Lights, Laughter and a Lady. Barbara Cartland

did not bother to read any more but merely tore up the letter and threw the pieces into the wastepaper basket.

      There were many others written in the same strain with addresses embossed on the top of the writing paper and surmounted by impressive crests or coronets.

      But every invitation made it clear that her father was invited because he made the party ‘go with a swing’ or, as one invitation written in a woman’s hand, said,

      

      “The whole thing will be a complete failure unless you are there as usual to make us laugh and, as far as I am concerned, to make me very happy – ”

      Minella tore up the letter quickly as she had the feeling that anybody reading it would put an interpretation on the words that she did not wish them to do.

      Then, because she herself had no wish to pry into her father’s private affairs, she tore up one letter after another without even taking them out of the envelopes or, if they were loose, without reading them.

      She was just about to do the same to the last letter in the drawer when the name on the bottom of it caught her eye, ‘Connie’.

      She looked at it, thought that she did recognise the handwriting and then with a second glance she was sure that she did.

      Constance Langford was the daughter of the Clergyman in the next village to the one in which they lived.

      Her father was a clever intelligent man who should never have accepted a country Living but should have been a Don at a University.

      Her mother had persuaded him to teach Minella a number of subjects that were beyond the capabilities of the retired Governess who lived in their own village.

      It had taken Minella a quarter of an hour riding across the fields to reach the Vicarage of Little Welham and the Reverend Adolphus Langford made her work very hard.

      She had first gone to him when she was just fourteen and had shared the lessons with his daughter Constance, who was three years older than her.

      It had been more fun learning with another girl and Minella had been very proud of the fact that she was quicker to learn and on the whole much more intelligent than Constance.

      Constance, when they were not in her father’s study, made it quite clear that she thought lessons were a bore.

      “I think you are lucky to have such a clever father,” Minella said politely.

      “I think you are lucky to have such a handsome and exciting one!” Constance replied.

      “I will tell Papa what you said,” Minella laughed. “I am sure he will be very flattered.”

      She had brought Constance home to tea and, as her father was at home, he made himself very pleasant, as he always did with everybody, and Constance had gone into ecstasies about him.

      “He is so smart and so dashing,” she kept saying. “Oh, Minella, when can I come to The Manor again? Just to look at your father is thrilling!”

      She had thought that such a gushing compliment was somewhat unkind to Constance’s own father.

      She liked the Vicar and found the way that he taught her was efficient and stimulating, but she soon had the suspicion that Constance was being particularly nice to her so that she would invite her again to The Manor.

      Because she had so few friends, Minella was only too happy to oblige.

      Constance had the use of a horse when her father did not need it and so they would ride back together across the fields. When they reached The Manor, to please Constance, Minella would go in search of her father.

      Usually he was in the stables or in the garden and, as it was quite obvious that Constance looked at him with wide-eyed admiration and listened to every word he spoke as if it was the Gospel, Lady Heywood had laughed and said,

      “You have certainly captured the heart of the village maiden, Roy, but you must not let her or Minella be a bother to you.”

      “They are no bother,” her husband replied good-humouredly, “and the girls of that age always have a passion for the first man they meet.”

      “As long as she is not a nuisance,” Lady Heywood said.

      “If she is, I shall look to you to protect me,” Lord Heywood replied.

      He had put his arms around his wife and they walked away into the garden, completely happy, as Minella knew, to just be together.

      A year later, Constance, or rather ‘Connie,’ as she would now called herself, saying that ‘Constance’ was too staid and dull, had gone to London.

      She had written to say that she had found some very interesting employment, although it seemed to Minella that her parents were a little vague as to what it actually was.

      Only once did she remember Connie coming home, or rather coming to The Manor, and that was after her mother had died.

      Her father was back from London and feeling very depressed.

      Connie had appeared looking, Minella now thought, quite unlike herself and in fact so different that it was hard to recognise her.

      She had grown slim, tall and very elegant and was dressed so smartly that Minella stared at her in astonishment.

      She had actually thought that the young lady standing at the front door was somebody from the County calling on them, perhaps to commiserate with her father over her mother's death.

      Then Connie had asked,

      “Do you not recognise me, Minella?”

      There had been a little pause and then Minella had given a shout of excitement and flung her arms round her friend.

      “How wonderful to see you!” she had exclaimed. “I really thought you had disappeared forever! How smart you are and how pretty.”

      It was indeed true. Connie had looked very pretty with her golden hair that seemed much brighter than it had been a year ago.

      With her blue eyes and pink and white complexion she looked every man’s ideal of the perfect ‘English Rose’.

      Minella had taken Connie into the drawing room, wanting to talk to her and just longing to find out what she was doing in London.

      Then two minutes after she arrived her father had come in from riding and after that it had been obvious that Connie wanted to talk only to him.

      After a little while Minella had gone to make tea for them, leaving them alone, and only as Connie was about to depart did Minella hear her say to her father,

      “Thank you, my Lord, for all your kindness and, if you will do that for me, I will be more grateful than I can possibly say in words.”

      “I can think of a better way for you to express yourself,” Minella’s father had replied.

      His eyes were twinkling and he was looking very dashing and, she thought, as if he had suddenly come alive.

      “You will not forget?” Connie had asked eagerly.

      “I never forget my promises,” Lord Heywood had replied.

      He and Minella had then walked with Connie to where she had left her pony trap at the blacksmith’s forge.

      “The reason I came here was to have my father’s old horse re-shod,” she had explained.

      She had looked, Minella noticed, at her father from under her eyelashes as she spoke and Minella had known it had only been an excuse to come to The Manor.

      Then Connie had driven away looking absurdly smart and somewhat out of place in the old pony trap.

      As they had watched her go, Minella had been perceptively aware that her father was thinking what a very small waist Connie had and how tightly fitting her gown was.