The Forest by Edward Rutherfurd Page B

staying, had asked him to accompany her there. ‘Then I return to Normandy,’ Walter said. He was pacing moodily, which did not make conversation easy.
    It was only a short while before the Lady Maud rejoined them, apparently in better humour. As usual, she looked slightly wan, but her manner was civil even if it contained the hint of caution that Adela had experienced before. When Adela asked if she was well, she acknowledged that she was.
    ‘Your husband is also well, I trust,’ she forced herself to say. She hoped it sounded polite but unconcerned.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You are travelling to one of your relations, Walter said.’
    ‘Yes.’ She seemed to consider for a moment. ‘Richard Fitzwilliam. Perhaps you have seen him.’
    ‘No. I have heard of him, of course.’ She had heard often. Thirty years old with one of the finest estates in the county, he lived not five miles away. He was unmarried. ‘I understand he is very handsome,’ she added politely.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I did not know he was your kinsman.’
    ‘My cousin. We’re very close.’
    No word of this connection, Adela was well aware, had been made during her stay with the lady in the summer. She wondered if Lady Maud would suggest that they might meet now.
    She didn’t. Walter said nothing.
    There was a pause.
    ‘Perhaps you’d like to rest a little before we go on,’ Walter suggested.
    ‘Yes.’
    He turned to Adela and gave her a little nod. A courtier’s sign that it was time for her to retire.
    She could take the hint, but it would have been nice if Walter had come with her to the door. ‘Shall I see you again before long, Walter?’ she asked as she turned.
    He nodded, but in a way to indicate that her retiring was more important; and before she could even collect her thoughts she found herself outside in the cold streets of Winchester.
    She did not want to go back to her lodgings. She walked about. After a little, she went out of the gateway and stared across the open countryside. The sky was grey. The bare brown woods on the ridge opposite seemed to mock her. I am scorned, she thought; she might be poor, but why should her own cousin treat her like that, dismissing her like a lackey? She felt a hot surge of anger. Damn him. Damn them both.
    She paced up and down in front of the gate. Would they come out that way? Could she say something to them? No. What a fool she’d look standing impotently by the roadside. She felt crushed.
    And yet something in her still rebelled. I’m better than that, she decided. I won’t let them put me down. She needed to see them again, put them in a position where they would be forced to be polite. But how? What excuse could there be for going back?
    Then it suddenly occurred to her. Of course: her hostess and Walter were friends. What could be more natural than for her to return with the older woman who might wish to greet him as he was passing through. The widow was a noblewoman. Lady Maud would have to recognize her. And if by chance she were to tell them that Adela was a great favourite with everybody there and a credit to her cousin … The beauty of the idea was no sooner growing in her mind than she turned and ran back as fast as she could to her lodgings.
    Her friend was there. Without dwelling on the more humiliating features of the interview, it was only the work of a few moments to explain the situation and the widow readily agreed to come, so long as Adela gave her a brief space to prepare herself, which she did with all speed.
    She was still arranging her hair, though, when another thought occurred to Adela. What if Walter and the lady should leave before they got there? She had better make sure they didn’t. Walter could hardly go if she told him the widow was on her way.
    ‘I’ll meet you by the royal palace entrance,’ she cried and hurried back through the street, praying she was not already too late.
    All was well, however. The porter assured her they were still inside. She waited by the