Читать книгу Yes, Mama - Helen Forrester - Страница 20

Elizabeth had been thankful that her younger son, Charles, had been away in boarding school during the more obvious period of her pregnancy and during her lying-in; she had certainly not wanted the cold, dark blue eyes of a ten-year-old examining her during this confinement.

When confiding to Sarah Webb, her oldest friend, the secret of her unwelcome breeding, she had wept on Sarah’s shoulder, afraid of Humphrey, afraid of the hazard of giving birth at forty years of age. Speaking of Charles, she had added, ‘Children always sense when something is wrong. And Charles always wants such precise answers to a question.’

Sarah sighed, and stroked her friend’s dark hair. She had not only known Charles all his short life, but had been friends with Elizabeth and with Andrew Crossing since they first attended the same children’s Christmas parties together. She had watched with pity, as her beautiful young friend had been bullied by her parents into marriage with Humphrey.

But Elizabeth had loved languid, charming Andrew, fair as some Icelandic god, a boy who appeared slow and lazy to her parents. His charm had, however, served him well in his subsequent career as a family lawyer, Sarah ruminated; even she herself, plain and studious, had worshipped from afar. She had been present at a ball, a few years back, at which Elizabeth had met and danced with him again; up till then, his old senior partner had always dealt with the affairs of Elizabeth’s father’s estate, so they had rarely seen each other. That winter, Andrew’s senior partner died and the care of Elizabeth’s affairs came into the hands of Andrew. Sarah had been greatly worried when Elizabeth promptly asked him to her next At Home.

’is it wise, my dear?’ she had asked, as she arranged her furs in front of Elizabeth’s mirror before going home. She was the last guest to leave and Elizabeth herself was prinking before the mirror.

‘I don’t care,’ Elizabeth had hissed savagely.

‘Well, ask his wife as well,’ suggested Sarah.

‘I did – but you know and I know she can’t stir out of the house – she’s stiff as a board with rheumatism and she has to be carried everywhere. And, anyway,’ she went on defiantly, ‘anybody may call on At Home days.’

Sarah sighed glumly. ‘It’s foolish, my dear – very foolish.’

Elizabeth bridled, and twirled in front of the mirror to show her fine, plump figure.

Over coffee in Elizabeth’s morning-room the following day, Sarah had argued again.

‘I can’t help it, Sarah.’ Elizabeth’s wide dark blue eyes, so like those of her son, Charles, had a hint of tears in them. ‘I must see him,’ she said, ‘I simply have to. Humphrey has his fancy woman – surely Andrew and I can be friends.’

Sarah bit her lips and said no more.