by Anne Weale
“The necklace is a gift. I don’t expect any payment. The necklace is a gift...
Over and over again the harsh words echoed in her mind, and she tried desperately to understand why he had given her such a cruel rebuff.
An hour later, still awake, she heard footsteps on the landing. They stopped outside her door and she tensed, dreading that he might come in. But after a few minutes he moved on, and with a long breath of relief she heard his door close. She did not see him again until lunchtime the next day, by which time she had made up her mind to behave as if nothing had happened. If Justin wanted to misinterpret her every action, there was nothing she could say to soften his judgment of her.
In the days that followed Justin never referred to the dinner party, and it seemed as if their life was to continue indefinitely in a state of polite formality.
Andrea had hoped that Madeline might choose to forget their row, but it was soon evident that her sister-in-law had no intention of doing so., She was shopping in Knightsbridge one morning when she met two of Madeline’s bridge cronies. She stopped to speak to them, but with chilly bows both women walked past her, and looking after them she saw their heads together in eager discussion of the encounter.
The Saturday following the dinner party was Jill’s wedding day. She was being married from Nick’s parents’ home in Hampshire, as they were going to Spain for the honeymoon and a Cornish wedding would have made the journey more difficult.
On Friday evening Justin said that it was essential for him to spend the weekend in Manchester and Andrea would have to go to the wedding alone. Although she was certain that he was not genuinely obliged to go north, she made no comment. Afterward she was glad that he had not accompanied her, for the occasion could only have emphasized the uncertainty and stress of their relationship.
CHAPTER FIVE
Five days before their trip to the United States, Andrea woke up with a sore throat, and by midday she had all the symptoms of a severe head cold. Justin was out to lunch, and after a solitary meal for which she had no appetite, she took some aspirins and spent the afternoon lying on her bed with a hot-water bottle tucked against her aching shoulders.
At four o’clock Miller brought her a tray of tea and at five she pushed back the warm eiderdown and dragged herself off the bed, intending to have a hot bath. But as soon as she stood up her head began to throb and she felt sick and giddy. The bathroom seemed as cold as an icehouse, yet when she looked in the mirror her face was flushed and her eyes unnaturally bright. Suddenly the effort of bathing, dressing and going downstairs was more than she could face. Shivering and sneezing, she crawled back to bed and rang for Miller.
“When my husband comes in will you tell him I’ve got rather a bad headache and I won’t be down to dinner, please,” she said huskily.
Miller nodded. “Yes, madam. Is there anything I can get you?”
“No, thanks. I won’t want anything to eat.”
When the maid had gone she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but now her whole body was stiff and sore and her head felt as if it were stuffed with damp cotton wool. She was bracing herself to put on her nightdress and get into bed properly when the door opened and Justin appeared.
“Miller tells me you’re not very well,” he said, approaching the bed.
Andrea muffled a sneeze.
“I have a headache,” she said shortly.
“It sounds like a cold.”
He switched on the bedside lamp and looked down at her hot face.
“I’ll be perfectly all right if I’m left alone.” She shielded her eyes from the light, wishing he would go away and leave her to feel wretched in peace. Instead he sat down on the side of the bed and laid his hand on her burning forehead.
“How long have you been like this?” he asked quietly.
She jerked her head away, wincing at the stab of pain that lanced her temples.
“I get these headaches sometimes. It’s nothing to fuss about.”
“But a temperature is,” he said firmly. “Have you been sick at all? I thought you looked a bit off-color this morning.”
“No, of course I haven’t. Do go away and stop badgering me, Justin,” she exclaimed crossly, knowing what a fright she must look with tousled hair and watery eyes. Then, to crown her vexation, her mouth began to tremble, and with humiliating lack of control she burst into tears.
Afterward she was never very clear about what happened next. She remembered being given a large dry-handkerchief in place of her own moist one and having a thermometer put in her mouth. Then Miller was there helping her into a pair of warmed pajamas and finally an elderly man with a gray moustache told her she had influenza and must stay in bed for a day or two. The next forty-eight hours were equally hazy, for she felt too deathly ill to care what was going on around her.
On the third day, after a restless night and a deep exhausted sleep in the early hours, she woke up to find that her head was relatively clear and most of her aches and pains had subsided. In the afternoon she was sufficiently recovered to eat a lightly boiled egg and some slivers of bread and butter. She was propped up against a bank of pillows, sipping hot milk, when there was a tap at the door and Justin came in.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling up a chair.
“Much better, thank you. I’m sorry to have been such a nuisance.”
“We’ll forgive you,” he said gravely.
“Are these yours?” she asked, indicating the gray silk pyjamas she was wearing. They were several sizes too large and the sleeves had had to be rolled up to fit her.
“Yes. I hope you don’t object to them, but we didn’t want you to get cold in the night, and since your things aren’t designed for warmth those seemed the best alternative.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “I’m sorry I was so cross the other night. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“Don’t worry. Everyone is short-tempered with flu. I expect you still feel pretty low, but a few more days will set that right. I think it might be a good idea to get out of town for a bit as soon as you’re fit. I thought you might like to spend a few days with Aunt Laura.”
“But our trip? I thought we were leaving on Friday?” she exclaimed anxiously.
“My dear child, you won’t be well enough for a long journey by Friday. I doubt if Dr. Allen will let you out of bed before Sunday, and then you’ll have to stay indoors for a day or two.”
“But that’s absurd. I’m practically well now. I’m getting up tomorrow. You can’t mean to cancel everything just because I’ve had a touch of flu.”
“I wouldn’t call it a touch,” he said dryly. “Any degree of flu is something to take seriously. You may think you feel better, but I can assure you you wouldn’t if you were to get up.”
“But the conference ... my new clothes ... the plane tickets...” she protested.
Justin leaned forward and removed the glass of milk, which she was in danger of spilling.
“It isn’t the end of the world, my dear,” he said gently. “I’m still going to the conference, but I will come home as soon as it’s over and we’ll postpone the rest of our plans until later in the year.”
“You mean you’re going without me?”
“I will only be away for a week. Is that such a tragedy?” She did not answer. When Justin made up his mind it was useless to argue, and in her heart she knew that she was not well enough to go with him on a long transatlantic flight followed by a rush of social engagements. But the prospect of being left behind with nobody but Miller to talk to filled her with gloom.
“Ought you to be in here? You may catch my germs,” she said flatly.
For answer he came and sat on the bed and took her hands in his.
“Don’t look so downcast, child, It’s wretched luck, but much as I would like you with me I am not going to let you risk your health.”
She had a sudden longing to be able to fling her arms around his neck and pour out her disappointment like a chi
ld seeking comfort, but she could imagine his embarrassment if she gave way to such emotionalism. Later she attributed the impulse to the forlorn, oversensitive mood that is an aftermath of influenza. She never before needed a shoulder to cry on.
On Friday afternoon Justin came home to find Andrea sitting by the library fire. She was wearing a plain gray dress with a stole of pale yellow mohair draped around her shoulders. When he opened the door she was deep in thought, the book on her lap forgotten in some idle daydream.
“Did Dr. Allen say you could come downstairs?” he asked, smiling at her faraway expression.
She jumped, and the book slipped onto the hearthrug.
“Yes, he did. Just for an hour or two,” she said as Justin picked it up and put it aside. “Tomorrow I can get up for breakfast, but he says I must stay indoors for a few days.”
“I’m giving Hubbard instructions to see that you do. He has my full authority to lock you up if you don’t take care of yourself,” Justin said, tossing a small square parcel into her lap.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Open it and see.”
She tore off the wrapping and unfastened the cardboard box inside. In it was a bottle of French perfume and, folded in tissue, paper, a charming Victorian bracelet made of linked garnets.
“A small compensation for missing the bright lights of New York,” he said, lighting a cigarette.
“Oh, Justin, it’s lovely! I really don’t deserve it.” She pushed back her cuff and laid the bracelet on her right wrist, but it was difficult to fasten the clasp, with her left hand so she held it out to him.
He fitted the catch into place and his fingers lingered for a moment against the smoothness of her arm. She wondered if he, too, was remembering what had happened last time he gave her a surprise present.
“Will you miss me, Andrea?” he asked softly, a strange expression on his dark face
“Yes ... of course,” she said uncertainly.
He moved away but continued to watch her.
“They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he said in a conversational tone. “Do you agree?”
Andrea shifted nervously. She suspected him of deliberately baiting her and wondered if he derived some peculiar enjoyment from asking difficult questions and watching her flounder for an answer.
“I don’t know. I suppose it depends on circumstances,” she said cautiously.
“On the degree of fondness preceding the absence, you mean?”
“I suppose so.”
“In some instances it might be a case of out of sight, out of mind?” His eyes narrowed and there was a hint of mockery at the corners of his mouth.
“I really haven’t thought much about it,” she said with an attempt at carelessness, knowing that she was no match for him in this verbal fencing and resenting the ease with which he could discomfit her.
She was relieved when Hubbard wheeled in the tea wagon and Justin’s attention was diverted to the evening paper.
He was due to leave for the airport at six o’clock, and at a quarter to the hour he was still engrossed in the newspaper. Suddenly she began to dread the moment when he would put it down and say goodbye. For no definable reason her heart started to thud unevenly and her mouth grew dry. With hands that shook a little she poured herself another cup of tea. It was almost cold, but she drank it without noticing.
At five minutes to six Justin folded the paper and dropped it into the magazine rack. He glanced at his watch and then at Andrea. For a long moment their eyes held. Then slowly he stood up and crossed the hearth, holding out his hands.
“It’s time you were back in bed,” he said, drawing her to her feet. “Take care of yourself while I’m away.”
She nodded. “And you.”
He put up a hand and touched the silky wing of hair at her temple, sliding his fingers through its softness until they gripped the nape of her neck. Then, pulling her against him with his other arm, he tilted her head back and kissed her. For perhaps five seconds she was pressed against his strong hard body while his lips brushed her mouth. Then without another word he was gone.
Dazedly she heard the door shut and his voice in the hall. Then the front door slammed and a few minutes later she heard the car draw away.
In the first three days following Justin’s departure, Andrea was surprised to find how empty the house seemed without him.
One morning she went shopping and was browsing in Harrods’ book department when a voice said, “Good morning, Mrs. Templar,” and she found Simon Brennan smiling down at her.
“I hear you’ve been ill. Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Good morning. Yes, I am, thank you. It was only flu. How did you know about it?”
“There was a line about your husband’s trip to the States in the Standard the other night and it said you weren’t able to go with him because of illness. I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious, although I expect you still feel a bit low.”
“I do, rather,” she admitted with a smile. “I was very disappointed at missing the trip. Have you ever been to New York?”
“Yes, I made a flying visit last year. It’s a fascinating place if one can stand the pace. Everyone seems to live at fever pitch.”
After they had been chatting for some minutes, he said, “Are you busy or would you care to come for some coffee?”
“Thank you. I’d love some. I wasn’t allowed out until yesterday and I’m getting bored with my own company.”
He took her to a newly opened espresso bar nearby and they spent a pleasant half hour discussing new books he had bought just before their meeting and discovering several mutual interests. Simon was an entertaining companion, and catching sight of the clock on the opposite wall, Andrea was startled to find that it was almost lunchtime, although it seemed only a short time since they had sat down.
“Have I made you late for an appointment?” he asked, following her glance.
“Oh, no. I didn’t realize how long we’d been here,” she said, wishing she did not have to go back to a solitary lunch just as she was beginning to feel cheered up. He paid the bill and they went out into the street. The sun was shining and yesterday’s unseasonably cold wind had given place to a warm breeze. The passersby looked pleased with themselves and life.
“I suppose you aren’t free this afternoon,” Simon said doubtfully.
“I hadn’t planned anything.”
He hesitated and then said, “I’ve promised to take my twin nephew and niece to the zoo this afternoon. I just wondered, if you’re really at a loose end, if you’d care to come along?”
“I’d love to—if you’re sure I won’t be in the way. Do you know, I’ve never been to the zoo. But are you quite certain they won’t mind?”
“Good heavens, no. I ought to warn you they’re rather a harum-scarum pair and it may be quite an exhausting expedition. I don’t want to tire you out when you’re still convalescent.”
“It’s having nothing to do that’s tiring me,” Andrea assured him with a glow of relief at not having to spend the rest of the day on her own. “What time are you starting?”
“They live at Esher, so I’ve arranged to meet them at Waterloo at two o’clock. Do you want to go home first or can you lunch with me and we’ll pick them up together?”
“No, I needn’t go home, although I’d better call Hubbard and tell him I won’t be in.”
“Right. There’s a booth over the road.”
After a leisurely lunch that passed as pleasantly as the coffee break had done, they took a taxi to Waterloo and met the twins, a lively but well-mannered pair of ten-year-olds whose mother was Simon’s eldest sister.
Andrea enjoyed the trip to the zoo as much as the two children, although she laughingly declined a ride on the elephant and confessed that she did not share the children’s rapture over the more sinister inhabitants of the reptile house.
“Tired?” Simon asked, as they took a bus to Piccadilly, the children
having voted Lyons Corner House as the best place to have tea.
“Only my feet,” she said smiling. “I hope you’re still solvent. I feel ready for at least two portions of beans on toast.”
He grinned and then, with an odd expression said, “You really did enjoy it, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes. Didn’t you?”
“It’s not quite the same.”
“How do you mean?”
In the seat in front the children were deep in a discussion on which animals they had liked best.
Simon paused, as if considering how to explain himself. “I would have thought this kind of outing was a bit out of your line,” he said. “Most women of your type would have been bored to death.”
“That doesn’t sound very complimentary. What do you mean, ‘women of my type’?” she inquired dryly.
“Sorry, it wasn’t meant derogatorily. What I’m trying to say is that not many women who lead your kind of life would genuinely enjoy watching the bears and so forth.”
“You’re still not being very exact. What is my kind of life?”
He spread his hands. “Mayfair ... cocktail parties ... first nights ... Ascot ... dresses by Dior.”
“You forget, these things are only part of my married life. I used to earn my living.”
“Not in a very humdrum way, though.”
“Possibly not, but I can’t see why that should prevent me from enjoying the zoo. Unless what you really mean is that I looked spoiled and blasé.”
They had not noticed that the children had stopped talking, and Tina had evidently caught Andrea’s last remark, for she turned around and said, “What does blasé mean, Mrs. Templar?”
Simon opened his mouth to snub her, but before he could do so, Andrea said calmly. “You and Tim are looking forward to having tea at Lyons, aren’t you? But if you went there every day and could have as many cakes and ices as you wanted, it wouldn’t be a treat anymore, would it? So if someone offered to take you there and you said you were tired of Lyons, you would be blasé. See?”