‘Dora?’
‘The nursemaid. Her mother won’t remain sick for ever.’
Sylvie ran troubled fingers up the back of her neck and into the heavy weight of her hair. ‘Margot—–’
‘Well?’ Margot’s aristocratically thin features were cold. ‘Are you going to turn me down?’
Sylvie moved her head helplessly from side to side. ‘When are you supposed to leave?’
‘Next Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday!’ Sylvie sounded panic-stricken. ‘Margot, I can’t be ready to leave by Tuesday.’
‘Why not? What do you have to do? Pack a couple of swimsuits, and a dress for the evenings.’ Her sister’s lips curled. ‘Not, I trust, those disgusting denims you’re wearing at present. Do you have any idea how tight they are?’
Sylvie broke the news to her mother after dinner that evening.
She was going to a disco with Brian Jennings, and in her uncertain mental state she thought it would be easier if her mother got over the shock while she was not around. But to her astonishment, Mrs Scott’s reaction was one of relief, not disapproval.
‘I knew Margot was going to ask you,’ she said, causing Sylvie to catch her breath in confusion. ‘I told her there was no possibility of me going, after promising to help the vicar with the summer youth festival, but I thought you might enjoy it, as we haven’t booked a holiday this year.’
Sylvie was dumbfounded. Margot had tricked her. Far from hesitating over asking their mother to take her place, she had actually come to her first, and the threatening tone she had adopted towards Mrs Scott’s involvement had been just so much hot air.
‘But don’t you think Margot is being a little selfish?’ she ventured now, as Mrs Scott settled herself in her chair in front of the television set, hoping for an unfavourable reaction, but her mother only shrugged.
‘Margot must get this acting bug out of her system,’ she declared, flicking through the pages of a television magazine. ‘Turn on the set, will you darling? I don’t want to miss my serial.’
Sylvie was thoughtful at the disco that evening, and Brian took exception to her silent introspection.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, drawing her into a corner and shielding her from the rest of the gathering with his stocky body. ‘Is it something I said, or didn’t you want to keep this date or something?’
‘No. No.’ Sylvie slipped her arms around his neck apologetically, smiling at his angry expression. ‘It’s just something that happened today, that’s all. Something I don’t much like—but which I’ve got to do now, because I promised.’
‘What?’ Brian was puzzled. ‘You didn’t agree to go on that dig, did you? I thought you said—–’
‘It’s not the dig,’ retorted Sylvie flatly, momentarily dispelling his frown. Mr Hammond, her history tutor, had invited her to join a dig he was organising in Northumberland: but in spite of her interest in antiquity, she had declined, mainly because she had felt the need to get a job, and contribute something to the family budget. Besides, Brian, whose own interests lay in a more technical direction, had objected to her spending several weeks camping up north while he was kicking his heels in London, and she realised his reaction to her proposed trip to Greece was going to be far harder to handle than her mother’s.
‘As a matter of fact, I am going away,’ she said now, distracting his attention from the soft curve of her neck, and Brian drew back.
‘Going away?’ he echoed. ‘You mean—on holiday? But I thought you said—–’
‘Not on holiday,’ Sylvie contradicted with a sigh. ‘It’s a job really.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m going to Alasyia to look after Margot’s little boy for a few weeks.’
‘Alasyia? You mean—Greece, don’t you?’
Sylvie nodded.
‘I see.’ Brian drew back completely, and Sylvie’s hands dropped to her sides. ‘When was this decided?’
‘Just today—I told you.’
Brian looked sceptical. ‘You mean—today was the first you heard of it?’
‘Well, not exactly. I mean—–’ Sylvie was finding it difficult to be honest, ‘Margot knew about it, of course, and I knew Leon wanted her to go—–’
‘Leon? That’s your brother-in-law, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Sylvie nodded again. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, Leon asked Margot to go home, but she’s busy with a play at the moment—–’
‘—–so she asked you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to go?’
Sylvie grimaced. ‘You have to be joking!’
‘So why didn’t you refuse?’
‘I did, at first. But then—oh, Brian! She said she’d ask Mummy, and I thought Mummy would go, and she’d be miserable, so I had to agree.’
Brian’s mouth compressed. ‘It doesn’t matter about me, of course.’
Sylvie sighed. ‘Yes, it does—I’ve told you. I didn’t want to go. But now I’ve promised, so I have to.’
Brian frowned. ‘Why doesn’t this—Leon employ a nanny?’
‘He did. He does. Dora—that’s her name—she’s had to go and take care of her sick mother—–’
‘Her sick mother!’ Brian was scathing.
‘It’s true!’ Sylvie flushed. ‘Can’t you try and understand? This isn’t easy for me either. Leon expects Margot, and I’m going in her place!’
Brian sniffed. ‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know. Two or three weeks …’ Sylvie was doubtful, but unwilling to mention the six weeks Margot had stipulated.
‘Three weeks!’ Brian was aggressive. ‘That’s longer than the dig was going to last!’
‘I know it.’ Sylvie touched his sleeve tentatively. ‘I don’t want to go, Brian, honestly.’
Brian’s jaw jutted. ‘So you say. But what about me? What am I supposed to do for three weeks? Hang about, waiting for you to come back? I’m going to be a laughing stock!’
‘No, you’re not.’ Sylvie wriggled a finger through the buttonhole in his leather jacket. ‘Besides,’ she ventured a smile, ‘aren’t I worth waiting for?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Brian retorted. ‘You haven’t let me find out yet!’
Sylvie’s colour deepened. ‘There’s more to a relationship than sex,’ she said huskily. ‘And I don’t sleep around.’
‘I’m not asking you to sleep around,’ Brian countered, slipping his arms around her waist again and drawing her towards him. ‘Only with me.’
‘No, Brian.’
‘What do you mean? No—now, no—later, or no—for all time?’
Sylvie licked her lips. ‘Just no.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I can’t.’
‘Or won’t?’
‘Brian, why is it so important to you?’ Sylvie shook her head. ‘Everyone knows I’m your girl. Why should it matter whether or not we’ve been to bed together?’