Accompanied by His Wife

Author:Mary Burchell [Burchell, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

‘Damn the Zoo!’ thought Patricia distractedly. ‘Damn both Zoos, come to that. Why did I have to make that idiotic comment, when there was almost any other remark in the world that I could have made instead?’

And at that moment Mrs. Harnby looked up from her newspaper and smiled. Her usually slightly secretive eyes were bright and candid, and she looked full at Patricia.

‘I’m sorry, dear. You must excuse me. I was reading the critique of last night’s ballet. One never quite loses the old thrill.’

‘No, I—I suppose not.’

(Then perhaps she hadn’t heard! Perhaps she hadn’t noticed! Oh, if only such luck could really be.)

‘When I’m better we must go together. That is, if you would like it.’

‘I’d love it,’ Patricia assured her feverishly. ‘I—I quite often went when I was in London.’

‘Did you?—You know, I’m glad you have so many friends, Patricia.’ (Patricia went cold again.) ‘Michael always used to write of you as though you were rather a friendless little thing when he met you. But I think he was quite wrong. You seem to have plenty of people looking you up, as soon as you come to London.’

‘Yes.’ Patricia wished her lips would not feel quite so dry. ‘Yes, I have a good many friends really. I suppose it was just that—in Paris I was rather alone, and—and Michael was kind.’

‘I daresay that was it,’ Mrs. Harnby agreed, with that casual little smile of hers, which always seemed to suggest that she accepted whatever you said to her but had her own private thoughts on the subject, all the same.

That afternoon Patricia took the greatest pains to look her very nicest. After all, this was the most important afternoon of her life. Stripped of its deceptions, its confusions, its absurd masquerade, this meeting with Phil was to be the one thing that had mattered since the death of her father and the complete change of her world. He was going to tell her that he loved her, and she—at last—was to be able to explain what had happened, and how, until this moment, she had not been able to tell him how much she loved him.

The dress which she chose from the few good ones she had left was the same colour as her eyes—that warm blue which Michael had noticed the very first time he met her.

Isobel, who met her on the way downstairs, said:

‘What a charming outfit. Part of your trousseau, I suppose?’

‘Yes,’ Patricia said. ‘Part of my trousseau.’ And she went on down the stairs, and out of the house, to meet Phil.

He was already there when she arrived, although she herself was early. She saw him from some distance, walking slowly up and down, pausing from time to time to gaze at the flower-beds, as though he really found something there which interested him.

The smile with which he greeted her was all she could have wanted—affectionate, roguish, completely admiring.

‘Darling, how sweet you look!’ He kissed her before she could make up her mind whether she meant to kiss him or not.

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