LITMIR.BIZ

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these Swiss places. Fracture your arms or your legs and then not set proper. Goes to gangrene under the plaster and that’s the end of you. Awful smell, too.’

      ‘Well, we’ll hope that won’t happen to Sarah,’ said Ann, well used to Edith’s gloomy pronouncements, which were always uttered with considerable relish.

      ‘Won’t seem like the same place without Miss Sarah about,’ said Edith. ‘We shan’t know ourselves, we’ll be so quiet.’

      ‘It will give you a bit of a rest, Edith.’

      ‘Rest?’ said Edith indignantly. ‘What would I want with a rest? Better wear out than rust out, that’s what my mother used to say to me, and it’s what I’ve always gone by. Now Miss Sarah’s away and she and her friends won’t be popping in and out every minute I can get down to a real good clean. This place needs it.’

      ‘I’m sure the flat’s beautifully clean, Edith.’

      ‘That’s what you think. But I know better. All the curtains want to be took down and well shook, and them lustres on the electrics could do with a wash—oh! there’s a hundred and one things need doing.’

      Edith’s eyes gleamed with pleasurable anticipation.

      ‘Get someone in to help you.’

      ‘What, me? No fear. I like things done the proper way, and it’s not many of these women you can trust to do that nowadays. You’ve got nice things here and nice things should be kept nice. What with cooking and one thing and another I can’t get down to my proper work as I should.’

      ‘But you do cook beautifully, Edith. You know you do.’

      A faintly gratified smile transformed Edith’s habitual expression of profound disapproval.

      ‘Oh, cooking,’ she said in an off-hand way. ‘There’s nothing to that. It’s not what I call proper work, not by a long way.’

      Moving back into the kitchen, she asked:

      ‘What time will you have your tea?’

      ‘Oh, not just yet. About half-past four.’

      ‘If I were you I’d put your feet up and take a nap. Then you’ll be fresh for this evening. Might as well enjoy a bit of peace while you’ve got it.’

      Ann laughed. She went into the sitting-room and let Edith settle her comfortably on the sofa.

      ‘You look after me as though I were a little girl, Edith.’

      ‘Well, you weren’t much more when I first came to your ma, and you haven’t changed much. Colonel Grant rang up. Said not to forget it was the Mogador Restaurant at eight o’clock. She knows, I said to him. But that’s men all over—fuss, fuss, fuss, and military gentlemen are the worst.’

      ‘It’s nice of him to think I might be lonely tonight and ask me out.’

      Edith said judicially:

      ‘I’ve nothing against the colonel. Fussy he may be, but he’s the right kind of gentleman.’ She paused and added: ‘On the whole you might do a lot worse than Colonel Grant.’

      ‘What did you say, Edith?’

      Edith returned an unblinking stare.

      ‘I said as there were worse gentlemen … Oh well, I suppose we shan’t be seeing so much of that Mr Gerry now Miss Sarah’s gone away.’

      ‘You don’t like him, do you, Edith?’

      ‘Well, I do and I don’t, if you know what I mean. He’s got a way with him—that you can’t deny. But he’s not the steady sort. My sister’s Marlene married one like that. Never in a job more than six months, he isn’t. And whatever happens it’s never his fault.’

      Edith went out of the room and Ann leaned her head back against the cushions and shut her eyes.

      The sound of the traffic came faint and muted through the closed window, a pleasant humming sound like far-off bees. On the table near her a bowl of yellow jonquils sent their sweetness into the air.

      She felt peaceful and happy. She was going to miss Sarah, but it was rather restful to be by herself for a short time.

      What a queer panic she had had this morning …

      She wondered what James Grant’s party would consist of this evening.

      II

      The Mogador was a small rather old-fashioned restaurant with good food and wine and an unhurried air about it.

      Ann was the first of the party to arrive and found Colonel Grant sitting in the reception bar opening and shutting his watch.

      ‘Ah, Ann.’ He sprang up to greet her. ‘Here you are.’ His eyes went with approval over the black dinner dress and the single string of pearls round her throat. ‘It’s a great thing when a pretty woman can be punctual.’

      ‘I’m three minutes late, no more,’ said Ann, smiling up at him.

      James Grant was a tall man with a stiff soldierly bearing, close-cropped grey hair and an obstinate chin.

      He consulted his watch again.

      ‘Now why can’t these other people turn up? Our table will be ready for us at a quarter-past eight and we want some drinks first. Sherry for you? You prefer it to a cocktail, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes, please. Who are the others?’

      ‘The Massinghams. You know them?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘And Jennifer Graham. She’s a first cousin of mine, but I don’t know whether you ever—’

      ‘I met her once with you, I think.’

      ‘And the other man is Richard Cauldfield. I only ran into him the other day. Hadn’t seen him for years. He’s spent most of his life in Burma. Feels a bit out of things coming back to this country.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

      ‘Nice fellow. Rather a sad story. Wife died having her first child. He was devoted to her. Couldn’t get over it for a long time. Felt he had to get right away—that’s why he went out to Burma.’

      ‘And the baby?’

      ‘Oh, that died, too.’

      ‘How sad.’

      ‘Ah, here come the Massinghams.’

      Mrs Massingham, always alluded to by Sarah as ‘the Mem Sahib’ bore down upon them in a grand flashing of teeth. She was a lean stringy woman, her skin bleached and dried by years in India. Her husband was a short tubby man with a staccato style of conversation.

      ‘How nice to see you again,’ said Mrs Massingham, shaking Ann warmly by the hand. ‘And how delightful to be coming out to dinner properly dressed. Positively I never seem to wear an evening dress. Everyone always says, “Don’t change.” I do think life is drab nowadays, and the things one has to do oneself! I seem to be always at the sink! I really don’t think we can stay in this country. We’ve been considering Kenya.’

      ‘Lot of people clearing out,’ said her husband. ‘Fed up. Blinking government.’

      ‘Ah, here’s Jennifer,’ said Colonel Grant, ‘and Cauldfield.’

      Jennifer Graham was a tall horse-faced woman of thirty-five who whinnied when she laughed. Richard Cauldfield was a middle-aged man with a sunburned face.

      He sat down by Ann and she began to make conversation.

      Had he been in England long? What did he think of things?

      It took

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