It was at lessons the next morning that they discovered Posy was missing; she had been at breakfast, but no one had seen her since. Doctor Jakes and Doctor Smith went outside, and discussed what was best to be done, and when they came back they told Pauline and Petrova not to say anything to Nana or Sylvia yet, that even if they rang up the police nothing would be done for an hour or two, and by that time Posy might be back. She was almost twelve, and unlikely to get run over.
They began lessons, but they were very unusual ones. Every time there was a noise on the stairs, both doors shot open, and Doctor Jakes’s and Pauline’s head came out of one, and Doctor Smith’s and Petrova’s out of the other. “Is that you, Posy?” they all said. It never was. They were glad when it came to beaver time; but although there was a plate of strawberry ice each, none of them had the heart to eat it, and they looked unhappily at the bit left in the box, which was Posy’s share.
In the middle of the morning Clara came up, and told Pauline she was wanted in the drawing-room.
“Why?” Pauline asked.
Clara looked mysterious.
“That Mr. Reubens is here with Miss Brown, and from what I heard it might be good news.”
Pauline’s going made the doctors decide not to struggle with any more lessons; it was a farce, anyway, for they were none of them thinking of work, but only of Posy.
Petrova sat on the bottom step of the stairs, where she could watch the front door. She could hear voices in the drawing-room: Mr. Reubens’s deep one, and Sylvia’s high one, and quite a lot of Pauline’s. She could not hear what they were saying, but just voices. Presently the drawing-room door opened and Pauline came out. She looked rather odd. She came to the stairs and shared Petrova’s step.
“Posy back?”
“No.”
“He”—Pauline nodded in the direction of Mr. Reubens—“has been offered a lot of money for me to go to Hollywood.”
“Goodness!” said Petrova. “Does he want to make you a film star?”
“Yes.” Pauline put her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin in her hands. “But I don’t want to be.”
“Why not?”
“I want to be an actress,” Pauline explained, “an actress on the stage. It’s quite different from pictures.”
“How much money would they pay you?”
Pauline looked embarrassed.
“You wouldn’t believe it, but about a hundred pounds a week, perhaps more, because the English studio want me to stay here. Mr. Reubens says that the English studio didn’t realize that America would want me, or they’d have had me under contract.”
“Goodness!” Petrova gazed at her. “A hundred pounds a week!”
“More, quite likely.” Pauline hugged her knees. “But I don’t want to go; it’s for five years, or it could be, if they take up their options.”
“Five years!” Petrova stared at her, horrified. “Would you go all alone?”
“No, Garnie would come too.”
Petrova opened her eyes.
“Then what about us?”
Pauline shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know. Garnie said if I wanted to go, it could be arranged.”
“Did you say you wouldn’t go?”
“Yes.” Pauline frowned. “But Mr. Reubens said I was to come out and talk it over with both of you.”
“You can’t talk it over with Posy,” Petrova said sadly. “I do wish she would come back.”
She had hardly said the words when the front door opened and in burst Posy, with her attaché case in her hand.
“Posy! Where have you been?” the other two asked together.
Posy did not answer that, but joined them at the bottom of the stairs.
“He’ll take me,” she said in an ecstatic voice.
“Who?” asked Petrova.
Pauline remembered last night.
“Monsieur Manoff?”
Posy clasped her hands.
“Yes. Isn’t it just the most wonderful thing that has ever happened? I went out to the theater, and I was lucky; there was a rehearsal, and the ballet were going in. They none of them spoke English, but just said something funny to the doorkeeper, which I suppose was ‘Good morning.’ I saw he didn’t know any of them by sight, so I walked in too, and just said ‘Beaver-time,’ which might be Czechoslovakian for ‘Good morning.’ I went down on the stage, and put on my ballet shoes. Presently the ballet came down. Nobody said anything to me. Then Monsieur Manoff came. There was a most terrific bowing and curtsying; they call him ‘Maître.’ Of course I curtsied too. Then he saw me. He came over, and asked what I wanted, and I told him that he should see me dance; and he said not then, there was a rehearsal; but I said it would be a mistake not to see me, and I couldn’t wait. So he laughed and called me to the middle of the stage. Then he gave directions. You cannot imagine…” Posy got up, and gave an imitation of Manoff giving directions at great speed, and herself trying to follow, but always a bit late. “At the end he asked who had taught me, and when I told him, he blew a kiss and said, ‘I understand now.’ Then he said, ‘You will come to me to Szolyva’—that’s where the school is—‘and I will make you into a beautiful artiste.’ So I said I would get Garnie to make the arrangements, and I came home.”
“But, Posy,” Petrova gasped, “how do you think Garnie is going to afford to send you there? In any case, you’re a child—you can’t go alone.”
“No, I thought of that,” Posy agreed. “Nana will have to live there with me, or Garnie.”
“But what about money?” Petrova insisted.
Posy’s face grew anxious.
“She’ll have to get it.” She clasped the end of the banisters. “I must go. I must.”
“But you can’t.” Petrova caught hold of her. “It’s silly to pretend you can, Posy; Garnie hasn’t any money—you know that. You must get it into your head. You can’t go.”
Pauline got up.
“Yes, you can, Posy; wait a second.” She went into the drawing-room. She was out again in a few minutes.
“That’s settled. Garnie’s signing for me now.” She looked rather miserably round the hall. “Imagine five years!” She turned to Posy. “It will be all right for you; I shall pay—I’m going to make an awful lot of money: enough to keep you, and Nana, in Czechoslovakia, as well as Garnie and me in Hollywood.”
“Oh! Pauline darling.” Posy flung her arms round her neck, then jumped up and pirouetted round the hall.
Petrova tried not to feel selfish, but it was rather tremblingly that she said to Pauline:
“What about me?”
“You!” Pauline considered her. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about you.”
“No, I suppose not,” Petrova agreed, and tried not to cry. To prevent herself she changed the subject. “That’ll put an end to our vowing—at least, we can’t do it all together.”
Posy stopped in the middle of a pirouette.
“We couldn’t vow anymore, anyhow.”
Pauline nodded.
“No.”
Petrova looked puzzled.
“Why not?”
Posy came to her and leaned her hands on her knees.
“Did you ever read of a dancer in a history book?”
“Or a film star?” asked Pauline.
“No, I suppose not,” Petrova agreed. “But…”
Pauline looked at Posy and nodded.
“That’s an idea.”
“What is?” said Petrova.
“You.” Posy turned a cartwheel. “You’ll go into history books. That’ll put Fossil there all right; it doesn’t matter about Pauline and me.”
Petrova looked puzzled.
“How will I?”
“Flying, of course.” Posy, who was still very excited after her interview with Manoff, turned another cartwheel.
“Would that?” said Petrova.
“Of course.” Pauline spoke eagerly. “Don’t you see? It’s sort of exploring, like Frobisher, or Drake. Amy Mollison and Jean Batten will be there, but not as important as you. The books will say: ‘The greatest explorer in the middle of the twentieth century was Petrova Fossil, who found routes by which goods could be carried at greater speed and less cost, and so she revolutionized trade.’ Come here, Posy, and stop showing off.” Posy came to her. “This is the vow you and I must make on our birthdays—Petrova can make the old one—‘I vow to help in any way I can to put Petrova into history books, because her name is Fossil, and it’s our very own, and nobody can say it’s because of our grandfathers.’ I’ll write it out for you, or you’ll forget it.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll learn it with my feet, and then I’ll know it always.” Posy got up, and walked out a routine of steps, then she walked them again, then did them faster.
“Fancy,” Petrova said, “me. You’d think I’d be the one to do nothing at all.”
Pauline shook her head.
“I wouldn’t. I’ve always thought you were the one that might. Film stars and dancers are nice things to be, but they aren’t important.”
Posy had learnt the vow with her feet, and she spun round the hall. At that moment the door opened.
The man who came in was old; he had a gray beard, a wooden leg, and a shabby holdall in one hand. Posy stopped dancing. Pauline and Petrova stood up, and then, as if the old man was a magnet, they were drawn down the hall toward him.
The old man plunked his suitcase on the floor, and looked round at the girls in an irritated way.
“It’s always the same,” he said. “I keep a pack of women in the house, and they’re never about when they’re wanted.”
“Is it possible,” Pauline asked politely, “that you are Gum?”
“Gum! Of course I’m Gum. Who else should I be? Who’re you?”
“Pauline.”
“Petrova.”
“Posy.”
He stared at them.
“But you were babies. I collected babies.”
Posy patted his arm comfortingly.
“You’ve been away some time, you know.”
“Some time? I suppose I have. One forgets. Well, let’s sit down and hear all about you.”
They sat round him on the stairs, because there was nowhere else where they could all sit. They told him everything: about how poor they had been, and the house being sold, and finally the day’s news.
“I’m going with Garnie to Hollywood to be a film star,” Pauline explained.
Posy thumped his good knee.
“And I’m going with Nana to Czechoslovakia to train under Manoff.”
Gum swung round and looked at Petrova.
“That seems to leave you and me. What would you like to do?”
“Flying and motorcars,” Posy put in, before Petrova could answer.
“That suits me.” Gum looked pleased. “I’d like to fly—get about quickly. There are lots of things you can pick up if you get about quickly. Cook and Clara still here?” They told him they were. “Good! Then they shall look after us, as you’re taking Sylvia and Nana. Might hire a car tomorrow, Petrova, and find a house near an aerodrome where you could study.” He got up. “Where’s Sylvia?”
“In there.” Pauline pointed to the drawing-room. “But you’d better not go in, she’s signing my contract. Mr. Reubens is there.”
“Think I care for contracts or Mr. Reubens?” Gum opened the drawing-room door and hobbled in.
The three girls stared after him. Pauline smiled.
“He’s nice.”
“I’d like to live with him if I wasn’t going to Czechoslovakia,” said Posy.
“I shall like it.” Petrova looked radiant. A house near an aerodrome. Gum, Cook, Clara. It did sound fun.
“What different things we are going to do!” said Pauline.
“In such different places,” added Posy.
“I wonder”—Petrova looked up—“if other girls had to be one of us, which of us they’d choose to be?”