no, of course they didn’t.
But there had been those funny things Doreen had said once or twice when they were kissing…. But no, she was not that sort of girl.
She was the sort of girl for a sofa, though, all right, after lunch on Sunday. It was terrible of Daniel to laugh himself nearly sick when he came home unexpectedly and found them there. He laughed so much that he had to sit down on a chair and slap his thighs. Doreen was annoyed, and went away to tidy herself up.
Ossie passed a handkerchief across his face, looked at it furtively and jammed it in his breast pocket with the lipstick stains concealed. All he could think of to say was: “Why are you back?”
“Couldn’t stand it any longer. The old boy started showing me photographs of Jane as a kid. They’d planned a tea party for the locals to meet me today, to gaze on exhibit A—the bereaved husband. Mean of me, I suppose, when poor Lyddie had been making scones all morning like a mad thing, but I escaped. Don’t let’s talk about me, though. I want to talk about you. Why didn’t you tell me this was going on?”
Ossie tried to explain, and Daniel, when he realised what he was hinting at, laughed more than ever. Even allowing for his upsetting week-end, with those old photographs and everything, it was unforgivably rude of him to say, with Doreen just coming back into the room: “You thought I’d bereminded—oh God, how incongruous! Ossie, you must be even more naïve than I thought.”
Ossie would not let Doreen be offended. He took her aside and explained how sad it all was. She, infected, perhaps, with the kindliness of the cottage that toned down everyone’s acerbity, played up creditably. She began to talk to Daniel in her intellectual voice about Italian architecture. She even asked him about his book, which was thoughtful of her. Ossie was proud of her, but Daniel got up and went out to the local pub.
There was no reason now why Doreen should not stay the night, with Daniel there as chaperon. Ossie made up her bed, bade her a chaste good night and lent her his dressing-gown. When he heard her going along to the bathroom, he sat on his bed and ground his teeth. He would not let himself go out and say good night to her again, because Heaven knew what might happen if he met her in his dressing-gown, without her corsets. It was not so much Doreen’s honour as the thought that Daniel might come home and laugh at him.
Next morning Ossie got up early, left a cup of tea outside Doreen’s bedroom door and took a great deal of trouble preparing breakfast. Quite a family party they would be. But Doreen only ate the yolk of her egg and left all the white, and Daniel came down very late, gulped at a cup of coffee, said it was cold and dashed out to the garage, shouting: “Come on, you two—if you’re coming!”
They all bought newspapers and read them all the way to London.
When Ossie was washing up after supper that night, Daniel called through to him, quite casually: “I’m going to let the cottage. I saw an agent about it today.”
“You’re
what?”
Ossie came to the kitchen door with a plate in one hand, a wet mop in the other, and his mouth like a goldfish. “Let the cottage? But why? Where will you live?”
“No sense coming right out here in winter. I’ll get a room somewhere.”
“Oh, Daniel!” Ossie’s mission came over him like a hot flush. “Please don’t go back to that again.
Please”
He stood pleading earnestly to the empty dining-room, his face screwed up, persuasively, as if Daniel could see him. “What’s the good of having a home if you don’t live in it?”
“I don’t want a home.”
“But you ought to. You know you’ve been better since we came out here.”
“Have I?” asked Daniel’s unseen voice. Ossie went through to the sitting-room, still carrying the mop, to see from Daniel’s face whether he had said this sadly, or mockingly or gratefully. But Daniel’s face showed nothing. He was
But there had been those funny things Doreen had said once or twice when they were kissing…. But no, she was not that sort of girl.
She was the sort of girl for a sofa, though, all right, after lunch on Sunday. It was terrible of Daniel to laugh himself nearly sick when he came home unexpectedly and found them there. He laughed so much that he had to sit down on a chair and slap his thighs. Doreen was annoyed, and went away to tidy herself up.
Ossie passed a handkerchief across his face, looked at it furtively and jammed it in his breast pocket with the lipstick stains concealed. All he could think of to say was: “Why are you back?”
“Couldn’t stand it any longer. The old boy started showing me photographs of Jane as a kid. They’d planned a tea party for the locals to meet me today, to gaze on exhibit A—the bereaved husband. Mean of me, I suppose, when poor Lyddie had been making scones all morning like a mad thing, but I escaped. Don’t let’s talk about me, though. I want to talk about you. Why didn’t you tell me this was going on?”
Ossie tried to explain, and Daniel, when he realised what he was hinting at, laughed more than ever. Even allowing for his upsetting week-end, with those old photographs and everything, it was unforgivably rude of him to say, with Doreen just coming back into the room: “You thought I’d bereminded—oh God, how incongruous! Ossie, you must be even more naïve than I thought.”
Ossie would not let Doreen be offended. He took her aside and explained how sad it all was. She, infected, perhaps, with the kindliness of the cottage that toned down everyone’s acerbity, played up creditably. She began to talk to Daniel in her intellectual voice about Italian architecture. She even asked him about his book, which was thoughtful of her. Ossie was proud of her, but Daniel got up and went out to the local pub.
There was no reason now why Doreen should not stay the night, with Daniel there as chaperon. Ossie made up her bed, bade her a chaste good night and lent her his dressing-gown. When he heard her going along to the bathroom, he sat on his bed and ground his teeth. He would not let himself go out and say good night to her again, because Heaven knew what might happen if he met her in his dressing-gown, without her corsets. It was not so much Doreen’s honour as the thought that Daniel might come home and laugh at him.
Next morning Ossie got up early, left a cup of tea outside Doreen’s bedroom door and took a great deal of trouble preparing breakfast. Quite a family party they would be. But Doreen only ate the yolk of her egg and left all the white, and Daniel came down very late, gulped at a cup of coffee, said it was cold and dashed out to the garage, shouting: “Come on, you two—if you’re coming!”
They all bought newspapers and read them all the way to London.
When Ossie was washing up after supper that night, Daniel called through to him, quite casually: “I’m going to let the cottage. I saw an agent about it today.”
“You’re
what?”
Ossie came to the kitchen door with a plate in one hand, a wet mop in the other, and his mouth like a goldfish. “Let the cottage? But why? Where will you live?”
“No sense coming right out here in winter. I’ll get a room somewhere.”
“Oh, Daniel!” Ossie’s mission came over him like a hot flush. “Please don’t go back to that again.
Please”
He stood pleading earnestly to the empty dining-room, his face screwed up, persuasively, as if Daniel could see him. “What’s the good of having a home if you don’t live in it?”
“I don’t want a home.”
“But you ought to. You know you’ve been better since we came out here.”
“Have I?” asked Daniel’s unseen voice. Ossie went through to the sitting-room, still carrying the mop, to see from Daniel’s face whether he had said this sadly, or mockingly or gratefully. But Daniel’s face showed nothing. He was
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