Man of Honour by Jane Ashford

Author:Jane Ashford [Ashford, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0446947970
Publisher: Warner Books
Published: 1981-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

When Laura woke the next morning, her headache was still with her. She lay still for some time, thinking over the events of the previous day and feeling heavy-eyed and depressed. She wondered what would be the consequences of her foolishness in going to the masquerade. She had somehow expected to go and get it over, and then to forget it. But she saw now that they had by no means come to the end of the matter, as she had known since she encountered Mrs. Allenby in the opera box. That woman, and Laura felt a flash of dislike as she thought of her, would not rest until Laura had been humiliated. She had heard this in Vera Allenby’s voice as surely as if she had said it aloud. Laura shook her head as she remembered the way Mrs. Allenby had looked at her. If the other woman knew the true state of the Crenshaw marriage, she thought, she would not be so bitter. Eliot’s mistress almost certainly saw a more tender side of him than Laura ever did. The idea made her clench her fist. It was intolerable that this thoroughly unpleasant woman should have this advantage over her.

Laura dressed and went down to the breakfast room. It was empty when she entered, though the table showed that one person, probably Eliot, had eaten and gone. Laura rang for fresh tea and sat down to toy with a piece of toast. She was not at all hungry. She drank two cups of strong tea but ate almost nothing, then rose again and paced about the room. What was she to do now?

As she went out into the hall on her way to the drawing room, she was suddenly hit by a wave of sadness. What had happened to her life, she wondered dismally? It had never been so complicated and unhappy before. In fact she had never felt so low. She stood for a moment, struggling to control the tears that had started in her eyes. She put out a hand blindly and grasped the stair rail.

After a time she went into the library with some idea of finding Eliot and thrashing things out with him, but he was not there. He had been working in the room; there was a pile of mail on his desk and several slit envelopes beside it. Indeed he appeared to have departed in a hurry, for one letter lay open on the floor next to his chair, which had been shoved back crookedly.

Sighing, she went over and picked it up. She was about to put it back on top of the pile when the signature caught her eye. In a bold script full of flourishes was written “Vera.” Laura struggled with herself for a moment, then tossed her head and began to read. If Eliot left such letters lying about, he must expect that someone would find them. Perhaps he had meant her to.

The note was not long. It began, “Dearest Eliot,” and continued with the very information that Laura feared.

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