Twice Lost by Phyllis Paul

Author:Phyllis Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McNally Editions
Published: 2023-10-24T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

She had taken in with strained attention everything that Rosalie had told her about the case; and with senses so alert that she seemed to be entertaining two trains of thought at the same time, each with unnatural clarity. For as her gaze encountered the various objects in the dull, shabby room, in which the furnishings looked as if they had done duty for decades, sharp and clear messages reached her from these, too. Vivian must have known the pattern of that dusty carpet; and the one light and charming note in view, struck by a small Victorian china house which could be lighted by a candle—that must often have been turned admiringly in Vivian’s little fingers, so fascinating a toy! And perhaps it was those same little fingers which had naughtily unwound that tassel, or had broken the knob off the bureau while playing with it. The sleek, fair little head gleamed everywhere before her eyes—no, she could not see it as anything but fair!

‘Rosalie, what colour would you say the child’s hair was?’ But Rosalie, to her surprise, considered before answering. ‘Oh. well—fairish—but going darker, you know. She was fair when she was little.’

‘And her eyes?’

‘Brown—rather small.’

Hazel, Christine would have said; and she tried to recall the long oval little countenance, the recessive underlip, the eyes which, even at that age, were deepest. But the top lip of all small children is apt to protrude, in a way it does not later when the mouth has settled into its adult shape. It was a face which had haunted her long enough—and why did she feel this uncertainty about it now? She was conscious that the values of the picture had altered a little, it had a shade of strangeness; and no doubt that was because Rosalie’s portrait of the child, another, a different face, was superimposed upon it. Some strange impression had confused her own. Whose could it be but Rosalie’s?

Sitting there, she was faced with the question of what was at the back of her own conduct from the moment of deciding to see Mrs Lambert. She had known there was something other than pure charity, and now she nervously groped for that hidden motive. She had wanted this talk. She had wanted to discuss Vivian’s looks. Why? She could find no answer. As if she had lost control of herself, she persisted and repeated, ‘I find it so easy to exaggerate certain little peculiarities one remembers. I wonder whether you have a photo of Vivian?’

‘Not me. I got rid of them. There are only a few snaps, anyway. But of course the police used them and they were in all the papers. Along with everything else about us, all the dirty gossip. Of course, I know you had the same to put up with, in a way. But then, you see, no one ever blamed you—you never had anything to blame yourself for.’

‘You must have had a dreadful time,’ Christine said in a low voice, stiffly.

‘Well, I did.

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