Normally, Fenella’s answer would have been an eager affirmative, but now she immediately shook her head. One reason was certainly that she had seen Anthony’s quick frown at Mrs. Trevose’s question, and pride alone would have prevented her from saying she’d go with him when she so obviously wasn’t welcome. But, to her surprise, there was a stronger reason for her refusal. She didn’t want to go. And that was something she couldn’t remember ever having happened before. Not want to go out with Anthony! How incredible. And yet it was true. For perhaps the first time in her life she felt the need to be alone. Beyond the reach of even the most kindly of curious eyes—and there had been plenty of those this afternoon as well as some that weren’t so kindly. Not all had been directed at her. Anthony and Rosemary had come in for their share—and more than likely he, too, was feeling the need for solitude. Fenella felt a stab of understanding and sympathy for him born of a fellow feeling.
“Not if you don’t mind, Anthony,” she said, trying to sound mildly apologetic. “I’ve got quite a few things to do—”
She saw the look of relief that flickered briefly over his face and knew that she had said the right thing.
“O.K.,” he said casually. “Be seeing you.”
They heard him going upstairs two at a time, the opening and closing of doors and drawers in his bedroom overhead and then, a little later, a rapid descent of the stairs. Obviously Anthony had changed into less formal clothes and was now all set to seek relaxation.
“You should have gone with him, Fenella,” Mrs. Trevose said with a trace of reproach.
“Why?” Fenella asked bluntly. “He didn’t want me— and I didn’t want to go with him.”
Mrs. Trevose sighed.
“All the same, Anthony is in such a queer mood—I think he’d have been better with some company—”
“Well, I’m sorry, but he can’t have mine,” Fenella said firmly. “I want to do something quite different, and really, Aunt Gina, Anthony is quite old enough to look after himself. So am I for that matter,” she added.
Mrs. Trevose found herself feeling just a bit breathless. Never before had Fenella said anything like that! Why, it almost sounded as if she found Anthony’s company boring—
“And now,” Fenella went on briskly, “what about going up to your room for a little rest? It’s on the cool side of the house and you’ll be more comfy than in the drawing room—”
Fortunately Gina Trevose’s sense of humour came to her rescue. She was, she appreciated, being told firmly not to make a nuisance of herself, though she knew perfectly well Fenella would never have told her that in so many words. But the intention was there—and perhaps the reminder was deserved. It was, after all, one of the tragedies of life that no matter how much experience one might have, how well one could see dangers ahead, it was never possible to run other people’s lives for them. And perhaps, she admitted, it was just as well that was so. You couldn’t always protect the young, however dear, so the sooner they learned to stand on their own feet, the better—
She let Fenella help her out of her dress and into a thin dressing gown and lay down on her bed. Really, she thought, as she settled herself comfortably, it was pleasant here. Fenella had been quite right. Her eyes closed—
Her charge made comfortable, Fenella changed into green linen shorts and a plain white workmanlike shirt— Anthony had never been tolerant of frills. She thrust her bare feet into a shabby old pair of sandals and stole cautiously out of the house. It wasn’t likely, with Aunt Gina in her room and Anthony already gone, that anyone would ask where she was going but she wasn’t taking any risk. So often, at the most inconvenient moment, Cook or the housemaid would appear suddenly with a problem that really they could solve themselves with a little effort—
She made her way to the garden gate
“Not if you don’t mind, Anthony,” she said, trying to sound mildly apologetic. “I’ve got quite a few things to do—”
She saw the look of relief that flickered briefly over his face and knew that she had said the right thing.
“O.K.,” he said casually. “Be seeing you.”
They heard him going upstairs two at a time, the opening and closing of doors and drawers in his bedroom overhead and then, a little later, a rapid descent of the stairs. Obviously Anthony had changed into less formal clothes and was now all set to seek relaxation.
“You should have gone with him, Fenella,” Mrs. Trevose said with a trace of reproach.
“Why?” Fenella asked bluntly. “He didn’t want me— and I didn’t want to go with him.”
Mrs. Trevose sighed.
“All the same, Anthony is in such a queer mood—I think he’d have been better with some company—”
“Well, I’m sorry, but he can’t have mine,” Fenella said firmly. “I want to do something quite different, and really, Aunt Gina, Anthony is quite old enough to look after himself. So am I for that matter,” she added.
Mrs. Trevose found herself feeling just a bit breathless. Never before had Fenella said anything like that! Why, it almost sounded as if she found Anthony’s company boring—
“And now,” Fenella went on briskly, “what about going up to your room for a little rest? It’s on the cool side of the house and you’ll be more comfy than in the drawing room—”
Fortunately Gina Trevose’s sense of humour came to her rescue. She was, she appreciated, being told firmly not to make a nuisance of herself, though she knew perfectly well Fenella would never have told her that in so many words. But the intention was there—and perhaps the reminder was deserved. It was, after all, one of the tragedies of life that no matter how much experience one might have, how well one could see dangers ahead, it was never possible to run other people’s lives for them. And perhaps, she admitted, it was just as well that was so. You couldn’t always protect the young, however dear, so the sooner they learned to stand on their own feet, the better—
She let Fenella help her out of her dress and into a thin dressing gown and lay down on her bed. Really, she thought, as she settled herself comfortably, it was pleasant here. Fenella had been quite right. Her eyes closed—
Her charge made comfortable, Fenella changed into green linen shorts and a plain white workmanlike shirt— Anthony had never been tolerant of frills. She thrust her bare feet into a shabby old pair of sandals and stole cautiously out of the house. It wasn’t likely, with Aunt Gina in her room and Anthony already gone, that anyone would ask where she was going but she wasn’t taking any risk. So often, at the most inconvenient moment, Cook or the housemaid would appear suddenly with a problem that really they could solve themselves with a little effort—
She made her way to the garden gate
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