The Other Linding Girl Read Online Free Page B

really—no.”
    He seemed so casual about it that Rachel found herself wondering indignantly if he more or less lived on Uncle Everard.
    “Then what,” she enquired rather austerely, “do you do for a living?”
    “Oh, I dabble a bit in chemistry—write occasional articles for the less popular journals, when I feel I have a good subject—odd things here and there, you know.”
    “But nothing regular?”
    “Nothing regular,” he agreed.
    Rachel thought it sounded dreadful. For all her father’s understanding and indulgence, neither she nor her sisters had ever been allowed to suppose that the world owed them an easy living.
    They had all been brought up to realise that they must put as much into life as they took out of it—or, quite simply, feel ashamed. This casual catch-as-catch-can sort of existence seemed little less than immoral to her.
    “It doesn’t sound very worthwhile,” she said severely.
    “I’m sure your uncle would agree with you.”
    “And doesn’t that—worry you?” She didn’t quite like to say “make you feel ashamed”.
    “No. He has his very definite viewpoint, to which he is entitled, and I have mine.”
    To Rachel his didn’t sound like a viewpoint at all, more like an amiable drifting, while the really serious business of life was left to others. She told herself Nigel Seton was not her business. But, though she managed to remain silent, her expressive face said more than any words, and after a moment, he laughed softly and enquired,
    “Have I shocked you?”
    “I don't much like your views,” Rachel admitted,
    “Does that mean you don't like me?” he enquired,
    The question was lightly asked and should have been, lightly answered. But, in some inexplicable way, it assumed quite unmanageable proportions.
    “I—don’t know,” she said. And, even to her own ears, there was a note of surprise in her voice.
    “Reserve judgment Rachel. ” He smiled, that gay and rather mocking smile, as he looked at her. But she noticed that his eyes were entirely grave.
    The discovery oddly disconcerted her, and she was glad that, at this moment, they arrived in the huge forecourt of the Gloria Hotel, and he parked the car immediately behind the sleds Jaguar from which Hester and Oliver Mayforth were just emerging.
    The four of them joined the stream of people making their way through a private entrance to one of the several ballrooms which the Gloria boasted. But, somewhere short of the ballroom itself, Hester took Rachel’s arm in an unexpectedly determined grip and, with a careless word or two about getting rid of their wraps, she whisked her off to an incredibly luxurious powder room.
    The moment they were inside the door, she said brusquely, “Rachel, I want you to do something for me.”
    “Why, of course.” Rachel was eager to do anything to please her unpredictable young aunt.
    “I’ve no intention of spending my evening with Oliver Mayforth. He bores me,” she said, with devastating simplicity. “I’d be glad if you would take him off my hands. ”
    “But—” Rachel was greatly taken aback—“why didn’t you agree to go with Nigel—with your brother—in the first instance, then?”
    “I’m not going to spend a whole evening with a mere brother either,” Hester replied, with a slight laugh. Which immediately made Rachel wonder uneasily with whom she did intend to spend the evening. But, though she felt extremely uncomfortable, it was not for her to start questioning her aunt. And so she said, a little reluctantly,
    “I’ll do whatever you like, of course. But what will your brother think?”
    “Nothing,” replied Hester coldly. “I shall explain to him.”
    Again Rachel felt acutely uncomfortable. The whole arrangement suggested so clearly that Hester and her brother were used to joining forces to use people and situations to suit their own ends. No wonder Uncle Everard had been critical. And, at the thought of her uncle, Rachel could not help wondering if