Read Online Lonesome Road by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Wentworth
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they’ll like, and just what sort of things it would be all right for me to give them. But there’s another present I want to give that I’m not so sure about. It’s for a woman, and it’s for a woman I’ve known all her life. I’d like to give her something that’s really worthwhile— something she can wear. But I don’t want to offend her or have her think I’m presuming.”
Rachel Treherne felt a sort of cold shock which she could not account for. She said at once,
“You’ve known her all her life?”
“Something like that.”
“And how well do you know her?”
His eyes danced.
“Pretty well. Better than she knows me.”
“But—are you friends? You see, I can’t say what you can give her unless I know just how friendly you are.” She felt as if she were excusing herself, and changed color. “Do you know, you are making me sound inquisitive. I don’t really think I can advise you at all.”
He leaned to her across the little table.
“Now look here, Miss Treherne, you couldn’t sound inquisitive to me whatever you said. But this is rather a delicate matter.”
Rachel felt her cheeks burn.
“After all, we’re almost strangers,” she said.
If she had expected Gale Brandon to be rebuffed, she was disappointed. He said in an earnest voice,
“Oh, I don’t feel that way at all, and I’d appreciate your advice. You see, I have a very great affection and respect for this lady—in fact I love her.”
Rachel said, “Does she love you?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve never asked her.”
“Are you going to ask her?”
“Oh, yes, when the right time comes.”
She smiled, and wondered why her lips felt stiff.
“Well, Mr. Brandon, if you want my advice, I should say wait till you have told her how you feel. Then you will know whether you can give her this present.”
He took some time to think about that. Then he said,
“Well, I had a kind of idea that I would like the present to tell her. Do you get what I mean? I thought I’d make it something she wouldn’t take unless she meant to take me with it. Then if she did take it, I’d know.”
Rachel laughed a little.
“That might be very dangerous, Mr. Brandon. I’m afraid there are women who would take your present and think no more about it.”
He shook his head.
“She wouldn’t do that.”
They bought the friends-of-the-family presents first. Rachel could not help a quick surface amusement over the very definite likes and dislikes which Mr. Brandon exhibited. So far from needing her help he knew exactly what he wanted, and made it quite plain that he must have it. But when they crossed the Market Place to Mr. Enderby’s old dark shop his manner changed, lost its certainty. He dropped back a good twenty years and showed her the anxious, eager boy he must have been then.
The Market Square is the center of Ledlington, and in the center of the Market Square stands the statue of Sir Albert Dawnish of which the townsfolk are so justly proud. They have a well-founded belief that it can give points and a beating to any other statue in any other market town in England, both for its own size and for that of the cheque which paid for it. From a highly ornate pedestal Sir Albert in rigid marble trousers gazes down upon the cradle of his enormous fortune—or, shall we say, upon the spot where once that cradle stood. The first of the long line of Quick Cash Stores which have made the name of Dawnish a household word was pulled down some years ago, but the statue of Sir Albert is good to last as long as the Market Square.
Mr. Enderby’s old shop is behind Sir Albert’s back. He would not in any case think it worth looking at. It has, indeed, a somewhat rickety air, as if its four hundred years had at last begun to tell upon its constitution, but the oak beams are still staunch, and the brickwork holds. About a hundred and fifty years ago Josiah Enderby the third threw out a bow window the better to exhibit his goods; nothing else
Rachel Treherne felt a sort of cold shock which she could not account for. She said at once,
“You’ve known her all her life?”
“Something like that.”
“And how well do you know her?”
His eyes danced.
“Pretty well. Better than she knows me.”
“But—are you friends? You see, I can’t say what you can give her unless I know just how friendly you are.” She felt as if she were excusing herself, and changed color. “Do you know, you are making me sound inquisitive. I don’t really think I can advise you at all.”
He leaned to her across the little table.
“Now look here, Miss Treherne, you couldn’t sound inquisitive to me whatever you said. But this is rather a delicate matter.”
Rachel felt her cheeks burn.
“After all, we’re almost strangers,” she said.
If she had expected Gale Brandon to be rebuffed, she was disappointed. He said in an earnest voice,
“Oh, I don’t feel that way at all, and I’d appreciate your advice. You see, I have a very great affection and respect for this lady—in fact I love her.”
Rachel said, “Does she love you?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve never asked her.”
“Are you going to ask her?”
“Oh, yes, when the right time comes.”
She smiled, and wondered why her lips felt stiff.
“Well, Mr. Brandon, if you want my advice, I should say wait till you have told her how you feel. Then you will know whether you can give her this present.”
He took some time to think about that. Then he said,
“Well, I had a kind of idea that I would like the present to tell her. Do you get what I mean? I thought I’d make it something she wouldn’t take unless she meant to take me with it. Then if she did take it, I’d know.”
Rachel laughed a little.
“That might be very dangerous, Mr. Brandon. I’m afraid there are women who would take your present and think no more about it.”
He shook his head.
“She wouldn’t do that.”
They bought the friends-of-the-family presents first. Rachel could not help a quick surface amusement over the very definite likes and dislikes which Mr. Brandon exhibited. So far from needing her help he knew exactly what he wanted, and made it quite plain that he must have it. But when they crossed the Market Place to Mr. Enderby’s old dark shop his manner changed, lost its certainty. He dropped back a good twenty years and showed her the anxious, eager boy he must have been then.
The Market Square is the center of Ledlington, and in the center of the Market Square stands the statue of Sir Albert Dawnish of which the townsfolk are so justly proud. They have a well-founded belief that it can give points and a beating to any other statue in any other market town in England, both for its own size and for that of the cheque which paid for it. From a highly ornate pedestal Sir Albert in rigid marble trousers gazes down upon the cradle of his enormous fortune—or, shall we say, upon the spot where once that cradle stood. The first of the long line of Quick Cash Stores which have made the name of Dawnish a household word was pulled down some years ago, but the statue of Sir Albert is good to last as long as the Market Square.
Mr. Enderby’s old shop is behind Sir Albert’s back. He would not in any case think it worth looking at. It has, indeed, a somewhat rickety air, as if its four hundred years had at last begun to tell upon its constitution, but the oak beams are still staunch, and the brickwork holds. About a hundred and fifty years ago Josiah Enderby the third threw out a bow window the better to exhibit his goods; nothing else
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