Read Online Under Gemini by Rosamunde Pilcher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
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all been a horrible mistake. At least, not horrible, because you were sweet and the days we had together were fun, but it all seems so different now, and I realize that Iâm not ready to settle down and be a wife, especially not in Scotland, I mean I donât have anything against Scotland, I think itâs very pretty, but it isnât really my scene. I mean, not for ever. I flew into London last week, am here for a day or two, not sure what happens next. My mother sent her love, but she doesnât think I should get married yet and when I do she doesnât think I should live in Scotland. She doesnât think itâs my scene either. So terribly sorry, but better now than later. Divorces are such messy things and take so long and cost such a lot of money.
Love (still)
Rose
Antony folded the sheet of paper and put it back into his pocket, and felt the smooth leather of the box with the diamond and sapphire ring inside. Then he started in on his beer and sandwiches. There was scarcely time to finish them before his flight was called.
He was at Heathrow at half past three, caught the bus to the terminal, and then took a taxi. London was noticeably warmer than Edinburgh and bright with autumn sunshine. The trees had scarcely started to turn and the grass in the park was worn and brown after the long summer. Sloane Street seemed to be filled with light-hearted children going home from school hand in hand with smartly dressed young mothers. If Rose isnât there, he thought, I shall sit down and bloody well wait for her.
The taxi rounded the corner of the square, stopping in front of the familiar red-brick building. It was a new block, very plush, with bay trees at the head of the wide flight of stone steps, and a great deal of plate glass.
Antony paid off the taxi and went up the steps and through the glass door. Inside there was dark brown wall-to-wall carpeting and palm trees in tubs and an expensive smell, mostly compounded of leather and cigars.
The porter was not behind his desk, nor anywhere to be seen. Perhaps, thought Antony, pressing the bell for the lift, heâs nipped out for an evening paper. The lift silently descended. Silently the doors slid open for him. As Antony went in they slid silently shut. He pressed the button for the fourth floor and recalled standing in that very lift with Rose in his arms, kissing her every time they passed another floor. It was a poignant memory.
The lift stopped and the doors opened. Carrying his bag, he stepped out, went down the long passage, stopped at the door of number Eighty-two and without giving himself time to think about it pressed the bell. From inside came the deep note of the buzzer. Setting down his bag and putting up a hand to lean against the edge of the door, he waited, without hope. She would not be there. Already he felt exhausted by what must follow.
And then from within he heard a sound. He stiffened, becoming suddenly alert, like a dog. A door shut. Another door opened. Footsteps came down the short passage from the kitchen, and the next moment the door was flung open. There stood Rose.
Staring at her like a fool, a number of thoughts flew through Antonyâs mind. She was here, he had found her. She didnât look too furious. She had cut her hair.
She said, âYes?â which was a funny thing for her to say, but then this was a funny situation.
Antony said âHello, Rose.â
âIâm not Rose,â said Rose.
4
ANTONY
That Friday was, for Flora, fogged in a curious unreality, a carryover from the events of the previous incredible day. She had intended to do so much and had ended up by achieving nothing.
Physically, she went through the motions of jobhunting and visiting various estate gents, but her mind refused to concentrate on the matters in hand.
âDo you want permanent or temporary work?â the girl at the agency had asked, but Flora simply stared at her and did not reply, obsessed as
Love (still)
Rose
Antony folded the sheet of paper and put it back into his pocket, and felt the smooth leather of the box with the diamond and sapphire ring inside. Then he started in on his beer and sandwiches. There was scarcely time to finish them before his flight was called.
He was at Heathrow at half past three, caught the bus to the terminal, and then took a taxi. London was noticeably warmer than Edinburgh and bright with autumn sunshine. The trees had scarcely started to turn and the grass in the park was worn and brown after the long summer. Sloane Street seemed to be filled with light-hearted children going home from school hand in hand with smartly dressed young mothers. If Rose isnât there, he thought, I shall sit down and bloody well wait for her.
The taxi rounded the corner of the square, stopping in front of the familiar red-brick building. It was a new block, very plush, with bay trees at the head of the wide flight of stone steps, and a great deal of plate glass.
Antony paid off the taxi and went up the steps and through the glass door. Inside there was dark brown wall-to-wall carpeting and palm trees in tubs and an expensive smell, mostly compounded of leather and cigars.
The porter was not behind his desk, nor anywhere to be seen. Perhaps, thought Antony, pressing the bell for the lift, heâs nipped out for an evening paper. The lift silently descended. Silently the doors slid open for him. As Antony went in they slid silently shut. He pressed the button for the fourth floor and recalled standing in that very lift with Rose in his arms, kissing her every time they passed another floor. It was a poignant memory.
The lift stopped and the doors opened. Carrying his bag, he stepped out, went down the long passage, stopped at the door of number Eighty-two and without giving himself time to think about it pressed the bell. From inside came the deep note of the buzzer. Setting down his bag and putting up a hand to lean against the edge of the door, he waited, without hope. She would not be there. Already he felt exhausted by what must follow.
And then from within he heard a sound. He stiffened, becoming suddenly alert, like a dog. A door shut. Another door opened. Footsteps came down the short passage from the kitchen, and the next moment the door was flung open. There stood Rose.
Staring at her like a fool, a number of thoughts flew through Antonyâs mind. She was here, he had found her. She didnât look too furious. She had cut her hair.
She said, âYes?â which was a funny thing for her to say, but then this was a funny situation.
Antony said âHello, Rose.â
âIâm not Rose,â said Rose.
4
ANTONY
That Friday was, for Flora, fogged in a curious unreality, a carryover from the events of the previous incredible day. She had intended to do so much and had ended up by achieving nothing.
Physically, she went through the motions of jobhunting and visiting various estate gents, but her mind refused to concentrate on the matters in hand.
âDo you want permanent or temporary work?â the girl at the agency had asked, but Flora simply stared at her and did not reply, obsessed as
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