A Nightingale In The Sycamore by Jane Beaufort

Author:Jane Beaufort [Beaufort, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788726565164
Publisher: Saga Egmont International
Published: 2021-04-13T04:00:00+00:00

The next day Martin Sutherland arrived at the flat unexpectedly, and insisted on taking Virginia out to lunch with him. Iris was lunching in Bayswater, and Virginia was quite alone, so there was no excuse she could think up on the spur of the moment to avoid having lunch with him. And when she thought about it afterwards she admitted to herself that she had had no real desire to think up an excuse.

‘But you must give me time to change,’ she said shyly, thinking with relief of the new leaf-green suit in her wardrobe. And when she was ready, with the little hat Iris had insisted on adding to their purchases sitting like a blown leaf on her shortened curls—for, also as a result of listening to Iris, she had submitted to the attention of a local hairdresser, and much of her mistybrown ‘crowning glory’ had vanished—her new highheeled shoes making her feel unusually tall and willowy, new suède gloves and an elegant pouch handbag completing the picture, she could tell by the look in Martin’s eyes that the transformation met with his approval.

She didn’t know quite why, but although Martin looked at her with admiration, and the admiration was quite unconcealed, and in addition there was something else—something very friendly, and good for her morale, and warming to the fibres of her being—she didn’t find it difficult to meet his eyes, in the way that she often found it difficult to meet Charles’s eyes. Perhaps it was because Charles’s eyes mocked sometimes, and even when they were not openly mocking they were gently teasing, and Martin’s passed on to her the impression that his main preoccupation in life was protecting and understanding people like herself.

With Martin she felt at ease, relaxed—conscious that, whatever happened, he would take great care of her. With Charles …

But she gave her head a mental shake and stopped thinking of Charles.

The lunch Martin provided her with was delightful. The people who surrounded them looked, to her unaccustomed eyes, delightful, too. They were so well dressed, so sure of themselves, so gay—or that was the impression she received. Martin pointed out to her film celebrities, a well-known dancer, a television personality, and even a politician. Virginia felt almost awed to be breathing the same atmosphere as so many important people, and at first she was inclined to stare with very round eyes. But gradually the effect of the choice food, the wine Martin ordered with the meal, his conversation, and the relaxation on all sides of her, caused the novelty to be banished, and she began simply to enjoy herself.

She enjoyed herself so much that she was sorry when the lunch was over, and Martin drove her back to her flat.

‘We must do this sort of thing often,’ he said, when they were sitting immovably in a traffic jam. ‘Really often!’

‘Oh, but I mustn’t take up a lot of your time,’ she returned, with a simplicity that secretly amused him, and increased the tenderness he already had for her.

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