contradiction of the ridiculous scarlet-fastened pigtails with the rest of her body.
âIâd better get back,â she said, âbefore she starts creating hell at me.â
âShe?â
âMother,â she said. âOh! and by the way. I almost forgot. She sent a message for you.â
âFor me?â
âShe says will you be sure to come along on Tuesdayevening for a drink? Sheâs having a few friends in. About seven oâclock.â
He began to say something about his train not always getting in on time, but she cut him short:
âI think youâd better try and make it if you can. She said to tell you she positively wonât take no for an answer.â
âWell, I shall have to seeâââ
âYou wonât,â she said. âYou know mother, donât you?â
âI did know her. Years agoâââ
âIf you knew her then,â she said, âyou know her now.â
He started to feel uneasy again at that remark and said something about he would do his best and did it include his wife, the invitation?
âNothing was said about Mrs Barnfield.â
A few minutes later, at the crest of the hill, he was holding her foot in the stirrup while she mounted the pony. There was really no need for that piece of help of his, since she could almost have mounted the animal directly from the ground, but she seemed touched by it and turned and gave him, without a word, a short thankful smile.
This touched him too more than words could possibly have done and he mounted his horse in silence. After that they rode, also in silence, for two hundred yards along the hill-top to where the path forked and she said:
âThis is my way back. Thank you for everything. Donât forget Tuesday. Iâll get it in the neck if you do.â
This again was beyond him and he said simply, raising his cap:
âIâll do what I can. Goodbye.â
Then, turning to ride away, she gave him an odd miserable little smile and once again he found himself appalled by the ridiculous sight of her sitting on the pony. Somehow the picture was not only fatuous. It struck him as being infinitely lonely too.
âAnd no more crying now,â he said. âNo more of that.â
She turned, rested one hand on the rump of the pony and stared, not at him but completely and far past him, with empty eyes.
âIf you listen carefully,â she said, âyouâll probably hear me howling across the hill in the night-time.â
Chapter 5
It was past half past seven and already dark, the following Tuesday evening, when he drove up to the old keeperâs cottage on the opposite side of the hill. There were lights in the narrow mullioned windows of the little house but, much to his surprise, no other cars.
Edna Whittington herself came to the door to answer his ring, holding in her left hand a half-empty glass and a cigarette in a bright yellow amber holder.
âSweet of you, Henry. Absolutely and typically sweet.â
As she leaned forward so that he could kiss her first on one cheek and then the other he caught an overpowering fragrance, sickly in the night air. He did not fail to notice too how she called him Henry.
âBut come in, Henry, come in, come in, you sweet man. Letâs look at you.â
He went in and, inside, discovered that the house was empty.
âIâm sorry Iâm so late,â he said.
With magenta-nailed fingers she took his black homburg hat and umbrella and laid them on a window sill. âThe train lost time.â He looked round the room to make perfectly sure, for a second time, about its emptiness. âHas everybody gone?â
âEverybody gone?â
âI thought it was a party.â
âParty?â she said. âWhoever said it was a party?â
âValerie.â
âOh! my little girl,â she said. âThat little girl of mine. My silly little girl.â
He started to