“There! I knew there was something!”
“Well?” said Joanna patiently.
“My dear — I just lent them to him for a moment — the little boy on the train. He was so sweet, and I was afraid Polly would bite him if he kept on playing with her, and he was getting so tired of doing nothing — such a long journey for a child — I know what it’s like, I remember when Robert was little — he was a bit like Robert, too, the same blue eyes and way of—”
“What did you lend him, Mother?”
“Robert’s binoculars,” said Mrs. Trent in a hollow voice. “You know he always wants them at the seaside. So I looked them out and put them in my case straightaway so that I couldn’t forget — you know what my memory is like — and now...”
“Well, it can’t be helped,” said Joanna. “I expect they’ll be handed in. Robert will have to ring up...”
Anyway, she reflected as she propelled Mrs. Trent and her belongings towards the station entrance, Robert can’t blame me. It’s his mother, and his binoculars, and he must have known something like this would happen if she travelled down alone. We should have brought her with us last week, of course, only it seemed such a good idea to have at least one week of the holiday on our own.
“On our own.” The words made her smile wryly; and as she set down the suitcases and prepared for the long wait for a taxi, she found herself thinking once again about Corinne.
Corinne. A name that barely a week ago had meant little to her beyond a vague bundle of half-forgotten anecdotes, but which now meant a neglectful husband, a ruined holiday. It meant Robert’s ex-fiancée whom he had not seen for five years — until last Sunday afternoon.
It had been a hot afternoon, the second of their holiday. Joanna was wrestling with the outside water tap which served their beach bungalow, and whose vagaries, it seemed to her, had occupied more of their time than all their other holiday activities put together. Robert, already bored with his masculine role of conscript handyman, was leaving the job to her this time. He was lounging by the porch, looking handsome, and saying at intervals, “Come on,” or “Can’t you leave it for now?” And into this scene, looking more out of place than anything Joanna had ever seen in her life, stepped Corinne. Dressed in a tightly fitting black town suit, high-heeled black sandals and enormous gold earrings, she came stepping daintily through the tufts of grass and powdery dry sand, bending her head elegantly to avoid the lines of assorted garments that dangled everywhere between the bungalows.
Joanna saw her first. Saw the beautifully made-up face prepare itself to look astonished; saw this astonishment sweep over it most convincingly at exactly the right moment, as Robert looked up. And that was why, during subsequent arguments with Robert, Joanna found it so hard to believe that Corinne (having married and discarded two husbands since she had last seen him) had come “quite by accident” on her former fiancé. She “happened to be staying” at the largest hotel at this seaside town; she “happened to have two tickets” for this and that. Disgustedly, Joanna wondered how any man could swallow it, as Robert appeared to do with ease.
“Sorry, Mother, I didn’t catch what you said.” Joanna roused herself to attend to the old lady’s chatter. Whatever happens, she thought, I mustn’t let Mother find out about Corinne. She’d be terribly upset, she thinks that Robert and I are an ideal couple, and that I am the perfect wife for him. I must say, she is very sweet that way — you couldn’t have a kinder, more approving mother-in-law.
Though you could have a more efficient one, she amended grimly, as Polly’s cage door swung open at exactly the moment when their turn for a taxi had at last arrived. By the time the parrot had been retrieved and the crowd of delighted small boys dispersed, they had missed two more taxis, and Mrs. Trent was abject in her apologies.
“I’m so sorry, dear. I keep forgetting the latch...”
But the arrival of the next taxi cut her short; and it was not until they reached the bungalow that Joanna realised just how difficult it was going to be to prevent Mrs. Trent finding out about Corinne. How, for instance, was she to explain Robert’s absence at this very moment, as she staggered unaided through the front door with the two suitcases and the hatbox, followed by Mrs. Trent with the parrot and the umbrella?
“Robert’s awfully sorry not to be here to welcome you,” she improvised hastily. “He’s had to go into the village to see about — about the paraffin. For the stove,” she added, firmly.
But could that really account for the whole afternoon? If — as she suspected — Robert was playing golf with Corinne again, he certainly wouldn’t be back before suppertime. And anyway, he would be sure to say, “What paraffin?” if his mother mentioned it this evening. If only men had a little more tact, one wouldn’t mind these things quite so much. For once, Joanna was thankful for her mother-in-law’s erratic memory. With any luck, she would have forgotten all about the paraffin by the time Robert got back.
But hardly had this comforting thought come into her mind than she heard a sound which made her hold her breath. A coy tap-tap-tapping on the door she had just closed, and a familiar voice full of synthetic warmth and brightness calling: “Joanna? Are you in, Joanna, dear?”
Mrs. Pratt. Joanna cursed silently. Mrs. Pratt, the widow who lived in the cottage on the cliff, and whose hobby was watching the affairs of the summer visitors at the bungalows, and forcibly making bosom friends of as many of them as she possibly could. Joanna was well aware that Mrs. Pratt’s small brown eyes had taken in every detail of the Corinne affair; scarcely a day had passed this week without her dropping in and trying with ill-concealed gusto to extract from Joanna some sort of reaction on the subject, which she could then pass on to the other bosom friends on her beat.
“There you are, my dear,” she said, popping her head archly round the door. “Hiding away from little me like this! I haven’t seen you all morning! Come on and tell me all your news. And — dear me—” appearing to notice Mrs. Trent for the first time “—this is...?”
“This is Mrs. Trent, my husband’s mother,” said Joanna stiffly. “Mother, this is Mrs. Pratt, a neighbour of ours.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pratt. “How nice to meet you! It’ll be very nice for Joanna, I’m sure, to have a little company at last.” She waited, and as neither of her listeners responded to the shaft, she tried again.
“Where is Robert, my dear? Surely he is here this afternoon at least, when his mother has just arrived?”
“He’s gone to fetch the paraffin,” said Joanna coldly.
“The paraffin? Surely, my dear, you must have made a mistake? They always deliver the paraffin. In those great drums — let me look.” Before Joanna could stop her, she was on her knees examining the paraffin drum in the corner of the room.
“It’s nearly full! What can your husband be thinking of! The poor, dear man, all that long hot walk for nothing! If I meet him, I’ll tell him how sorry I am.”
“I’m sure you will,” said Joanna icily. “And now, I’m afraid Mother and I are going to be very busy unpacking.”
Gently, she tried to edge Mrs. Pratt towards the door.
“Of course, of course, I don’t want to keep you. I just thought” — Mrs. Pratt lowered her voice ostentatiously — “I don’t want to cause any trouble, and I’m sure it’s all right really, but as I came along I couldn’t help seeing your husband sitting on the cliff among the bushes with that young woman from the hotel. Corinne, I think the name is. Corinne Fairbrother. Sitting side by side.” She paused. “Of course, I’m sure it’s all right. He must have just met her by chance, coming back with the paraffin. Though it’s a funny way to come back. Right out of his way, you’d have thought. Still, that must have been it. And he must have sat down for a bit of a rest. It’s a long walk, of course. I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about, my dear. I’m sure it’s all right.”