Mistress of the House (15 page)

‘Well’ she decided, ‘I’ll let things drift for a little while, and see what happens.’

* * *

Jessica also decided to wait a little and see what happened, although it was obvious to her that a love affair was in progress, of whose existence Max should be made aware. They were making a fool of Max, she thought; and as long as Max looked blandly on, with an indulgent smile for their apparently innocent friendship, they would continue to make a fool of him. It angered Jessica almost beyond bearing.

There was the occasion on which Jessica took eggs to White Lodge for Mrs. Humphries. She had asked Laurie to take them because Laurie was spending two or three days helping Mr. Humphries with some articles and a speech he had to make; but Laurie had forgotten them, so that Jessica was forced to go herself. She had waited until after mid-day dinner, and had grumbled so much during dinner about the enforced journey (through the forgetfulness of Laurie) that Fred Emerson had offered to go. “It won’t take me half an hour,” he said. “I’ll go on my bike by the road.” But she would have none of his help, and when she reached White Lodge she was glad, because there, on the hard court, were Neville and Laurie, playing tennis. They did not see her, and when she left, she took care to avoid them. Helping Mr. Humphries indeed! No doubt, Laurie had known that Neville was coming down, and after the incident on the day of the Maynard’s supper, had decided to keep it quiet; and had invented an excuse to be able to meet him.

At tea time, Laurie had not returned. When Max went out to help Reg with the milking, Jessica went with him.

“Did Laurie mention that Neville was down?” she asked him as they crossed to the cowsheds.

“No, she didn’t say so,” said Max.

“I wondered. There didn’t seem to be much work going on for Mr. Humphries this afternoon.”

Max did not reply. Jessica set her jaw and went on: “She was playing tennis with him this afternoon.”

“And why not?” asked Max. “Very nice for them, and I expect Mr. Humphries was busy with something else.”

“Well,” said Jessica, “there’s none so blind as those that won’t see.” And she turned and left him.

Max said to Laurie, when he returned to the house: “Hallo, darling, had a busy day?”

“Yes, fairly busy. When Mr. Humphries is in a working mood, he keeps me going.”

She did not mention Neville at all. He waited to see if she would, but although she referred to White Lodge several times during the evening, Neville’s name was not introduced.

Next day, he saw them himself. He was driving to market at considerable speed along the main road, and as he passed the end of the lane leading to White Lodge, he glanced into it, and saw two people advancing. There was no mistaking the gay green of Laurie’s suit, or the blond head of the tall Neville. They were laughing, and seemed to be coming along at a brisk pace. For a moment, he considered stopping. Then he changed his mind and drove on, wondering why Laurie refrained from mentioning Neville’s presence at White Lodge.

Laurie, in fact, was pondering on her wisest course. She knew that Neville was home oftener now than at any previous time, and she knew that he liked to see a good deal of herself. His behaviour was always extremely good. There was simply nothing that anybody could object to. But if it worried Max, and was perfectly harmless, there seemed no point in talking of him continually. So she did not mention the tennis. It had been quite a short game of tennis, played in rather inconvenient clothes, while Mr. Humphries talked to some unwanted callers. Nor would she mention this walk to the village. It was a necessary errand. She had to buy typing paper. If Neville chose to accompany her, it only made her walk more pleasant without in any way, lengthening it or wasting her time. No, she wouldn’t mention it to Max.

Max worried more than a little. Why did she not talk about it? Might she not have mentioned the drive over the hills, if they had not made it essential by coming home so late? How often did they see each other when nobody else knew about it?

Not for a moment did he suspect Laurie of anything in the least deceitful. But he knew that Laurie was young, that Laurie was gay and loved excitement and outings; and he thought that this propinquity with Neville, who so much like her in these things, was having its effect upon her without her knowing. He even thought that he understood his own attraction for her; he was older, more experienced, astute enough to realize his own good looks and attraction, but it might not be a really lasting attraction. Poor Laurie, thought Max, I hope she hasn’t chosen wrongly for herself.

* * *

It was not, perhaps, a wise move on Laurie’s part to suppress news of her meetings with Neville, from whatever considerate motive she suppressed it. For it is not easy in a country district where everybody knows everybody else, to carry on friendships and continue meetings without somebody knowing it. And if some of the harmless encounters went unnoticed, several of them were reported on, and Jessica stored them up in her memory, not quite sure what she was going to do with these facts. And occasionally, as if unconsciously, she let slip an item concerning the two of them, when Max was present. Max said nothing, appeared not to have heard, but the barbed words went deep down into him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Max
went through the empty kitchen, with its crackling wood fire indicating that somebody had recently been here, and along the passage to his sitting room. He hoped that it was Laurie who had tended the kitchen fire, because he needed to have her there waiting for him. He was feeling a little dejected, and was in more than a little pain, having had his bad ankle jammed between the gate and the gate post, as a high wind swung the gate to. But he found the sitting room empty, the fire in it still dimlit. Otherwise the room was in apple-pie order, the furniture polished, the forced tulips bright on the table, the tallboy, and the window sill, Laurie’s books and magazines—the current ones—neatly stacked on the coffee table. Max put a match to the fire and dropped into the settee.

A few moments later, he heard the back door open again, and footsteps on the brick floor of the kitchen. He listened. Would they stay there in the kitchen, or come straight on? They came on. The door opened, and Laurie stepped into the room. Max turned his head to look at her.

She wore a golden-brown tweed skirt and her fur jacket over it. There was a yellow scarf tucked in at the neck, and her head was bare, her brown hair a little windblown. She had high color in her cheeks, and a ready smile came to her lips.

“Hallo, darling,” she said. “Isn’t it a lovely day outside? Windy and rough and tingling. I’ve been fighting the wind all down the lane.”

He watched her as she dropped her gloves, her scarf and jacket into a chair. She came across to him, pushing back her hair.

“Darling, do you know where I’ve been this afternoon?”

“To tea with Mrs. Humphries.”

“Oh well, yes, I did; but I wasn’t there long. I came home a different way, and I passed that little old barn in the corner of the big field—you know where I mean?”

Max nodded.

“Well, you never told me what a nice little place it was. I’ve never been in it before.”

“It’s falling to pieces. And it’s not much good, where it is. I’ve often thought of pulling it down and using the timber elsewhere.”

“Oh, I’d hate you to do that. I thought I’d go in this afternoon, chiefly because the door was swinging open. I expect the wind did that. Well, it didn’t look very interesting downstairs—a lot of rather battered-looking coops and one or two wheelbarrows and some hay; and I was just coming out again, when I saw the ladder. So of course I had to investigate; and when I got to the top, I found I was in a lovely little room—the roof is in quite good condition. There’s a window down to the floor, and it faces the most marvellous view of the valley and hills; and ought to get sunshine most of the day.”

“It isn’t a window. It was a door. We used to leave the cart beneath it, and then fork the hay straight into it. We had sheep there, then, and it was handy. But the door was blown off, and anyway, the barn was a long way from the farm buildings, so it’s been neglected lately.”

“But the barrow and things?”

“They are chiefly Jess’s.”

“Well, don’t pull it down, darling. Do you know what I’d like to do?”

“No?”

“I’d like to make that upstairs room into a sort of sun-room for myself. It would be a place I could go to all the summer—a private place. It only needs a rug and one or two pieces of wicker furniture—and a spirit stove.”

“Poor darling, you haven’t much privacy here, have you?”

“Yes, we have these rooms; but that is like a summerhouse—almost in the open air. You sit there and look over the hills—oh, it’s a lovely
summerhouse
.”

“All right,” laughed Max. “I won’t pull it down. I’ll make you a present of it. I suppose you won’t mind the old coops downstairs?”

“Not a bit. It’s the upstairs I like. It will be lovely in the summer.”

“Come here and give me a kiss. You’re like a child, Laurie, all excited about your new discovery.”

“And why not?” She kissed him, leaning over him to do so. He put both hands on her waist. “I might even give you some tea there, if you’re very good.” She smiled down at him, her eyes going over his face. “What’s the matter, Max? Worried?”

“No.”

“Headache?”

“No.”

“What then? Something is troubling you.”

“I got my foot jammed in the gate—that’s all.”

“That’s all! Does it hurt terribly?”

“Not a lot.”

“I’m sure it does. Would it help to have hot pads on it? What do you usually do?”

“Nothing. It’s all right. I feel better now you’re here.”

“Now isn’t that a nice thing to say to me. You look tired and worn, love. Would you like to have supper right here in front of the fire?”

He enjoyed having her concerned about him, and admitted it to her. She laughed, caressing his forehead with the tips of her fingers.

“You stay here,” she said, “and I’ll set the little table beside you.” She moved about the room, his eyes following her.

“I hope you’ll never leave me, Laurie,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I’d only be half a person if I did. And how dare you imply that there’s the slightest chance of it?” He smiled, but he knew very well that he wanted to be reassured. He knew that he would not mention Neville, but several times he had wanted to; he wanted to hear from her that there was nothing between them, but merely to ask for such reassurance implied a doubt of her which he would not admit. He wanted to know why she had suddenly become silent about Neville and those frequent meetings.

Yet, faced with Laurie, as she was now, he felt that it was treachery ever to think that she had divided her allegiance. She waited upon him, considerate, gentle, loving; making more of his hurt than was necessary. She was gay, excited about so small a thing as an old barn. He was quiet, listening to her, smiling at her, but behind his apparently calm exterior, he was adoring her.

* * *

Laurie was like a child with a new toy. She went over to the barn the next morning on a visit of inspection; and returned for brooms and brushes to sweep her new domain. The space where the door had been—a wide door which had opened from the middle in two sections—admitted spring sunshine and gusts of wind. She made a note of the few repairs necessary, planned what she would bring in , to furnish this sunroom. Max drove her into town later in the week, to look at wicker chairs and tables, which Laurie insisted upon buying herself. She also bought some gaily chequered haircord rugs, which could be easily washed and easily dried.

So the barn was roughly repaired where necessary, and the rugs and wicker furniture were installed, so that Laurie, when the weather improved, could enjoy sunshine and privacy together. Max looked upon all this with an indulgent eye—regarding it as a “weekending” sort of thing to do; but Mrs. Lorney could see no necessity for it at all, while Jessica frankly though it silly, and that Max was simply going out of his way to spoil Laurie, and make her feel even more important than she did already.

Laurie, realizing what they thought, cared nothing. She was, as the rough winds of March gave way to the gentler airs of April, much too happy to care about any small external affairs, for she was beginning to feel sure that she was going to have the baby she wanted so much. Not even to Max had she mentioned it as yet—not, she told herself, until she was sure; but she saw the barn as a place where she could spend the summer afternoons sewing and knitting, and keeping her secret as long as she wished. When Max took over to the barn the small cupboard in which she would keep the few accessories to tea making, she asked him to add a small wooden trunk, equipped with a lock; and when he wanted to know why she needed such a thing, she insisted that it would be handy to keep any odds and ends.

Neville soon discovered her hideout: by the simple expedient of walking round the farm one afternoon, asking everybody he met where she was. Max, not sure if Neville was to be informed, said vaguely that she was somewhere about: Mrs. Lorney thought she had walked to the village; Fred hadn’t seen her at all, and Jessica maintained an obstinate silence. But Reg, the cowman, said at once that he expected she was gone over to her little old barn.

“Which l’il old barn?” asked Neville, wondering why it was accounted Laurie’s.

Reg pointed it out, issued directions and left Neville to wander over to it, while Jessica watched him go.

“So this,” said Neville, as his head came level with the floor of Laurie’s sunroom, while the rest of him stayed on the ladder, “is where you hide yourself when you aren’t feeling sociable?”

“This,” said Laurie, who had seen and heard him coming, “Is where I come when I want quiet and privacy.”

“Is that a hint?”

‘A very definite one, I should think.”

“Must I take my leave—almost before I’ve arrived?”

“No. Now you’re here, come right up and tell me how nice this is—you look so silly with only your head visible.”

Neville came right up, and occupied one of the wicker armchairs placed before the window space. This space afforded a frame for a beautiful picture of green wooded hills, stretching away to blue hills in the distance; of pasture in the foreground, dotted with cows, lined with hedges. “Not bad,” agreed Neville.

“Lovely,” said Laurie.

“Why this urge for privacy?”

“Everybody likes to be alone sometimes.”

“You’re a funny girl, Laurie. Having deserted London, you’ve gone the whole hog in your liking for the country.”

“Just as well, if I’m to spend the rest of my life here.” Neville looked at her thoughtfully, but said nothing. They sat in friendly silence, while Laurie screwed the cap on to her fountain pen, and closed her writing pad; putting them away, so that Neville realized she was expecting him to stay.

A little later, she made him some tea on her Primus stove, and he laughed to see the fun she got from such a simple experience.

“What are you going to
do
here?” he asked. “It seems a very well equipped summerhouse—what are you going to use it for?”

for a moment, she toyed with the idea of telling him, She realized that she would not have the slightest objection to Neville knowing about the baby: she felt so completely at her ease with him. But Max must know first—that was essential. So she laughed off Neville’s question—why
do
anything at all? Wasn’t the place a perfect excuse for being lazy?

Jessica knew exactly how long Neville stayed in the barn—she made it her business to know. She saw them, unseen herself, as they came out together, as they paused in the doorway while Neville lit a cigarette for Laurie, and then his own. They walked across the field together, and at the gate they separated without touching each other, Laurie making for the farm, Neville for White Lodge. Jessica stood quite still until Laurie was safely out of the way. So that was it, she thought. That was it. Why, it was perfectly obvious and she should have thought of it before. They wanted a place to meet secretly. It was convenient for Neville from White Lodge, and he could be there whenever Laurie was there without anybody knowing. Jessica was sure that she was right, and she was determined that Laurie should not get away with such deceit and wrong-doing. She set about spying on Laurie continually.

Laurie was quite unaware of her. True, Jess was often about, but then why shouldn’t she be? She used the lower floor of the barn for all the paraphernalia connected with her poultry-keeping, and it was natural that she should come over for stuff when necessary. Laurie did not know that Jess had scarcely ever set foot in the barn before its transformation; that most of the material downstairs was redundant; and that Jess considered the barn an out-of-the-way place, too inconvenient for storing anything in constant use.

Neville came to see her two or three times there. He was less gay than he used to be, but as it fitted in with Laurie’s new mood, she scarcely realized it. Max arrived one afternoon by arrangement, and found him there; and it immediately struck him that both of them were subdued. Jessica knew everything that went on there, except the manner in which Laurie spent her time when she was alone. And at last, when the trees were foaming with spring blossom, and the tender spring foliage was unfurling along the brown branches, she received the reward she expected from all this spying.

* * *

Neville found Laurie sewing in her sunroom She greeted him with a pleased smile, and put her sewing away “Carry on,” he said. “Don’t let me disturb you.” “You aren’t disturbing me. It’s almost tea time. I was going back to the house, but as you’re here, I’ll make some here.”

“I came over to say goodbye to you.”

“Going back to London?”

“Yes, first thing in the morning.”

She put the methylated spirit into the little cup of the stove and lit it. She blew out the match and flicked it out of the window space.

“You don’t usually come over to say goodbye.”

“A good excuse to come and see you.”

“We don’t need excuses, Neville.”

“No? Let me help you.” He put out the cups and saucers for her, and knew where to find the biscuit tin. They arranged everything together, and Laurie waited for the little kettle to boil Then, the tea made, they settled down in their armchairs, the tea table between them. “When are you coming down again, Neville?”

“I don’t know. Not for a long time, I think?”

“Oh? That’s a pity. Are you going away?”

“No. But I don’t think I shall be coming down very much this summer.”

“Oh. Your mother will be sorry. She was so happy when you turned over a new leaf and began to come regularly.”

“Well, I’ve been taking an unconscionable amount of time off—I can’t go on doing it for ever.”

“I suppose not I wondered when they would wake up to you, Neville.”

He smiled at that.

“Still,” added Laurie, “we shall see you sometimes.” He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “This is goodbye for quite a while. Well, I’m sorry.”

They finished their tea, making conversation. Neville offered her a cigarette, lit it for her, lit one for himself.

“Your mother,” said Laurie, “thought there was a woman in the case before—somebody who kept you in Town. Is there a woman in the case, Neville? I don’t want to be inquisitive, but I would like to think of you being happy with somebody.”

“There’s a woman in the case—yes; but being happy with her is completely out of the question.”

Laurie did not quite know what to say to that; and before she could formulate a question in any way that would be tactful, Neville spoke again: “I ... made up my mind,” he said, “when I came here this afternoon, that I would do the decent thing, say goodbye to you for the summer, and not tell you why. Leave you in peace. But I suppose my own selfish ego is too much for me. You’re the woman in the case, Laurie. I love you so much that I can’t go on seeing you any longer. It’s a form of torment that I’ve been enduring for a long time now, but it’s no good going on. I’ve been falling in love with you all the winter. I think you’re the loveliest girl I ever knew—and the sweetest ... and the kindest. But you’ve been at considerable pains all along to let me know that Max is your be-all and end-all, so there’s only one thing for me to do.”

“Oh darling,” said Laurie. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Are you? I suppose I am, too. Though I can’t imagine any other state now than loving you. All the time I’m in Town, I think of getting down to White Lodge to see you; and when I’m at White Lodge, I think all the time of the farm and seeing you; and when I see you, and know the hopelessness of it, I wonder why I come at all. I dance with you, and pretend to myself that you belong to me and that I shall presently take you home to
our
home—I’ve often imagined what would happen then. But it’s arid fare, Laurie. It’s no good.”

“There isn’t anything I can say, Neville.”

“I know. It’s Max for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s Max—for always.”

“I know. He’s a grand guy—damn him ... So, there you are, Laurie, it’s goodbye.”

“I
am
sorry, Neville.”

“It never occurred to you?”

“No—only once, at Diana’s birthday dinner. But you were so good afterwards, that I knew it was a slip.”

“It was a slip—but I loved you then. I shall miss the good times we’ve had together, Laurie.”

“They would have come to an end very soon, anyway, Neville.”

He looked at her.

“I’m going to have a baby,” she told him.

“Good work,” he said, and she admired him for the promptness with which he said it.

“Not even Max knows it yet,” she said.

“I’m honored. I’ll be his godfather and give him a silver spoon.”

“It might be she.”

“Twins,” he said, laughing.

“That would be nice.”

“Well, that certainly lets me out,” he said. “Thanks for telling me, Laurie.”

‘Thank you for telling me, Neville—I only wish it had been some other person.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I feel I’ve been selfish in telling you at all. I only wish I’d met you first.”

She smiled gently, thinking that even then it wouldn’t have availed him anything.

When he was ready to go, Laurie went down with him to the main door of the barn.

“Look after yourself,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

“I will,” she said, putting hers into it “Goodbye, Neville.”

“Goodbye, love.”

She put her other arm round his neck and kissed him, Neville released her hand and took her into his arms. They kissed again. Then, still holding her close, he looked down into her face. “All I’ll ever get of you,” he said.

“Oh, darling,” said Laurie, wanting to weep.

“Keep still, Laurie, just for a moment. I’ve wanted you here so often.” And then, at last, one more kiss. “Cheer up, child. What have
you
to be dismal about Come on, give me a smile. Think of the twins. There you are ... Goodbye, Laurie, my love.”

“Goodbye, Neville.”

He went away from her, and she turned back into the barn to stack up the tea things, and to think about him. She liked him so well, had enjoyed his company so much, that she did not want him to go completely. Her friendship was his for always, but all her love was given to Max. In time, she thought, perhaps he will love somebody else; and then we can be friends again.

When she went back to the farmhouse some time later Mrs. Lorney was alone in the kitchen.

“Did you have some tea?” asked Mrs. Lorney.

“Yes, thanks. As a matter of fact, Neville came over, or I wouldn’t have bothered. I was coming back here.”

“Neville spends a good deal of time here lately.”

“He has done,” agreed Laurie, “but he won’t in future. I expect Mrs. Humphries will be sorry.”

“Where is he going?”

“He expects to stay in Town all the summer. He just came over to say goodbye to me ... He wanted me to say goodbye to you for him,” she added, feeling that Neville would have wanted her to, if he had thought of it.

“I see,” said Mrs. Lorney, and was relieved; and wondered if Laurie were telling her, indirectly, that there was no need to worry about them. Certainly, Neville had been fond of Laurie. Perhaps Laurie had sent him packing. She was a sensible girl.

Jess was in the dairy, where the milk was running over the cooler. Max came in from the cowsheds.

“I have to talk to you, Max.”

“Yes?”

“Max, it’s about Laurie.”

“I don’t—think—we had better talk about Laurie,” he said slowly.

“We must. I must tell you this, Max. It’s very important. It’s been going on for a long, long time, and you ought to know.”

“What has been going on for a long time?”

“A love affair between Laurie and Neville.”

He smiled and shook his head.

“Nonsense, Jess. You mustn’t imagine things. Laurie and Neville are good friends, we all know; but you mustn’t start thinking anything else.”

“I don’t imagine. I
know.
I’ve known for a long time, but I didn’t want to tell you. I’ve seen them together all this winter, time after time. They played tennis when you thought she was working for Mr. Humphries; they went sailing twice last autumn when she was supposed to be working; they met in town. I know all these things. He’s always in the barn with her. When he dances with her, it’s disgraceful the way they go on. It must be obvious to everybody.”

“Jess, Jess, you mustn’t let these things mean more than they do. We know they’re often together...”

“Oftener than you know. You don’t know they were together nearly all this afternoon, do you?”

“I expect Laurie would have mentioned it.”

“Would she mention what they were doing?”

“Well, how would you know what they were doing?”

“I know quite well; and I had a good reason for being there, too. And it isn’t the only time. Look, Max, they’ve been deceiving you since soon after you married her. I’m not imagining anything. I’ll swear to you that what I’m saying is true. You remember Diana’s birthday?”

“Diana’s birthday?”

“She had a dinner and we went to it. Well, that night I went into the garden for some fresh air, and I saw them then kissing and holding each other. I saw it myself.”

“Jess, I can’t listen to this sort of thing ...” He started to go, but she held his arm and kept him back.

“You must listen. You’ll only be deceiving yourself. As they’ve deceived you. It’s been going on all winter. This afternoon, I walked over to the barn, intending to look at that big old coop there. I wanted to use it for those pullets of mine. But when I got to the gate, where the big oak is, I saw the two of them come out to the door of the barn. I didn’t want to talk to them—I’ve hated them all this winter for the way they’ve treated you—so I stood behind the big oak and waited for them to go. But they didn’t go. They stood holding hands and then Laurie put her arms round his neck and kissed him. She did it—of her own accord. Then they stood, hugging and kissing: I could have killed them. For a long time they were there. And then he went away and she went inside. I didn’t go. I came away—I was so sickened and disgusted. If that’s what they do where anybody might see them, what do they do up in the barn together all these times?”

Max was silent. He did not look at Jess.

“Max, you must believe me. Every word I say is true.”

He knew that she was bitterly jealous. He knew that she hated Laurie. But he had not known how deeply she hated her. He knew that the things she said must be true, otherwise she would not dare to say them to him. Impossible as it seemed to him, he knew that Laurie must have behaved with Neville as Jess said she had. And if that were so, he had lost her. He knew a desolation that appalled him.

“Max,” said Jess.

He turned to her. He did not realize how long he had stood motionless, in thought

“Jess,” he said. “Don’t talk of this to anybody else.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He saw an avidness in her eyes which came from her hatred of Laurie.

“I’m going to get at the truth,” he said. “It’s the truth that matters.”

She was satisfied. For her, the truth was that Laurie and Neville were lovers. She would have believed almost any crime of Laurie, but this she thought she was sure about.

After supper, Max and Laurie went into the office to make out milk returns, and to type one or two letters; and this done, they repaired to their sitting room, where Max had made up the fire and it now blazed a welcome to them.

“Oh,” said Laurie, “this
is
a nice room—especially in firelight and lamplight Come and sit down, Max.”

They sat in the settee together, before the fire.

You aren’t sorry you married me?” said Max.

“Sorry? Have you any doubts about it?”

He hesitated. Could it be Jess’s imaginings? Was her hatred of Laurie responsible for such a libel? If so, why not clear it all up? And if not,—well, in any case, clear it up, and get at the truth.

“Actually,” he said, “I am troubled by one doubt.”

Laurie looked at him in surprise.

“Concerning me? Surely not about me.”

“Yes.” He was silent, thoughtful. “I doubt, sometimes, whether you are really happy with me.”

“Then you must be crazy. Or else stupid. Not to be able to see so obvious a thing.”

“That’s what you always say, Laurie.”

“Of course. Must I keep on telling you that I’m happy?”

“You might tell me so to keep me happy. You might be able to act well enough to convince me—but you might be feeling something very different in fact.”

“You’re accusing me of being two-faced.”

“Of course not.”

“Do you think I am clever enough to keep you quiet and contented, while I—perhaps—fall in love with somebody else? Is that what you think?”

“Something a little like it,” he admitted.

Laurie looked at him in complete surprise. Then she sat back against the end of the settee.

“But this is serious,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“What is troubling you?”