She felt terribly sick, and there was a high, singing noise in her ears. She wondered for a moment if she were going to faint, and then, with a tremendous effort, she pulled herself together.

There was no one in sight. The servant who had let her in had gone away once more to the back of the house, and the hall was quite empty. There was no reason why anyone should know about her visit. The only important thing seemed to be to get away.

Slowly and deliberately, as though it were difficult to make her muscles obey her, Alison let herself out of the front door.

It was only a matter of minutes since she had come in from the quiet square outside, but somehow it all looked quite different now, like some place she had only seen in a dream.

She walked along slowly, feeling a little better now that she was in the open air, but without much idea of what she was really doing.

Julian and Rosalie. Julian and Rosalie. It was like some dreadful jarring refrain that kept on repeating itself in her life. She would imagine for a while that she had escaped from it, and suddenly, without any warning, there it would be again, shattering the quiet harmony which she had so foolishly supposed was hers.

‘What can I do? What can I do?’ she kept repeating to herself. And then she found that she was saying it aloud in a hoarse little whisper.

She must get a better grip on herself. People would think she was mad. Perhaps she was a little mad. She felt strangely light-headed.

It was impossible even to think of going home to the flat. She didn’t think she ever wanted to go there again. But she couldn’t go on walking for ever. If only there were somewhere, somewhere.

Presently she found she had turned into Knightsbridge. Mechanically she quickened her steps, so that she should not look quite so strange and wandering, for it would give such a queer impression if she just crept along aimlessly as she had been doing for a long time now. Every now and then she paused to stare at shop windows. Not that she saw anything that was in them, but at the back of her aching mind was the conviction that she must pretend to do as other people were doing.

Only she wished she could have sat down somewhere instead of walking and walking.

And then someone spoke her name.

‘Alison!’

She looked round, vaguely scared, and saw that a slim black Alvis had drawn up beside the kerb. At the wheel was Simon Langtoft.

‘How are you, Alison? I thought it must be you, but you didn’t hear me the first time I called.’

‘Didn’t I? I’m sorry.’ She felt dull and stupid, and unable to think of anything to say.

‘Can I give you a lift?’ he asked.

But she didn’t much want to go in Simon’s car and perhaps be questioned.

‘No, thank you. I-I’m shopping, you see.’

‘Shopping, dear?’ His expression changed his voice was suddenly extremely gentle. ‘But you can’t be shopping, you know. It’s Saturday afternoon. The shops have been closed for hours.’

She gave him a nervous little smile.

‘Oh, yes, of course. It’s Saturday afternoon,’ she repeated. and slowly her eyes filled with tears.

‘Alison, won’t you get in and let me drive you home?’

‘No-oh, no, thank you. I couldn’t go home.’

There was a second’s pause.

‘Then will you just let me drive you somewhere-anywhere-until you’re feeling better?’

She didn’t answer that in words. She slipped silently into the seat beside him.

He leaned over and banged the door. And the black Alvis slid away into the stream of traffic once more.

There was silence except for the hum of the motor. Then presently Alison began to cry quietly. Simon still didn’t say anything, but she knew he must know what she was doing.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I’ll stop in a minute.’

‘It doesn’t matter. And don’t bother to talk. Just lean back and take it quietly.’ He pushed a rug towards her with one hand. ‘Tuck that round you. It will keep you warm.’

She obeyed him mechanically, and presently she closed her eyes.

At last she opened them. It was dark outside, and for a bitter moment she was reminded of that strange drive with Julian on the first day of their honeymoon. But this time it was not Julian who was beside her. It was Simon. And there seemed to be a curious significance in the similarity- and the difference.

‘Simon, where are we?’ she asked a little huskily.

‘Somewhere quite near the coast, but that isn’t as far away from London as it sounds. If you feel you can manage some food, I think we ought to stop and have some dinner soon. It isn’t good for you to go so long without anything.’

‘Very well,’ Alison said listlessly, and they relapsed into silence again. She felt dully grateful to him for that, for it was extraordinarily kind and tactful of him to remain silent when all the time there must be a hundred questions he longed to ask.

‘But perhaps he knows I’d just cry again if he asked them,’ thought Alison.

‘This will do, I think.’ Simon drew the car to a standstill outside a country hotel. It had an air of solid comfort about it, without any suggestion of loudness or too much liveliness.

He helped her out of the car, and kept his hand round her arm in firm support as they went into the hotel.

A long panelled dining-room-with high-backed, carved settees which shut off the tables from each other-promised some measure of privacy, and, after one glance at her, Simon proceeded to order the meal without reference to her.

Again she was thankful to him for not troubling her with questions, and gradually, as she ate, she felt a little strength and coherence of thought coming back to her.

He made her have a dash of brandy with her coffee, and after that a faint colour came back into her cheeks, and she managed to smile slightly at him.

‘Thank you. You’re really being most awfully kind.’

‘No, I’m being kind to myself too,’ he told her a little curtly.

She glanced down. ‘I mean-it was kind of you not to ask questions.’

‘I didn’t need to. Only one thing would make you look like that.’ He spoke with the faintest touch of bitterness, and then seemed to make an effort to conquer it, for he added gently, ‘I suppose Julian has-’ He stopped.

‘He can’t help loving Rosalie,’ Alison said quickly, and then she too stopped, because it was strange to be defending him for something which had hurt her so terribly.

‘Rosalie has broken off her present engagement, hasn’t she?’

‘Yes.’ Alison bit her lip.

‘So that-’

‘I know, I know,’ Alison broke in sharply. ‘If he hadn’t rushed into this absurd marriage, he would be free to-to go back to the woman he really wants. You needn’t put it into words, Simon. I know all the arguments backwards.’

Simon remained quite silent.

‘It would be almost-simple, if Rosalie were anything different.’ Alison spoke slowly, as though she were thinking aloud.

‘What do you mean?’ Simon’s voice was quiet still, but a certain quality of urgency had crept into it.

‘She’s so cruel, Simon So cruel and mean and petty. Don’t think I’m saying this because I’m jealous. I was once, but I’ve got a long way past that now.’ Alison pushed back her fringe wearily and leaned her forehead on her hand. ‘Rosalie hasn’t really forgiven him one atom for marrying me, and she doesn’t love him in any deep sense at all. She’d enjoy taking it out of him.’

‘Isn’t that rather his own affair?’ Simon said, a trifle drily. ‘You can’t live his life for him, you know.’

‘No, but I might stop him from ruining it,’ She sighed. ‘I wish I knew if I were being really honest about this. It’s so hard to know.’

There was silence for a moment or two, and then she said, ‘What time is it, Simon?’

‘Latish. Between eight and nine.’

She looked horrified.

‘So late? Oh, we must get back. Julian will wonder what on earth has happened.’