ask you to excuse me. I’m very tired.’ At the door, she turned back to see him unconcernedly lighting another cigarette. His complete unconcern swept away the hold she had put on her tongue.
‘Goodnight—and the bargepole was ten foot long!’ She snapped off the words sharply.
‘Go to bed, Kate.’ His voice was noncommittal.
And I bet, she thought with a dull satisfaction, that’s the first time in years anybody has told him what they think of him, and she carefully locked the bedroom door. She had examined the flat when they had arrived, not completely but sufficiently to familiarise herself with the broad outlines. There were only two bedrooms, Philip was in one and she was occupying the other. Mr Jerome Manfred was going to have to sleep on the couch! But it was a comfortable couch. She made a face as one part of her, the bad part, expressed a vehement wish that the fat squabs and cushions had been stuffed with concrete!
In the bedroom, she rooted through her case for nightwear and gathering that and her toilet bag, let herself into the bathroom through the connecting door. With shaking fingers she locked it and the door into the corridor and stood contemplating herself in the mirror. She was astonished to find that she looked quite normal and that nothing of her inward perturbation was showing.
The shower looked inviting and she bundled up her hair under a plastic cap and divested herself of her clothes. She was still nervous, but here, locked in the bathroom, she could be as nervous as she liked. There was no need to keep up a stolid front in here, by herself. She could shake all over like a jelly and it didn’t matter as long as she could present a cool, calm face when she was with Jerome Manfred. Nothing mattered as long as he didn’t know what an abysmal coward she really was. She was going into this marriage with her eyes open, knowing that she could expect no mercy from him. He would take her with as little thought as he would take a glass of brandy with his coffee. She could only expect the worst and it would have to be tolerated. She closed her eyes to squeeze back the tears. It was for Philip!
She choked down a frantic desire to unlock the door and run whimpering to him, offering him complete control of the boy just as long as he would let her go and not force her. She could feel the perspiration wet and cold on her forehead and she stood rigidly while the needle jets of the shower played on her back. It would do no good, anyway, not if she begged on her knees. Jerome had those negatives and he would use them, of that she was certain. If she left here, left Philip with him, what was there for her? Only a return to being Noelle Lowe. She was trapped!
So this was fear! Whichever way she turned, she ran into a brick wall—no, not a brick wall; she ran into the hard, uncompromising block which was Jerome Manfred. This was fear? She jeered at herself. Wait until Saturday night, my girl. Then you’ll have something to be really afraid about!
With cold hands she let herself back into the bedroom and tiptoed through into the other room where Philip was sleeping soundly. She looked down at him fondly; he was worth it, he was worth anything, and with a sigh she went back to her own bed and slid beneath the covers, leaving the bedside lamp switched on in case he should wake during the night and be frightened in these unfamiliar surroundings.
Kate slept very well considering all she had on her mind, and she woke to pale sunshine and Philip bouncing on her chest.
‘Uncle,’ he was demanding her attention. ‘Uncle knocked.’
Kate stared at him as she caught herself together. She was not at the cottage, she was here in London, in Jerome Manfred’s flat, and if what she remembered was not a nightmare, on Saturday she would be Mrs Jerome Manfred. She closed her eyes against the thought. Last night she had known it, but it hadn’t seemed as real as it did in the cold light of day.
Again came the
‘Goodnight—and the bargepole was ten foot long!’ She snapped off the words sharply.
‘Go to bed, Kate.’ His voice was noncommittal.
And I bet, she thought with a dull satisfaction, that’s the first time in years anybody has told him what they think of him, and she carefully locked the bedroom door. She had examined the flat when they had arrived, not completely but sufficiently to familiarise herself with the broad outlines. There were only two bedrooms, Philip was in one and she was occupying the other. Mr Jerome Manfred was going to have to sleep on the couch! But it was a comfortable couch. She made a face as one part of her, the bad part, expressed a vehement wish that the fat squabs and cushions had been stuffed with concrete!
In the bedroom, she rooted through her case for nightwear and gathering that and her toilet bag, let herself into the bathroom through the connecting door. With shaking fingers she locked it and the door into the corridor and stood contemplating herself in the mirror. She was astonished to find that she looked quite normal and that nothing of her inward perturbation was showing.
The shower looked inviting and she bundled up her hair under a plastic cap and divested herself of her clothes. She was still nervous, but here, locked in the bathroom, she could be as nervous as she liked. There was no need to keep up a stolid front in here, by herself. She could shake all over like a jelly and it didn’t matter as long as she could present a cool, calm face when she was with Jerome Manfred. Nothing mattered as long as he didn’t know what an abysmal coward she really was. She was going into this marriage with her eyes open, knowing that she could expect no mercy from him. He would take her with as little thought as he would take a glass of brandy with his coffee. She could only expect the worst and it would have to be tolerated. She closed her eyes to squeeze back the tears. It was for Philip!
She choked down a frantic desire to unlock the door and run whimpering to him, offering him complete control of the boy just as long as he would let her go and not force her. She could feel the perspiration wet and cold on her forehead and she stood rigidly while the needle jets of the shower played on her back. It would do no good, anyway, not if she begged on her knees. Jerome had those negatives and he would use them, of that she was certain. If she left here, left Philip with him, what was there for her? Only a return to being Noelle Lowe. She was trapped!
So this was fear! Whichever way she turned, she ran into a brick wall—no, not a brick wall; she ran into the hard, uncompromising block which was Jerome Manfred. This was fear? She jeered at herself. Wait until Saturday night, my girl. Then you’ll have something to be really afraid about!
With cold hands she let herself back into the bedroom and tiptoed through into the other room where Philip was sleeping soundly. She looked down at him fondly; he was worth it, he was worth anything, and with a sigh she went back to her own bed and slid beneath the covers, leaving the bedside lamp switched on in case he should wake during the night and be frightened in these unfamiliar surroundings.
Kate slept very well considering all she had on her mind, and she woke to pale sunshine and Philip bouncing on her chest.
‘Uncle,’ he was demanding her attention. ‘Uncle knocked.’
Kate stared at him as she caught herself together. She was not at the cottage, she was here in London, in Jerome Manfred’s flat, and if what she remembered was not a nightmare, on Saturday she would be Mrs Jerome Manfred. She closed her eyes against the thought. Last night she had known it, but it hadn’t seemed as real as it did in the cold light of day.
Again came the
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