Down in the City by Elizabeth Harrower Page B

the water: it was not a colour at all. If she were to scoop a handful up, the watery blueness would remain behind. It was as spurious as life itself—second-rate.
    Esther stirred beside her and distracted the savage, living boredom that was eating into her. Rachel admired Esther, and felt for her none of the touchy suspicion that dwelt with her affection for Laura.
    Her thoughts turning from one to the other, she reflected: when Mrs Maitland thinks she knows me right through she’ll never bother about me again. I’ll be about as interesting to her as a piece of plate glass. To keep her liking me I have to be frank, but complicated, and young and pliable…
    She suffered over the hypothesis for a while, then, persuading herself that she had discovered what seemed to be an inherent trend towards self-destruction in the relationship, she decided: it’ll kill me.
    Liking the dramatic thought, she let injustice stand, enjoying the excruciating hurt to herself involved in any abuse of Mrs Maitland.
    She shivered and turned to Esther. ‘Would you like to move?’
    They drifted slowly across the flat dusty park, the sun dazzling their eyes, heat shimmering in the air around them.
    Esther’s head ached and she thought of her cool dim bedroom. She would have a shower and then rest until Stan came home. He would not be late, for they were meeting the family for dinner at Cave’s at eight.
    Rachel scuffled dismally. Suddenly remembering her, Esther’s thoughts scattered and she looked guiltily at the girl’s pale face.
    â€˜I’m sorry I’ve been such bad company,’ she said as they turned in at the entrance to Romney Court. ‘Another day we’ll go down to the pool together—one day during the week—and you can swim and I’ll sunbathe.’
    Rachel mumbled her willingness and disbelief.
    â€˜But I think you should go this afternoon—even by yourself, dear. It would be much better for you than staying at home. Really.’
    Esther tried to catch her eye, but Rachel, letting herself into the apartment, smiled politely in the direction of Esther’s chin and said goodbye.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    In three months Esther had seen her brothers twice and Marion three times. David and Clem, and then Hector, had called on her unexpectedly on midweek afternoons and found her at home alone; she and Marion had met in town. Stan, however, had not met them since the ceremony. There were always reasons why it was not convenient—business or pleasure. ‘I like it best when we’re alone…’
    Finally David had telephoned to suggest a family dinner party at Cave’s on Saturday night. Tonight. And she had agreed, trusting that she would be able to persuade Stan.
    He had listened with the sardonic expression that the mention of her brothers always brought to his face, and said, when she had finished: ‘The boy from the backblocks goes into café society, huh?’
    â€˜Don’t speak about yourself like that, Stan. Surely there need be no awkwardness, darling. I wish I could make you believe that they like you because you’ve made me so happy, and they want to know you better. Isn’t that natural?’
    â€˜Yes, yes,’ he soothed her, preening himself in the warmth of her concern. He felt enormous and powerful as he let her have her way.
    Yes, he would go. Yes, he was sure he would just love her brothers when he got to know them. Yes, yes, yes.
    Esther padded lightly up the stairs, relieved to see that the Maitlands’ door was closed. Her head was thumping sickeningly. After what seemed an interminable hunt for her key she had the door open, but on the threshold stopped, surprised to hear the wireless booming, claiming all kinds of excellence for a new brand of self-raising flour.
    She walked quickly through the hall and the moment of uneasy suspense turned to delight when she saw Stan.
    â€˜Stan! I thought you would be out all