Missing From Home by Mary Burchell Page B

did you ? ”
    “Not really—no. I did know they thought the world of you. And I know they’re extremely fond of me, as part of a background they value. But as attractive individuals—”
    “With a good technique for fending off admirers,” he finished, and they both laughed then.
    “As a matter of fact, of course, you are tremendously attractive still, Clare,” he said suddenly. “You don’t look a day older and—”
    “Oh, I look a hag ! ” she exclaimed. “Just before you came I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I thought how drab and middle-aged and dreary I looked and—”
    “You didn’t look at all like that to me when I came in.”
    “No?” She smiled and felt indescribably cheered. “Well, I’d had time to put on a touch of make-up by then.”
    “For me?” he enquired unexpectedly, a little as though the thought touched him.
    “For my own morale too, I expect,” she returned frankly. “I didn’t want to look my very worst for a — a difficult meeting.”
    “It was difficult, wasn’t it?” he agreed with a slight grimace. “And yet, now it’s been forced upon us, I’m glad to have made some sort of contact again.”
    “So am I,” she said, and swallowed.
    “It’s rather ridiculous, really, for two people to keep hundreds of miles between them just because they feel they can’t actually live together any more.”
    “Yes,” said Clare, as though she too had had something to do with putting such a distance between them.
    “I mean—in a civilised society people get divorced and still go on being friendly even after they marry someone else.”
    Clare wanted to say that this had never struck her as one of the most engaging or most sensible aspects of civilised society. But she refrained. Instead, she murmured, “Yes, of course.”
    “In fact—though perhaps it isn’t quite the time to talk about it—if you ever wanted to divorce me for—”
    “I don’t,” said Clare, wondering what had happened to the warm and intimate note they had struck such a few minutes ago. “I mean—do you have to talk about such a thing at this moment ? ”
    “No—no.” He looked put out. “The idea just occurred to me.”
    Silence fell upon them again and lasted until Marilyn came back from the kitchen. She seemed not to notice it, however. At any rate, she quite coolly asked her father the question which Clare simply could not bring herself to ask.
    “Are you staying here while you’re in London ? ”
    “Certainly not!” He seemed to have no doubt about that. “I’m staying at the Gloria.”
    “You could have Pat’s room until she comes back, you know,” Marilyn explained.
    “Thank you. But I hope Pat will very soon be occupying her own room herself.”
    “Of course. But until she does—
    “Mari—” In the interests of both of them, Clare came coolly to the rescue. “It may sound silly, but there’s a technical point involved. If your father or I ever wanted a divorce it would be best for him not to have been staying here.”
    “Oh, I see. I hadn’t thought of anyone wanting to get a divorce,” said Marilyn flatly.
    “Nor had I!” thought Clare. But, like Greg, she said nothing.
    He stayed quite a while longer, discussing every other thin possibility of a line on Pat’s movements. But they always came back to the same point—that what evidence there was suggested some sort of intention on her part and, that being so, it seemed wiser to wait at least to see what the morning’s post might bring before doing anything “drastic” as Clare put it.
    “And by drastic you mean going to the police,” Greg said.
    “Or to an enquiry agent.”
    “No. The police have much wider powers for investigation. In fact, I’d feel a good deal happier if we had them on the job already. We’ve had enough delay, it seems to me.”
    “It’s only twenty-four hours, though it feels like days,” Clare reminded him. “I’m inclined to think Marilyn is right and that we