‘It was very kind of you to think of Alison’s entertainment.’
‘Well, one never knows,’ Audrey remarked, helping herself to another cake.
‘No,’ Julian agreed gravely, ‘I must admit-one never does know.’
Alison flushed and laughed.
‘Don’t be silly, Audrey.’
‘It’s not silly, really,’ Audrey assured her. ‘I’ve noticed-nice people like you nearly always have a baby quite quickly. People like Rosalie are quite different.’
Alison felt unable to find an answer to this at all, and even Julian’s sangfroid failed him for a moment. It was left to Theo to remark sagely:
‘I shouldn’t think Rosalie would ever have any.’
‘Well, suppose we leave that to the future,’ said Alison with great firmness, while Julian pushed back his chair abruptly and, fumbling nervously for his cigarette-case, strolled over to the window.
‘Anyway, she’ll have to find a husband first,’ observed Audrey uncharitably.
‘Audrey, you’re not to talk like that about your sister,’ Alison said sharply. ‘It’s extremely rude and not at all clever, as you seem to think. Besides, you know quite well, in any case, that Rosalie is engaged.’
‘Oh, but didn’t Mother tell you?’ Audrey didn’t appear very seriously dashed. ‘It was broken off last week. The engagement, I mean. I don’t know which did the breaking, but, anyway, it’s done.’
‘Rosalie’s-broken-’ Alison’s voice died in her throat Without even looking at him. she was overpoweringly aware of Julian’s tense stillness.
Then Audrey gave a squeal of protest.
‘Oooh Julian, you’ve dropped a lighted match on the carpet. Look, it’s scorching it!’
‘All right don’t get excited. It’s out now.’ Julian spoke quietly, but with a little thread of hoarseness in his voice.
‘It’s made a mark, though,’ Audrey said inexorably.
‘Never mind, Audrey dear. Finish your tea now. It doesn’t really matter,’ said Alison.
And it was true, of course. The whole carpet could have been burnt up and, in a sense, it would not have mattered. It was something that could be remedied.
There were other things that could not.
Later that evening, when the twins had been sent home perfectly happy in the car, Alison wondered if there were anything that she could-or should-say to Julian. But he was in one of his silent, absorbed moods, and she decided in the end that it was best to let Rosalie’s broken engagement pass without comment.
She could only hope nervously that neither she nor Julian need see Rosalie for some while, and that perhaps, by then, her cousin’s fickle affections would have fastened on someone else.
Christmas came and went without incident, except for the frequent visits of the twins, who seemed inclined to make a second home of the flat. From them Alison learned casually that Rosalie was still at home. So that when Aunt Lydia made a half-hearted suggestion that she and Julian should spend Christmas with them, Alison had a polite but firm excuse ready.
And, as only the most perfunctory concession to duty lay behind the invitation, her aunt did not press it.
Alison was sorry when the school holidays came to an end. She was warmly fond of both the children by now, and she knew that Julian, too, found them amusing and lovable in a way that was good both for him and for them.
‘Holidays are quite different now we have you and Julian,’ Audrey told her artlessly, and Alison thought it was one of the nicest compliments she had ever received.
The following Saturday afternoon Julian had an unexpected business engagement and, knowing that her uncle was quite likely to be at home that afternoon, Alison went along, a little fearfully, to Aunt Lydia’s house; she was uncomfortably aware that she had hardly seen Uncle Theodore since the wedding, and she trusted to luck that Rosalie at least would be out.
The servant who opened the door to her was one who had known and liked her in the old days, and she gave Alison a very friendly smile.
‘Is Mr. Leadburn at home?’ Alison asked as she came into the hall.
‘I think so, Miss Alison. Shall I go and see for you? I expert he’s in the little drawing-room.’
‘No, it’s all right, thank you,’ Alison told her. ‘I’ll go along myself, And Mrs. Leadburn-is she in?’
‘She went out just after lunch, Miss Alison, and won’t be back until late.’
Alison hoped profoundly that Rosalie had gone with her, but, feeling she could not prolong her enquiries further, she just nodded pleasantly and went along the passage leading to the little drawing-room.
Alison used to think afterwards how strange it was that one was never in the least prepared for the most overwhelming shocks of life. She was conscious of nothing more than a mild nervousness in case she should meet Rosalie, and a pleasant sense of anticipation because she was to see her uncle.
She opened the door, expecting to find him there, perhaps reading or writing letters. But her uncle was not in the room. Two other people were, however. One was Rosalie, and the other was Julian. And both were completely oblivious of anyone but each other.
With a distinctness that burnt itself on her consciousness, Alison saw that Rosalie’s arms were round Julian’s neck. her fair head pressed against his shoulder. He was speaking to her in low, urgent tones, and the arm which was round her was obviously holding her tightly.
This, then, was Julian’s unexpected business engagement.
In absolute silence Alison withdrew, closing the door behind her.
She felt terribly sick, and there was a high, singing noise in her ears. She wondered for a moment if she were going to faint, and then, with a tremendous effort, she pulled herself together.
There was no one in sight. The servant who had let her in had gone away once more to the back of the house, and the hall was quite empty. There was no reason why anyone should know about her visit. The only important thing seemed to be to get away.
Slowly and deliberately, as though it were difficult to make her muscles obey her, Alison let herself out of the front door.
It was only a matter of minutes since she had come in from the quiet square outside, but somehow it all looked quite different now, like some place she had only seen in a dream.
She walked along slowly, feeling a little better now that she was in the open air, but without much idea of what she was really doing.
Julian and Rosalie. Julian and Rosalie. It was like some dreadful jarring refrain that kept on repeating itself in her life. She would imagine for a while that she had escaped from it, and suddenly, without any warning, there it would be again, shattering the quiet harmony which she had so foolishly supposed was hers.
‘What can I do? What can I do?’ she kept repeating to herself. And then she found that she was saying it aloud in a hoarse little whisper.
She must get a better grip on herself. People would think she was mad. Perhaps she was a little mad. She felt strangely light-headed.
It was impossible even to think of going home to the flat. She didn’t think she ever wanted to go there again. But she couldn’t go on walking for ever. If only there were somewhere, somewhere.
Presently she found she had turned into Knightsbridge. Mechanically she quickened her steps, so that she should not look quite so strange and wandering, for it would give such a queer impression if she just crept along aimlessly as she had been doing for a long time now. Every now and then she paused to stare at shop windows. Not that she saw anything that was in them, but at the back of her aching mind was the conviction that she must pretend to do as other people were doing.
Only she wished she could have sat down somewhere instead of walking and walking.
And then someone spoke her name.
‘Alison!’