Read Online Anne Belinda by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online Page B

again.

CHAPTER IX
    John enjoyed his week-end at Waterdene—the small, well-chosen party, the gay ease, the informal friendliness which he found there. Jenny was a perfectly delightful hostess, and Nicholas Marr an equally delightful host.
    The other guests were all young; Nicholas himself older than any of them by some years. John liked him, but wondered occasionally what lay behind a manner of so much charm. Sometimes he thought there might be a stiff, black pride behind it. He could imagine that Nicholas Marr would continue to be perfectly charming to a man whom he hated and meant to kill; he could imagine him absolutely implacable behind a smile. He had the dark good looks, the tinge of pride, which made the right complement to Jenny’s sunny beauty.
    Jenny, for her part, was very much pleased with her new cousin. He actually noticed that the baby had a dimple, a fact which she had insisted on from the first in the face of a good deal of scepticism from Nicholas. Also he admired her in a very proper and cousinly manner—and above all things in the world, Jenny loved the warm, sweet atmosphere of admiration and liking. She had had it all her life; father, brothers, Aunt Jen, had provided it without stint until she met Nicholas and received its distilled essence. And the more she received, the more she gave back. Small wonder that so warmly responsive a creature should be surrounded by a devoted court in the midst of which she moved with a singular grace.
    After the first twenty-four hours John found that he could no longer see any likeness to Anne; there was a similarity of feature, but no more. Jenny was Jenny, and there was an end of it. She was a radiant creature in the full sunshine of youth, beauty, and happiness. In what shadowed place, under what sombre cloud was Anne? A curious resentment sprang up in him at the thought; he was filled with jealousy for Anne. Jenny had everything—friends and home, face and fortune, husband and child. What was Anne’s portion? Where was she? Everything came back to that. He had meant to wait, but a strong impulse carried him away. He turned to Jenny with a question which he could not keep back any longer:
    â€œJenny, where’s your sister Anne?”
    They had been dancing together, and were sitting in one of the low window-seats of the long panelled room. At the far end of it a gramophone discoursed jazz. Three couples were still dancing. Nicholas Marr passed them with Pamela Austin. Her sleek, smooth black head was higher than his. It might very well have been a boy’s head, and close cropped even for a boy. The brilliant scarlet dress, cut daringly low and ending at the knee, gave a shock of incongruity. Nicholas laughed as they passed, and Pamela waved her hand.
    Jenny put her head back against the polished wood. She loved the dark background, which threw up her shining hair and the freshness of her tints. She was wearing a little white frock that made her look seventeen again; her soft, fair neck was innocent of even a school-girl’s row of pearls. She looked at John and caught her breath.
    What did you say? Shall we go on dancing?”
    â€œNo, I want to talk. I want to talk about your sister Anne. Do you mind?”
    Jenny nodded.
    â€œI—I can’t—I can’t really.”
    â€œThat’s just it. Why can’t you?”
    Jenny’s heart fluttered dreadfully. If only she could get over minding about Anne. She was being a perfect idiot. If she could only control this stupid shaking and just say something, anything, quite casually and as if it didn’t matter.
    â€œWhy can’t you?” said John. He made his voice very gentle and persuasive. “Look here, Jenny, I can’t help knowing there’s something wrong. You see, I met Anne once—”
    â€œWhen?” Jenny looked startled.
    â€œYears ago—nine years. She was only a kid. She didn’t know who I was. And I didn’t know who