married?'
'Because you're the marrying kind. You're the sort of girl who needs a husband.' That's what people said to you after Maurice died.'
'You're not me, darling. I’ll give you three years as a career girl. Not a moment longer.'
But Phyllis, for once, was wrong. Because it was nine years before Laura set eyes on Alec Haverstock, and another six – by which time Laura was thirty-five – before she married him.
'Here we are. . . .' The tinkle of ice against glass, the tap of high heels. Laura opened her eyes, saw Phyllis beside her, setting down the tray on a low coffee table. 'Were you asleep?'
'No. Just thinking. Remembering, I suppose.'
Phyllis lowered herself onto the other sofa. She did not lean back because to relax in any way was totally foreign to her character. She perched, looking as though at any moment she might spring to her feet and dart away on some vital errand.
'Tell me all. What have you been doing? Shopping, I hope.'
She poured a tall tumbler of lemonade and handed it to Laura. The glass was frosty with cold and agony to hold. Laura took a sip and then put the glass on the floor beside her.
'No, not shopping. I've been to see Doctor Hickley.' Phyllis cocked her head, her face at once assuming an expression of alert interest, her eyebrows raised, her eyes wide. 'No.' said Laura, 'I'm not having a baby.'
'Why did you go and see her, then?'
'Same old trouble.'
'Oh, darling.' There wasn't any need to say more. They gazed at each other dolefully. From the garden where she had been having a little necessary visit, Lucy appeared, through the open windows. Her claws made a scratching sound on the parquet as she crossed the floor and leaped lightly up into Laura's lap, where she curled herself into a comfortable ball and proceeded to go to sleep.
'When did this happen?'
'Oh, it's been going on for a bit, but I've been putting off going to see Doctor Hickley because I didn't want to think about it. You know, if you don't take any notice and don't look, perhaps it will go away.'
'That was very silly of you.'
That's what she said. It didn't make any difference. I've got to go into the hospital again.' 'When?'
'As soon as possible. Maybe a couple of days.'
But darling, you're going to Scotland.'
'Doctor Hickley says I can't go.'
'I can't bear it for you.’ Phyllis' voice sank to match the total despair of the situation. 'You've been looking forward to it so much, your first holiday in Scotland with Alec . . . and what's he going to do? He isn't going to want to go without you.'
'That's really why I came to see you. To ask you a favour. Would you mind?'
‘I don't know yet what the favour is.'
'Well, can I come and stay with you when I come out of hospital? If Alec knows I'm here with you, he'll go to Glenshandra with the others. It means so much to him. And everything's been planned for months. He's booked the hotel rooms and rented a stretch of the river for fishing. To say nothing of the Boulderstones and the Ansteys.'
'When would that be?'
'Next week. I'll only be in the hospital for a couple of days and I don't need nursing or anything. . . .'
'Darling, it's too awful, but I'm going away.'
'You're . . .’ It was unthinkable. Laura stared at Phyllis and hoped that she was not going to burst into tears. 'You're . . . not going to be here?'
'I'm going to Florence for a month. With Laurence Haddon and the Birleys. We only arranged it last week. Oh, if you're desperate. I could put it off.'
'Of course you mustn't put it off.'
'What about Alec's brother and his wife? The brother who lives in Devon. Couldn't they take care of you?'
'Go to Chagwell, you mean?'
'You don't sound very enthusiastic. I thought you liked them when you stayed with them at Easter.'
‘I did like them. They're perfectly sweet. But they've got five children, and it's holiday time, and Janey will have quite enough to do without me arriving, all pale and wan, and expecting breakfast in bed. Besides, I know how
Christopher Knight, Alan Butler