The Cupboard under the Stairs by George Turner

Author:George Turner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ligature Pty Limited
Published: 2021-11-09T06:53:08+00:00

III

‘Guinevere—Gowns’

1

Julia, more completely isolated from events than she knew, was thrown back on aggrieved righteousness. Gwen’s departure was desertion; Gwen had considered only herself; Gwen had mocked when they should have united for support; Gwen had taken to easy flight and left her defencelessly alone. She sought to tear Gwen from her mind and succeeded merely in regenerating enmity.

For days she lived in an atmosphere of tension, teetering on the points of her nerves, seeing Harry in shadows and hearing his step in silences, constantly in waiting for sound at the door. In an access of anxiety she rang Kilkalla and asked the astonished Miss Finke if Harry White had been recaptured.

Miss Finke, despairing explanation, intimated that Kilkalla was no longer concerned with the man and that he was, so far as she knew, residing in Treelake. Julia gathered, with an affronted frustration, that Kilkalla was satisfied and so must she be.

Day dragged after empty day and no dragon roared. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing of him, she saw she had been right to trust her original instinct; so long as she made no move, she could not attract attention. Fate, like a snake, struck only at the moving object.

She no longer heard footsteps, but did not notice that she still listened for them, nor fancied shapes in shadows although still her eyes raked them.

She sought company and made friendly advances to Miss Martin, and achieved a Julia-and-Guinevere stage with a rapidity foreign to her; she discovered necessities for morning and afternoon teas and household consultations, ordered two dresses she did not need and extended the fittings to marathons of consideration and alteration. But she never again mentioned Harry, only displayed a feverish need for companionship.

Guinevere, knowing only that she had quarrelled with her sister for reasons partly guessable and certainly shabby, bore with her and hoped she was not setting fair to make a final fool of herself.

Julia badgered Jimmy incessantly, only peripherally conscious of her importunity, unable to concentrate or work or sleep unless she had schemed his company each day. He observed her chattering and angling and restlessness, and was privately concerned that she might worry herself into a breakdown; but he had made his stand on the matter of mutual trust and would not retreat from it.

And Julia, seeing their marriage as a haven and a refuge from a world grown hideously inimical, dared not confide in him. It appalled her that she dared not explain to him why she dreaded Harry’s appearance, or that she dreaded it at all; she had never before regarded her long-ago treatment of him as other than venial, a youthful indiscretion, an incident, but it enlarged itself now as a monstrous cruelty she dared not admit.

At least she was certain of her need for Jimmy, of her utmost wanting of him. In a burst of confidence she said as much to Guinevere who remarked, tritely for her, that knowing what you wanted was a good approach to getting it, and Julia, settling among her wishes, took no hint of split meaning.

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