Mrs. Kendall sat in a chair and watched Janet fold the things from her wardrobe and pack them slowly into the open suitcases on the bed. Her amiable features dimmed by a look of despondency, she sighed, 'Do you have to go, dear?'
'Yes, Mother,' Janet nodded slackly. Her face was pale and there were violet smudges under her eyes. Folding her white nylon dress with a lump in her throat, she tried to smile as she went on, 'I've got a living to earn, remember. You've only got your pension. And there's really no need for me to stay now.'
'I suppose not, dear,' Mrs. Kendall said gloomily.
'Besides,' Janet struggled to sound bright and practical, 'that letter you gave me yesterday was from Nona. She's got herself married. She's moved out of the flat and Angela left last week, so if I don't get back I'll have nowhere to live.'
'But you won't he able to keep a big place like that on your own.' Her mother's eyes widened,
'I'll have to get someone to share again,' Janet shrugged.
'What a business!' Mrs. Kendall sighed. She watched Janet move around for a while, then said casually, 'I hear that Bruce has severed all his business ties with London. Rumour has it that he's working permanently in Ibiza with his main office in Madrid.'
Janet's face was wooden. She said bitterly, 'He should do well. Considering what he did for his last clients, the Fords.'
When it came to it, it was a wrench leaving the island.
Janet didn't realise how much it had all become a part of her; her mother's hide house, the picturesque countryside, San Gabrielle on the hill with its placid, easygoing villagers. She was going to miss it all badly at first, living her sombre city life.
As though to make it all the harder to say goodbye, the September sky sparkled at its bluest on the day of her departure. The mountains ranged themselves conspiratorially in majestic splendour, their pineclad foothills appearing almost close enough to touch.
Janet took Dale for a last walk down the meadow, a lump in her throat when she brought him back and hugged him close. The second Twiggy came in for a cuddle too, though she was far too young yet to know what life was all about.
Janet had booked a taxi to come out from the airport, so there was nothing to do but wait for its arrival. With her suitcases beside her on the terrace she began to have misgivings about leaving her mother. Reassuring herself for the hundredth time, she made the most of lastminute conversation and asked anxiously, 'Are you sure you're going to be all right? How will you manage without the drive?'
Her mother, putting on a happy face, said perkily, 'Oh, don't worry about me. I'll have a gate put in from the farm road and get the butano men to carry the gas up through the garden. They won't mind.'
Janet nodded and went straight on with, 'And you will phone me if you're feeling the teeniest bit unwell?'
'Now don't fuss, dear,' Mrs. Kendall twinkled affectionately. 'You know I'm as strong as an ox. And I'll be over to see all my family as usual at Christmas.'
They jerked along in this way with similar oddments of chat until the taxi finally came round the corner of the villa and up the track. Janet's cases were humped into the boot. She hugged her mother for the last time and took her seat. The taxi turned slowly and crunched away.
Through a tearstarred gaze she waved at her mother,who was dabbing her eyes, perhaps because things hadn't turned out as she would have liked them to, and at Dale, who had no idea that she wasn't coming back.
Out on the farm road she watched the villa fall away behind her. She could still see its red roof and huge black palms when they were well on the way to the village.
Turning at last, her throat painfully constricted, she slumped back in her seat, engulfed in misery.
On the coastal route to the airport she closed her heart to the views. Unless her mother urgently needed her she wouldn't be coming back to Ibiza.
Because she had made her plane seat reservation by phone it was necessary to get to the airport early to pick up her ticket. She hated the hanging about in the airport lounge. She would have liked to step straight into an aircraft which wasabout to take off, making her break with the island quick and less painful. As it was she was compelled to rub shoulders with noisy, laughing tourists, who, relaxed and suntanned after their holiday, were looking forward to the added excitement of flying back home.
The stewardesses hurried about their tasks with smiling faces. Members of the flight crews stood around or strolled through their various gates making jokes with each other. The whole world seemed gay and carefree. It was only she, Janet told herself, who sat alone in black despair.
At last her plane arrived and she was able to merge in with the stream of people making their way out to the airstrip. By the time she got on board the plane was fairly full. Owing to a trick of fate a stewardess found her a seat directly in front of the cream curtain which partitioned off the firstclass area.
Her heart aching somewhere up in her throat, Janet wondered what kind of a person was sitting on the other side of the curtain. Would it be a keen-eyed, polished lawyer type with his briefcase opened before him, already immersed in his work? She got up once during the flight and caught aglimpse through the curtain. There was no one like that back there. Just a stout woman in a big black hat sipping coffee from a glass cup.
In an effort to cheer herself a little, she passed the time by imagining that this was actually the day that she was flying out to Ibiza, and Bruce really was sitting on the other side of the curtain. Though everything had turned out so disastrously, if she could have turned the calendar back to that day she knew she would have done.
When the plane touched down in England it was already growing dark. There were the Customs preliminaries to go through, then she was able to board a bus bound for the city centre. There was not much life about the streets. The shops were closed and only the lights from the odd cafe or cinema added a touch of colour to the night. Janet had chosen Sunday to travel so that she could get straight back to work on the following Monday morning.
She caught a taxi from the bus terminal. It seemed strange to see tall old buildings and cars sweeping to right and left, when she had grown accustomed to knowing only the lazy little town of Ibiza.
In the district where the flat was situated the lights were less frequent. She would have soon lost her bearings if the taxi driver hadn't been familiar with the area. He stopped at the front door with the flight of steps leading up to it. While she was searching for money to pay him, he carried her cases up for her. She gave him his tip and heard the car rumble away as she turned the key in the lock.
The smell of stale air and damp corners met her as she walked inside. In the hall she put her cases down and switched on the lights. Everywhere was grubby. Angela, the last to leave after living the past week or so on her own, hadn't been too particular, apparently.
The front room was thick with dust. Cigarette packets, biscuit wrappings, and scraps of this and that littered the fireplace arid furniture. The kitchen reeked of sour milkbottles that had never been put out. The bathroom was passable, though the floor was peppered with face powder and odd hairgrips.
Depressed beyond measure, Janet looked into the bedroom that Angela had used and quickly closed the door on its unsightliness. Thankfully Nona's room was neat and tidy, except for the film of dust which had collected since her departure.
Mrs. Kendall, using foresight, had packed her daughter enough groceries to see her over the weekend. Janet, removing everything from the bag she had carried as hand luggage, made herself a light snack, then switching all the lights off on the dismal scene she went to bed.
She rose early the next morning and caught the bus to work. Being a secretarial agency it was all very impersonal. She was assigned to a block of offices a few minutes' walk away and by ten o'clock was typing busily. There was no one to ask her about her trip to Ibiza, no one to comment on her paleness under her tan, or her violetshadowed eyes. She was just a typist engaged to cope with excess work
.
She ate out at lunch time and arriving back at the flat in the evening, ate out again, returning after a walk through the streets to go to bed. She dragged through each day in this way. She knew that sooner or later she was going to have to tackle the business of cleaning the flat. But despite the fact that the very place abhorred her as it was she could find no incentive beneath the weight of her unhappiness to do anything about it.
On Thursday evening she took the tube out to see Nona. Her marriage had come as no surprise to Janet. Throughout the summer months her letters had been veering more and more in that direction. Then just recently, according to her friend's last communication, Robert, the man in question, had received promotion. Wasting no more time, they had got married on the strength of it, and put all their savings plus Nona's holiday money into buying a new flat in Bayswater. They hadn't had a honeymoon or a holiday yet, but they were hoping that would come the following year.
Janet found Bllevere Gardens, a neat little block of flats on a new road, a short way from the tube station. She went into the pleasantly lit foyer and took the lift to the flat number she had on the letter in her bag. It turned out to be the end one along a tiled corridor. A thin strip of light showed under the door. There was the sound of voices and an occasional ripple of laughter coming from within. She rang the bell loudly.
Almost at once the door was flung open and Nona stood there looking flushed and radiant, the frill of a red heartshaped apron framing her face, a tea towel in her hand. 'Why, it's Janet!' she gasped, delighted, and grabbing her, 'Well, come on in!'
'Hello, Nona,' Janet smiled, blinking a little in the brightness. She entered a room filled with the new and shining things of newlyweds. The furniture gleamed like glass, the cushions hadn't had time to lose that shop window look. There were framed wedding photographs around and an ultramodern electric fire shone a warm glow against the chill of the night.
Nona had tossed her tea towel into the kitchen and was leading Janet across the room to where a stolidlooking young man with fair curling hair sat with books spread before him at a table beside the curtained window. 'This is Janet, my old flatmate,' she said to him. 'You remember! I told you, she had to go out to her mother's to Ibiza.'
'I remember.' The young man rose to quite a height and with a grin took her hand in a bear grip. He gave her a wink and added, 'She used to talk about nothing else.'
'This is Robert,' Nona said shyly. 'He's got a bit of book work to do before morning.' She dropped a kiss lightly on his cheek as he sat down again and told him softly, 'We won't disturb you, love.'
'It's nice to know you, Robert,' Janet smiled before theymoved away.
'Would you like to see the flat?' Nona asked proudly. She began to guide Janet around. 'This is the kitchen.' She switched the light on in a spruce little area done out entirely in white, with lime green fittings. 'The bathroom's along here.'
She led her along a passageway out of the living room, to peep in on coffeecoloured tiles and matching porcelain fittings.
'This is the main bedroom.' They wandered across and in over a deep red carpet to where curtains hung frothily at the windows, matching perfectly with the organdie fitted bedspread.
'And that's as far as we've got with the furnishings,' Nona laughed ruefully. 'Oh, there's a balcony out here,' she opened the door on a little stone built enclosure, 'and there's one at the front.'
Janet looked around her appreciatively, admiring the smart little dressing table and roomy wardrobe. 'You've certainly got a lovely place here, Nona,' she remarked sincerely.
Nona moved around happily, at the same time admitting with a wry look, 'Oh, well be paying out most of our wages for the next couple of years and heaven knows how much longer, with the mortgage. But it's wonderful to have a home of your own.'
'I can see you love it,' Janet twinkled, musing over her friend's pretty apron and flushed look.
'Me?' Nona laughed at herself. 'I'm an old hand now. I've been married almost four weeks.' She stopped suddenly, possibly because her perceptive gaze had noticed for the first time Janet's washedout look.
Stepping down from her highflying cloud, she scolded herself with, 'But here's me going on about myself. How are you?' She dropped down on the quilted commode at the end of the bed and patted the seat beside her. 'How wasIbiza?'
Janet grimaced a smile, strolling to join her. 'London doesn't compare very well at the moment,' she confessed.
'Did you get the track?' her friend asked cheerily.
'No.' Janet shook her head.
'Bad luck!' Nona was genuinely sympathetic. 'What happened?'
'Oh, the villa people had a lawyer working for them.' Janet tried to shrug lightly. 'He was much too clever for Mother and me.'
Nona didn't miss the despondency behind the reply. Discerning enough to link it with the stricken look she had noticed beneath her friend's calm exterior, she was silent for a moment before saying casually, 'A legal mind, eh?' She bent to pick an imaginary piece of fluff off her slipper, 'Was he married?'
'No,' Janet replied.
'What was he like?' Nona kept her voice casual.
'Bruce? Oh, tallish .., slim...' Janet tried to sound offhand over the pain in her throat. How could she say that he had eyes as fathomless and blue as Ibizan skies? That the charm of his smile when he directed it your way could hit you behind the knees. That she loved him as she would never love a man again. And that he had betrayed her.
As she was looking down at her shoes, a voice came from along the hallway, 'All right, girls, you can come out now. I've finished.'
Nona got up smiling at her husband's voice. 'Good, we can go and sit by the fire.' She led the way out.
In the living room Robert was rubbing his hands pleased with himself. 'Right! Now who's for a nice cup of coffee?' he asked as they entered.
'Well, as I've just got rid of the last lot of washing up, youcan have a bash,' Nona retorted playfully,
'My pleasure.' He bowed teasingly. 'And you're a rotten hostess anyway. You haven't even asked Janet to take her coat off.'
Laughingly, as the couple larked about with each other, Janet unbuttoned her coat and had it taken from her and hung on a hook while Rohert worked noisily in the kitchen, eager to show off his prowess in that department, Janet and Nona rook the armchairs beside the fire.
'What was the flat like when you got back?' Nona asked when they were settled.
'Pretty ropey,' Janet said wryly. 'Still is. I haven't got round to cleaning it up yet.'
Her reply seemed to be only what Nona expected 'Angela was impossible,' she sighed, and not without a trace of humour. 'It always amazed me how she could go out and model those beautiful gowns with that stately, queenly look of hers, and then come back and eat steak and chips in bed.'
'Come to think of it, I think I did see a plate and a knife and fork on the bedside table,' Janet said, joining in her amusement
'Have you got anyone to share with you yet?' her friend asked.
'No. I've lost contact with most of the typists I knew. I expect I'll have to advertise, though I can't say I fancy the idea of taking in a total stranger.' Janet gave a gleam of humour again. 'She might be worse than Angela.'
Nona was deep in thought. 'Look,' she said suddenly, 'why don't you come and live here for a while? We've got a spare room with a bed and a cupboard in it.'
'Oh, I couldn't do that,' Janet smiled, taken aback. 'Though thank you for offering.'
'Well, why not?' Nona persisted, warming to the idea. 'It will give you time to sort yourself out. You can look around at your leisure for something nicer than that old place, and if you have to share, at least it will give you breathing space, to choose someone you can get along with.'
'It's sweet of you to suggest it, Nona,' Janet said gratefully, 'but no.'
Nona sighed, then begged for help from the kitchen. "Robert, talk some sense into her.'
Her husband came out with the coffee
percolator in his hand, having heard every word. 'I think she's right, Janet,' he said with a seriousness around his grin. 'I've been to the old flat once or twice. Personally I think you're best out of it.' Seeing that she still hesitated, he added, 'You'd actually be doing us a favour. I'll have to work over quite a bit these next few weeks doing the Christmas displays. You'd be company for Nona in the evenings.'
Put like that, Janet gave it some thought. She had to admit that the idea of going back to the old flat each night appalled her. Perhaps it might be as well to make a complete break with the old life and start up anew somewhere. She could give Nona the money she normally paid for her rent until she found something. She knew she would have a job to get her to take it, but she would insist, And at least it would be a help towards their hirepurchase payments. They were on the phone, so she could keep in touch with her mother.
Giving it careful consideration, she said at last with a dubious smile, 'If you're sure I won't be a nuisance. I'll come and stay, just for a week or two.'
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