The Wedding Party Read Free

go walkies this morning. You clumsy creature. Into your basket! – in, in! – do as I say!’
    Alone, Miss Kingsford walked along the cliff-top. A coldish, squally wind was blowing in from the sea. The air was bright and sharp and there was a touch of autumn in the air. She had luckily taken the precaution of putting on her fur coat and perhaps because of this Mr Willoughby, appearing suddenly from the clumps of gorse and tamarisk, didn’t recognise her. Suddenly he was face to face with her, too late for retreat.
    â€˜Oh! it’s you, Miss Kingsford. I—’
    With his habitual shy courtesy he raised his cap to her. He seemed at a loss for further words and she said how cold it was. Oh! was it cold? he said. Yes, perhaps it was rather fresh.
    â€˜I’m glad I ran into you,’ she suddenly said. More than anything, for days, she had wanted to run into Mr Willoughby. ‘I sort of owe you an apology.’
    â€˜You do? I simply can’t think—’
    â€˜Yes, it was awfully remiss of me the other morning. I never offered you a return drink. I really should have done. I suppose I was so upset.’
    â€˜Oh! that doesn’t matter.’
    Perhaps, she said, he might let her make up for that now? Perhaps they could go over to
The Mariner’s Arms
and have something there? She really felt rather chilly anyway. She could do with something to warm her up.
    Again, in the bar, Mr Willoughby ordered a modest half pint of beer. Miss Kingsford chose a sweet sherry and when it came it was much the colour of her hair. As she sipped it she said she did hope that autumn wasn’t coming on too quickly. It was early to think of winter yet. Though it could be awfully nice in winter – bright, lovely days. Had he noticed you could see France this morning?
    No, he said, he hadn’t noticed.
    â€˜Oh! we often see it on these clear days.’
    Once again Mr Willoughby seemed at a loss for words and suddenly she said:
    â€˜You seem very thoughtful.’
    Did he? Well, it wasn’t exactly that. He was rather puzzled about something, that was all. There was something different about her this morning, he thought, and he couldn’t for the life of him think what it was.
    â€˜Me?’ She felt her pulse quicken perceptibly. She looked him directly in the eyes. ‘About me?’
    â€˜Yes, it’s something – I don’t know – Oh! yes, of course. How stupid of me. Of course – you haven’t got your dog.’
    A dark irritation ran quickly through her, quickening her pulse still further.
    â€˜Oh! don’t talk about
him
.’
    â€˜Why, what’s wrong?’
    He had, she said, been very, very naughty again. Most tiresome. Really he’d never been quite the same since that business the other morning. He’d been so disobedient. And clumsy. She’d had to leave him at home. It was really too much.
    â€˜How old is he? Perhaps he’s getting old.’
    â€˜No, it isn’t that.’
    Mr Willoughby sat very thoughtful again and then said at last:
    â€˜I’ve got an idea he really enjoyed that little episode.’
    â€˜Oh! you do? Then all I can say is he didn’t deserve to.’
    â€˜He really laughed at me down there on the cliff.’
    â€˜Yes? Well, all I can say is I wasn’t amused.’
    Suddenly she felt that there was not only a coldness in the air but a certain chill between herself and Mr Willoughby.
    â€˜Oh! let’s talk about something else. He really vexes me. Have you decided what you’re going to do?’
    Well, he had, sort of. Well, half and half. Yesterday he’d been to see a caravan. It belonged to an old friend of his. She didn’t use it any longer. It was standing in an apple orchard. He could practically have it for free.
    â€˜And where is this?’
    â€˜Over in Sussex. It’s really rather a lovely spot. Secluded but not actually isolated. Some rather nice