mused as I sat looking at the picture that I had bought in the antique shop at Blockford, the shop opposite the red-brick building from which I had seen Anne emerge. Of course I had glanced at its brass plate: the red-brick building was a doctor’s surgery. But the reasons are many for visiting doctors’ surgeries in these, our more dynamic, more progressive times.
CHAPTER TEN
T HE NEXT DAY was Friday (the course had begun in mid-week), and I knew that Earle and Alex would be down in the evening. Whether it affronted the conventions or not, Earle was spending his last bachelor night under Verna’s roof. The wedding was to take place at eleven the next morning, followed by the reception at a hotel; then the young couple were driving to Folkestone to catch the hover-ferry to Calais. During the dull morning session my thoughts kept straying to the house by the river. I could picture the two women surrounded by Anne’s trousseau, which they would be packing in brand-new suitcases. No doubt Anne was nervous; she might cry again. I imagined that Verna would deal with her briskly. And the packing, that would go slowly and reverently, with now and then a break to phone a last-minute message. Then, at the other end, I could picture Earle going about his business with suppressed impatience, longing to get that day over and to launch his new Pontiac towards Blockford. They would be ribbing him and drinking healths; he would probably have a call booked to his father; that in turn would lead to his ringing Anne and to one more interruption of the packing. Ah, young love! I caught Commander Stapleton staring at me oddly on a couple of occasions. I suspect that my face wore a stupid simper that didn’t quite go with executive aspirations.
At lunchtime I thought I would ring Verna and add my own contribution to the countdown. There was a pay-box in the hall and I inserted a coin and dialled her number.
‘Hello, Verna. George.’
‘Oh!’ She sounded less than enchanted. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you, George. I thought it might be Anne.’
‘Isn’t she with you?’
‘No, she isn’t, and I don’t know where she’s got to. Apparently she went out when I was having my bath, and we haven’t set eyes on her since. It’s too bad.’ There was a slight inflection of hysteria in Verna’s voice. ‘Earle has just rung up and I didn’t know what in the world to tell him.’
‘But didn’t she leave a message?’
‘No.’
‘Haven’t you spoken to her this morning?’
‘How could I have done? She had gone before I came down to breakfast. Madge, that’s the help, made her some tea, and then she must have gone out straight away. And with so much to do – oh, it’s irresponsible! That girl needs a good shake.’
I was silenced. This was a long way from the happy idyll I had been contemplating! And I could tell from Verna’s voice that she was more worried than she cared to admit. I remembered yesterday. I had persuaded myself to write that off as pre-nuptial nerves; but now I wondered guiltily if I had not been too eager to accept the most convenient explanation.
‘How was she last night?’
‘Absolutely normal. We were ironing some undies she’s taking with her. Then Earle rang, and Alex rang me. Afterwards we watched a play on TV.’
‘She didn’t mention any problems?’
‘What problems?’
I shrugged to myself. ‘It’s an emotional time. She might be feeling run down, have some anxieties about her health.’
Verna snorted. ‘She’s as healthy as a horse. Alex is the one who has ailments. Anne takes after Colin. She has never been ill in her life.’
‘Didn’t she have malaria?’
‘Not her. You can put those ideas out of your head.’
‘Well, I met her yesterday, as she will have told you, and she seemed a little off-colour then.’
Verna paused. ‘But she didn’t tell me.’
‘Not that she met me in town?’
‘No. She said she was going to the library to hand in her
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley