Time for Silence

“You’re talking the most arrant nonsense. I thought nothing of the sort. You think everybody is in love with you. Just because…”

“Because what?”

“Because of Carl Zimmerman.”

Her face darkened. I thought she was going to hit me.

“Don’t you ever mention him again!”

“Well, please don’t talk nonsense to me.”

She looked stricken suddenly. I had hated her a few minutes before. Now I felt that old affection stealing over me.

She said quietly, “That was mean of you, Lucinda.”

“I didn’t think to remind you of the dinner,” I said. “And it never occurred to me to attract his attention. If you had been here you would have come to the party. It wasn’t very grand.”

“You’re so young,” she said. “And it really seemed as though you were trying to keep me out. He’s a man of experience. He wouldn’t be interested in a schoolgirl. I’d hate to see you make a fool of yourself, Lucinda.”

“I was not the one to make a fool of myself. I’m not likely to over a man.”

“You throw yourself at him. You must let him do the chasing. The fact is, he is quite interested in me. I know it. One does know these things. I know how you feel about him. He really is rather fascinating, but you know absolutely nothing. He thinks of you as a child. He told me so. You mustn’t start thinking…”

“Thinking what?”

“That he likes you particularly. You’ll only get hurt.”

“As you did?” I could not help retorting. “Are you the one to give advice, Annabelinda?”

“Yes. If one is experienced, one is.”

“You are certainly experienced.”

“You should have let me know he was coming. However, it’s done and he is not over there…fighting, I suppose. I daresay he was terribly disappointed not to see me. Did he ask after me?”

“You were mentioned.”

“What did he say?”

“He just asked how you were.”

She nodded slowly. She said, “All I want to do is look after you, to stop you from getting hurt.”

“I don’t need looking after, and remember, you were the one who got hurt.”

“You do need looking after. Don’t get romantic thoughts about Marcus Merrivale. I know he is charming to everybody, but he is a man of the world. He’s got a reputation with women. Don’t go imagining him as the romantic lover, because you simply don’t know anything about such things.”

She left me soon after that, and I lay thinking about what she had said.

The weeks passed slowly. We settled down to a routine. My father was often away on what my mother called “House business,” by which she meant the House of Commons. One did not ask questions about such business.

With her usual efficiency, Miss Carruthers had begun her duties and we had lessons every day. Andrée had taken charge of Edward, and my mother said that would suffice for the moment and we need not think about a nanny for a while. Andrée was very capable and too many changes would not be good for the child.

My mother herself was very busy with all sorts of charities to aid what was called “the war effort”—mainly the Red Cross, in which she took a special interest. We were all called in to help from time to time.

It was one dark November day when Mrs. Cherry came to my room to tell me a gentleman had called to see me. He was waiting in the drawing room. I immediately thought of Marcus Merrivale. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were pink, my eyes shining. I was excited.

I hurried down to the drawing room in a mood of pleasurable anticipation. I opened the door and there was Robert.

Delight swept over me. I had forgotten I was expecting Marcus.

“Robert!” I cried.

He was grinning at me rather sheepishly. He looked different in khaki. It was not really becoming. It would be later when he gained his commission and a smart uniform with it—but he was not yet in that position. He looked very fit and well. His skin was slightly tanned and he had lost just a little of that gangling look which had been so essentially Robert.

I rushed to him and we hugged each other.

“It is wonderful to see you,” I cried. “I have been wondering when I should.”

“I feel the same,” he replied. “It seems ages. I’ve heard all about your journey home. That must have been quite an adventure.”

“Oh, it was.”

“It was lucky that your uncle was able to arrange to have you brought out.”

“Otherwise we should have had to go with the refugees.”

“It was a Major Merrivale, I heard, who brought you home.”

“Yes. He was so good.”

“He would be. And his position helped, of course. I was dreadfully worried when I thought of you in that school. Belgium, of all places!”

“I often wonder what is happening there now. Madame Rochère, who owned the school, is a very aristocratic, haughty lady. I try to think of what might be happening to her.”

“It’s very unpleasant to be in an occupied country…something I hope we shall never have to face.”

“Of course we shall not have to! That would be quite unthinkable. There is always the Channel. It won’t be the same with the French.”

“That’s so. I often think about my grandfather…so does my mother. We don’t hear what’s happening in Bordeaux.”