Winds of Enchantment Read Free Page A

invite snobs into my parlour so that I could catch one of their cubs for Pat. The ultimate aim—a successful marriage. Am I right?” He gave Celia a long look. “Of all the ways to happiness, marriage is the chanciest. I’d just as soon Pat chose another road.”
    Pat glanced at her father, a pulse beating quickly in her throat. Then he did want her with him! She could have hugged him, then and there.
    When Celia and Steve had gone, Bill gave his daughter one of his rare, deep smiles. “Why is Steve going to marry that statue?” he asked.
    Pat, curled on the grass, plucked a daisy and began to pull the petals. “The ultimate aim. Dad—a successful marriage,” she said.
    Bill shot her an amused look. “She’s got the fellow trained well already. God, what fools men make of themselves.”
    “And women.” Pat rubbed the denuded daisy heart against her chin, and thought of her mother.
    “Might not be such a bad idea to give a tennis party,” Bill murmured. “Madam Celia might enjoy choosing the guests.”
    Pat sat up, brown arms looping her up-drawn knees, her head of sea-rough curls almost saffron beneath the waning sun. Then a smile curved her lips. “Might be fun,” she agreed.
    “Sure, kitten, now we’ve got a good garden and a tennis court, and the young bloods already know there’s a honey-pot inside the cottage. You lonely, huh?”
    She grimaced. “I’m not chancing my heart, Bill.” Their eyes met, then he put down a hand and ruffled her hair.

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    UNDER Celia’s management the party expanded from Bill’s modest conception of it into a continuous performance from three p.m. till midnight. Dinner was provided by a Torquay firm of caterers and served in a marquee in the garden. A small orchestra was accommodated in the summer-house to provide music for dancing on the lawn in the warm, starry darkness. Celia’s own dressmaking establishment produced the charming white dress for Pat’s debut.
    The party was a success, and there followed immediately a spate of invitations to tennis and boating parties, cliff picnics and other youthful jaunts. Now and again Pat went on dates with Greg Trail, a fair-haired young man who was training to be a doctor, and one evening in his car, while the scents of the sea and wild flowers wafted to them, he clumsily took her in his arms, holding her still while he sought and kissed her mouth. She accepted Greg’s kiss passively, then pushed at his shoulders and backed out of the car. “Goodnight, Greg.”
    “Pat—”
    But she had let the gate fall to behind her and was hurrying up the path. In the tiny hall she paused. Muffled voices came from the living-room and in a short silence she heard the clink of glasses. She hung up her coat and smoothed her cream frock. Then she went into the living-room.
    Bill sat deep in a chair with his pipe, and as she came in he laughed and closed one eye at Stephen. “Why didn’t you bring the boy-friend in for a drink?” he asked.
    “Too late. Hullo, Steve.”
    “Hullo,” he answered, unsmilingly. “Been to a show?”
    “A cinema. Greg let me take the wheel on the way home. It was grand driving along the cliff road.” Steve’s eyes dwelt on her rather flushed cheeks. He pressed out his cigarette. “How do you like being a bright young thing?”
    She shrugged and studied the peak of flame in the table lamp.
    Steve drained his glass, stood up, and said he’d be off. Pat offered to go to the gate with him. The path was narrow and she felt him close behind. At the gate he had to squash between her and a bush to get outside, but when the gate was closed between them, he lingered, staring down at the black lip of the sea. Silent, she stayed with him, a rather hopeless discontent spoiling the night. Presen tl y he stirred. “You’re better with the young ones,” he murmured.
    “You’re always talking like that, lately.” She spoke huskily. “Have you suddenly gone senile?”
    “I’ve made a discovery. Tell