Dubious Legacy Read Online Free PDF

strap-hanging man, he smells of persp. When I marry, she thought, for she was a girl determined on marriage, I shall not allow my husband to smell, nor shall I be a doormat. My children, if I have children, will live to boast of the sweetness of connubial bliss; no child of mine will risk the snub I got from Mother when I complained of Father’s nastiness.
    Antonia remembered her mother’s laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ her mother had said. ‘We love each other! He doesn’t mean it; family life gets on his nerves. He is working too hard. He will be much happier when you have all left home.’
    Ruefully Antonia remembered those words. I have been ejected from the nest, she told herself. I must marry. Perhaps Matthew Stephenson will do? Why not? I don’t think he is all that exciting, but I would never want to be rude to him or unkind. I really think he might do quite well.
    And Barbara? For Antonia always included her best friend in her plans. Barbara could do worse than James Martineau. He might lack the romantic zip Barbara yearned for, but by and large he would do. It was time Barbara grew up. Antonia, under the impression that she herself had reached that stage, decided for her friend. And both lots of parents will probably approve. She snorted with laughter as she skipped out of the tube and hurried towards her boring labours.
    ‘This is better than breaking my back planting trees in Hector Grant’s wood.’ Antonia sat beside Matthew.
    ‘Now then,’ said Matthew, his eyes on the road ahead, his hands tightening on the wheel.
    ‘Only joking,’ said Antonia, ‘trying it on, teasing. I am not a mythomaniac, promise.’
    ‘Better not be,’ said Matthew, glancing sideways at his passenger. Sleek fair hair hid half her face. He approved the pert nose and full mouth which, the evening before, he had kissed, sliding his tongue between the slightly irregular teeth, which had nipped quite sharply. Matthew felt a frisson of pleasurable recollection. He was glad he had confronted Antonia with her lie; she had had the grace to apologize. She had lunched once with the Grants, she explained, and she hoped to be invited again. Her father had known Hector in the war and Calypso was the sort of woman she would like to be herself in her thirties, a pretty futile sort of ambition, she had said modestly.
    Matthew had said, ‘Rubbish, you underrate yourself absurdly,’ and kissed her. He was looking forward to the weekend.
    ‘What is Henry’s wife like?’ she asked.
    ‘I hardly know. I have been to Cotteshaw several times and she hasn’t appeared, or one hasn’t been invited up. One knows she’s there in her room but one rarely sees her.’
    ‘But you have seen her?’
    ‘Yes. Beautiful in a weird way.’
    ‘When did they marry?’
    ‘Some time in the war. It’s said they met in the Middle East. I suppose Henry told somebody about it, but he’s never told me. Her name, by the way, is Margaret. Towards the middle or end of the war they married, Henry brought her back to England and she went to bed.’
    ‘What was wrong with her?’
    ‘She wasn’t ill.’
    ‘Goodness! And she lives in bed?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Isn’t she bored?’
    ‘Perhaps, if you met her, you could ask her.’
    ‘I shall,’ said Antonia. ‘And if I don’t, Barbara can.’
    ‘I was joking,’ said Matthew hastily. ‘The whole situation is fraught. Not only does one not ask Henry’s wife why she lives in bed, one doesn’t ask Henry either. One just tries to behave naturally. I hope you will make it clear to Barbara, if James hasn’t, that one keeps mum.’
    ‘Ho!’ said Antonia. ‘I see. One is mum, is one.’
    Not liking her tone, Matthew said, ‘Yes,’ and they drove in silence for several miles. Then Matthew said, ‘It’s more than probable that you won’t meet her at all. I only met her once for about five minutes.’
    ‘What was she wearing?’ asked Antonia, whose mind had divagated to what dress she would wear at