The Shape of Sand Read Online Free PDF

Mama’s birthday next week! Are you any good at play-acting?” Vita dimpled at him. “I warn you – Harriet will try to rope you in, she’s of a managing disposition and we’re woefully short of men—men who are willing, that is,” she declared in mock reproof at her future husband, and the perspiring Teddy Cranfield.
    â€œAn ability to stand still would be more useful than playacting, since it’s a tableau vivant we’re to do! Barely a week to prepare for it – and we haven’t yet decided on a subject!”
    That was the youngest daughter, Daisy. An untidy child, her long hair not yet up, her features not fully formed into those of the woman she would become, the only one of the three who had Beatrice’s gold silk hair, her pale creamy skin, maybe the only one with the promise of their mother’s true beauty, but who could tell? She was as yet an unfolded bud. Her looks did not quite accord with her ways, however, that much was apparent even to a newcomer such as Iskander. Like her elder sister Harriet, a lively intelligence animated her face, and she spoke with a vehemence and conviction that could never have come from Beatrice. There was nothing in the least remote and cool about her.
    â€œBut why,” he asked in soft, rather sibilant, but excellently English tones, “do you not choose something where no men are needed? Botticelli’s ‘Three Graces’ comes to mind.” His smooth smile travelled from one sister to the other.
    â€œToo easy,” said Harriet immediately. It had been thought of before, and dismissed, but she was too polite to say so. “The audience is supposed to guess, you see, Mr Iskander.”
    â€œAnd three such beauties would immediately give away the answer, of course.”
    Kit gave a short laugh, but Bertie and Teddy Cranfield were reduced to an embarrassed British silence at this confirmation of what their instincts had already told them about the fellow. Beatrice, returning to her seat, said, “Girls, you’re not to plague Mr Iskander when he’s only just arrived. He needs a little peace after his train journey from town.”

    â€œOh, bother, yes, that train! Isn’t it just too tiresome?” demanded Daisy. “Miss Jessamy should have been on it, too.” Her thickly dark-lashed hazel eyes sparkled, so attractive a contrast with that golden hair. “Are you sure you didn’t see any mousy person in a governessy grey dress lurking in the shrubbery outside the station, Mr Iskander? Or did you, Kit?”
    â€œDaisy!” As a perfect hostess, the word tiresome in connection with guests – or even one soon to become an employee – was not one Beatrice allowed to be on anyone’s lips. “I’m certain Miss Jessamy will not be like that in the least. There has simply been some misunderstanding, which will no doubt resolve itself shortly,” she added, though Rose Jessamy not being on the train would in fact mean all sorts of complications, not the least of which was that Copley would have to be available to take the motorcar (though perhaps the pony trap would do) down to the station again to meet all likely trains … But how unmannerly of her, she thought privately, if she had been prevented from catching the train she had indicated she would travel on, not to have sent word to let them know when she might be expected! Such a communication would not have been difficult, they were not behind the times here at Charnley. The house, as well as being equipped with electric light, three bathrooms and hot water heating pipes running beneath the floors of the ground floor rooms, boasted a telephone set. Or if, like many people, she was averse to using the instrument, why not send a telegram? Even a letter posted in London that morning would have arrived here by now. “She is not a governess, she is an artist,” she said, as if that explained everything