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Outside the building, the desire for tea didn’t disappear, it grew, so that she was forced to turn to him.

‘Could we go somewhere and have a cup of tea?’ She ventured the question and he had nodded quite amiably. He had frowned at the sticky cake which Philip had chosen for himself and replaced it with something plainer and had checked Philip’s howl of anguish with a quelling look. At her third cup, he had looked at her.

‘If you’re ready,’ he indicated Philip’s wriggles, ‘I think we should continue with our business. Harrods, I think.’

Several times, while she sorted through dresses, Kate was aware of his eyes on her and she hurriedly gathered up a pile and went off to the fitting room to try them on. They were all very plain day dresses and she eventually chose one in a cream wool, softly draped and with a matching, loose coat trimmed with coffee- coloured braid. He inspected her choice carefully.

‘It won’t do, Kate.’ He shook his head. ‘The wedding is to be in a church and my mother will expect you to be dressed traditionally. Something long and flowing with a train and a veil. My mother likes traditional things.’

‘Your mother isn’t getting married,’ she told him brusquely, ‘I am, and I refuse to dress up for this mockery, nor,’ she added, ‘have I any intention of promising to either love, honour or obey you. Why couldn’t we have had a civil ceremony and cut out all this hypocrisy?’ She hardly troubled to lower her voice, speaking in her normally clear tones, and was aware that the saleswoman was listening avidly. Jerome was aware of it too, for he caught her arm and let his fingers close around it painfully.

‘Pick up your packages, Kate.’ He smiled down at her lovingly for the saleswoman’s benefit and continued in a lower voice while maintaining the smile. ‘You will be properly dressed for this wedding, and if you won’t choose something adequate, then it will be chosen for you, and you will wear it if I have to dress you in it myself.’

She smiled back at him, a smile of saccharine sweetness. ‘A hat next, I think, darling,’ she purred, and marched off to the millinery department. Part way through the business of choosing a hat, she became quite enthusiastic and found herself searching for something which would be just right—and then she remembered. She paused before the mirror with a Cream hat in either hand and closed her eyes. It wasn’t a matter of buying what she wanted or what she liked. It didn’t matter whether she loved or hated it, she would never wear any of it again, she wouldn’t even be able to look at it. It would all have to be either given away or burned. Personally, she was in favour of burning it all, in a public place and with as much smoke as possible, either that or cutting it all into very small pieces with a sharp pair of scissors.

She had one very bad moment when she had tried to phone Gerald. Jerome was in the small room which he used as an office and he had shut the door firmly, leaving her to mooch around the flat on her own, so she had crept silently to the bedroom and picked up the handset of the extension by the bed. There had been a faint burring sound, and with shaking fingers she had dialled Gerald’s number and waited. She did not have to wait long. Jerome’s voice came over the wire, clear in her ear. ‘That number is unobtainable to you, Kate.’ Vexed beyond all reason, she had flung the phone on the floor, locked herself in the bathroom and shouted every swear word she could think of, like a litany.

The struggle over the honeymoon continued. Kate refused to budge an inch. She didn’t want to go to Calabria, she didn’t want to go anywhere!

‘You talk about a honeymoon,’ she turned on him, distaste in every line of her body and thick on her tongue. ‘A honeymoon! Is that what you call it? Honeymoons are romantic things, for lovers. Find another name for it!’

Nothing stirred in the immobility of his face. According to what I’ve read, it used to be a period during which a couple came to know each other better so that when they returned they could take up life again among their acquaintances without embarrassment. We will use the period in that way. You will come to know me better and I shall learn a little more about you. Whether it will be romantic or not, I couldn’t say, but we
will
be lovers, Kate. I’m looking forward to knowing more about you.’

‘There’s nothing more to know about me,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not a very complex person. When I’m happy, I laugh, when I’m miserable, I cry, and when I’m in a temper, I throw things about—and candidly, I don’t want to know you any better than I already do. I’d be much happier if I didn’t know you at all! Let me go, Mr Manfred. Let me and Philip go, I’ll go back to teaching and Philip will be well looked after, I promise you that. This marriage, it’s a farce and you know it, so why insist on it? In a couple of months, you’ll be bored to tears and wanting a divorce. I’m not your type, you should know that.’

‘You never stop trying, do you?’ His voice held a note of wonder and something almost like reluctant admiration. ‘No, we’ll be married as I’ve planned—and don’t build your hopes on the thought of a farcical marriage or a quick divorce. The marriage will not be a farce and I don’t believe in divorce. If a man can’t be happy with one woman....’

‘You won’t be happy with me,’ she broke in threateningly.

‘Threats, Kate?’

On Wednesday evening, Mrs Manfred made a stunning entrance into the flat. Kate drew Philip closer to her and blinked with surprise. Beautiful, she thought, admiring the fresh, clear complexion, the rather faded blue eyes which were still magnificent and the silvery fair hair which curled naturally over the lady’s well shaped head and round her very pretty ears. Mrs Manfred was elegant, poised and very sure of herself, besides being a grande dame of the first order. She was, in fact, just as Shirley had described—and yet not as Shirley had described. There was a merriment about the lady, but Kate could detect no malice.

‘Philip,’ the lady cooed. ‘Don’t you remember me? I’m Grandmama.’ Philip buried his head in Kate’s lap and refused to show his face. Sensibly, Mrs Manfred ignored this excessive shyness and turned to Kate. ‘So you're Kate!’

Kate eyed her rather frostily and said ‘Yes’ in a forbidding tone.

‘And you’re going to marry Jerome.’ Mrs Manfred whirled around to her son. ‘It’s all rather rushed, isn’t it, but I’m glad we’re to have a nice wedding for a change. Theo’s was a hole-and-corner affair. I knew you’d have better taste. Is there any special reason for the hurry? I only ask because if there isn’t, I do wish you’d do it properly, at home. A proper wedding, in Derbyshire, one with all the trimmings,’ she wheedled. ‘White satin and lace—Kate’s too big for tulle—a big reception at home where I can do things in style. It’s what I’ve always wanted for you. A girl only gets married once, after all, so why don’t you make it memorable? Give Kate something to look back on, flowers, bells and the choir singing “The Voice that Breathed o’er Eden”. Give us all a treat.’

‘There will be a church wedding, Mother, but it will be in London.’ Jerome looked down at his mother with a wry kindness. ‘There will also be flowers and bells. I hadn’t thought of the choir or “The Voice that Breathed”.’ He glanced sideways at Kate, an eyebrow quirked. She shook her head emphatically. ‘No,’ he murmured, ‘I don’t think Kate is in an Eden frame of mind. And besides,’ he continued smoothly, his face a study in non expression, ‘Kate dislikes publicity almost as much as I do. It will make less of an impact in a quiet, small London church.’

Mrs Manfred sniffed down her long straight nose. ‘You’ll get publicity whether you want it or not. Millionaires always do.’

Kate sat silent, taking no part in the conversation and trying to make sense of her feelings. This was the woman whom she had been hating for over three years, yet there was nothing objectionable about her. Perhaps she had shown Shirley another side of her personality. Philip had raised his head slightly and was peeping at his grandmother from one eye which he was masking with his pudgy little fingers. Kate stroked his head gently and waited for Jerome to say something.

‘Thank you, Mother, for the offer, but I don’t think we could move Kate in this matter. She has a very low opinion of us.’

‘Culled from that flibbertigibbet sister of hers, I suppose.’ Mrs Manfred sniffed again and turned to Kate. ‘I speak my mind, always have done. You and Jerome are getting married, are you so ashamed of it that you have to slink in and out of a little London church?’

Kate raised her chin and looked straight into the faded blue eyes. ‘Yes!’ she said firmly. ‘Under normal circumstances, nothing would induce me to marry your son, but he’s blackmailing me into it—he leaves me no choice. I want to bring Philip up and this is the only way he’ll let me do it.’

Mrs Manfred laughed. It wasn’t a titter of a laugh or a polite tinkle, it was a deep belly laugh, full of mirth. ‘Just like his father—and like me too, in a way. He’ll be a damned uncomfortable man to live with, too fond of getting his own way. I like his taste, though.’ She turned back to her son. ‘The girl’s ashamed of marrying you. Aren’t you worried?’

‘Not a bit,’ a wave of his fingers dismissed the matter. ‘Are you going to see to the arrangements, Mother?’

‘That’s what I’ve come down for,’ Mrs Manfred spoke grandly. ‘Just give me. the time and venue and the use of a telephone and I’ll start on the organisation. You can have the reception at Griffins. How big do you want it?’ She fitted a cigarette into a long holder and lit it, allowing a trickle of smoke to escape down her nostrils. ‘Don’t confuse me with numbers, please. Just say whether you want it restrained or downright vulgar.’

Jerome’s long lips quirked into a smile. ‘Downright vulgar, Mother. That’s the sort you do best, isn’t it? But there are to be no Pressmen at the reception. We can’t keep them from the church door, but the reception is private.’

Kate continued to sit with her arms around Philip, who was growing bolder now. His head was raised and he was examining his grandmother closely. She let the conversation go back and forth over her head while she also studied Mrs Manfred more closely. The coat which was tossed negligently over the back of a chair was mink and the lady’s tailored suit was an exquisite blend of heather tweed in a mixture that gave the impression of being mainly lavender-coloured. The blouse under the beautifully cut jacket was of pure silk and her feet were shod in expensive-looking plain court shoes. She was wearing very little jewellery. Kate’s eyes drifted down to Mrs Manfred’s hands and stayed there. They were unexpected hands, rather large and workmanlike with closely trimmed nails, hands which looked as if they were used. There was nothing of the pink-tipped, soft- looking fingers she had expected. She found herself liking those hands. They looked kind....

‘And now,’ Mrs Manfred broke in on her thoughts, ‘show me what you’re wearing.’

Kate rose and went wearily to the bedroom door and gestured at the pile of unopened boxes. ‘That!’ she said indifferently.

Jerome’s mother had no scruples about opening other people’s boxes. Fancy tape, cardboard and tissue paper went flying in all directions as she burrowed. At last she raised her head.

‘Impossible!’ She was quite indignant. ‘It might have been all right for a creepy little affair in a register office or even in the little church around the corner; if you were getting married at nine o’clock in the morning with just two witnesses and a taxi standing outside to take you straight to the airport, but it won’t do for what Jerome has in mind. You’ll cause more comment than either of you wish for, and it certainly won’t do for a reception at Griffins. Not the sort of reception Jerome has asked for. You heard him—“Vulgar”, that’s what he said. We’ll have to start all over again.’ The thought seemed to please her and there was an excited sparkle in her blue eyes. ‘I shall stay here with you. Jerome,’ she waved a hand, dismissing all thoughts of him, ‘Jerome can move into an hotel for the rest of the week. We’ll get on better without him, anyway.’

One thing and one thing only saved the rest of the week from being utterly unbearable. Kate found that her mother-in-law-to-be had no intention of going out to shop. She sat in the apartment, like a well corseted blonde spider; she commandeered the telephone and with an impressive arrogance, very like her son’s, she lured the shops to her, not the whole shop but just those departments which interested her, and Kate had her own private mannequin parade of model wedding gowns which, she was assured, were definitely of the ‘one off’ variety, together with bridal veils and going-away clothes.

But even under these near utopian conditions, it all left her cold. Mrs Manfred, she recalled, had laughed at Shirley, and now that she had met her, she wasn’t a bit surprised. Mrs Manfred seemed to laugh at everything; she was laughing now at the idea of a honeymoon for three.

‘The boy won’t enjoy it,’ between her chuckles and bellows of mirth she was forthright. ‘Too much travelling, all that foreign food, the change in climate; half the time he’ll be tired to death and the other half he’ll have an upset turn! Leave him with me.’

Kate shook her head firmly. ‘I promised Shirley!’

Mrs Manfred looked her surprise. ‘Shirley wasn’t averse to leaving him with me before!’ She sounded indignant. ‘It was only that last time, when they were off to Crete. Theo had dismissed the nanny, you know; he said it was an economy measure, but I believe he couldn’t stand the woman. A positive dragon of a female! Would you believe, she banned Theo from the nursery—said he was spoiling the child! I have to smile when I think about it, Theo practising economy! He always seemed so young to me, but I admit, after Philip was born Theo matured very quickly. Even Jerome noticed how responsible his brother had become.’

Kate nodded; there was nothing she could say. She had grieved for Shirley, and no matter what her opinion was of Shirley’s young husband, he had been this woman’s son and she had loved him. Mrs Manfred’s grief would be as great, if not greater than her own.

‘I thought they were taking the boy with them, he and Shirley.’ Jerome’s mother was almost thinking aloud. ‘I didn’t know they’d left him with you, I didn’t even know that you existed. I thought...’ her face went stiff with bitter memory, ‘I thought he was in the car with them and when the police told us, “No survivors” ’ She stopped swiftly and after a second or so rearranged her face into its hitherto pleasant expression. ‘Now, what about flowers?’ Calmly she changed the subject. ‘I don’t think one of those Victorian posy things is quite you, do you agree? You can carry off something much more splendid. Cream and gold, I think, with a hint of bronzy red....’