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‘Well done, dear, Sir Richard will appreciate that. But why d
id you want to know about this Circe? I am not sure you should be reading these Greek myths in any case, everyone in them appears to have led the most irregular lives.’
Hebe sighed inwardly. She had very much hoped she was not going to be asked that question, for, try as she might, she could think of no convincing evasion. ‘Major Beresford mentioned her,’ she admitted baldly.
‘Major Beresford? You have seen him this morning?’
‘Yes, I met him near the fish market.’
‘Provoking man!’ Sara swept into the sitting room and sat down in a swirl of periwinkle-blue skirts. ‘He comes nowhere near this house for three days and then has to meet you in the fish market with you looking like a local maid out marketing.’
‘He has been out of Valetta, Mama,’ Hebe said in an attempt to placate her wrath.
‘Oh? Well, in that case I forgive him. But there is no time to lose, we must send out the cards for our soirée on Tuesday. I had done nothing about it because I was so cast down by his failure to call.’
‘But, Mama, that is only two days away. Will people not think it odd that we should give such short notice of a party?’
‘I shall not regard that,’ Mrs Carlton said with the airy confidence of a successful hostess. ‘I shall say it is just an informal little gathering because I had a sudden whim.’
‘Should we not wait until you discover from Sir Richard this evening whether the Major is married?’ Hebe asked. ‘It will be a dreadful waste of gilt-edged cards if he is.’
Her stepmother did not appear to notice her satirical tone and replied seriously, ‘If he is married, then how much more we will need a party to cheer us up! But we must not despair. Now come along, let us draw up a list.’
Hebe spent the rest of the day writing cards of invitation, composing a long shopping list and daydreaming about Alex Beresford. Was he married? He should not be telling young ladies they were enchanting if he was, but then, men were inclined to flirt, she had observed, and none more than the scarlet-coated army officers.
It would be best, she decided, realising that she had spent the half-hour after luncheon gazing into space and nibbling the end of her quill, if Sir Richard told them that evening that the Major had a wife and large family. Then she could forget all about him, which would be much more comfortable. But she found she did not want that sort of comfort. It was disturbing, but also rather pleasant, to feel the butterflies in her stomach and to have a vague feeling of expectation and excitement.
The sensation was new, but she had no trouble attributing a cause to it. Was this why débutantes enjoyed flirting so much? No one ever tried to flirt with Hebe, for they were usually much too busy telling her about their problems. Or they were cheerfully taking her for granted as one of the people invited along to lend countenance to the prettier young ladies on any expedition.
Hebe dipped her pen in the standish and addressed an envelope, then another, but her mind kept wandering. Was whatever this strange relationship that seemed to be developing with Alex Beresford a flirtation? Perhaps he simply liked her and found her amusing, if unconventional, company. And, in any case, what did she want to happen? At this point Hebe’s imagination refused to help her. All she was sure of was that whatever Alex had in mind, it was certainly not making a proposal of marriage to a plain, very ordinary young lady on Malta, whatever her mama might think!
By the time the Commodore had arrived for dinner and had settled comfortably at the dinner table on Mrs Carlton’s right hand, Hebe was in a fair way to being in a dither of nerves.
His fiancée was far too skilful to pounce on Sir Richard with demands for information before he had drunk his first glass of claret and had sampled the excellent baked fish, removed with a timbale of rice and sweetbreads and a savoury omelette. She waited until he had put down his knife and fork and announced, ‘A most excellent dinner, Mrs Carlton,’ before responding demurely,
‘I am so glad it meets with your approval, Sir Richard,’ then added, as if it was a sudden recollection, ‘By the by, I have decided to hold a small soirée next Tuesday. I do hope you will be able to attend.’
The Commodore expressed himself both free, and delighted, to attend. ‘A sudden whim, my dear?’ he asked, a decided twinkle in his eye. Sara Carlton was firmly convinced that she managed Sir Richard without his having the slightest notion of it. Hebe was of the opinion that he saw through her wiles with perfect clarity, but rather enjoyed the experience of being wound around a pretty woman’s finger. He was more than capable of putting his foot down when he wanted to.
‘Exactly that,’ Mrs Carlton agreed. ‘A whim. Just an informal gathering of our particular friends. Tell me,’ she added, casually, ‘do you think Major Beresford would care to attend?’
The twinkle intensified as Sir Richard caught Hebe’s eye. She blushed and his eyelid drooped into the hint of a wink. ‘I cannot speak for his engagements that evening, of course, but I am sure he would be most pleased to attend if he is free.’
‘It must be so difficult for him—indeed, for so many officers—to be so far from their wives and families,’ Sara Carlton said, in a voice of soft sympathy that failed to deceive either of her companions.
‘Yes, indeed,’ the Commodore agreed. ‘Hebe, my dear, would you be so good as to pass me the parsley sauce? Thank you.’
Normally Hebe would have enjoyed the sight of Sir Richard gently teasing her stepmother. He knew exactly why Mrs Carlton was fishing and would soon put her out of her misery with an answer. Tonight Hebe was every bit as anxious for his reply as Sara was. She fixed her eyes on her plate and waited.
‘Not that Major Beresford is married,’ Sir Richard said as he replaced the spoon in the sauce dish. ‘Now, is he engaged? There was something I heard…no, I must have the wrong man, for now I think of it, our conversation only the other day showed him to be quite unattached. What were we talking of? Oh, yes, we were discussing the lot in life of younger sons and he remarked that his father was anxious that his elder brother marry, and that as it was, neither son was showing any signs of matrimony, which caused his lordship some disquiet.’
‘Ah!’ said Sara Carlton softly.
Hebe started breathing again. Which was better? To have been disappointed here and now, or to continue with the flirtation—or whatever it was she was having with Alex—and have the inevitable pain of seeing him pass on eventually to a prettier girl when the novelty wore off?
She looked up and caught Sir Richard’s kindly gaze on her and suddenly something inside her revolted. Why should she give up like this? Why shouldn’t Hebe Carlton attract young men as much as any débutante? Experience, an inner voice jibed at her. Even Mama, who has every reason to wish you well, despairs of your looks and your behaviour. Everyone likes you, nobody desires you…
Hebe’s chin came up and a decidedly martial light entered her eyes. Well, Alex Beresford apparently felt something more than liking. But he was not going to continue to feel like that if she was such a mouse. Sometimes she had wondered that this or that débutante had such a reputation for beauty and charm when she appeared quite ordinary to Hebe’s friendly, but critical, gaze. Yet such young women either believed in their own charms, or pretended they did, and somehow that put an aura around them. It was worth trying.
