Julie smiled at her friend's use of the Victorian form of address. Ruth had always called her father Papa, it was a kind of pet name, and had caused a good deal of amusement when they were at school.
As Ruth dressed for dinner that evening her misgivings returned in full measure. After all, she had told Patrick Hardy that she was leaving that afternoon. After what he had said this morning, she was quite prepared to believe that he would think she had stayed on for the sole purpose of seeing him again. Pacing about her bedroom, she considered making some excuse not to go down, but then squashed the idea. She was not a coward. She would go down to dinner and she would show him that she had absolutely no interest in him whatsoever!
Her choice of evening wear was limited. She had come down ostensibly for one night only, for the party, and apart from the dress she had worn then, she had nothing else suitable. Still, he had not seen her at the party and it was a most attractive gown. Made of cream velvet, gathered beneath her breasts to fall straight and smooth to the ankle, long sleeves reaching a point at the wrists, it was the perfect complement to her intense fairness, the low round neck revealing the creamy flesh of her throat.
Even so, she trembled a little as she descended the stairs and crossed the carpeted hall to the lounge where Julie's father and mother usually had an aperitif before their meal.
She was the last to arrive, and therefore she felt as if she had timed her entrance, which simply was not so. Nevertheless, her appearance did attract attention and she focused determinedly on Julie's mother, refusing to look in Patrick Hardy's direction.
However, Mrs. Stephenson was unaware that they had been introduced, and to Ruth's chagrin she drew her towards him, smiling and saying: “You haven't met Ruth, have you, Pat?”
Patrick, dark and slightly foreign-looking with that amazing tan, looked disturbingly masculine in his evening clothes. The men were not wearing dinner jackets, but they were both dressed in dark suits. Seemingly unperturbed by the situation, he said: “We have met, Marion. We had breakfast together, didn't we, Miss Farrell?”
Ruth's lips felt stiff. “Yes. Yes, that's right,” she said uncomfortably, aware that Julie was staring at her in surprise.
“Oh, I see,” Marion nodded. “You must both be early risers.” She smiled. “That's all right, then. We all know one another.”
Ruth moved back to Julie's side and accepted a glass of sherry from her father. Then dinner was announced and they all walked into the dining room which adjoined the lounge, where the buffet tables had been laid out the night before. To Ruth's relief, conversation was general and there were no awkward silences. Like herself, the Stephensons found Patrick's experiences in South America fascinating, and in spite of her antagonism towards him, Ruth found herself listening with increasing interest.
Once she looked up and found his eyes upon her and for a brief moment she was hypnotised by their grey penetration. Then Julie's father said something and his attention was distracted, but the small incident served to unnerve her and she spent the remainder of the meal with her eyes glued to her plate.
When dinner was over, they all adjourned to the lounge for coffee, and Ruth seated herself beside Julie on a low couch. Julie's father and Patrick Hardy were standing by the windows. Their conversation had turned to farming matters, and Mrs. Stephenson came to join the girls, shaking her head in resignation.
“Sooner or later your father always brings the conversation round to the practical applications of modern research in methods of breeding,” she remarked, sitting down beside them. “Poor Pat! I'm sure he's not really interested in such things.” She sighed. “Still, I shouldn't grumble. We did well to get through dinner without James mentioning the hormone treatment he's considering using in the battery houses!”
Julie giggled, and Ruth was unable to prevent herself from casting a surreptitious glance towards the windows. But the two men seemed engrossed in what they were saying and did not appear to have noticed Mrs. Stephenson's slightly caustic comments.
When her mother picked up a magazine and began flicking through the glossy pages, Julie turned to Ruth and murmured in an undertone: “You didn't mention that you'd had breakfast with Patrick this morning.”
Ruth moved her shoulders carelessly. “I forgot about it.”
“I gather he didn't live up to your expectations,” remarked Julie wryly.
“I wouldn't say that,” Ruth was determinedly casual.
Julie raised her eyebrows. “Even so, last evening you seemed fascinated by him –”
“Don't be ridiculous!” Ruth glanced uncomfortably towards Julie's mother, but fortunately she seemed not to have heard them. “I was curious to know who he was, that was all. I told you at the time.”
“I know.” Julie studied her friend's hot cheeks speculatively. “Oh, well, if that's how you feel.” She shrugged. “How about playing some records in the library?”
Ruth jumped at the chance to get out of the same room as Patrick Hardy, but Mrs. Stephenson looked up as they got to their feet. “Where are you two going?”
“To play some records,” replied Julie. “You don't mind, do you?”
Her mother frowned. “Not exactly.” She looked towards her husband and Patrick Hardy. “But really, James can't monopolise Pat all evening. I'm sure the man must be bored to tears as it is. Why don't you bring some records in here, Julie? Some of your less noisy ones, I might add. You young people could dance.”
“Oh, Mummy, really!” Julie was not at all suited. “How can Ruth and I dance in here – in front of you?”
“Well, why not? Young people don't seem to require partners these days, do they?”
Julie sighed and Ruth felt a twinge of impatience. It seemed they were not to escape so easily.
“All right,” said Julie at last. “I'll get the records.”
“Good.” Her mother smiled up at Ruth. “Come and sit down again, and tell me where you went this morning.”
“This morning?” Ruth subsided rather quickly.
“Yes. On your ride.”
“Oh – oh, yes.” Ruth gathered herself. “I'd forgotten.”
Julie came back with several records of groups popular at the moment and some more orchestrated pieces. Ruth joined her by the stereo equipment and managed a rueful grin. “Never mind,” she whispered. “I'm sure your parents will soon get tired of listening to these.”
“Let's hope so.” Julie was glum, but before they had time to put any records on the turntable the sound of a car accelerating up the drive came to their ears.
“I'll get it,” exclaimed Julie eagerly, and was out of the door before anyone could protest.
“I wonder who it can be,” remarked Mrs. Stephenson, laying aside her magazine, and the men were distracted from their discussion.
“Probably Hayes about the point-to-point,” replied her husband. “He said he'd let me know when it was to be held.”
But when Julie came back into the lounge she was accompanied by a young man whom Ruth recognised as Peter Forrester, one of the guests at the party last evening.
Mrs. Stephenson smiled a welcome. “Oh, hello, Peter. This is a pleasant surprise.”
Peter Forrester was a thin, attractive young man in his late twenties. Recalling what she knew about him, Ruth decided he looked very much the outdoor type he was. His father farmed the land to the north of Julie's father's estate, and Peter had been to agricultural college and was at present acting as bailiff for another landowner in the district. Ruth also knew that he was very fond of Julie and that she would probably finish by marrying someone exactly like that. Julie was a country girl at heart, and although she enjoyed coming up to town and staying with Ruth and her father, deep