Читать книгу The Clock Strikes Twelve - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 7

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The drawing-room was a haven. With the door shut upon them, the women looked at each other.

‘What is it all about?’ Brenda’s voice was at its bluntest. ‘Has he gone mad?’

Miss Paradine showed distress.

‘My dear, I don’t know any more than you do.’

‘He must be mad!’ said Brenda. ‘To get us all here to a party and then say a thing like that! It’s the limit!’

Irene had been trembling. She now burst into tears.

‘I know he thinks it’s me—and I haven’t done anything—I really haven’t. And I didn’t want to come—Frank will tell you I didn’t. He was angry with me because I wanted to stay with my baby, and I wish—oh, how I wish—I hadn’t listened to him! What does he think I’ve done? And why does he think it’s me? I don’t even know what he was talking about. Why shouldn’t it be anyone else?’

After a good deal of groping she had managed to produce a handkerchief. It was unfortunate that a pause in the process of dabbing at her eyes should have disclosed them apparently fixed upon her sister-in-law. Brenda stared angrily back.

‘Meaning it might have been me, I suppose. Thank you very much, Irene! Frank will appreciate that, won’t he?’

Grace Paradine put out a hand to each.

‘My dears—my dears—we really mustn’t! Irene—Brenda! This is quite bad enough without our doing anything to make it worse. I feel that there must be some terrible mistake. If we think of it that way we can help each other, and help to set things right. Don’t you see? And we mustn’t lose our heads or say anything we’re going to be sorry for tomorrow. Now, Irene, dry your eyes. Would you like to go up to Phyllida’s room? ... No? Well, I’m sure Lydia can give you some powder. Lane will be coming in with the coffee, and you mustn’t look as if you had been crying. Phyl darling, you and Lydia can look after Irene. Of course no one suspects her of anything—it’s too ridiculous. Brenda and I are going to have a nice talk. How long is it since we had one, my dear? Not for months, I do believe. Come along over here.’

Brenda was only too glad to have an audience. Her grievances were many, and she minced no words in stating them.

‘What on earth do men want to marry for? Frank and I were perfectly happy together. And look at him now! Irene thinks of nothing but the children. Of course that’s what’s wrong with her—she’s stupid. Why, she can’t even keep house. The bills are double what they were, and nothing to show for it.’

Grace Paradine smiled.

‘Well, my dear, we can’t all be such good housekeepers as you are. Frank is always saying how marvellous you were.’

‘Yes—were!’ Brenda’s tone was dry and bitter. ‘Why couldn’t she let us alone? Frank would never have thought about her if she hadn’t thrown herself at his head. And now she’s got him she doesn’t want him.’ A dull, ugly red was clouding the sallow skin. The hard mouth twitched.

Grace Paradine experienced some alarm. It was really going to be exceedingly difficult to get through the evening without a scene. On the other side of the hearth she could see Irene, still dabbing at her eyes and ignoring the powder-puff and compact which Lydia was holding out. She took a sudden decision, laid a hand on Brenda’s shoulder, and stood up.

‘My dears—’ the movement and her voice caught everyone’s attention—‘my dears, I had a little remembrance for each of you. I’m just going to run upstairs and get them. I don’t see why a stupid contretemps should prevent me from giving my presents. Phyl, you come over and talk to Brenda. I shan’t be a moment.... No, darling, I’d rather get them myself—I know just where they are.’

Turning at the door to look back, she felt relief. Irene was powdering her nose, and even Brenda would find it difficult to quarrel with Phyl. But she must be quick. It wouldn’t do to risk anything. In spite of stately proportions she was light on her feet. She picked up her dress and ran up the stairs almost as quickly as Phyllida would have done.

She was down again before Irene had finished doing her face, and while Brenda was still answering Phyllida’s questions about some mutual friends. She came in with four little parcels tied up in Christmas paper—gold holly leaves and scarlet berries on a white ground, with different coloured ties, silver for Irene, scarlet for Brenda, green for Lydia, and gold for Phyllida.

‘Only little things,’ she said in a deprecating voice.

They were unwrapping them, when the door was thrown open and Lane came in processionally, bearing a vast silver tray set out with the coffee equipage and followed by Louisa with a massive cake-stand.

Miss Paradine drew a breath of satisfaction. No scene could have been more natural or more pleasantly familiar—herself gracious and charming, with her gifts dispensed; the four girls unfolding the bright paper; the tray set down on the low walnut table; the heavily moulded silver coffee-pot, milk-jug and sugar-basin; the old Worcester cups, dark blue and gold. It might have been any New Year’s Eve in any other year.

Louisa set down the cake-stand, which contained a Christmas cake in the bottom tier, and in the other two mixed biscuits and chocolate fingers. Everything had a secure, established look. Everything was time-honoured and according to custom—Lane with his twenty years of service, his portly presence, his bald head with its fringe of fine grey hair; Louisa, a worthy second-in-command, upright in character as in carriage, her figure restrained by the stays of an elder fashion, her hair done over a cushion and supporting an authentic Edwardian cap. The picture was reassuring in the extreme.

The procession withdrew. Aunt Grace was kissed and thanked. Lydia’s favourite bath-salts—‘Where did you get them?’ A torch for Brenda—‘That’s what I call really useful.’ A snapshot of Jimmy and Rena, enlarged and framed, for Irene—‘Oh, Aunt Grace!’ And for Phyllida half a dozen handkerchiefs, cobweb soft and fine, with her name embroidered across a corner—‘Oh, darling, you shouldn’t! Your coupons!’ They were all clustering about her, smiling, chattering, when the door opened again and the men came in.

But only five of them. The tall, dominant figure of James Paradine was not there.