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  ‘But, Daddy-‘

  ‘Take it into the bank, deposit it in your own name. I don’t want you having to come to me every time you ladder your stockings or need a new lipstick.’

  ‘But, Daddy-‘ Sophie pointed helplessly at the generous cheque, ‘this will keep me in tights and cosmetics for years!’

  Dr. Kemble screwed the top on his pen with a smile. ‘All the better. But somehow I don’t think it will last as long as you imagine. Everything is becoming more expensive, and I don’t want my daughter reduced to shopping in discount stores.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy!’ Sophie slid off her chair and hugged him closely.’Oh, Daddy, I do love you!’

  ‘And I love you,’ he answered huskily, pulling her down on to his knee, and at once she stiffened. But only for a moment. It was too familiar. The same room — even the same chair! With a choking sob she wrapped her arms round her father’s neck and burst into tears.

  He allowed her to cry for a few minutes and then he pushed his handkerchief into her hand and said: ‘I know all about it—Rob told me. He also told me that you — well, you’d taken it rather badly. Darling, it’s only natural. Rob is a very attractive man. Any girl would feel the same. But you’ve got to get things into perspective. Rob is twelve years older than you are. He has his own life to lead, and you have yours.

  Now, run along and wash your face and get ready to go with Simon. And — and Sophie – ‘ This as she halted rather stiffly by the door. ‘Sophie, don’t get any ideas about Simon either, will you, darling?’

  Simon’s car was a Chrysler station wagon, a much more conventional vehicle than his brother’s Jensen, and more suitable to the sometimes rugged country roads.

  Sophie had changed into a plain suit of cream wool, which had been bought for her the previous Easter and was therefore reasonably styled, and an olive green shirt.

  With her hair secured in a tortoise-shell clasp she looked much older, and Simon looked at her twice as she came to join him in the station wagon.

  ‘Nice,’ he commented, as she slid into the seat beside him. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Sophie looked back at the house to wave at her father and stepmother who had come to see them off. ‘Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go.’

  As Laura had said, it was a dull morning, but gradually the sun was breaking through the clouds, and although it hadn’t the humid heat of yesterday, the day was not cool. Simon drove smoothly and after a while Sophie felt her taut nerves relaxing. She brushed a hand across her cheeks. Had Simon noticed that she had been crying? If he had, he wouldn’t mention it. Not unless she did.

  Hereford was busy with holidaymakers and they had difficulty finding somewhere to park. All the regular car-parks were full, but eventually they managed to squeeze into the kerb between a furniture wagon and a Mini. Simon locked the car and they walked back towards the main thoroughfare where Levinsons occupied a prominent position.

  ‘You don’t have to come into the teenage department with me,’ Sophie told him, as they rode up in the lift. Levinsons was of the older type of store where escalators were not in evidence.

  Simon pushed his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket. ‘Don’t you want me to?’

  Sophie sighed. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want to.’

  ‘What?’ Simon shook his head. ‘And have you come out with something like those jeans you were sporting earlier?’ he teased.

  Sophie felt her lips twitching. ‘All right. Thanks, Simon.’

  Looking up at him in the close confines of the lift she surprised a rather intense look in his eyes, but then it disappeared and he said lightly: ‘That’s okay. I’ll enjoy the floor-show.’

  In the event, Sophie bought two pairs of jeans—one in denim like those she had discarded, and a second pair in yellow corduroy. She also chose a couple of shirts and cardigans and a long cotton skirt which was straight to the knee and then fell in layers of frills to her ankles. Simon approved all her purchases and after they were stowed in the station wagon suggested that they had lunch in town.

  ‘But won’t Mummy be expecting us back?’ asked Sophie doubtfully.

  Simon shrugged. ‘I told her we might lunch out. It’s a cold meal at home and it won’t spoil if we’re not there.’

  Sophie hesitated. ‘All right, she said. ‘I think I’d like that, Simon.’

  ‘Good.’ Simon took one hand out of his pocket and slid his fingers down over her wrist and between hers. ‘Where shall we go?’

  They ate in a little Italian restaurant which Simon had discovered some weeks before in a side street just off the market place. There were muted lights and low banquettes beside red-clothed tables, and air-conditioning to keep the place cool. They had poached eggs with anchovies, veal cutlets coated in breadcrumbs and fried in butter, and stuffed peaches soaked in wine. Even Sophie could not resist such appetizing delicacies and she made quite a good meal. She sat back at last, unable to finish her peach, but feeling infinitely better. Simon viewed her warmer complexion with satisfaction and said:

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  Sophie swallowed the last of her wine and nodded. ‘Mmm, it was marvellous!’

  ‘Well, it’s the first meal you’ve eaten since you arrived home,’ remarked Simon dryly.

  ‘You only picked at your dinner last night and I saw the breakfast tray that my mother brought downstairs this morning.’

  Sophie looked pointedly round the restaurant. ‘Has this place been open very long? I don’t remember seeing it at Easter.’

  ‘Three months, I believe.’ Simon rested his elbows on the table, cupping his chin on his knuckles, watching her. ‘Did you know that the parents have arranged for us all to go to France in August?’

  ‘France?’ Sophie’s head jerked back and she looked at him in surprise. ‘No, I didn’t know.’ She frowned. ‘Who—who do you mean by all?’

  ‘You, me, Mum and Dad, the Pages – ‘

  ‘Oh, no!’ Sophie groaned. ‘Not Vicky Page!’

  ‘And her parents. Mum and Dad have rented a villa in Brittany.’ Simon grimaced.

  ‘You should worry. It’s me she’s after, and everyone knows it. In fact, I’m pretty sure the parents approve. After all, she is the vet’s daughter, and she’s a local girl. Entirely suitable. Unfortunately, she doesn’t suit me.’

  Sophie watched sympathetically as he picked up his wine glass and swallowed its contents with the fatalistic confidence of a man about to face a firing squad.

  ‘I suppose they think it’s time you were considering settling down,’ she ventured comfortably.

  Simon’s eyes were not grey like his brother’s but blue, and they darkened perceptibly as they rested on Sophie’s understanding face. ‘I think so, too,’ he said steadily. ‘But not with Vicky Page.’

  Sophie could feel the colour flooding into her cheeks and was glad of the muted lights to hide her consternation. But no, she told herself fiercely. She must not imagine such things. Simon wasn’t—he couldn’t be interested in her! Surely her experience with Robert had warned her of the dangers of misinterpreting a situation.

  ‘I—I expect there are plenty of other girls in the village to choose from,’ she exclaimed hastily. ‘And I mean, Hereford is not far-‘

  ‘Sophie!’ Simon’s hand had slid across the table and covered hers. ‘Stop talking nonsense. You know perfectly well what I mean. I’m not interested in the village girls or the Hereford girls or any other girls if it comes to that. It’s you I want, and I’m pretty sure you know it.’

  ‘Oh, Simon!’

  Sophie withdrew her hand from under his and pressed both her hands together tightly in her lap.

  Simon shrugged and lay back in his seat. ‘That’s okay. I know you don’t feel the same. But you’re too young yet to know what you want.’ He drew out a pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips. ‘I’m prepared to wait. Just don’t try to marry me off in the meantime.’

  Sophie shook her head helplessly. ‘Oh, Simon,’ she said
again. ‘Why did you tell me?’

  Simon lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘You looked pretty down after—well, after speaking with Rob. Look, I know about that, too. Rob told me—he told us all. I was pretty mad at the time, but I’ve got over it now. These things happen. It’s all part of growing up, I guess. I know you’ve always hero-worshipped Rob, but that was all it was, Sophie, believe me! Rob’s too old for you—too experienced. He deserves someone like Emma.’

  ‘Emma? Emma Norton?’ Sophie felt slightly sick. So she was still around, was she?

  She had been right in supposing that Emma would not be so easily discarded as his other girl-friends.

  ‘Well, anyway, let’s not talk about that now,’ said Simon, summoning the waiter.

  ‘We’ll have some more coffee, hmm? And then we’ll drive out to the Brecon Beacons, shall we? We can walk for a while and get home in time for tea.’ He smiled gently as Sophie began to look doubtful. ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t make a pass at you. At least, not unless you ask me to.’

  The Brecon Beacons was a national park that boasted some of the finest hill country in the whole of South Wales. Sophie had come here often with her parents as a child, and once she and Robert and Simon and some of their friends had camped here for a weekend. It was good to get out of the car and stretch their legs and with a fresh breeze clearing the clouds away it was an ideal day for walking. The Beacons themselves, huge peaks of red sandstone, reared their heads in the distance and nearer at hand the splashing waters of one of the numerous falls were cool and inviting. Simon kept to his promise of not touching her and Sophie relaxed again and enjoyed the outing.

  They arrived back at Penn Warren soon after five to find a sleek cream Jaguar parked beside Robert’s Jensen on the drive.

  ‘That’s John’s car,’ remarked Simon, in answer to Sophie’s questioning glance. ‘Do you know John?’

  Sophie bit her lip. ‘Vaguely, I think. He hasn’t been over to the house much while I’ve been home.’

  Simon parked the station wagon and thrust open his door. ‘Well, come and meet him. You’ll like him. He’s engaged to Joanna White. When Emma’s here, they all go around in a foursome.’ Then, seeing Sophie’s’ suddenly set face, he pressed on: ‘You know Joanna, don’t you?’

  ‘Is—is that Graham White’s sister?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Oh, yes…’ Simon’s expression was wry, ‘I was forgetting. You made quite a conquest there, didn’t you? Old Graham was over here last week asking when you were due home.’

  ‘I know. Mummy told me.’ Sophie was grateful to him for leaving the uneasy subject of Emma and Robert. ‘She’s invited him over next weekend. It’s so silly. We only played a few games of tennis together at Easter.’

  ‘It’s your irresistible charm,’ remarked Simon, with a grin, and indicated that she should precede him into the house.

  Robert and John Meredith were in the lounge, learning over the coffee table which was covered with maps. They both looked up when Sophie and Simon appeared in the doorway and immediately both of them rose to their feet.

  John Meredith was not so tall as Robert, but he was dark too, and more stockily built. His smile was slow and attractive, and he left Robert to approach Sophie with open admiration.

  ‘Well, hello, Sophie,’ he greeted her warmly. ‘It is Sophie, isn’t it? It’s a cliché, I know, but my! how you’ve changed.’ He had taken her hand and continued to hold it. ‘The last time I saw you, you had a ponytail and very short shorts!’ His smile widened and his eyes dropped the length of her figure, lingering on her long slender legs.

  ‘Say, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, after all!’

  Sophie couldn’t help warming to his personality. ‘You’re very flattering, Mr.

  Meredith,’ she replied, laughing, ‘but I can assure you I never had a ponytail!’

  John shook his head. ‘It must have been someone else, then. But you did wear the shorts, I remember them.’

  ‘I’m afraid I hardly remember you at all, Mr. Meredith,’ said Sophie dauntingly, and he shook his head.

  ‘I have that effect on people. And please—call me John. I’m not quite old enough to be your father, you know.’

  Robert’s voice broke into their conversation. ‘Can we finish what we’re doing, John?’ he demanded curtly. ‘I do have some work to do this evening, you know.’

  John grimaced at Sophie and then turned to face her older stepbrother, winking at Simon in the process. ‘All right, all right, bach. Don’t be so impatient. Just because you can talk to this beautiful young creature whenever it suits you to do so-‘

  ‘John, please!‘ Robert looked down at the maps and John released Sophie’s hand and crossed the lounge again. But as Sophie and Simon turned to go, Robert looked up again. ‘Where have you been, Simon?’ he asked.

  Simon paused in the doorway, supporting himself against the jamb. ‘Here and there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘We had lunch in Hereford and this afternoon we drove out to the Brecon Beacons.’

  ‘You’ve been out all day?’

  Simon’s mouth had hardened. ‘Yes. If you’d told me you wanted a report, I’d have compiled one for you.’

  Robert’s expression was not encouraging. ‘Don’t you think it would have been more suitable for Sophie to spend her first day at home with her father?’ he suggested pointedly.

  Sophie’s face had flushed and even John was looking a little uncomfortable. But Simon remained cool, if a little tight-lipped.

  ‘I think you should mind your own business,’ he told his brother succinctly.

  ‘It is my business,’ retorted Robert coldly.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ returned Simon, equally coldly. ‘And if I was you, I’d keep my mouth shut. Or Emma or no Emma, people will begin to think you’re jealous!’

  There was a moment of silence when Sophie felt sure it could only erupt into violence, when the atmosphere was taut and tense and explosive. And then John, with brilliant timing, said: ‘Now, if you’ve finished, Robert, perhaps we can get on. I, too, have work to do this evening.’

  Simon turned away and went through the door and Sophie followed him without looking back. She had never known the brothers react like that to one another before, and it troubled her. She caught up with Simon just before he entered the kitchen.

  ‘Simon?’ she appealed, touching his arm.

  Simon’s face relaxed and he even managed a slight sheepish smile. ‘It’s all right, Sophie, don’t look so worried. Nothing happened.’

  ‘Didn’t it?’ Sophie didn’t believe him.

  ‘No.’ Simon sighed, looking down at her resignedly.

  ‘Sophie, I sometimes think that Rob feels he’s got himself into a situation he’d rather be out of.’

  And with these enigmatic words, he opened the kitchen door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE next two weeks were hectic ones. Dr. Kemble found he had an unexpected spate of measles and mumps on his hands and Sophie went down to the surgery in the village with him most mornings to help Mrs. Lewis, his nurse, dispense pills and medicines. She was glad of the occupation to take her mind from other things, and it meant she saw more of her father and less of her two stepbrothers. Robert was apparently taking some holiday before returning to his work in North Wales, but he was out of the house a lot and Sophie hadn’t the courage to ask where he went or what he was doing. Simon, on the other hand, seemed quite content to laze around, enjoying the break from school, although more often than not he would appear at the surgery around coffee time and make some outrageous excuse about enjoying Mrs. Lewis’s particular blend.

  Towards the end of the second week, Simon had to go into Hereford for his mother, and that morning Sophie left the surgery earlier than usual to walk back to the house. She had not, as yet, had much time to renew her acquaintanceship with the village and she enjoyed strolling across the village green and feeding some biscuit crumbs to the ducks on the pond. Conwynneth
was a most attractive place to be on a warm summer morning, the cottages around the green vying with one another to see which of them could produce the most colourful setting. The gardens were bright with roses and delphiniums, sweet peas and geraniums, climbing plants framing open doorways, lupins and sunflowers bright against thick laurel hedges.

  Sophie felt an almost overwhelming sense of well-being and wondered, how the Roman scholar Tacitus could have considered Britain’s climate to be: ‘objectionable, with frequent rains and mists…

  She was walking up the uneven road with its high leafy hedges towards her father’s house when a car slowed behind her and presently pulled alongside her. It was sleek and cream, and to her surprise she recognised John Meredith at the wheel.

  ‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said, leaning out of his window, his eyes eloquent with the pleasure he got from looking at her slender, yet rounded, body encased in the new corded jeans and a paler yellow shirt.

  ‘Hello, Mr. Meredith,’ she answered, stopping and shading her eyes against the glare of the sun. ‘Isn’t it a lovely morning?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ he agreed, but he wasn’t looking at the Sophie moved uncomfortably. ‘I’m just on my way home. It’s so hot and I’m dying for a long cold drink.’

  ‘That sounds like an invitation,’ he remarked, opening his door. ‘I could do with a long cold drink, too.’

  Sophie flushed. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean—that is-‘ She broke off. ‘Of course, if you’d like a lager, I’m sure my mother would be only too pleased to provide you with one.’

  John shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I phrase myself badly. What I really meant was—would you allow me to buy you a drink?’

  Sophie began to shake her head. ‘I’m not eighteen – ’

  He smiled. ‘My home is not too far away. Come back with me and share a beer.’ He paused. ‘Wouldn’t you like a swim? My father installed a pool just last year.’

  Sophie didn’t know what to say. His invitation was very tempting, but she hardly knew him. The fact that Robert did was no recommendation.