Brittle Bondage by Rosalind Brett Page B

said.
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “But tomorrow’s your last day in town, and I must dance with you again.”
    “I’m sorry, Neil.”
    “If you really mean it, when can I come to Bondolo?”
    “I’ll find out how we’re fixed and let you know.”
    “You’d better.” His smile was easy and assured. “Because I intend to come and I’d rather be invited than tolerated. This week has been grand, Venetia.”
    She was relieved to be able to get out of his car, to wave a perfunctory good-bye and run along the path which led to Thea’s quarters.
    The bungalow was empty and a note in the bedroom stated that Thea had had a snack and gone off to a lecture. The whole place was steeped in a painful hush, relieved slightly if one stood near the open window and caught the faint stirring of the breeze through the leaves and the sleepy whirring of a distant mowing machine.
    Venetia leaned against the window-frame and moved her cheek over the rough surface of the tweed curtain. These intolerable minutes would pass away; they must, and then she would see the extent of her own silliness. Neil had only related gossip, and though it might be true that all gossip grew from a germ of fact, she had not the least reason to suspect that Blake had ever loved Natalie Benham; he could have married her at any time in the last three years.
    No, she must be reasonable and try to fight her way out of the emotional tangle that threatened her sanity. Blake had admired the woman—possibly still did for she possessed many of the qualities that are known to magnetize men—but his admiration had stopped short of loving. Her heart reiterated, ironically and hollowly, that Blake was not a man in love.
    Insidiously her thoughts swung back to the night of their first dinner-party and chance-heard remarks: “A pretty girl ... but hardly Blake’s cup of tea. I always thought he’d marry a woman of farming stock, like Natalie Benham.”
    Obviously, Natalie was Blake’s sort of woman. In any case, what grounds had she, Venetia, for being certain that he was not a man in love? Couldn’t his aloofness and cynicism be explained by the bitterness of being tied to Venetia and having to coerce his more passionate feelings into the narrow channel of fondness for her? Why, oh why hadn’t he married Natalie a year ago?

 
    CHAPTER TEN
    THE bungalow servant, finished her clearing up at ten on Thursday morning. As usual, she asked, in her flat, disinterested voice, if there were any other jobs to do and when Venetia gave her permission to go she slapped out in her big felt slippers and pulled the door shut.
    Venetia had no plans for passing the hours. Thea had suggested a morning with the off-duty nurses at the swimming-pool or a tour of the public library and town gardens, but neither diversion appealed very strongly.
    This time tomorrow she would be packing her bag in readiness to be carried back to Bondolo, where Blake would resume his duties of protecting and providing for her. It had been bad enough before; now it promised to be stark anguish. She didn’t want to be protected and provided for. During their parting she had realized that she wanted to be loved, to thrill to the exciting strains of life’s music, to exist in an enchanted realm, if but for awhile. Yet Neil’s revelation had thrust her farther than ever from such a realization.
    She was kneeling at the bookshelves when the doorbell let out its insistent, high-pitched summons. The unusualness of the sound held her paralysed for a moment, head turned towards the door. No one ever came here for the nurses, and messages were brought by the servant, who always used the back door. That was invariably left unlocked. Who could it be? Surely Neil wouldn’t have the nerve ...
    It came again, so peremptorily that she sprang upright and crossed the room to release the catch on the main door. Blake stood there. Blake in one of his light suits with a maroon silk shirt and matching tie, his dark hair