the word, and talking about mum, the filthy Iron Curtain champers is on me tonight.’
‘Let’s take them to the scales and log your catch in the book,’ said John, his face radiant. The photograph would go to the local papers and the fishing magazines. He loved it
when one of his pupils made a good catch. And no one had ever had such luck as this before.
They all were now looking forward to the evening, reminding themselves that that was the time when Lady Jane could be guaranteed to be at her best. They were to meet in the bar at eight to toast
the major’s catch.
Alice slaved over her appearance. She had bought one good dinner gown at an elegant Help the Aged shop in Mayfair. Although the clothes were secondhand, most of them had barely been worn and the
dinner gown was as good as new. It was made of black silk velvet, very severe, cut low in the front and slit up to mid-thigh on either side of the narrow skirt.
She was ready at last, half an hour too early. This was one time Alice was determined to make an appearance. Her high-heeled black sandals with thin straps gave her extra height and extra
confidence. In the shaded light of the hotel room, her reflection looked poised and sophisticated.
Alice was just turning away from the mirror when all the barbed remarks Lady Jane had made seemed to clamour in her brain. It was no use pretending otherwise; Lady Jane had set out to find out
something about each one of them. Jeremy must never know. The future Prime Minister of Britain could not have a wife with a criminal record. But then, Lady Jane knew something about Jeremy. Had he
seduced a servant? But that was an upper-class sin and therefore forgivable, thought Alice miserably. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked about her with bleak eyes.
How perfectly splendid it would be to go back to Mr Patterson-James and hand in her notice, and say she was going to be married to Jeremy Blythe – ‘one of the Somerset Blythes, you
know.’ There was Mum and Dad in Liverpool to cope with. Alice thought of her small, poky, shabby, comfortable home. Jeremy must never be allowed to go there. Mum and Dad would just have to
travel to London for the wedding.
But between Alice and all those dreams stood Lady Jane. A wave of hate for Jane Winters engulfed Alice; primitive, naked hate.
Ten past eight! Alice leapt to her feet with an anguished look at her travel alarm.
The bar was crowded when she made her entrance. ‘Dear me, the Merry Widow,’ remarked Lady Jane, casting a pale look over Alice’s black velvet gown. The fishing party had taken
a table by the window where the major was cheerfully dispensing champagne. Alice’s entrance had fallen flat because the major was describing how he had landed his first salmon, and everyone
was hanging on his every word. ‘It’s almost a good enough story to be true,’ said Lady Jane.
‘Well, obviously it’s true,’ said the major, his good humour unimpaired. ‘Here I am and there are my fish, all waiting in the hotel freezer to be smoked. By the way,
Alice, your trout’s still there. You forgot to have it for breakfast.’
‘You and Alice have a lot in common,’ said Lady Jane sweetly. ‘I can see that by the end of the week that hotel freezer will be packed with fish that neither of you
caught.’
The rest of the group tried to ignore Lady Jane’s remark. ‘Tell us where exactly you caught those salmon, Major,’ asked Jeremy.
‘Yes, do tell,’ echoed Daphne. ‘It isn’t fair to keep such a prize place to yourself.’
The major laughed and shook his head.
‘Oh, I’ll tell you,’ said Lady Jane. She was wearing a sort of flowered pyjama suit of the type that used to be in vogue in the thirties. Vermillion lipstick accentuated
the petulant droop of her mouth. ‘I was talking to Ian Morrison, the ghillie, a little while ago and the dear man was in his cups and told me exactly how you caught them.’
An awful silence fell on the group. The
‘Let’s take them to the scales and log your catch in the book,’ said John, his face radiant. The photograph would go to the local papers and the fishing magazines. He loved it
when one of his pupils made a good catch. And no one had ever had such luck as this before.
They all were now looking forward to the evening, reminding themselves that that was the time when Lady Jane could be guaranteed to be at her best. They were to meet in the bar at eight to toast
the major’s catch.
Alice slaved over her appearance. She had bought one good dinner gown at an elegant Help the Aged shop in Mayfair. Although the clothes were secondhand, most of them had barely been worn and the
dinner gown was as good as new. It was made of black silk velvet, very severe, cut low in the front and slit up to mid-thigh on either side of the narrow skirt.
She was ready at last, half an hour too early. This was one time Alice was determined to make an appearance. Her high-heeled black sandals with thin straps gave her extra height and extra
confidence. In the shaded light of the hotel room, her reflection looked poised and sophisticated.
Alice was just turning away from the mirror when all the barbed remarks Lady Jane had made seemed to clamour in her brain. It was no use pretending otherwise; Lady Jane had set out to find out
something about each one of them. Jeremy must never know. The future Prime Minister of Britain could not have a wife with a criminal record. But then, Lady Jane knew something about Jeremy. Had he
seduced a servant? But that was an upper-class sin and therefore forgivable, thought Alice miserably. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked about her with bleak eyes.
How perfectly splendid it would be to go back to Mr Patterson-James and hand in her notice, and say she was going to be married to Jeremy Blythe – ‘one of the Somerset Blythes, you
know.’ There was Mum and Dad in Liverpool to cope with. Alice thought of her small, poky, shabby, comfortable home. Jeremy must never be allowed to go there. Mum and Dad would just have to
travel to London for the wedding.
But between Alice and all those dreams stood Lady Jane. A wave of hate for Jane Winters engulfed Alice; primitive, naked hate.
Ten past eight! Alice leapt to her feet with an anguished look at her travel alarm.
The bar was crowded when she made her entrance. ‘Dear me, the Merry Widow,’ remarked Lady Jane, casting a pale look over Alice’s black velvet gown. The fishing party had taken
a table by the window where the major was cheerfully dispensing champagne. Alice’s entrance had fallen flat because the major was describing how he had landed his first salmon, and everyone
was hanging on his every word. ‘It’s almost a good enough story to be true,’ said Lady Jane.
‘Well, obviously it’s true,’ said the major, his good humour unimpaired. ‘Here I am and there are my fish, all waiting in the hotel freezer to be smoked. By the way,
Alice, your trout’s still there. You forgot to have it for breakfast.’
‘You and Alice have a lot in common,’ said Lady Jane sweetly. ‘I can see that by the end of the week that hotel freezer will be packed with fish that neither of you
caught.’
The rest of the group tried to ignore Lady Jane’s remark. ‘Tell us where exactly you caught those salmon, Major,’ asked Jeremy.
‘Yes, do tell,’ echoed Daphne. ‘It isn’t fair to keep such a prize place to yourself.’
The major laughed and shook his head.
‘Oh, I’ll tell you,’ said Lady Jane. She was wearing a sort of flowered pyjama suit of the type that used to be in vogue in the thirties. Vermillion lipstick accentuated
the petulant droop of her mouth. ‘I was talking to Ian Morrison, the ghillie, a little while ago and the dear man was in his cups and told me exactly how you caught them.’
An awful silence fell on the group. The
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