He is a fascinating talker and Freddy and I listen entranced. He will take one of our maps and point out the exotic places as he talks of them. He will trace a journey over continents; but it is the sea which attracts him most.
The other day I said to him: "Show us the island on which you were shipwrecked."
He was silent for a moment and then suddenly he took my hand and pressed it. "One day," he said, "I'll tell you about it."
I was thrilled as I had been before when he mentioned the island. I knew there was something special about it and that he wanted to tell me... alone.
Freddy was there at the time. He was in a corner of the room with Masters, who was showing him one of the tools he used.
I heard Masters say: "This is a burin. Look at that sharp blade. It's made of steel. That's for cutting. Look at the handle. What does it remind you of? A mushroom? That's right. Now you hold this in the palm of your hand with your fingers curled round the mushroom. Now you press the blade into the copper. Like this. You must have even pressure."
I smiled. "He's initiating Freddy into the mysteries of map making."
"Freddy is an apt pupil."
I knew instinctively that it was impossible for him to tell me about his island here. He wanted us to be alone. Oddly enough, although I saw him frequently, we were never really alone. If I saw him at the Shop others were there. There was always Freddy to act as chaperon. And when he visited us at the house there were always several people there.
But his presence has made a great deal of difference to me. I arise every morning with a feeling of expectation. I think of him a great deal. I love the way his eyebrows turn up at the corners. There is a faint foreignness about him which I find immensely attractive. I like that very slight accent, the arrangement of words that is just a little quaint.
The fact is I am in love with Magnus Perrensen.
How does he feel about me?
He is interested, very interested. I have an idea that he is as exasperated as I am about this inability to be alone. But we shall overcome that one day.
My stepmother said a few days ago: "We must not forget your birthday. I think we should have a rather special celebration. You will be eighteen years old. I am going to speak to your father."
"I think he must know I am eighteen."
"He is a little unworldly about such matters. We should entertain more for you now."
I shrugged my shoulders. The purpose of entertaining would be to find me a husband. I did not want to search for one. In any case that, to my mind, would have been most undignified. But there is another point now. I have found the only one I could ever love and I have reason to believe that he is not indifferent to me.
However, this is to be a birthday party. My stepmother is getting out a list of guests. She is making arrangements in the kitchen.
"It is a good thing you have a May birthday," she said. "Such a lovely month! If the weather is good we can be in the garden—a sort of fete champetre."
"You will enjoy arranging that, my dear," said my father indulgently. "What a good thing you are here to do what is right for Ann Alice."
I am having a special dress for the party. The village seamstress has been called in and my stepmother has been poring over patterns. We have decided on rose-coloured silk which she says will be most becoming for me. It is off the shoulders with short sleeves which are ruched and edged with lace. There is a wide lace collar; the bodice is tight-fitting, and the skirt very full with flounces, each one edged with lace. It is most elaborate. I am delighted because when I try it on and stand very still while our little seamstress kneels at my feet and gets to work with pins and tacking thread, I am imagining I am standing before Magnus. I believe he will think me beautiful in this dress.
I am grateful to my stepmother who has done so much to create it. It is almost as though she is grateful for my interest in Freddy.
Am I growing to like her? I am not sure. When one is in love the whole world looks different, and perhaps one is inclined to like everyone.
No... not everyone.
I had a shock today and I suppose that is the reason why I am writing my diary.
I was in the garden this afternoon. The house was quiet. My father was resting as he does most afternoons since he has had what we have come to call "his turns." I am sure they have weakened him considerably although he tries to pretend they have not.
My stepmother had taken the gig into Great Stanton to do some shopping she said; and she had taken Freddy with her. She was buying some clothes for him. He had been very short of them when he had come to us.
I liked to sit in the garden. From the front of the house we look out on the Green. A pleasant view it was true with the grass before us and the old church with its spire reaching to the sky and the row of six ancient cottages. In the centre of the Green was the duck pond with the wooden seat beside it. But I liked better the view from the back. I liked our lawn beyond which was the little copse of fir trees. When I sit in the garden I usually go to the small walled-in rose garden and sit on one of the wicker seats there.
That was where I was, pretending to read but in fact thinking of
when I should next see Magnus Perrensen. I mean alone. He was dining with us tonight and that made me very happy. One always hoped there would be an opportunity to talk about the things which really mattered.
"Oh, Miss Ann Alice ... " It was one of the maids. "A gentleman has called."
I sprang up.
Magnus was in my thoughts and foolishly I thought it was he, so I did not ask his name and it was a shock when I went into the hall and saw Desmond Featherstone.
I felt that sudden shiver of apprehension which he had so often inspired in me in the past.
"Miss Ann Alice. What a pleasure."
"Oh ... Mr. Featherstone ... It is a long time since we have seen you here."
"I have missed all this ... sorely."
"So you are back again."
"For a brief visit, alas."
"You must er—come into the parlour... Perhaps you would like some refreshment."
"I have come to see you ... nothing else is important."
"Come in." I took him to the small room which led from the hall and was used as a reception room for callers. "Pray sit down."
He had put his hat on the table.
"I will go and tell them to bring something. Would you like a dish of tea?"
"It sounds ideally refreshing."
"I will go and tell them."
"Oh..." He was protesting. He no doubt wondered why I did not pull the bell rope and summon a servant. I had a good reason for not doing so and I hurried out as quickly as I could.
I sped to my father's room. By good fortune he was up and sitting in his chair half-dozing.
I said: "Papa, we have a visitor. That friend of my stepmother. I do think you should come down."
"Certainly. Certainly." A friend of my stepmother must of course be treated with respect. "Who is it?"
"It's Mr. Featherstone."
"Why yes. Of course I remember."
"He's in the parlour. Will you go down to him. I'll see about getting some tea."
He followed me down and went to the parlour. When I returned Desmond Featherstone was chatting easily with my father.
I fancied the look he gave me was reproachful.
Tea was brought. They talked of the weather and Desmond Featherstone enquired solicitously about my father's health. My father said he never felt better. I don't think that was quite true but since his marriage he had always maintained that he was very well indeed.
"It is some time since I saw you. Miss Ann Alice has grown taller I swear."
"It's her eighteenth birthday soon, you know."
"Indeed! What a matter for celebration!"