'How will you get back?

'Oh, he's coming back in an hour. I told him to look for me at the pub, or if he didn't see me there to come on up here. You might ask both of us to lunch. Or we might carry you over to Seton Blaise. Why not come and stay for a day or two and be looked after?

Ann rubbed her mouth with her hand and pushed her hair back again. The front of her mind was composed, but in the far background there was a sense of foundering, of confused panic and flight. She said, 'I'm so sorry. I think now that I really ought to go over to Clare's for lunch. I've kept putting her off. She wants to discuss the flower-arrangement competition.

.'But you invited me to lunch!

'Yes, but I'd forgotten Clare. I'm awfully sorry. It would be a bit difficult.

'Well, come to Seton Blaise tomorrow then? Felix could come and fetch you any time in the Mercedes.

'I can't, said Ann. 'I'd love to, but I must keep things going here. It's an awfully important time of year. I must do the catalogue. There's a whole lot to be added to the proofs. We're putting some new things from Germany on the market and I've got to do descriptions and get photographs and so on. But thanks! Have some coffee before you go?

Mildred just looked at her and said. 'Ann, Ann, Ann, Ann!

There was a silence between them, Mildred braced and staring, Ann with bowed head rubbing her brow and eyes slowly and methodically. Then Ann said in a weary voice, 'Come on Mildred. I could do with some coffee myself.

Mildred stood her ground. She barred Ann's way and said very quietly, 'You know that Felix is terribly in love with you?

Ann was silent, and it seemed afterwards that she had passed a vast time in reflection. What she said and did now was crucial, not so much for Mildred as for herself. Mildred had led up to her moment of theatre, but she must be cheated of it and sent away empty. There must be no drama here, no possible foothold for the imagination. What Mildred was trying to conjure up must be made nonsense of, must be made somehow not to exist. The thing must be laughed off briskly, Mildred must be clapped on the shoulder and taken to her coffee. There must be no admission of knowledge or interest, no confused looks, nothing. Again it was no and nothing.

'Yes, said Ann.

A long silence ensued during which Ann lowered her head. She knew that she was blushing violently. Her head seemed like a heavy fruit about to fall from the bough.

Mildred was tactful and merciful. She could afford to be since she was not by any means being sent away empty-handed. She said, 'Well, I won't torment you. I can see you're tired out. I won't stay for coffee, thanks. I'll improve the shining hour by buying one or two things in the village. Felix will pick me up there. Do think seriously about coming to Seton. We'd love to see you any time.

She turned to go, and nearly tripped over the dolls. 'Isn't Miranda getting a little old for dolls? She regarded the little figures. Then she began to knock them over gently: one by one with her umbrella. As each one fell backward on the floor its waxen eyelids closed.

Chapter Fifteen

'I IMAGINED you were joking. You thought just now that Emma was stealing up on you with a blunt instrument.

'Yes, said Randall. 'I'm afraid. And not only of Emma. He drew his hands now downwards from her arched shoulders along her spine to her thighs. Her elbows were planted firmly on each side of his neck: and her face hung over his, too close for him to see more than the hazy laughing glow of her expression. Her dress caressed the silk beneath as his hand gently moulded her and found the warm flesh at the top of her stocking. Randall groaned softly. Their feet were together under Emma's bed jumbled with the shoes.

'Don't be afraid, she murmured. Then she took her weight off her elbows and pressed heavily upon him while her hands fluttered about her head. The next moment something soft and cold descended and the light was blotted out. She had undone her hair.

Randall gasped at the sudden pressure and at the soft cascade. She propped herself up again, deliberately shaking her hair forward to hide her face and shaking it into Randall's eyes. There was a great deal of it. He raised his hands awkwardly and lifted the hair back over her brow, to reveal her bland and smiling beneath. He looked up at her for a moment, straining his neck, and then with a quick movement he shifted her off on to the floor. They both sat up, breathing deeply and staring at each other like two cats.

'Well, let's complete the search, said Randall abruptly. He got up and patted the side of Emma's bed into place.

Lindsay did not take his hand now, but led him into the last room, which was her bedroom. It was a smaller room which looked out on to the little evergreen garden. There was a narrow divan under the window, a table of light oak and a long shelf of brightly coloured paper-backs. The few objects which lay about Randall recognized as things he had given her: a paper-weight in the form of a hand, a miniature silver mirror, an Italian box with a lozenge pattern, a scratching dog of Derby china. It was as if she could not find things for herself. It was like a servant's room, simple, impoverished, and touching.

Randall looked carefully round it. Then he turned to look at Lindsay. Her golden hair, falling in disorder, reached well below her breasts. She looked younger, smaller, wilder. With deliberation Randall ran his two hands round the front of her dress and collected all the hair into a great bunch at the back. Then he drew her head 'It's hard to believe she's not here, said Randall.

He was standing in the drawing-room of Emma's flat, holding Lindsay by the hand. The tape-recorder was there, and the smell of tobacco, and the little table with the strewing of Gauloises, but the big armchair was empty. Emma Sands was at Grayhallock..

'If you'd like to make sure you can search the flat! said Lindsay.

'I know it's Absurd, but I think I will, said Randall. He made for the door. Then he said to Lindsay, 'You lead the way.

Lindsay took his hand again and drew him through the hall. There was the kitchen, he knew that. Often enough he had carried tea-trays to and fro. There was the bathroom. He knew that of course. There was the dining-room, where he occasionally dined with them on treat days, such as Emma's birthday. On ordinary days Emma worked all the evening and had a sandwich supper. There was the spare bedroom, which was partially furnished and used as a box room. Emma never had guests. There was Emma's bedroom. Here Randall paused. It was a big Italianate room, airy, like something out of a painting by Carpaccio, and somehow attentive, significant. One expected to see out of the window a clear vista of a distant campanile, and not, through net curtains, the near-by railings. He had never seen this room before. A sweet herbal scent seemed to emanate from the old velvet hangings and from the double bed whose fringed red coverlet swept the floor.

'Perhaps you'd like to look under the bed? said Lindsay jauntily. Randall knelt down arid lifted the coverlet. His heart was beating violently as if he really expected to see the form of Emma crouching in the darkness. There was nothing there except several pairs of shoes and a suitcase. He began to rise he received a sudden blow on the shoulder. He spun round on one heel and over-balanced backwards on the floor with an unplanned exclamation. The next moment Lindsay was lying full length on top of him. 'It's only me! she said.

'As the iceberg said to the Titanic! He clasped his hands in the small of her back, breathing deeply.

'Why, Randall, I believe you really are frightened! said Lindsay. 'I imagined you were joking. You thought just now that Emma was stealing on you with a blunt instrument.