Peacock's Walk by Jane Corrie Page B

some puzzlement, for apart from a swift almost calculating look he shot at her as she made her excuses, he did not override her decision—yet Jenny was well aware that if it had not suited his purpose he would not have let her get away with it. Two and two were beginning to add up to five, and Jenny did not like it, but she had to be satisfied with her small success in doing exactly what she wanted to do—something she hadn't known since Mark had made a reappearance in her life.
    Her anger at being subjected to what she would describe as an encore to a very bad play had evapor-
     
    ated by the time they had got back to Peacock's Walk, and although still determined to get out as soon as possible, Jenny lost the urge to rush up to her rooms and start packing straight away. She had told Tony they would go when they were ready, and there was no sense making an undignified exit from the scene. First, Tony must be consulted, and given time to gather his possessions together, also to find alternative lodgings for them until they worked something out. They would probably stay with Dodie, who had ample room in her four-bedroomed terraced house a few miles away from the hotel. To leave without telling Tony would be like giving him a slap in the face, and she couldn't do it. There was also the possibility of an out-and-out row between Tony and Mark, and Jenny would rather see things through to the bitter end than cause such a happening—especially as Tony had shown that he, like her, was not averse to staying. Peacock's Walk was just as much home to him as it was to her.
    Jenny sighed as the realisation came to her that she would have to see things through. Dilys could not stay in the U.K. for ever—at least, she presumed not. She did not appear to have a job, and if she had, it must be with some organisation connected with her uncle that gave her unlimited leave. Although here Jenny had to concede that she might be taking her vacation early on in the year, since it was the beginning of May, and weatherwise not really an ideal time to pick for a holiday in England's unsettled weather, although the sunlight streaming in through her office window belied this thought.
     
    The sunlight turned her thoughts to Mark and Dilys, now presumably sitting in some sheltered spot on Devil's Dyke overlooking the valleys of the Sussex coast, and beyond that to the sea, that on such a day would be gleaming with silver glints as the sun caught the water. She couldn't help wondering if Mark remembered the time he had taken her there, as he had so obviously remembered the exact spot he had proposed to her in the Pavilion. Would he pull Dilys close to him, as he had done her? Kiss her with the same fierce intensity? A ragged sob came into her throat at the memory, memories she had forced into oblivion under the pain of the reawakening out of the fairyland Mark had taken her to.
    With an effort she pulled her thoughts away from the past. As Dilys had said, it was her turn now, and it was no time to remember that she could have got Mark back by showing him the letter Malcolm had left for her. On this thought she pulled herself out of her brooding misery that bordered on self-pity, something that Jenny normally abhorred, and reminded herself sharply of why she had not even tried to exonerate herself from his charges.
    The reason, she told, herself firmly, still held good, she had not really believed that she could hold. Mark's love, and later events had proved this theory to her eventual cost. In the silence of the empty office she could at last admit that she did love him, would always love him, but would never trust herself to reveal that love. When all was said and done, she supposed she was a coward, too afraid to venture
     
    out into the wonderland again, too afraid of getting hurt again.
    Dilys, now, would have no such qualms—how could she have? She had not been hurt—at least, not as Jenny had been hurt, although unrequited love hurt, and in