Desmond said too quickly, ‘Darling, I’m sorry,’ and he gave her a smile to quicken her heartbeat. ‘I’ll make it up to you. I’ve been asked to go on to a nightclub in Plymouth—quite a jolly crowd. You can come too, of course. Another one won’t matter.’
‘Plymouth? But, Desmond, it’s almost midnight. You said you would take me home then. Of course I can’t go. In any case I wasn’t invited, was I?’
‘Well, no, but who’s to mind? Another girl won’t matter, and good Lord, Daisy, let yourself go for once— ’ He broke off as a girl joined them. A pretty girl, slim and dressed in the height of fashion, teetering on four-inch heels, swinging a sequinned bag, tossing fashionably tousled hair.
‘Des—there you are. We’re waiting.’
She glanced at Daisy and he said quickly, ‘This is Daisy; she came with me.’ He spoke sharply, ‘Daisy, this is Tessa.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose one more won’t matter. There’ll be room for her in one of the cars.’ Tessa smiled vaguely.
‘It’s kind of you to ask me,’ said Daisy, ‘but I said I would be home by midnight.’
Tessa’s eyes opened wide and she laughed. ‘A proper little Cinderella, though that frock’s all wrong—you’re too mousy to wear red.’ She turned to Desmond. ‘Take Cinderella home, Des. I’ll wait here for you.’
She turned on her ridiculous heels and was lost among the dancers.
Daisy waited for Desmond to say something, to tell her that he wouldn’t go with Tessa.
‘OK, I’ll take you home, but for heaven’s sake be quick getting your coat. I’ll be at the entrance.’ He spoke in an angry voice. ‘You’re doing your best to ruin my evening.’
Daisy said woodenly, ‘And what about my evening?’
But he had turned away, and she wasn’t sure if he had heard.
It took her a minute or two to find her coat under a pile of others in the alcove close to the entrance. She was putting it on when she became aware of voices from the other side of the screen.
‘Sorry you had to hang around for me, Jules. Shall we go along to the bar? There is still a great deal to talk about and I’m glad of the chance to see you after all this time. Wish it had been quieter here, though. Not much of an evening for you. I hope you found someone interesting to talk to.’
‘I found someone.’Daisy recognised the voice of the man who had been so pleasant. ‘A plain little creature in a regrettable red dress. A fish out of water…’
They moved away, and Daisy, not allowing herself to think, went to the entrance, where Desmond was waiting. He drove her home in silence, and only as she was getting out of the car did he speak. He said, unforgivably, ‘You look silly in that dress.’
Funnily enough, that didn’t hurt her half as much as the strange man’s opinion had done.
The house was quiet, with no light showing. She went in through the side door, along the passage to her father’s office and up the stairs to her room—small, but charmingly furnished with pieces she had chosen from the shop, none of it matching but all of it harmonising nicely. There was a patchwork quilt on the narrow bed, and plain white curtains at the small window, and a small bookshelf bulging with books.
She undressed quickly and then parcelled up the red dress to hand over to the charity shop in the high street. She would have liked to have taken a pair of scissors and cut it into shreds, but that would have been a stupid thing to do; somewhere there must be a girl who would look just right in it. Daisy got into bed as the church clock chimed one and lay wide awake, going over the wreck of her evening. She still loved Desmond; she was sure of that. People in love quarrelled, even in her euphoric state she was aware of that, and of course he had been disappointed—she hadn’t come up to his expectations and he had said a great many things she was sure he would regret.
Daisy, such a sensible, matter-of-fact girl, was quite blinded by her infatuation, and ready to make any excuses for Desmond. She closed her eyes, determined to sleep. In the morning everything would be just as it had been again.
Only it wasn’t. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected— a phone call? A quick visit? He seemed to have plenty time on his hands.
She busied herself arranging a small display of Coalport china, reflecting that she knew almost nothing about his work or how he spent his days. When he took her out in the evenings he would answer her queries as to his day with some light-hearted remark which actually told her nothing. But, despite the disappointment and humiliation of the previous evening, she was quite prepared to listen to his apologies—might even laugh about the disastrous evening with him.
Even while she consoled herself with these thoughts, good sense was telling her that she was behaving like a naive teenager, although she was reluctant to admit it. Desmond represented romance in her quiet life.
He didn’t phone, he didn’t come to see her, and it was several days later that she saw him on the other side of the high street. He must have seen her, for the street was almost empty, but he walked on, to all intents and purpose a complete stranger.
Daisy went back to the shop and spent the rest of the day packing up a set of antique wine glasses which an old customer had bought. It was a slow, careful job, and it gave her ample time to think. One thing was clear to her; Desmond didn’t love her—never had, she admitted sadly. True, he had called her darling, and kissed her and told her that she was his dream girl, but he hadn’t meant a word of it. She had been happy to believe him; romance, for her, had been rather lacking, and he had seemed like the answer to her romantic dreams. But the romance had been only on her side.
She wedged the last glass into place in its nest of tissue paper and put the lid on the box. And at the same time she told herself, I’ve put a lid on Desmond too, and I’ll never be romantic again—once bitten…!
All the same, the next weeks were hard going. It had been easy to get into the habit of seeing Desmond several times a week. She tried to fill the gaps by going to films, or having coffee with friends, but that wasn’t entirely successful for they all had boyfriends or were engaged, and it was difficult to maintain a carefree indifference as to her own future in the face of their friendly probings. She got thinner, and spent more time than she needed to in the shop, so that her mother coaxed her to go out more.
‘There’s not much doing in the shop at this time of year,’ she observed. ‘Why not have a good walk in the afternoons, love? It will soon be too cold and dark, and there’ll be all the extra custom with Christmas.’
So Daisy went out walking. Mostly the same walk, down to the sea, to tramp along the sand, well wrapped up against the early November wind and rain. She met a few other hardy souls; people she knew by sight, walking their dogs. They shouted cheerful greetings as they passed and she shouted back, her voice carried away on the wind.
It was during the last week of November that Daisy met once more the man who had likened her to a fish out of water. Jules der Huizma was spending a few days with his friend again, at his house some miles out of the town, enjoying the quiet country life after the hurry and stress of London. He loved the sea; it reminded him of his own country.
He saw her some way ahead of him and recognised her at once. She was walking into the teeth of a chilly wind bearing cold drizzle with it, and he lengthened his stride, whistling to his friend’s dog so that it ran on ahead of him. He had no wish to take her by surprise, and Trigger’s cheerful barks would slow her down or cause her to turn round.
They did both. She stopped to pat his elderly head and looked over her shoulder; she greeted him politely in a cool voice, his words at the hotel still very clear in her head. And then forgot to be cool when he said, ‘How delightful to meet someone who likes walking in the rain and the wind.’
He