Soames waited in the drawing-room. To Robin Hill! What did that portend?
It was not a subject they could discuss at dinner--consecrated to the
susceptibilities of the butler. The agony of nerves Soames had been
through, the relief he felt at her safety, softened his power to condemn
what she had done, or resist what she was going to do; he waited in a
relaxed stupor for her revelation. Life was a queer business. There he
was at sixty-five and no more in command of things than if he had not
spent forty years in building up security-always something one couldn't
get on terms with! In the pocket of his dinner-jacket was a letter from
Annette. She was coming back in a fortnight. He knew nothing of what she
had been doing out there. And he was glad that he did not. Her absence
had been a relief. Out of sight was out of mind! And now she was coming
back. Another worry! And the Bolderby Old Crome was gone--Dumetrius
had got it--all because that anonymous letter had put it out of his
thoughts. He furtively remarked the strained look on his daughter's
face, as if she too were gazing at a picture that she couldn't buy.
He almost wished the War back. Worries didn't seem, then, quite so
worrying. From the caress in her voice, the look on her face, he became
certain that she wanted something from him, uncertain whether it would
be wise of him to give it her. He pushed his savoury away uneaten, and
even joined her in a cigarette.
After dinner she set the electric piano-player going. And he augured the
worst when she sat down on a cushion footstool at his knee, and put her
hand on his.
"Darling, be nice to me. I had to see Jon--he wrote to me. He's going to
try what he can do with his mother. But I've been thinking. It's really
in your hands, Father. If you'd persuade her that it doesn't mean
renewing the past in any way! That I shall stay yours, and Jon will stay
hers; that you need never see him or her, and she need never see you or
me! Only you could persuade her, dear, because only you could promise.
One can't promise for other people. Surely it wouldn't be too awkward
for you to see her just this once now that Jon's father is dead?"
"Too awkward?" Soames repeated. "The whole thing's preposterous."
"You know," said Fleur, without looking up, "you wouldn't mind seeing
her, really."
Soames was silent. Her words had expressed a truth too deep for him to
admit. She slipped her fingers between his own--hot, slim, eager, they
clung there. This child of his would corkscrew her way into a brick
wall!