Only, of course, one never did forget anything like that.
In the end, Julian and she did very little actual househunting; It seemed that Julian was friendly with a famous interior decorator, who knew ‘just the place’ for them. He also appeared to know exactly how Alison should wish to have her home.
Not that anyone tried to overrule her, or to ignore her wishes, but as Alison watched the beautiful luxury flat taking shape in the hands of experts, she felt that this would never be her home to her.
They knew so much better than she did what was best and right, and she couldn’t pretend that the result was anything but beautiful Only, sometimes she caught herself wondering guiltily if it was perhaps more exciting and real when you couldn’t afford to pay experts, but just had to muddle and contrive on your own. At least it was your own place then-with all its endearing faults and virtues.
It would have mattered so much, of course if Julian and she had been an ordinary young couple in love. But what was the good of pretending that colour-schemes and furniture were of mutual, romantic interest to them when their marriage was only ‘a business arrangement’?
Julian never emphasised the situation, but his kindly, detached, ‘you-have-everything-as-you-like-it’ attitude inevitably made Alison feel that, to him, their flat would merely be a place in which one lived, because one had to live somewhere.
So long as it was convenient, comfortable, and moderately attractive, it had no further significance for him.
And why should it? Alison, who was inexorably honest with herself, faced the fact squarely. There was no single reason in the world why he should be expected to feel anything else.
He took her out in the evenings a good deal-to theatres, to dinners, to concerts. But they always went by themselves or else in a small party which included only his personal friends, such as Simon and Jennifer. Evidently it was his intention to keep entirely aloof from Rosalie and whatever danger she might represent.
Then one evening he took her to a big dance, a semi-public affair, given at one of the principal hotels. Alison had been looking forward to it all the week, for she loved dancing, and, as this was being given in connection with Julian’s office, there was no likelihood whatever of Rosalie’s being there.
She wore one of her loveliest trousseau frocks-a leaf-green affair cut on Grecian lines, which made her look almost tall; and with it went little silver sandals, cut away to show the extremely pretty arch of her foot.
Even without Julian’s approving smile, she knew she was looking her best, and insensibly her spirits rose again, as they had not since that terrible afternoon at her aunt’s house.
As she came into the ballroom with Julian, she felt a happy little flutter of excitement. They would probably have most of the evening together, because there wouldn’t be very many people there whom they knew specially well, Simon and Jennifer, most probably-but they didn’t matter.
There was Simon now, dancing. And with him-Alison’s heart gave a nasty jar, as she caught a second’s glimpse of his partner before they were lost in the crowd again.
It couldn’t be! It couldn’t possibly- The people parted once more, and she saw that it was. The. totally unexpected had happened: Rosalie was here.
Alison glanced round for some sign of Aunt Lydia or of Rosalie’s fiancé. She could not see either. There was no explanation of Rosalie’s presence. She was just there, like some figure in a bad dream.
And then, from the sudden rigidity of Julian’s arm, she knew that he too had seen her.
It was all to begin again, then, this miserable, futile struggle. Just for a moment Alison felt it wasn’t any good- she couldn’t do it.
But of course she had to. She must stand by Julian, even if, in a sense, he scarcely wanted her to do so.
After a while she glanced up timidly at him, and, at the grim, hurt set of his mouth, her heart quailed.
‘Julian,’ she said quietly, ‘would you rather we went home?’
‘No, of course not.’ His voice was curt and almost harsh, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’
It was the first time he had spoken really unkindly to her, and Alison felt her throat contract. She hadn’t meant to intrude on his most private thoughts, but his withdrawn, resentful air suggested that she had.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a low voice. But at that he gave an impatient little exclamation, which seemed to suggest that she couldn’t let well alone and, suddenly very frightened, she relapsed into silence.
A moment later, Simon saw them, and, at the end of the dance, he came over, smiling and imperturbable as ever, to greet them. Rosalie, of course, came with him, to give a cool nod of recognition at her cousin, and a smile of unusual sweetness and gentleness at Julian.
Alison watched her helplessly, feeling dull and childish and unattractive, as she almost always did in Rosalie’s presence.
‘Dare I assume that Julian will spare you for a little while to come and dance with me?’ Simon asked her. He seemed quite unaware of any tension, and it didn’t appear to dawn on him that this move would inevitably leave Julian and Rosalie together.
She went with him. There was nothing else to do, though really she felt as though she were being pulled in two, for her heart went with Julian as, politely and calmly, he drew Rosalie on to the dancing-floor.
At random she answered Simon’s lazy, amusing comments. And afterwards, when he wanted to take her to have champagne, she tried to make an excuse to get away. But it wasn’t easy. He overruled her with careless firmness, and took her to one of the small completely secluded alcoves, where he left her for a moment while he went to fetch their drinks.
Alison buried her face in her hands. Not that she was anywhere near tears. It was just that she felt so frighteningly helpless and inexperienced. The situation was completely out of hand.
In her last glance round the room before she had come here with Simon, she had been unable to see any sign of Julian and Rosalie. Was he being forced into a tête-à-tête, too-something far more difficult and dangerous than anything she need expect with Simon?
She dropped her hands quickly as she heard Simon’s step, and when he came in she was looking quite composed once more.
He handed her her glass, and sat down at the other end of the settee, almost facing her. For a moment he looked at her over his glass with those strange dark eyes of his that gave away no secrets.
‘To your-eventual happiness, Alison,’ he said, and drank.
Alison had her lips against the rim of her glass before she realised the full implication of that. A little unsteadily she set it down.
‘Why do you say that, Simon? What makes you think I’m not happy now?’
‘Dear child, how can you be?’ His actual tone was light, but somehow she didn’t think it was a light matter to him.
‘I still don’t know what you mean.’ Alison felt the utmost reluctance to continue the conversation, but she could not refuse to take up that remark.
He shrugged slightly, and again he gave that odd little smile.
‘At the moment you imagine you are in love with a man who wants another woman. It’s not a happy situation for any girl,’ he said.
‘Aren’t you-making-some rather unpardonable remarks?’ Alison spoke a little jerkily, but with a certain youthful dignity.
Simon put down his glass then and, leaning forward, looked at her with deadly seriousness.
‘You needn’t pretend with me, Alison,’ he said slowly. ‘I know Julian, and Rosalie, and-yes, you also-too well for me not to understand the situation.’