sent to some ridiculously expensive school in Switzerland, and she had to leave and come home and attend the local Comprehensive. She simply hated it. I think she felt that life had deliberately humiliated her. Silly girl."
"What was she like?"
"Very beautiful, but without the vestige of a brain. After she was married and had her little boy, she used to come down for the summers and stay with her mother, and every time there were three or four lovelorn fellows dancing attendance. At a party you couldn't see her for men. Just like bees round a honey pot."
"She's in Majorca just now. Charlotte told me that much."
"I know. I've heard all about that. I think Mrs. Tolliver rather felt that she should come back and look after Charlotte herself. She was annoyed about the school boiler blowing up. She felt it was inefficient. I was horrified. It might have killed all the children. But Mrs.
Tolliver was far more concerned at the prospect of having Charlotte to stay."
"But doesn't she like Charlotte?"
"Oh, I think she quite likes her," Phoebe told me in her airy way. "But she's never been interested in children, and I think she finds Charlotte very dull. And, as well, she's never had the child on her own before. I think she's wondering what on earth she's going to do with her."
Outside, the wind was getting up, rattling the window sashes and whistling around the corners of the house. It was nearly dark, but the room in which we sat was warm with dancing firelight. I reached for the kettle that simmered on a brass hob near the flames and refilled the teapot.
"What about Annabelle's husband?" "Leslie Collis? I could never stand him, gruesome man."
"I thought he was gruesome, too. He didn't even kiss Charlotte good-bye. How did Annabelle meet him?"
"He was staying at the Castle Hotel in Porthkerris with three other stockbrokers, or whatever it is he does in the City. I don't know how they met, but the moment he set eyes on her, that was it."
"He couldn't have been attractive."
"In a funny way, he was. He had a certain sort of dark, flashy charm. Spent money like water, drove around in a Ferrari."
"Do you think Annabelle was in love with him?" "Not for a moment. Annabelle was in love only with herself. But he could give her everything that she'd ever wanted, and she didn't like being poor. And of course Mrs. Tolliver encouraged it madly. I don't think she ever forgave her poor husband for leaving her in straitened circumstances, and she was determined that Annabelle should marry well."
I thought about this. Then I poured myself another cup of tea and lay back against the cushions of the deep and friendly old chair. I said, "I suppose all mothers are the same."
"Don't tell me Delia's been at you again."
"Oh, no, she's not been at me. But there's this man ... he brought me those chrysanthemums ..." And I told her about Nigel Gordon and the invitation to Scotland.
Phoebe listened sympathetically, and when I had finished, she said, "I think he sounds very nice."
"He is. That's the trouble. He's terribly nice. But my mother's already got wedding bells banging to and fro and keeps reminding me that I'm twenty-three and ought to be settling down. Perhaps if she didn't go on about it so, I might marry him."
"You mustn't marry him unless you can't imagine life without him."
"That's just it. I can. Quite easily."
"We all need different things from life. Your mother needs security. That's why she married your father, and a fat lot of good it did her, because she never took the time to get to know him before she made that spectacular entrance up the aisle. But you're a special person. You need more than a man to bring you flowers and pay the bills. You're intelligent and you're talented. And when you do settle down with a man, it is absolutely vital that he makes you laugh. Chips and I laughed all the time, even when we were poor and unsuccessful and didn't know how we were going to pay the grocer's bill. We were always
"What was she like?"
"Very beautiful, but without the vestige of a brain. After she was married and had her little boy, she used to come down for the summers and stay with her mother, and every time there were three or four lovelorn fellows dancing attendance. At a party you couldn't see her for men. Just like bees round a honey pot."
"She's in Majorca just now. Charlotte told me that much."
"I know. I've heard all about that. I think Mrs. Tolliver rather felt that she should come back and look after Charlotte herself. She was annoyed about the school boiler blowing up. She felt it was inefficient. I was horrified. It might have killed all the children. But Mrs.
Tolliver was far more concerned at the prospect of having Charlotte to stay."
"But doesn't she like Charlotte?"
"Oh, I think she quite likes her," Phoebe told me in her airy way. "But she's never been interested in children, and I think she finds Charlotte very dull. And, as well, she's never had the child on her own before. I think she's wondering what on earth she's going to do with her."
Outside, the wind was getting up, rattling the window sashes and whistling around the corners of the house. It was nearly dark, but the room in which we sat was warm with dancing firelight. I reached for the kettle that simmered on a brass hob near the flames and refilled the teapot.
"What about Annabelle's husband?" "Leslie Collis? I could never stand him, gruesome man."
"I thought he was gruesome, too. He didn't even kiss Charlotte good-bye. How did Annabelle meet him?"
"He was staying at the Castle Hotel in Porthkerris with three other stockbrokers, or whatever it is he does in the City. I don't know how they met, but the moment he set eyes on her, that was it."
"He couldn't have been attractive."
"In a funny way, he was. He had a certain sort of dark, flashy charm. Spent money like water, drove around in a Ferrari."
"Do you think Annabelle was in love with him?" "Not for a moment. Annabelle was in love only with herself. But he could give her everything that she'd ever wanted, and she didn't like being poor. And of course Mrs. Tolliver encouraged it madly. I don't think she ever forgave her poor husband for leaving her in straitened circumstances, and she was determined that Annabelle should marry well."
I thought about this. Then I poured myself another cup of tea and lay back against the cushions of the deep and friendly old chair. I said, "I suppose all mothers are the same."
"Don't tell me Delia's been at you again."
"Oh, no, she's not been at me. But there's this man ... he brought me those chrysanthemums ..." And I told her about Nigel Gordon and the invitation to Scotland.
Phoebe listened sympathetically, and when I had finished, she said, "I think he sounds very nice."
"He is. That's the trouble. He's terribly nice. But my mother's already got wedding bells banging to and fro and keeps reminding me that I'm twenty-three and ought to be settling down. Perhaps if she didn't go on about it so, I might marry him."
"You mustn't marry him unless you can't imagine life without him."
"That's just it. I can. Quite easily."
"We all need different things from life. Your mother needs security. That's why she married your father, and a fat lot of good it did her, because she never took the time to get to know him before she made that spectacular entrance up the aisle. But you're a special person. You need more than a man to bring you flowers and pay the bills. You're intelligent and you're talented. And when you do settle down with a man, it is absolutely vital that he makes you laugh. Chips and I laughed all the time, even when we were poor and unsuccessful and didn't know how we were going to pay the grocer's bill. We were always
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