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Authors: Jean Saunders
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was certain that they would. Not even Kaiser Bill could destroy what last night had begun. She felt buoyant for the first time since waking up alone in the bedroom of the Hotel Portland.
There was a tap on her door, and she turned away from the artistically-arranged flowers and turned to see Louise.
âI say, Angel, who are the flowers from? Is it someone Stanley and I know? Do tell. I wonât let on, honestly.â
Angel gave a half-smile. Louise meant it sincerely, but Clemence would worm the secret out of her in no time. And Angel would be in deeper disgrace than she was already.
âI canât tell you, Lou,â she said lightly. âIt must be a secret admirer. A mystery man!â
Louise stared at her.
âIâm not sure that I believe you ââ
Angel opened her eyes wide, knowing how it always gave her an air of artless innocence.
âDo you think a well-brought-up young lady would tell such a fib, sissie dear?â She gave an elaborate shrug. âAnyway, whoever he is, heâll have to wait to show me the lights of London, if weâre all to move down to Somerset.â
Her heart seemed to churn as she spoke. Jacques knew this address, but he wouldnât know where to find her in Somerset. It hadnât been necessary to give him the country address. Her parents would naturally arrange for mail to be sent down, but then her mother would know if a letter arrived for Angel with masculine handwriting on the envelope. And knowing Clemence, she would connect it immediately with the writing on the floristâs card.
Perhaps he wouldnât write to her anyway. He might just turn up at Hampstead one day, expecting her to be here ⦠her thoughts raced on haphazardly, just thinking of this complication, but knowing better than to suggest that she should be allowed to stay on alone in the town house with a handful of servants. What an outcry that would cause!
âIâm not sure that I want to go, but I suppose itâs for the best,â Louise said slowly, her attention already wandering from Angelâs mystery man. âAt least Stanley can come down from time to time. He loves the country, of course. I do worry so over where heâll be posted. It would be too much to expect that it will be somewhere near us, of course.â
She rambled on, already back in her own closed world, selfish enough to dismiss Angelâs wan face, and hardly giving a second thought to Ellen and her friendâs problems. Was that how marriage affected people? Angel wondered. Certainly it had done so with Louise and Stanley.
It created a barrier between the two of them and the rest of life. They had become one entity instead of two, which was why Louise was so disorientated all of a sudden because she would have to think for herself once more.
Angel suddenly thought of Rose Morton, whom she didnât know, but who was going to become part of their lives from tomorrow. She too must learn to think for herself all over again. And there would be thousands of women like her before this war was over. The thought had never occurred to Angel until now.
Afternoon tea the next day was a fairly awkward affair. Clemence had ordered Cook to prepare tiny sandwiches and little cream cakes and ginger nut biscuits, but Rose Morton only toyed with the food and looked very ill at ease. Ellen constantly glanced at her, as though she were a child in need of mothering.
Angel was shocked to see how young Rose Morton was. She looked little older than Angel herself, yet she had beenmarried and widowed in the space of a year, and she was independent enough to have joined the suffragette movement and to find support in women like Ellen now when she needed it most. She was quite obviously of a different class, but to Ellen that made absolutely no difference. Angel grudgingly admired her sister for the ability to accept people for themselves.
Angel tried to find topics of conversation with Rose,
There was a tap on her door, and she turned away from the artistically-arranged flowers and turned to see Louise.
âI say, Angel, who are the flowers from? Is it someone Stanley and I know? Do tell. I wonât let on, honestly.â
Angel gave a half-smile. Louise meant it sincerely, but Clemence would worm the secret out of her in no time. And Angel would be in deeper disgrace than she was already.
âI canât tell you, Lou,â she said lightly. âIt must be a secret admirer. A mystery man!â
Louise stared at her.
âIâm not sure that I believe you ââ
Angel opened her eyes wide, knowing how it always gave her an air of artless innocence.
âDo you think a well-brought-up young lady would tell such a fib, sissie dear?â She gave an elaborate shrug. âAnyway, whoever he is, heâll have to wait to show me the lights of London, if weâre all to move down to Somerset.â
Her heart seemed to churn as she spoke. Jacques knew this address, but he wouldnât know where to find her in Somerset. It hadnât been necessary to give him the country address. Her parents would naturally arrange for mail to be sent down, but then her mother would know if a letter arrived for Angel with masculine handwriting on the envelope. And knowing Clemence, she would connect it immediately with the writing on the floristâs card.
Perhaps he wouldnât write to her anyway. He might just turn up at Hampstead one day, expecting her to be here ⦠her thoughts raced on haphazardly, just thinking of this complication, but knowing better than to suggest that she should be allowed to stay on alone in the town house with a handful of servants. What an outcry that would cause!
âIâm not sure that I want to go, but I suppose itâs for the best,â Louise said slowly, her attention already wandering from Angelâs mystery man. âAt least Stanley can come down from time to time. He loves the country, of course. I do worry so over where heâll be posted. It would be too much to expect that it will be somewhere near us, of course.â
She rambled on, already back in her own closed world, selfish enough to dismiss Angelâs wan face, and hardly giving a second thought to Ellen and her friendâs problems. Was that how marriage affected people? Angel wondered. Certainly it had done so with Louise and Stanley.
It created a barrier between the two of them and the rest of life. They had become one entity instead of two, which was why Louise was so disorientated all of a sudden because she would have to think for herself once more.
Angel suddenly thought of Rose Morton, whom she didnât know, but who was going to become part of their lives from tomorrow. She too must learn to think for herself all over again. And there would be thousands of women like her before this war was over. The thought had never occurred to Angel until now.
Afternoon tea the next day was a fairly awkward affair. Clemence had ordered Cook to prepare tiny sandwiches and little cream cakes and ginger nut biscuits, but Rose Morton only toyed with the food and looked very ill at ease. Ellen constantly glanced at her, as though she were a child in need of mothering.
Angel was shocked to see how young Rose Morton was. She looked little older than Angel herself, yet she had beenmarried and widowed in the space of a year, and she was independent enough to have joined the suffragette movement and to find support in women like Ellen now when she needed it most. She was quite obviously of a different class, but to Ellen that made absolutely no difference. Angel grudgingly admired her sister for the ability to accept people for themselves.
Angel tried to find topics of conversation with Rose,
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