“I’m being ridiculous,” said Linnet to herself.
But it was curious how she did hate the idea of abandoning Wode .
And wasn’t there something else nagging at her?
Jackie’s voice with that queer blurred note in it saying, “If I don’t marry him I’ll die.
I shall die. I shall die …. ‘ So positive, so earnest. Did she, Linnet, feel like that about Windlesham? Assuredly she didn’t.
Perhaps she could never feel like that about any one. It must be–rather wonderful—to feel like that.
The sound of a car came through the open window.
Linnet shook herself impatiently. That must be Jackie and her young man. She’d go out and meet them.
She was standing in the open doorway as Jacqueline and Simon Doyle got out of the car.
“Linnet,” Jackie ran to her. “This is Simon. Simon, here’s Linnet. She’s just the most wonderful person in the world.”
Linnet saw a tall broad-shouldered young man with very dark blue eyes, crisply curling brown hair, a square chin and a boyish appealing simple smile . . .
She stretched out a hand. The hand that clasped hers was firm and warm ….
She liked the way he looked at her, the naive genuine admiration.
Jackie had told him she was wonderful and he clearly thought that she was wonderful ….
A warm sweet feeling of intoxication ran through her veins.
“Isn’t this all lovely?” she said. “Come in, Simon, and let me welcome my new land agent properly.”
And as she turned to lead the way she thought: “I’m frightfully–frightfully happy. I like Jackie’s young man I like him enormously …. ” And then with a sudden pang: “Lucky Jackie …. ” viii
Tim Allerton leant back in his wicker chair and yawned as he looked out over the sea. He shot a quick sidelong glance at his mother.
Mrs.
Allerton was a good-looking white-haired woman of fifty. By imparting an expression of pinched severity to her mouth every time she looked at her son, she sought to disguise the fact of her intense affection for him. Even total strangers were seldom deceived by this device and Tim himself saw through it perfectly. He said: “Do you really like Majorca, Mother?” “Well” Mrs. Allerton considered. “It’s cheap.” “And cold,” said Tim with a slight shiver.
He was a tall, thin young man with dark hair and a rather narrow chest. His mouth had a very sweet expression, his eyes were sad and his chin was indecisive. He had long delicate hands.
Threatened by consumption some years ago, he had never displayed a really robust physique. He was popularly supposed “to write,” but it was understood among his friends that inquiries as to literary output were not encouraged. “What are you thinking of, Tim?” Mrs. Allerton was alert. Her bright dark brown eyes looked suspicious. Tim Allerton grinned at her. “I was thinking of Egypt.” “Egypt?” Mrs. Allerton sounded doubtful.
“Real warmth, darling. Lazy golden sands. The Nile. I’d like to go up the Nile, wouldn’t you?” “Oh, I’d like it.” Her tone was dry. “But Egypt’s expensive, my dear.
Not for those who have to count the pennies.” Tim laughed. He rose, stretched himself. Suddenly he looked alive and eager. There was an excited note in his voice.
“The expense will be my affair. Yes, darling. A little flutter on the Stock Exchange. With thoroughly satisfactory results. I heard this morning.”
“This morning?” said Mrs. Allerton sharply. “You only had one letter and that–” She stopped and bit her lip.
Tim looked momentarily undecided whether to be amused or annoyed.
Amusement gained the day.
“And that was from Joanna,” he finished coolly. “Quite right, Mother. What a queen of detectives you’d make! The famous Hercule Poirot would have to look to his laurels if you were about.” Mrs. Allerton looked rather cross.
“I just happened to see the handwriting–” “And knew it wasn’t that of a stockbroker? Quite right. As a matter of fact it was yesterday I heard from them. Poor Joanna’s handwriting/s rather noticeable– sprawls about all over the envelope like an inebriated spider.” “What does Joanna say? Any news?” Mrs. Allerton strove to make her voice sound casual and ordinary. The friendship between her son and his second cousin, Joanna Southwood, always irritated her. Not, as she put it to herself, that there was “anything in it.” She was quite sure there wasn’t. Tim had never manifested a sentimental interest in Joanna, nor she in him. Their mutual attraction seemed to be founded on gossip and the possession of a large number of friends and acquaintances in common.