Anne Belinda by Patricia Wentworth Page B

their heads; a little farther and the path was almost a tunnel. Jenny hurried on until it opened into a curious square clearing. A hedge of clipped holly gave it high, impenetrable walls. In one of the walls a window had been cut. It framed a brilliant, exquisite picture of blue sky, sunny water, and green meadow. The place itself was dark and cold.
    As they came into it, Anne flung her free arm about Jenny.
    â€œOh, Jen!” she said.
    Just for a moment there was a response. Then Jenny stood away, her hand dropping to her side.
    â€œWhy did you come?” she said. “Oh, Anne, why did you come?”
    A sense of confusion came over Anne. The whole of her consciousness was so full of the joy of being with Jenny again that there was literally no room in it for anything else. But something else was pushing against the door of her thought, pressing to come in. The darkness of this overshadowed place added to her bewilderment. She put out her hands and said, speaking slowly and doubtfully:
    â€œWhy, Jen, where—I mean—didn’t you want me to come?”
    â€œI told you not to come. I told you not to do anything till you’d seen Mr. Carruthers.”
    â€œHe’s been ill. He’s away.” Then after a pause, “I wired.”
    â€œWhat’s the good of wiring? You didn’t wait for an answer—and I only got the wire ten minutes before you arrived. We’d been out to lunch at Greystones. It was all I could do to get away from the rest of them and catch you at the gate.”
    Anne’s eyebrows drew together; her eyes dwelt on Jenny with a puzzled look.
    â€œHave you got a party?”
    â€œPeople for the week-end. But, anyhow —Anne, you must see that you can’t possibly come here like this.”
    Anne went on looking. Part of her mind was thinking how well Jenny looked, and how pretty—white suited her. Part of it was not thinking at all, but trying, with an awful sense of strain, to keep out that pressing, pushing something which sought to force a way for itself.
    â€œWhy, Jen?”
    Jenny came nearer.
    â€œWhy on earth didn’t you wait until you heard from me? You ought to have waited.”
    â€œNo—I don’t think so. I had to see you—I had to know what you’d been saying to people. As it was, I nearly ran into Aurora. And I thought—” She gave a little laugh.
    â€œ Aurora! ” Jenny’s tone was quite horrified.
    â€œYes, my child, Aurora. If I hadn’t been frightfully quick, she’d have seen me. And before she sees me, I think I should just like to know how much Aurora knows.”
    â€œShe doesn’t know anything.”
    â€œHow do you mean she doesn’t know anything? I’m supposed to have been travelling with her. Doesn’t she know that?”
    â€œNo, she doesn’t. I wrote to her, and the letter came back. And I didn’t think she’d be coming home for months, because Leonard Fairlie said that Mabel told him that Aurora was just off to Kurdistan. So I made sure that she wouldn’t be back for ages. Are you certain it was Aurora?”
    Anne laughed again. Jenny never believed anything she didn’t want to believe. If it suited her to feel sure that Aurora was in Kurdistan, she would continue to feel sure in the face of the most daunting evidence.
    â€œOf course I’m certain. I saw her. She’s staying at Haydon’s Hotel—I saw her signature in the register.”
    â€œI must see her,” said Jenny. “Or—or—you can see her for me. We really oughtn’t to lose any time, and the very earliest day I could possibly go to town would be Wednesday. Yes, you’d better see her. Look here, you’ll catch the four-forty-five if you hurry. I told the taxi to wait.”
    A stab of pain pierced the confusion of Anne’s thoughts. Jenny had told the taxi to wait. She was not to stay at Waterdene; she was to go back to