made to walk softly away, hoping she would be able to get out of sight before either Dove or her husband appeared. Then suddenly she thought, “Why should I pretend to have heard nothing? Paul is going to be my husband. I’m in this, too.”
So she knocked again, much more loudly, and instantly the voices in the back of the house ceased. A minute later the door at the end of the passage opened and Dove appeared. When she saw Julia she hastily smoothed her hair, her hands fluttering over her head to hide the colour that was suddenly a banner in her cheeks.
Julia said airily, “Does one knock at the front door or the back? I just came over to ask if you could sew.”
“Sew?” Dove was regaining her composure, the colour dying out of her cheeks and her green eyes glinting inquisitively. Julia suspected that she was not often at a loss. In her way, she had as much careless confidence as Paul.
She stepped back. “Won’t you come in? We usually sit in the kitchen. It’s the warmest room in the house.”
Julia followed her down the narrow passage into the long room at the end that was both kitchen and sitting room, a pleasant place with an open fire and shabby comfortable chairs drawn up to it. It flashed into her mind that Paul might find this room pleasant, too, perhaps when Dove’s husband was out on a long ride round the sheep.
The husband had left the room now. As Julia entered she caught a glimpse of him passing the window outside, a sturdy stocky man with a skin burnt red with the wind, and tousled coarse brown hair. Dove must find a considerable contrast between him and Paul—Paul whose ankle she liked to massage gently in her strong white hands.…
“Tell me,” said Julia abruptly, “how did Paul sprain his ankle? I never asked him.”
Again, momentarily, the red flag flew in Dove’s cheeks. Then she answered, “He tripped on a rock in the dark. He had been out looking after a sick ewe.”
Julia wanted badly to believe her. After all, what more reasonable explanation could there be for a twisted ankle. Those rocks that jutted up in the turf looked highly dangerous. (But this hillside was the only place that Julia had noticed the slate-backed rocks in great numbers. And Dove’s husband’s remark was still in her ears, “It’d do him a power of good if he got busy and did a bit around the farm.”)
“Wasn’t it lucky you knew how to treat it,” she said smoothly. “Did you nurse for long before you were married?”
“Six years,” Dove answered.
“Then you would know, too, how long it takes for scarring in a skin graft to fade.”
“You mean one like Mr. Blaine’s. Oh, quite a long time.”
“More than three months?”
“Oh yes. Mr. Blaine had a very successful one. It’s scarcely noticeable now.”
“No,” said Julia absently. “It was awfully silly of him to worry about what I would think of it.” (If Paul’s operation had been several months ago, what had he been doing in the meantime?) She smiled in a friendly way, and said, “How long have you been here, in this rather desolate spot? Don’t you find it lonely?”
Dove answered unsuspiciously. “We came up three months ago when Mr. Blaine and his mother moved into the big house and sent that awful Bates couple away. Actually,” she said, “Tom, that’s my husband, doesn’t like it here much, but the money’s good and there’s nothing to spend it on, and we want to get some capital. I persuaded him to come. To tell the truth I think it’s the loneliest spot on earth, but I stay here because of trying to save some money.”
“Then you were the one who applied for the job?” Julia said.
“You mean, did I interview Mr. Blaine? Yes, I did. Tom would have made a mess of it.”
(Oh, Paul, did you hire Lily, too? With her seductive body. Then why bring me across the world like this?)
Julia was almost certain now that Dove, with her red hair and impetuous temper, was the one who had written the anonymous letters.
So she knocked again, much more loudly, and instantly the voices in the back of the house ceased. A minute later the door at the end of the passage opened and Dove appeared. When she saw Julia she hastily smoothed her hair, her hands fluttering over her head to hide the colour that was suddenly a banner in her cheeks.
Julia said airily, “Does one knock at the front door or the back? I just came over to ask if you could sew.”
“Sew?” Dove was regaining her composure, the colour dying out of her cheeks and her green eyes glinting inquisitively. Julia suspected that she was not often at a loss. In her way, she had as much careless confidence as Paul.
She stepped back. “Won’t you come in? We usually sit in the kitchen. It’s the warmest room in the house.”
Julia followed her down the narrow passage into the long room at the end that was both kitchen and sitting room, a pleasant place with an open fire and shabby comfortable chairs drawn up to it. It flashed into her mind that Paul might find this room pleasant, too, perhaps when Dove’s husband was out on a long ride round the sheep.
The husband had left the room now. As Julia entered she caught a glimpse of him passing the window outside, a sturdy stocky man with a skin burnt red with the wind, and tousled coarse brown hair. Dove must find a considerable contrast between him and Paul—Paul whose ankle she liked to massage gently in her strong white hands.…
“Tell me,” said Julia abruptly, “how did Paul sprain his ankle? I never asked him.”
Again, momentarily, the red flag flew in Dove’s cheeks. Then she answered, “He tripped on a rock in the dark. He had been out looking after a sick ewe.”
Julia wanted badly to believe her. After all, what more reasonable explanation could there be for a twisted ankle. Those rocks that jutted up in the turf looked highly dangerous. (But this hillside was the only place that Julia had noticed the slate-backed rocks in great numbers. And Dove’s husband’s remark was still in her ears, “It’d do him a power of good if he got busy and did a bit around the farm.”)
“Wasn’t it lucky you knew how to treat it,” she said smoothly. “Did you nurse for long before you were married?”
“Six years,” Dove answered.
“Then you would know, too, how long it takes for scarring in a skin graft to fade.”
“You mean one like Mr. Blaine’s. Oh, quite a long time.”
“More than three months?”
“Oh yes. Mr. Blaine had a very successful one. It’s scarcely noticeable now.”
“No,” said Julia absently. “It was awfully silly of him to worry about what I would think of it.” (If Paul’s operation had been several months ago, what had he been doing in the meantime?) She smiled in a friendly way, and said, “How long have you been here, in this rather desolate spot? Don’t you find it lonely?”
Dove answered unsuspiciously. “We came up three months ago when Mr. Blaine and his mother moved into the big house and sent that awful Bates couple away. Actually,” she said, “Tom, that’s my husband, doesn’t like it here much, but the money’s good and there’s nothing to spend it on, and we want to get some capital. I persuaded him to come. To tell the truth I think it’s the loneliest spot on earth, but I stay here because of trying to save some money.”
“Then you were the one who applied for the job?” Julia said.
“You mean, did I interview Mr. Blaine? Yes, I did. Tom would have made a mess of it.”
(Oh, Paul, did you hire Lily, too? With her seductive body. Then why bring me across the world like this?)
Julia was almost certain now that Dove, with her red hair and impetuous temper, was the one who had written the anonymous letters.
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