Anne’s face remained locked, but the lips smiled. They were bright with lipstick that might have been the very colour of anger. They made Lyndall feel herself despised. They said,

“What a rigmarole! What is it all supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.”

She had said what she had come to say. It horrified her. Things were worse when you had said them-they took shape. She had thought she would be able to get rid of them. No, not thought-that was too definite. She had had a frightened, clinging hope that Anne would say or do something that would make everything all right again. She did not know what Anne was to say or do. The little trembling hope let go and faded out.

Anne pushed back her chair and got up. She went quietly over to the fire and kneeled down in front of it, putting on one or two pieces of coal in a careful, deliberate way. Then without getting up she turned and spoke to Lyndall.

“You say you don’t know what you mean. I am sure I don’t. So it’s rather difficult-isn’t it? I don’t quite know what to say about it. We have had a good deal of publicity lately- I shouldn’t have thought you’d have wanted to bring any more of it down on us. You used to say that you were fond of me, and-” she gave a little laugh-“anyone can see you are fond of Philip. May I ask you why you want to spread a damaging story about us? I should really like to know.”

Lyndall had turned too. The fire leapt brightly behind Anne’s shoulder. Something in Anne’s eyes burned like the fire, bright, and hot, and hurting. Lyndall said,

“I haven’t spread any story. I haven’t spoken of it to anyone but you.”

“Well, that’s something. Because, you see, you really might do a great deal of harm-to Philip. To put it frankly, we can’t afford to be in the papers any more at present. Philip is ambitious-I expect you know that. He’s got the sort of job they only give to a rising man, and the wrong sort of publicity would be very damaging for him. Now I’m going to tell you all there is to tell, and trust to your friendship and common sense not to go on making mountains out of molehills. Nellie Collins knew the Joyces-I believe they lodged with her. About a week or ten days ago I had a letter from her. She had been reading all the stuff in the papers, and she said now that she realized Annie was dead, could she come up and see me, because she would like to hear all about her last moments. I thought it was all very tiresome and morbid, and I had my hands full with the move, so I didn’t answer the letter. I don’t even know what happened to it. The police wanted to see it, but I couldn’t find it for them.”

“The police-”

The anger was gone from Anne. She looked frankly at Lyndall.

“Yes. Miss Collins seems to have talked about coming up to see me. Wishful thinking, I should say. I certainly never invited her. But she seems to have talked, and there it is. Why she went to Ruislip, and how she got herself run over, I’ve naturally no idea. As for your story of overhearing a conversation about her in a hairdresser’s shop-well really, darling, if you don’t mind my saying so, it sounds completely mad. Of course Collins is a very common name. You might have heard it anywhere-I suppose you might have heard it at your hairdresser’s. But why you should fasten this crazy conversation on to me-come, Lyn, are you prepared to swear you saw me?”

“No-I thought it was you-”

“And you thought you heard me speak. Is that a thing you would swear to-a voice through a shut door? Are you sure it was my voice, Lyn?”

Lyndall said steadily,

“No, I’m not sure. I thought it was your voice.”

Anne said, “Because you thought you had seen me go in?”

“Perhaps.”

Anne laughed quite good-humouredly.

“Well, darling, there doesn’t seem to be much left of your story, does there? I think I’d keep quiet about it if I were you. If you’ll forgive my saying so, you don’t come out of it any too well. I’m sure you didn’t mean it that way, but there’s a sort of spying sound about it-” She put out a hand. “No, that’s horrid of me. I didn’t mean it. But-honestly, Lyn, I don’t want Philip to have any more bothers just now.”

Lyndall said nothing at all. When Anne spoke of Philip like that, the very quick of her heart was bruised. She had nothing to say in words. Her eyes spoke for her.

It appeared that Anne was answered. She got up with one of her graceful movements and stood there smiling.

“Well, we’ll leave it at that. I think we’ve been getting a little intense. It’s just that Philip and I do hate all this publicity, and it would be too tiresome to have it starting all over again just when we hoped it was dying down. So you won’t mind my asking you not to go round telling people that you thought you heard me talking about poor Miss Collins in the back of a hairdresser’s shop.”

“I haven’t told anyone but you. I think it was silly of me to tell you. I won’t tell anyone else.”

As she spoke she felt again the cold breath of fear which had sent her running away from the little dark passage behind the mirror door. She had promised never to speak about that. She must try never to remember it. She did not know that she was to break her promise, and to try with all her might to remember every detail of what had happened in Félise’s shop. She did not know what circumstances would compel her to this. But if she had known, she would hardly have been more afraid than she was.

Anne came past her and sat down behind the tray with its pale gleaming silver and its flowery cups. Her cheeks were pink, and she was smiling. She said,

“Have another cup of tea, darling.”

CHAPTER 23

Philip Jocelyn came home early that evening. As he let himself in with his key he could hear Anne at the telephone. He stood for a moment, listening not so much to what she was saying as to her voice, wondering as he always did when he allowed himself to think, why it should be Anne’s voice as he remembered it and yet a stranger’s, just as Anne was herself a stranger. He had no thought of overhearing a private conversation. She appeared to be making an appointment to have her hair done. He heard her say, “Is that Félise?… This is Lady Jocelyn speaking. I want an appointment with Mr. Felix. He isn’t there, I suppose?… No? Well will you tell him I don’t think the treatment he prescribed is suiting my hair at all. I am very upset about it-will you tell him that? I want to see him as soon as possible. Tell him I can’t go on with the treatment and he must change it. I can come tomorrow afternoon-that’s one of his days, isn’t it? Will you get into touch with him and find out what time he can see me, and then ring me up and let me know. I shall be in all the evening.”

She hung up the receiver and turned from the study table to see Philip in the doorway.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

He said, “You had your head in the telephone.”

“I was just making an appointment about my hair.”

She had gone over to the window and was straightening the curtains there.

“So I heard. What endless time women spend having their hair done.”

She came back to the table, half smiling.

“Mine has got into such a bad state-I do want to get it right again. This man is said to be very good, but the stuff he gave me to rub in isn’t suiting me at all.”

“Then I shouldn’t use it.”

“I’ve just been making an appointment to tell him he must give me something else. Why are you home so early?”

He had come up to the table and set an attaché case on it.

“I’ve got something I can work on here. I shall probably be late.”

“What time would you like dinner?”

“Oh, the usual. I’d like some coffee in here afterwards if it wouldn’t be a trouble.”

“Of course it wouldn’t.” She smiled at him again and went out of the room.