The Hollow

"Midge dear, ring the bell."

When Gudgeon came, Lucy said:

"A box of matches. Gudgeon-at least has cook got plenty?"

"A new dozen came in today, m'lady."

"Then bring in half a dozen. Gudgeon.?? "Oh, no. Lady Angkatell-just one!"

Veronica protested, laughing, she had her r drink now and was smiling round at everyone.

John Christow said:

"This is my wife, Veronica."

"Oh, but how lovely to meet you." Veronica beamed upon Gerda's air of bewilderment.

Gudgeon brought in the matches, stacked on a silver salver.

Lady Angkatell indicated Veronica Cray with a gesture and he brought the salver to her.

"Oh, dear Lady Angkatell, not all these!"

Lucy's gesture was negligently royal.

"It's so tiresome having only one of a thing. We can spare them quite easily."

Sir Henry was saying pleasantly:

"And how do you like living at Dovecotes?"

"I adore it. It's wonderful here, near London, and yet one feels so beautifully isolated."

Veronica put down her glass. She drew the platinum foxes a little closer round her.

She smiled on them all.

"Thank you so much! You've been so kind-" the words floated between Sir Henry and Lady Angkatell, and for some ^ason, Edward. "I shall now carry home the spoils. John," she gave him an artless, friendly smile, "you must see me safely back 5 because I want dreadfully to hear all you've been doing in the years and years since I've seen you. It makes me feel, of course 5 dreadfully old.. "

She moved to the window and John Christow followed her. She flung a last brilliant smile at them all.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry to have bothered you in this stupid way… Thank you so much, Lady Angkatell."

She went out with John. Sir Henry stood by the window looking after them.

"Quite a fine warm night," he said.

Lady Angkatell yawned.

"Oh, dear," she murmured, "we must go to bed. Henry, we must go and see one of her pictures. I'm sure, from tonight, she must give a lovely performance."

They went upstairs. Midge, saying good night, asked Lucy:

"A lovely performance?"

"Didn't you think so, darling?"

"I gather, Lucy, that you think it's just possible she may have some matches in Dovecotes all the time."

"Dozens of boxes, I expect, darling. But we mustn't be uncharitable. And it was a lovely performance!"

Doors were shutting all down the corridor, 'voices were murmuring good nights. Sir Henry said, "I'll leave the window for Christow."

His own door shut.

Henrietta said to Gerda, "What fun actresses are. They make such marvellous entrances and exits!" She yawned and added, "I'm frightfully sleepy."

Veronica Cray moved swiftly along the narrow path through the chestnut woods.

She came out from the woods to the open space by the swimming pool. There was a small pavilion here where the Angkatells sat on days that were sunny but when there was a cold wind.

Veronica Cray stood still. She turned and faced John Christow.

Then she laughed. With her hand she gestured towards the leaf-strewn surface of the swimming pool.

"Not quite like the Mediterranean, is it, John?" she said.

He knew then what he had been waiting for-knew that in all those fifteen years of separation from Veronica, she had still been ^ith him. The blue sea, the scent of mimosa, ^e hot dust-pushed down, thrust out of it, but never really forgotten… They meant one thing-Veronica. He was a young man of twenty-four, desperately and agonizingly in love and this time he was not going to run away…

Chapter IX

John Christow came out from the chestnut woods onto the green slope by the house.

There was a moon and the house basked in the moonlight with a strange innocence in its curtained windows. He looked down at the wrist-watch he wore.

It was three o'clock. He drew a deep breath and his face was anxious. He was no longer, even remotely, a young man of twenty-four in love. He was a shrewd practical man of just on forty and his mind was clear and levelheaded.

He'd been a fool, of course, a complete damned fool, but he didn't regret that! For he was, he now realized, completely master of himself. It was as though, for years, he had dragged a weight upon his leg-and now the weight was gone. He was free.

He was free and himself, John Christow -and he knew that to John Christow, suci ^f cessful Harley Street specialist, Veronica Cray meant nothing whatsoever. All that had been in the past-and because that conflict had never been resolved, because he had always suffered humiliatingly from the fear that he had, in plain language, "run away,"

Veronica's image had never completely left him. She had come to him tonight out of a dream… and he had accepted the dream, and now, thank God, he was delivered from it for ever. He was back in the present-and it was 3:00 a.m., and it was just possible that he had mucked up things rather badly.

He'd been with Veronica for three hours.

She had sailed in like a frigate, and cut him out of the circle and carried him off as her prize, and he wondered now what on earth everybody had thought about it.

What, for instance, would Gerda think?