wedding ring.
"Haven't you got any homework to do, Jill?" she asked in a whisper. Kershaw got up, wiping his mouth.
"I can do it in the train," said Jill.
Archery had begun to dislike Kershaw, but he could not help admiring him. "Jill, you know all about Tess," Kershaw said, "what happened when she was little. Mummy has to discuss it with Mr. Archery. Just by themselves. We have to go because, although we're involved, it's not quite our business. Not like it is theirs. O.K.?"
"O.K." said Jill. Her father put his arm round her and took her into the garden.
He had to begin, but he was hot and stiff with awkwardness. Outside the window Jill had found a tennis racquet and was practising shots against the garage wall. Mrs. Kershaw picked up a napkin and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. She looked at him, their eyes met, and she looked away. Archery felt suddenly that they were not alone, that their thoughts concentrated on the past, had summoned from its prison grave a presence of brute strength that stood behind their chairs, laying a bloody hand on their shoulders and listening for judgment.
"Tess says you have something to tell me," he said quietly. "About your first husband." She was rolling the napkin now, squashing it, until it was like a golfball. "Mrs. Kershaw, I think you ought to tell me."
The paper ball was tipped soundlessly on to an empty plate. She put her hand up to her pearls.
"I never speak of him, Mr. Archery. I prefer to let the past be the past."
"I know it's painfulit must be. But if we could discuss it just once and get it over, I promise I'll never raise the subject again." He realised that he was speaking as if they would meet again and often, as if they were already connected by marriage. He was also speaking as if he had confidence in her word. "I've been to Kingsmarkham today and..."
She clutched at the straw. "I suppose they've buill it all up and spoiled it."
"Not really," he said. Please God, don't let her digress!
"I was born near there," she said. He tried to stifle a sigh. "A funny little sleepy place it was, my village. I reckon I thought I'd live and die there. You can't tell what life will bring forth, can you?"
"Tell me about Tess's father."
She dropped her hands from fidgeting with the pearls and rested them in her respectable blue lap. When she turned to him her face was dignified, almost ridiculously prim and shuttered. She might have been a mayoress, taking the chair at some parochial function, clearing her throat preparatory to addressing the Townswomen's Guild. "Madam chairman, ladies..." she should have begun. Instead she said: "The past is the past, Mr. Archery." He knew then that it was hopeless. "I appreciate your difficulty, but I really can't speak of it. He was no murderer, you'll have to take my word. He was a good kind man who wouldn't have harmed a fly."
It was curious, he thought, how she jumbled together old village phrases with platform jargon. He waited, then burst out: "But how do you know? How can you know? Mrs. Kershaw, did you see something or hear something...?"
The pearls had gone up to her mouth and her teeth closed over the string. As it snapped pearls sprayed off in all directions, into her lap, across the tea things, on to the carpet. She gave a small refined laugh, petulant and apologetic. "Look what I've done now!" In an instant she was on her knees, retrieving the scattered beads and dropping them into a saucer.
"I'm very keen on a white wedding." Her face bounced up from behind the tea trolley. Politeness demanded that he too should get on his knees and help in the hunt. "Get your wife to back me up, will you? Oh, thanks so much. Look, there's another one, just by your left foot." He scrambled round after her on all fours. Her eyes met his under the overhanging cloth. "My Tess is quite capable of getting married in jeans if the fancy takes her. Would you mind if we had the reception here? It's such a nice big room."
Archery got up and
"Haven't you got any homework to do, Jill?" she asked in a whisper. Kershaw got up, wiping his mouth.
"I can do it in the train," said Jill.
Archery had begun to dislike Kershaw, but he could not help admiring him. "Jill, you know all about Tess," Kershaw said, "what happened when she was little. Mummy has to discuss it with Mr. Archery. Just by themselves. We have to go because, although we're involved, it's not quite our business. Not like it is theirs. O.K.?"
"O.K." said Jill. Her father put his arm round her and took her into the garden.
He had to begin, but he was hot and stiff with awkwardness. Outside the window Jill had found a tennis racquet and was practising shots against the garage wall. Mrs. Kershaw picked up a napkin and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. She looked at him, their eyes met, and she looked away. Archery felt suddenly that they were not alone, that their thoughts concentrated on the past, had summoned from its prison grave a presence of brute strength that stood behind their chairs, laying a bloody hand on their shoulders and listening for judgment.
"Tess says you have something to tell me," he said quietly. "About your first husband." She was rolling the napkin now, squashing it, until it was like a golfball. "Mrs. Kershaw, I think you ought to tell me."
The paper ball was tipped soundlessly on to an empty plate. She put her hand up to her pearls.
"I never speak of him, Mr. Archery. I prefer to let the past be the past."
"I know it's painfulit must be. But if we could discuss it just once and get it over, I promise I'll never raise the subject again." He realised that he was speaking as if they would meet again and often, as if they were already connected by marriage. He was also speaking as if he had confidence in her word. "I've been to Kingsmarkham today and..."
She clutched at the straw. "I suppose they've buill it all up and spoiled it."
"Not really," he said. Please God, don't let her digress!
"I was born near there," she said. He tried to stifle a sigh. "A funny little sleepy place it was, my village. I reckon I thought I'd live and die there. You can't tell what life will bring forth, can you?"
"Tell me about Tess's father."
She dropped her hands from fidgeting with the pearls and rested them in her respectable blue lap. When she turned to him her face was dignified, almost ridiculously prim and shuttered. She might have been a mayoress, taking the chair at some parochial function, clearing her throat preparatory to addressing the Townswomen's Guild. "Madam chairman, ladies..." she should have begun. Instead she said: "The past is the past, Mr. Archery." He knew then that it was hopeless. "I appreciate your difficulty, but I really can't speak of it. He was no murderer, you'll have to take my word. He was a good kind man who wouldn't have harmed a fly."
It was curious, he thought, how she jumbled together old village phrases with platform jargon. He waited, then burst out: "But how do you know? How can you know? Mrs. Kershaw, did you see something or hear something...?"
The pearls had gone up to her mouth and her teeth closed over the string. As it snapped pearls sprayed off in all directions, into her lap, across the tea things, on to the carpet. She gave a small refined laugh, petulant and apologetic. "Look what I've done now!" In an instant she was on her knees, retrieving the scattered beads and dropping them into a saucer.
"I'm very keen on a white wedding." Her face bounced up from behind the tea trolley. Politeness demanded that he too should get on his knees and help in the hunt. "Get your wife to back me up, will you? Oh, thanks so much. Look, there's another one, just by your left foot." He scrambled round after her on all fours. Her eyes met his under the overhanging cloth. "My Tess is quite capable of getting married in jeans if the fancy takes her. Would you mind if we had the reception here? It's such a nice big room."
Archery got up and
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