always need you as you know perfectly well. The thing is that I hope you’ll come and stay with me for Christmas – I’ve taken a house in the country then.’
‘Not in England?’
‘Yes, in Gloucestershire, to be exact.’
‘Good gracious, Amabelle!’
Jerome Field was one of those rare and satisfactory people who always play the exact part that would be expected of them. At this particular juncture it was obviously indicated that he should register a slightly offended amazement. He did so.
‘The country in England, my dear. What a curious notion. Whatever could have made you think of such a thing? Do you say you have actually taken a house?’
Amabelle nodded.
‘Have you seen it?’
She shook her head.
‘How long have you taken it for, may one ask?’
‘Two months. I signed the agreement today.’
‘Without even seeing the house?’
‘Yes, I couldn’t be bothered to go all that way. The house agents seem to think it’s very nice and comfortable and so on, and after all it’s only for such a short time. I thought of moving in justbefore Christmas. The Monteaths are coming down with their baby, and naturally I want you too. I think it will be rather fun.’
‘But it’s such an extraordinary idea. Whatever will you do in the country for two months, at that time of year too? I’m afraid you’ll be bored and wretched.’
‘I don’t know. After all, hundreds of people live in the country, I believe, and presumably they must occupy themselves somehow. Besides, it’s patriotic not to go abroad now. I’ve heard you say so over and over again.’
‘Abroad, yes. But there’s nothing to stop you from staying in London, which would surely be more pleasant than to traipse down to Gloucestershire in this weather.’
‘You’re not very encouraging, are you?’
‘Where is this house, anyway?’
‘It’s called Mulberrie Farm, and it’s in the Cotswolds, near Woodford – incidentally, it’s quite near Compton Bobbin, so I shall expect to have little Bobby trotting round most days, and you know how I dote on that child. Apparently Mulberrie Farm itself is very old and lovely. I’m awfully excited about it.’
‘Now why, apart from the obvious attractions of young Bobby (horrid little brat) do you choose the Cotswolds of all places? Anything more dreary in winter can hardly be conceived. I dare say that Devonshire or Dorset would have been quite pleasant, but the Cotswolds – !’
‘Oh, it wasn’t on Bobby’s account in the least, much as I shall love having him so near. I didn’t even discover that he lived there until after I had signed the lease. No, I read a book about the Cotswolds once when I was waiting for a train at Oban, I don’t know why, but I bought it off a bookstall. I suppose I wanted change for a pound note. Anyhow, I read it, and apparently the Cotswolds are naked, grey hills with lush valleys and Saxon churches and Elizabethan farm houses and lonely wolds, which sound so entrancing, lonely wolds, don’t you agree? In fact, if I like it as much as I know I shall, I mighteasily buy a house there and settle down among the lonely wolds for ever.’
Jerome snorted.
‘Not cross, are you darling?’
‘No, of course I’m not. But, frankly, I don’t think you’ll enjoy yourself much.’
‘Then I can come straight back here, can’t I?’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘There’s one other reason why I don’t want to be in London at present,’ said Amabelle slowly. ‘Michael is coming back for good at Christmas, and I can’t, I can’t, face all that business over again. There are limits to one’s powers of endurance, you know.’
‘You managed him quite all right before,’ said Jerome drily.
‘I’m three years older now and more easily bored by that sort of thing. Besides, Michael makes such appalling scenes and I really don’t feel quite equal to them any longer.’
‘Who says you’ll have to feel equal to them? May I remind you, my dear, that three
‘Not in England?’
‘Yes, in Gloucestershire, to be exact.’
‘Good gracious, Amabelle!’
Jerome Field was one of those rare and satisfactory people who always play the exact part that would be expected of them. At this particular juncture it was obviously indicated that he should register a slightly offended amazement. He did so.
‘The country in England, my dear. What a curious notion. Whatever could have made you think of such a thing? Do you say you have actually taken a house?’
Amabelle nodded.
‘Have you seen it?’
She shook her head.
‘How long have you taken it for, may one ask?’
‘Two months. I signed the agreement today.’
‘Without even seeing the house?’
‘Yes, I couldn’t be bothered to go all that way. The house agents seem to think it’s very nice and comfortable and so on, and after all it’s only for such a short time. I thought of moving in justbefore Christmas. The Monteaths are coming down with their baby, and naturally I want you too. I think it will be rather fun.’
‘But it’s such an extraordinary idea. Whatever will you do in the country for two months, at that time of year too? I’m afraid you’ll be bored and wretched.’
‘I don’t know. After all, hundreds of people live in the country, I believe, and presumably they must occupy themselves somehow. Besides, it’s patriotic not to go abroad now. I’ve heard you say so over and over again.’
‘Abroad, yes. But there’s nothing to stop you from staying in London, which would surely be more pleasant than to traipse down to Gloucestershire in this weather.’
‘You’re not very encouraging, are you?’
‘Where is this house, anyway?’
‘It’s called Mulberrie Farm, and it’s in the Cotswolds, near Woodford – incidentally, it’s quite near Compton Bobbin, so I shall expect to have little Bobby trotting round most days, and you know how I dote on that child. Apparently Mulberrie Farm itself is very old and lovely. I’m awfully excited about it.’
‘Now why, apart from the obvious attractions of young Bobby (horrid little brat) do you choose the Cotswolds of all places? Anything more dreary in winter can hardly be conceived. I dare say that Devonshire or Dorset would have been quite pleasant, but the Cotswolds – !’
‘Oh, it wasn’t on Bobby’s account in the least, much as I shall love having him so near. I didn’t even discover that he lived there until after I had signed the lease. No, I read a book about the Cotswolds once when I was waiting for a train at Oban, I don’t know why, but I bought it off a bookstall. I suppose I wanted change for a pound note. Anyhow, I read it, and apparently the Cotswolds are naked, grey hills with lush valleys and Saxon churches and Elizabethan farm houses and lonely wolds, which sound so entrancing, lonely wolds, don’t you agree? In fact, if I like it as much as I know I shall, I mighteasily buy a house there and settle down among the lonely wolds for ever.’
Jerome snorted.
‘Not cross, are you darling?’
‘No, of course I’m not. But, frankly, I don’t think you’ll enjoy yourself much.’
‘Then I can come straight back here, can’t I?’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘There’s one other reason why I don’t want to be in London at present,’ said Amabelle slowly. ‘Michael is coming back for good at Christmas, and I can’t, I can’t, face all that business over again. There are limits to one’s powers of endurance, you know.’
‘You managed him quite all right before,’ said Jerome drily.
‘I’m three years older now and more easily bored by that sort of thing. Besides, Michael makes such appalling scenes and I really don’t feel quite equal to them any longer.’
‘Who says you’ll have to feel equal to them? May I remind you, my dear, that three
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