Odd Girl Out (38 page)

Rodney could be an angel when he liked, Neville reflected comfortably: and that was more than could be said of most people. We all have our little ups and downs, he thought, as he began to drop
off for his afternoon nap, which every day it was pretended was an exception, but was, in fact, the rule.

‘Where to?’ the driver asked, the moment they were on the move. Panic struck Arabella. She had not the slightest idea. What she wanted was a cheap hotel, where she
could unpack a bit, be sick if she had to be, and be alone, which she certainly had to be.

‘Do you know a good, quiet hotel?’

The driver scratched his head and drove slower. ‘How quiet?’ he asked at length.

‘Cheap quiet.’

He had thought that that was what she meant. ‘It’s not easy, just like that, you know.’

‘I know: that’s why Fm asking you. It is only for about two nights, I think.’

‘OK. But don’t blame me if we don’t hit it off first go.’

They didn’t. It took four tries before a very depressing place in Pimlico turned out to have a room. Arabella still had some pounds left from the ones she had cashed before she started
being careful with them. She paid the driver, and felt almost sad at parting with him, since he was now the only link between being with people and being entirely alone. The room was small, dark,
and noisy with traffic and trains. It was ugly as well, but she had not expected anything from it. There was no bedside lamp, she noticed, and this made her guess that the single ceiling light
would be so dim that reading at night would be nearly impossible. A man who looked as though he never slept got her to fill in a form saying who she was and what her last address had been. She
wrote her name, but when she got to Mulberry Lodge, she made up where it was. The man gave her a key that looked identical to the other keys on the board, but had attached to it a wooden label
saying seven. He did not like the look of her luggage, and she had to carry most of it up herself. It filled the room, so that she could hardly walk. She shut the door, sat on the bed, and tried to
think. Her plan was that as soon as the money for the emeralds came through, she would take a train to Inverness and find somewhere very small and quiet to live and have her child. She had not
thought beyond this, and was unable to imagine what it would be like. She wanted her mother not to be able to find her, and this seemed as good a way as any, but the prospect, now that it was one
move away, terrified her. She remembered her fleeting thought at Mulberry Lodge that first morning with Anne when she had imagined a cottage and a cat. Well, it was going to be more than fleeting.
I could have a cat as well as a baby, she thought, as her eyes began to burn with tears that she did not want to start upon.

Then, she remembered telling Edmund about Nan (how
could
she have done that?), and her mourning, which seemed always to be lying in wait never to be further away from her except in time,
which seemed of itself only to increase her need for this one person who had once known her, resolved itself, as it always did, in painful grief that had never been softened by anyone in the world
hearing it and understanding. She lay on the bed as she had lain on the beds in Switzerland and America and God knew how many since, and cried bitterly for the only person who had cared for her and
then died, thereby unwittingly leaving her to feel that love, in any shape or form, was all over the place.

There was a thunderstorm that evening that began as Edmund got into his train, and continued for nearly the whole journey. By the time he reached his home station it had nearly
stopped: the sky was streamed with livid yellow and harsh greys. Drops fell heavily from the trees, and as he got into his car, he unwound the windows to smell the fresh, moisture-laden air. He had
taken a later train to London in order not to travel with
her
, in order not to upset Anne anymore. But he had come home by the usual one, so that she should not feel anxious about his being
late. Resolutions had formed themselves and dissolved again all day: he knew only how to do the next thing; he was not capable of any policy. But now, he could not help wondering what he was going
back to.

The only thing that Anne had not known what to do with was the ring that she had been given. Selling, giving, throwing it away seemed variously inappropriate. In the end, she
opened the wooden lid of the well-head, and dropped it down. The ring was too light, and the well too deep for her to hear it reach the bottom.

Anne met him in the same way that she had always done. She wore her usual blue linen trouser suit; her hair seemed back to its normal length and shape, she had put on a little
scent and had made the drinks. She was busy in the kitchen when he entered the house, and at once called out, ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ before he could begin to wonder or worry where
she might be.

I’ve done dinner,’ she said, ‘let’s drink next door.’

The rose arrangement from yesterday had gone, and she had made a bowl of mixed white flowers. The gramophone records that Arabella had always left strewn about the room had all been tidied away.
He sat down with a heavy to-be-heard sigh of relief.

‘Did you have a storm here?’

‘Yes: like anything. Still, it has freshened everything up, washed things away, and done a lot of good to the garden really.’

They sipped their drinks, covertly not looking at each other. Then Anne said, ‘Edmund, I’ve been thinking of going away.’

He was startled. ‘Where could you possibly want to go?’

‘Not me: us. I think we could both do with a change of scene. If you know what I mean.’

He felt at once relieved and depressed. A piece of him wanted it to be
his
tact,
his
understanding that effected whatever kind of reconciliation they were going to try to have.

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ he said rather coldly.

He refilled their glasses and stood up with his.

‘Well, we could talk about it at dinner. I’ll just go and see to the oven.’

She always said that when she felt that he wanted a chance to change, to wash, or relax, or potter round the house after work.

Upstairs, he noiselessly opened the door to Arabella’s room. The bed was made: the room empty, tidy, organized, waiting for its next guest. There was no trace of her: he could not even
picture her clearly in bed, because the disorder that had been removed seemed to have anaesthetized his imagination. A window was slightly open, and he could hear a blackbird. There was nothing on
the dressing-table and the wastepaper-basket was freshly lined with white paper. He shut the door, and went to his – or their – room. When he had washed, and put on a comfortable
evening jacket, he went down to the kitchen. Anne at once got the jug of Martini out of the fridge. ‘Where’s your glass?’ He didn’t know. ‘Never mind, darling.
Here’s another one.’

As he finished his third, and last (they never had more than three, and these got successively weaker because of the ice), he had an idea. It might not work, but on the other hand it might: it
was certainly worth trying. What they needed was something to talk about that
wasn’t
Arabella, and this, he realized, he could provide.

So, at dinner, he told her all about Marina. He told it humbly, as an escapade that he was now ashamed of, but at the time had been too weak to resist. It wasn’t that he cared for her>
he said more than once, it was simply that he had felt lonely and she had been
there.
He did hope Anne understood this: he had to tell her in any case, because, they, of all people, must not
have lies between them. As he finished, he pushed back his chair and said, once more, ‘I do hope and pray you understand – and don’t mind – too much.’

‘Of
course
I understand, my darling. And of course, I don’t really mind too badly.’ She looked as though a load had been taken from her, as though she had, like some
trapped fish or bird, been put back into her element.

‘I’m sure that if
I
had to spend weeks by myself in some strange place where I didn’t know anyone,
I
would have done the same.’

Edmund looked at her for a long time without answering. She had done it for him: made him feel that something which might have been hard for her to take was not only easy, but exactly what
she
would have done. His feeling for her began to return to its familiar, erotic devotion.

In fact, his confession, Anne thought, like the thunderstorm, had simply cleared the air.

Elizabeth Jane Howard is the author of eleven novels, the last of which completes the bestselling ‘Cazalet Chronicle’, which comprises
The
Light Years, Marking Time, Confusion
and
Casting Off.

Also by Elizabeth Jane Howard

The Beautiful Visit

The Long View

The Sea Change

After Julius

Something In Disguise

Getting It Right

Mr Wrong

The Cazalet Chronicle

The Light Years

Marking Time

Confusion

Casting Off

First published 1972 by Jonathan Cape Ltd

This edition published 1995 by Pan Books

This electronic edition published 2010 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-0-330-52732-3 PDF
ISBN 978-0-330-52730-9 EPUB

Copyright © Elizabeth Jane Howard 1972
Introduction copyright © Hilary Mantel 1994

The right of Elizabeth Jane Howard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital,
optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be
liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up
for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.