In Certain Circles by Elizabeth Harrower

pockets, Russell poked at a few stones with the toe of his shoe. ‘Your life in Paris was right . It was your line. You were slaving at something that was important to you—’
    â€˜â€”Joseph slaved and so did everyone near him. What he does is important. I’m not the only one who thinks so.’
    â€˜That’s all I’m saying—good work, good company. Your letters made me envious.’
    They both laughed. Then Zoe scoffed, ‘Envious? You? Tone it down a little. But I was in good company,’ she agreed, momentarily sombre. Her spirit revived. ‘There are people I’ll hate not seeing again. Didn’t even say a proper goodbye. But the fact that I may choose to let all this go should convince you I’m serious.’
    Russell’s blue eyes contemplated her. ‘You couldn’t sit at home here—a suburban lady on charity committees, having fashionable lunches with other ladies, and spending your talents on your clothes.’
    She side-stepped and attacked. ‘You talk about not having much in common! Who could be less alike than you and Lily? Lily should have married a professor. If you’re not an academic, she thinks you might as well cut your throat. You liked it in London in the thick of things: she likes it here with her family, and the prospect of being a big fish in her department when she stops being a mother. But the reason you give is, quote, that this is the best place in the world to bring up children, unquote. What a cliché!’
    There was a brief pause.
    â€˜Leaving aside my non-existent problems, there’s only one thing in everyone’s mind—could you settle down here again? That’s all. I like it. It suits me. But it’s the far side of the moon.’
    Zoe was watching him with a sort of dreamy, abstracted interest. He never seemed to get angry. Anger was something he could do without. A gust of wind blew her hair up and over her face. Roughly she smoothed it down and plaited it. ‘Look at that sky. Set for the Second Coming. All those portentous rays. Any minute—trumpets!’ There was something enchanting and winning and touching about her, and she knew it, and Russell knew it, though exactly what it was at that moment he would have been hard put to say. A sweetness at the core. Something irritating and undeserved like that.
    He said, ‘You’re more likely to hear the Last Post on a bugle if you take that boat out. Come on. Let’s go back.’
    â€˜I’ve got things to think about,’ she said, searching her pockets. ‘You wouldn’t have any rubber bands?’ She showed him the unravelled ends of her plaits.
    Sighing, he patted himself over. ‘No. No ribbons either.’
    â€˜Then push off, darling. But give us a hand with this first. And if anything happens—remember, I love you all.’
    Five minutes later, she shot out into the bay, shouting, ‘Airborne!’
    Russell trudged up the hill. ‘I couldn’t watch,’ he said to Lily, who was in the kitchen preparing for a dinner party. She looked up and smiled and licked some sauce from the side of a forefinger. She nodded at the table where Vanessa and Caroline, like miniature replicas of their Aunt Zoe, were rolling out scraps of pastry, moulding them into balls, then pounding them flat with baby fists. ‘Jesus says—Je-sus says—you have to share that rolling pin, Vanessa.’
    â€˜What happened to yours?’ her mother asked.
    â€˜Lost. All gone.’
    Russell found it under the table and restored it to the owner.
    â€˜Stephen rang. I told him what was happening, and he said he was going after her. There’s some boat he can take, better than Gavin’s.’
    With a groan, Russell sat down at the end of the table. ‘Where’s my aqua-lung? Don’t tell me any more. It’s like Madame Butterfly—all rushing to the water’s