‘Oh, is it?’ Alison said helplessly, quite unable to hide her astonishment.

‘Yes, of course.’ He frowned a little, but it was only a thoughtful frown, she could see. I mean-when I tell you about Rosalie and-how I feel. It’s really rather an extraordinary thing to be able to talk about it to another girl- especially a girl you’ve married, even if it’s only in the unreal sense that we’re married.’

Alison couldn’t say anything at all. She could only think bewilderedly, ‘Does he really imagine I feel "detached" about him and Rosalie? Really, men are stupid!’ She rather wanted to be angry with him, but when she glanced down at his tranquil face as he lay against her, she thought with sudden tenderness instead; ‘I don’t really mind what he says, if he’ll only look like that.’

He was silent for a few minutes, and then he roused himself abruptly.

‘I must go. It’s very late and you ought to be asleep.’

She moved her arm at once and then-perhaps because some of the things that Simon had said had sunk deep into her pride and love-she spoke on an incredible impulse.

‘If you’d rather sleep here than in your dressing room, you can, you know.’

She didn’t look at Julian as she spoke. At the back of her mind, she wondered a little grimly whether he would consider that she was maintaining her ‘wonderful detachment.’

From the half-minute of silence she knew how taken aback he was.

Then he took her lightly by her chin. There was a rather odd expression in his eyes, which she couldn’t in the least understand.

‘Thank you, darling,’ he said slowly, ‘but I shall be quite all right in my dressing-room. Good night, bless you.’ And he kissed her on her lips.

Then he got up abruptly and went out of the room without even a backward glance, leaving Alison to make what she could both of the kiss and of the refusal to stay.

A week later they moved into their new home, and Alison seriously took up the responsibilities of being a rich man’s wife.

Perhaps he thought she was a little too serious about it all, because when they had been round the place on a tour of inspection the first evening, he said a trifle anxiously:

‘You do like it, don’t you, Alison?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled at him. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh-nothing. Only you looked so very solemn.’

‘I suppose I’m feeling a bit awed,’ Alison said slowly.

‘Good heavens. Whatever for?’

She slipped her arm into his at that and gave it a half-nervous, half-affectionate squeeze.

‘I’ve never had any place to call my own before, you know,’ she explained. ‘At least, nothing but my bedroom at school and that wasn’t really mine. It seems so strange to think that all this is-is half mine.’

‘Half yours.’ He laughed softly. ‘You dear, odd child. You would put it with scrupulous fairness, of course. Why, it’s all yours if you want it.’

‘Oh, no,’ she interrupted quickly.

But he didn’t seem to notice, because he went on with sudden, passionate earnestness: ‘I want you to feel it’s all yours-this and whatever else you would like to have. Sometimes, when I realise how little you are getting out of this business, I-’

‘Don’t,’ Alison said sharply. She felt she simply couldn’t bear to have him heaping generosities on her like this, when the one single thing she wanted-his love-was so obviously not for her.

He stopped abruptly at her exclamation, and looked puzzled. ‘Alison, what is it?’

‘Nothing, nothing.’ She gave him a quick, nervous smile in an effort to reassure him. ‘But you make me miserable when you’re so wonderfully generous, and then talk about my having nothing. I am happy and satisfied. Please believe that.’

‘Very well.’ He smiled a little too, and touched her hair with an odd gesture of tenderness which suddenly made it very difficult not to cry.

She hastily went over to one of the windows and pretended to be rearranging a curtain.

‘I must get Jennifer to come round here soon,’ she said, speaking at random. There are several things I want to ask her, and she’s so good at arranging things.’

Julian nodded. ‘That reminds me-they want us to go down to their country cottage next week-end. They’ve got a place in Sussex, you know.’

He was busy lighting a cigarette and did not see that Alison had gone rigid. She remained with her back to the room, her hand quite still on a fold of the curtain.

‘Do you mean that Jennifer asked us?’

‘Yes. That’s to say, Simon did. It’s the same thing,’ Julian said.

Alison thought that it was not the same thing at all. But it seemed impossible to voice any protest, There was no reason in the world why she should object to the week-end-so far as Julian knew.

‘You didn’t specially want to do anything else, did you?’ Julian was looking at her now.

‘No-oh, no,’ Alison assured him. ‘I’d like to go to the cottage.’

She hated the idea, really, she told herself fiercely, but she felt helpless in face of the utter impossibility of explaining fully to Julian.

Why on earth should Simon have chosen just now to invite them down there? He must know how queer and embarrassing it would be for her. Or was it just that he didn’t care?

They drove down on the Saturday afternoon, through a cold rain-storm which threatened to turn to snow at any minute.

By the time they arrived at the cottage it was already beginning to grow dark, and the square, fire-lit hall was a very attractive sight.

‘You poor dears I Aren’t you simply frozen?’ Jennifer drew them both towards the fire, and kissed Alison, ‘I think it’s too heroic of you to come down here at this time of year. It was Simon’s idea entirely. To my mind it’s just idiotic to go into the country in December unless you absolutely have to.’

‘Probably they aren’t such over-civilised, city-softened creatures as you,’ observed her brother equably. ‘This place is just as beautiful in December as in June.’

‘All right You can be as rude as you like,’ Jennifer laughed ‘But London remains the only place where I can contemplate the thought of winter with stoicism.’

‘Did you have a good journey down?’ Simon was taking Alison’s coat and speaking to her in that half-indifferent, half-caressing voice that was so disturbing.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘And do you think me absurd to ask you here in the winter?’

Alison felt embarrassed, and glanced at Julian. But he was talking to Jennifer.

‘I-I like the country any time of the year, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Well, it isn’t quite.’ Simon gave that peculiar smile of his. ‘But it will do.’

Then he turned to speak to Julian, and a moment or two later Jennifer took Alison upstairs to see her room.

It was an exquisite place, with little dormer windows set in pointed eaves. The furniture was Queen Anne period, in palest, gleaming walnut, every piece a thing of beauty in itself, while the curtains and hangings were in old-world, rose-spattered chintz.

On a low table, under one window, stood a huge bowl of pink roses, the living counterparts of the roses in the chintz.

‘Why, how wonderful!’ Alison drew a deep breath of admiration. ‘What glorious roses to have in December.’

Jennifer laughed.

‘Simon brought those down from Town specially for you. He was most exercised about getting the right shade. You ought to feel flattered, I can assure you, for I’ve never seen him bother about these little gallantries for anyone else.’

‘It-was very kind of him,’ Alison said, and bent down to sniff the scent of the roses a little nervously. She thought, somehow, she would have liked them better if Jennifer had put them there.

Downstairs again, she tried very hard to be appreciative and to talk easily about the beauties of the cottage. She admired the improvements Simon had made, and praised the marvellous combination of modern comfort and old-world charm. And all the time she wished and wished that she were safely back in her London flat.