"JILL DOESN'T COUNT"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 3 December 1940, Page 10

"JILL DOESN'T COUNT"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

Phyllis Harnbledon.

(Author of “Youth Takes the Helm.”)

CHAPTER V. (Continued >. These days she wasn’t’quite so gentle and considerate with Oliver as she had been. Sometimes she found hersell snapping at him. When she did, ne answered her gently, and she was ashamed. But this unnatural state of things was wearing down her powers of resistance. It was unbearable to her to see him unhappy, and to know that she could do nothing to help him. Sometimes she thought, if they had a child, things would be easier. In the books they talked a lot of the wonders worked by the arrival of the little stranger, didn’t they? But there was no child. And they had expenses al-

ready. Then one morning there was a telephone message. Jill took it. Would Dr. Vereker call to see Miss Barbara Barnes at Hexwood House, five miles i away? ) “Why., she’s a friend of Viva’s!’’ said Jill. “That’s another of the wealthy patients, Oliver. I believe she’s quite nice, though I’ve never met her. Perhaps you came across her at one of the studio parties?” “I don’t remember,” said Oliver. Nor did he, when he saw Barbara Barnes, think that he had ever seen her before. She was a vivacious brunette. Sire lay on an elaborate bed with lace frilled pillows. She said she had lumbago, but the fact was not particularly evident. Still he had had previous experience of decorative ladies, who sent for the doctor if a finger ached. "I’ll order some medicine for you at the chemist’s,” he said, and you must keep off meat and alcohol. Here’s a diet sheet you ought to stick to. I’ll call again at the end of the week.” “You’ve done me a lot of good already,” said Barbara. He knew that the diet sheet would go to the winds, as soon as he was out of the house, and metaphorically shrugged his shoulders. Illness to Barbara Barnes would be an excuse for stinging admirers for flowers. I’m glad, he thought, I don’t usually treat these sort of people. But he was glad, too, that Barbara would certainly be one of the half-guineas patients the practice so sorely needed. He went down-stairs stopped dead. In the hall stood Viva Ferrand.

Instantly Oliver knew why Barbara had sent for him. Viva did not pretend to be surprised to see him. She was very lovely today in her short swagger fur coat, a green hat on her exquisite curls. "Good morning, Oliver,” she said. “Good morning, Viva,” said Oliver. He made as if to pass her, but she put out a hand and prevented him. "No, come into the lounge. I want to speak to you.” “There’s nothing to say,” said Oliver.

“That’s silly! You’ve married my sister, haven’t you? That’s a topic for conversation, surely!” The lounge into which she led him was essentially Barbara’s done in reds and creams. The flowers and the flowering plants that stood everywhere would have kept him and Jill in food for a week. Viva took up a crystal box and offered him a cigarette. “No, thank you,” said Oliver. “Oh, Oliver, don’t be so silly!” cried Viva; she was actually laughing. “You’re behaving as if you were Red Riding Hood, and I was the Big Bad Wolf. Dear, get it into your head that all is really over between us. I’m half thinking of marrying Randolph Young anyway. He’s the man who’s playing opposite me in the new film. I know I lost my temper the day I came to see you, and I was simply horribly rude to J ill. I was sorry a minute afterwards. i want to apologise.” “I will tell her so,” said Oliver stiffly.

"No, I want to tell her myself! Oh, I behaved disgracefully. But Jill knows I never mean a quarter of what I say. And she’s my only sister. Oliver, I’ve lots of admirers. I don’t mind losing one of them, but I can’t afford to lose my only sister. Why can’t we all be friends after all? She’s a dear thing. I’m glad you found out her worth. She’s worth a dozen of me any day.” “That’s a fact, Viva,” said Oliver, and he grinned in spite of himself. “I’ve only looks,” said Viva, “and they’ll be gone by the time I’m forty.” “You will be lovely until you’re eighty, and you know it,” said Oliver. Viva smiled, a tiny smile of satisfaction.

“I hope so,” she said with engaging frankness. “I’ll admit I'd' hate not to be pretty. Oh, Silver, it is really awfully nice to see you again. And since you’ve got over that silly ‘pash’ for me. well, we can be friends, can’t we? Take me back to Charnford now. I want to tell Jill that I am sorry. Yes, please, Oliver!” she added, seeing his face. “I don’t expect she’s ready for company, as my old nurse used to say, but I’m one of the family. Let’s go now.” Oliver gave in. Quarrelling as Viva said, was absurd. Here she was prepared to make amends honourable. Jill would be glad to see her, he thought quite honestly. She and Jill have been pals for life. Viva’s right, he told himself. I suppose they've missed each other. Just because she did treat me badly, is no reason why we shouldn’t meet quite naturally now, surely? As for getting over my stupid ‘pash’ for her, as she puts it. well, as long as she doesn't know that I haven't, I'll be all right. We've been dramatic about this long enough. Jill and I. "I happen to know that it’s liver and bacon for lunch,” he said. "Then I’ll call at my house and collect some stuff,” said Viva. "I don't believe I could eat liver, even for the sake of saying I'm sorry to my only sister.”

They drive round by Lilac Cottage, and Viva ran in and came back with a picnic basket. Even now everything seemed all well to Oliver. He was a man, and he perceived nothing condescending in Viva's action. Rather it

appeared to him jolly and friendly and generous and unexpected. He didn’t like liver much either, and he didn’t believe Jill did. Since Viva was his sister-in-law, and a grossly extravagant one at that, why shouldn’t she produce the makings of a picnic? Picnics gave you- a nice friendly informal feeling. As for Jill’s forgiveness, you could take it for granted. Jill was the most generous soul alive. Jill was just cooking the liver and bacon when the car arrived. She had had a busy morning. After the dispensing, she had cleaned, dusted and cooked. She was a little dishevelled, and there was a smut on her nose when she heard Oliver’s car draw up at the door. Then came the sound of footsteps and a girl’s voice that she recognised. There was Viva, Viva lovlier than ever, soignee as ever. Viva, her arms as full of parcels as a traditional Father Christmas. “Oh, Jill, Jill, darling!”

Before she knew what was happening, Jill found herself kissed, but carefully so that her soiled overall should not spoil this radiant beauty. “Oh, Jill, you’ve forgiven me, haven’t you?” cried Viva. “Darling, I’ve been perfectly miserable. How could I say i all those dreadful things to you? But I didn't mean tnem. You must have known that I didn’t! Jill, I’ve come to apologise. I’m willing to grovel as much as you want me to. I’m terribly sorry. I want to be friends so badly. Look, I’ve brought my gifts by way of a peace offering.” She dropped her parcels on to the table —luxuries which the kitchen of the doctor’s house in Charnford had never seen, filched from Viva’s refrigeraton. A brace of young partridges already cooked, a huge tin of potato crisps and caviare, hothouse grapes, a trifle of foaming cream and sherry which her cook had put ready for the evening. And there were the makings of a cocktail, too, and a bottle of hock. The liver and bacon became common, plebian food, meant only for the kitchen. “Jill, have you gone dumb?” cried Viva. “Aren’t you going to forgive me?” “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all be friends again, Jill?” said Oliver. His eyes were very bright. 'He was. looking happier than he had looked for weeks. “The great reconciliation scene!” cried Viva.

Jill, standing there, had a not altogether unreasonable desire to throw all the good things lying on the table in her sister’s face. If they were talking histrionically of drama, then she herself belonged to the rough and tumble’ variety. To throw that trifle straight at Viva’s pink-and-white beauty would have afforded hei' ecstacy. She knew her sister too well to believe for one single moment in the abject apology. But Olived did believe in it. And he looked so glad. How could she refuse the olive branch?”

"Very well, Viva,” she said steadily. ‘ Then we’re friends again.” “Splendid, darling!" said Viva. “Where’s the dining room? Here, take the partridges, Noll!” Certainly she turned what would have been a very dull meal into a joyous repast. She was so utterly, so unquenchably gay. Oliver hardly noticed that Jill was silent. Viva filled up every pause in the conversation. She described the new picture, funny things that had happened during the shooting of it, an interview she had given, the vagaries of her maid who had always lived with the best families. “She didn’t think I was ‘qaite, qaite,’ ” drawled Viva, “until she found I paid five guineas for my pyjamas.” The food and the wine were so good, the cigarettes that they smoked afterwards. had a luxurious flavour. For a brief while Oliver could forget the surgery, could forget that the world held pain and sickness. Viva had always had that effect upon him. She could take him away from the stern realities. How sweet she was! He was Jill’s faithful husband, he told himself, but he could still be Viva’s friend.

Only one warning he had before she left, a warning that he disregarded. Her car came to take her to the studios. She had a chauffeur now, an elderly man with a reserved and quiet face. “When are you calling to see Barbara again?” she said as Oliver helped her into the driver’s seat. “I shall not go and see Barbara again,” said Oliver firmly. “There is nothing whatever wrong with her.” “No?” queried Viva softly. She said no more, but there was an enigmatical teasing look on her face as she drove away. She rather thought he would see Barbara again quite soon. Viva had certain claims on Barbara, which would not lightly be disregarded. I’ll tell her to send for Oliver again on Friday, she decided. And after that —we’ll see! (To be Continued).