‘How is he, Dr Robbins?’ Sara asked without preamble. ‘Can we see him?’

‘He’s doing quite well now that the attack’s over,’ he assured her. ‘And you can see him later. I wanted to have a talk with you… with both of you first. I’m afraid that the loss of his parents has had a very bad effect on Tom. We’ve taken the advice of a specialist on asthma and related problems, because this isn’t the first attack he’s had in the last few weeks. Of course, it’s only natural that Tom should feel insecure and vulnerable at the moment, and that this vulnerability should lead to asthma attacks, but in Tom’s case our specialist feels that Tom needs the security of his family around him. Some boys just do not take to a boarding-school life. Tom hasn’t been unhappy here, but he has always been a little withdrawn. This withdrawal has increased since his parents’ death, and we feel that, for Tom’s sake, if nothing else, he would be better off at home.’

He looked down at his blotter and fiddled with his pen.

‘I believe at the moment you live in London?’

The question was addressed to Sara alone, as though he was well aware that it was she and not Cressy who would bear the burden of Tom’s welfare.

‘Yes,’ Sara agreed weakly.

He looked gravely at her. ‘One of the reasons Tom was sent here to school was because it was thought that city life was not good for his health. Our specialist has corroborated that view. He feels that Tom would fare best in a quiet country environment, at least until he is old enough and strong enough to combat his asthma with other means. I don’t need to tell you, I know, that he is a very frail little boy.’

Made frailer by the fact that he had received so little attention from his parents, Dr Robbins acknowledged, without saying as much. He knew quite well from his talks with Tom that it was his sister to whom the child most readily related, a sister who, by the looks of her, was almost at the end of her own fragile reserves of strength.

Sara’s body tensed, her heart beating rapidly. Was Dr Robbins trying to tell her… to prepare her… He saw her face, and instantly reassured her.

‘No… no, on this occasion, I assure you that he has pulled through the attack very well, but you know how weakening they are, how severely they restrict his life. Tom needs a quiet, secure background, Miss Rodney, at least for the next few years.’

He offered them tea, but Sara refused it. She was desperately anxious to see Tom and to assure herself that he was not more seriously ill than she had been told.

The little school sanatorium was bright and cheerful, but that could surely not lessen the loneliness for the little boy who was its sole occupant, Sara thought achingly as they were taken to see him.

He was sedated and drowsy with medication, but the smile he gave her made her heart turn over. He was her brother, and yet in many ways he was also her child. His parents had loved him in their careless way, but he was like her, vulnerable and in need of much more than the casual affection that was all they had time to give. She kneeled to kiss him, her throat closing up with love and fear. He was so thin, so pale, so much smaller surely than other boys his age.

They weren’t allowed to stay with him for very long. Dr Robbins had arranged for them to see the specialist, who merely repeated what he had already told them. By this time, Cressy was exhibiting obvious signs of impatience and, when they were finally free to walk out to the car, she complained irately, ‘Honestly, there was no need for him to go through it all again! I’m going out tonight, and now I’m going to be late.’

Sara couldn’t speak. She was too shocked and worried. How could Cressy even think about going out when Tom… She bit into her bottom lip, unaware that she had torn the tender flesh until she tasted blood.

‘It’s just as well you’ve got your grandmother to turn to,’ Cressy said casually as she started the car. ‘There’s no way you could stay in London now, is there?’

Hard eyes locked with Sara’s pained, bewildered ones, and all the objections she wanted to voice died unsaid.

‘I’ll write to my grandmother tonight,’ she said quietly, but Cressy shook her head and stopped the car.

‘Sara, don’t be such a fool. There isn’t time for that. You heard what that fool Robbins said. He wants to get rid of Tom. He wants you to take him away. And I thought you loved him,’ she added cruelly. ‘If you really did, you wouldn’t hesitate. Is your pride really so much more important than Tom’s health?’

There was nothing Sara could say. Numbly, she shook her head, while one part of her cried out in desperation that she could not simply turn up on her grandmother’s doorstep without an invitation.

She tried to reason, even to argue with Cressy, but the other girl wouldn’t listen.

‘Look, we’ll drive down and collect Tom on Friday, and then go straight up to Cheshire.’

Sara was too exhausted to protest. All she could think of was Tom’s white face; all she could hear was the specialist’s dire warnings about the necessity for a quiet, secure country life.

If her grandmother wasn’t wealthy, if there had been some past contact between them… But what was the point of ‘ifs’? She was caught in a situation not of her own making, and the strong sense of loyalty and responsibility bred deep in her wouldn’t allow her to abandon Tom now, when he needed her most.

‘Almost there.’

For the first time in weeks, Cressy sounded cheerful. Sara averted her head and stared blindly out of the window. She felt sick with nerves, desperately afraid of what was to come, and she wished she had done anything other than agree to Cressy’s plans.