here talk to Joe as if they know him better than I do? Sue wondered. She was without resentment, simply startled by the new ways she was seeing him in their having arrived at this place. There were tones in his voice sheâd never heard before. She wondered why he was so different. She wondered also that she didnât seem to care very much.
She opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps and was horrified to see the tiny Nan Garton almost tottering under the weighty bulk of an enormous salad bowl.
âOh, Miss Garton !â she exclaimed as she scrambled awkwardly out of the deck chair and dashed across the terrace to help. âYou musnât carry all that! Please let me carry it!â
âWhy, thank you, Susan,â she said.
Susan, she thought. She called me Susan. As she took the bowl from Nanâs hands, Sue felt almost overcome by the strangeness of this. Anxiety gripped her; had she taken the bowl too roughly from this woman? Never in her life had she seen anything so lovely, so fragile, as the woman who stood quietly and was now smiling at her. Her voice seemed to vanish. Had she really called her Susan ?
âOh, Lucy!â Nan Garton smiled affectionately at her friend who now approached. âHow did it go today? Did you do good work?â
âA wonderful morning, Nan dear. And you?â
âI wrote hundreds of postcards,â Nan said, even gaily. âFor the first time in my life Iâve had the courage to write, âHaving a wonderful time! Wish you were here!ââ
Susan smiled at the malicious way Nan Garton had rolled out the phrases that had never before sounded as silly as they did now, though they also sounded real.
âAh, thereâs Sara,â Lucy said, hurrying toward her as Sara walked carefully across the terrace with a tray of cheese on one arm and a great bowl of fruit held in the fingers of the other.
âCan I do something to help, Sara dear?â Lucy asked. âOr am I too late, as usual?â
âNever too late,â Sara said, dryly. âYes, please take this tray, if you will. And do forgive me, everybody, for having lunch so late.â
She looked around and smiled impersonally just as Tim, followed by the two boys, all came to the table bearing rows of beer bottles.
âItâs our fault, Iâm afraid,â Joe Kelly smiled, offering this in his softest voice.
âOh, Iâm terribly sorry. Joe Kelly, Mrs. Pendleton. Lucy, you remember my speaking of our friend whoâs at Oxford this year?â
Lucy smiled at Joe. âI wonder,â she asked and as she was speaking she began helping herself to salad, then cutting a piece of the yellow-white cheese with great holes in it. âI wonder if you know any of the men who were at Balliol or Merton ten years ago or so? My nephew, you see . . .?â
Susan listened as this mild chatter went on all around her and to the steady splash of water from the old fountain. She tried to eat. She was surprised that she was hungry and that she would have enjoyed the food but that her throat felt not sore but stiff. She thought she might be feeling better or maybe it was only the excitement that was getting her to forget her cold.
She looked again at Nan Gartonâs small and very vivid face in such contrast to the slow queenly Honor. Sue smiled to see them sitting side by side, the oneâs feet barely reaching the ground, the otherâs seemingly so long as to stretch halfway across the stone terrace.
Then she looked at the smooth face of Sara Porter, whose expression was remote. Her heart thumped suddenly at the thought that Sara might be able to help her, that she might tell Susan what to do. Of course, so far it had been rather hard to see anything of her but perhaps sometime during the afternoon there would be a few minutes. She would simply say, âMrs. Porter, what do you think I ought to do? Joe and I really love each other, but Joe . .
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