places months ahead of the date of their arrival. But I will see what I can do !” She folded the letter and handed it back to Jane. “For your young brother’s sake I will see what I can do!” she concluded.
Jane thanked her with a marked lack of enthusiasm ... not because she didn’t wish to see Toby, who, after all, might be invited to stay at the Villa Magnolia if his mother was unlikely to accompany him, and Florence felt she could bear it. But because the very thought of seeing Miranda and Roger together day after day for several weeks affected her with an extraordinary feeling of revulsion. And it had nothing to do with her own attitude to Roger, for, despite the distinctly hopeful gleam in his elderly aunt’s eyes whenever she referred to him, the charm Roger had once held for Jane was as dead and incapable of being revived as if she had never known him.
It was extraordinary ... it was fantastic ... but it was true!
Putting him out of her heart and her thoughts had been as painless as if someone had administered an anaesthetic ... and she confessed to herself that she did not quite understand the change in herself. She had been very fond of Roger. She had hoped to marry him.
But she never even thought of him nowadays, and she had been forced to conclude that being very fond of someone was not apparently enough when they provided you with a serious shock.
The roots were pulled right out of the ground, and nothing could induce them to take root again.
It was as final as that.
The party list was checked for acceptances two days before it was to take place, and Mrs. Bowman expressed herself as satisfied because so far no one had refused. And the only two people who had not acknowledged her invitation were very old friends, and were quite unlikely to let her down.
Dr. Delacroix’s secretary had telephoned to say that he would be delighted to dine with Mrs. Bowman and her companion, and the parents of Mademoiselle d’Evremonde had accepted on her and their own behalf. The other guests included another elderly couple, a Swiss banker and his wife, who were close friends of Madame Bowman, and her Swiss lawyer, who was apparently a bachelor, but already in his sixties, so unlikely to make much appeal to Jane ... although, as Mrs. Bowman said to her smilingly, it didn’t really matter, did it? The fact that there were few eligible bachelors on her list of close associates could not really matter to Jane, since all her main interests were firmly rooted in England.
At first Jane was a little startled by this somewhat naive attitude on the part of her employer, and then the realisation of what was behind the naive attitude really sank in, and for the first time she felt vaguely alarmed because Mrs. Bowman had apparently got it firmly fixed inside her head that Jane’s attachment to her nephew—and his to her—was so strong that it could end in only one thing. And that one thing was marriage!
Hence her coy looks whenever she mentioned Roger, and the affectionate gloating that occasionally overspread her features when she sat contemplating Jane, and no doubt already thought of her as her niece-by-marriage.
Something, Jane promised herself, would have to be done about this before many more days, and certainly weeks, had passed, otherwise the disappointment in store for the old lady would be too great to be contemplated.
But, just before the dinner-party, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy illusions. Mrs. Bowman was so happy going through her wardrobe with Florence and calling in the local dressmaker to do something about a black lace dress that required to be lifted slightly since she seemed to have shrunk since she wore it last, and rifling her jewel-box for her choicest triple row of pearls and a set of diamond and sapphire brooches and bracelets with which to embellish the black lace, that Jane simply hadn’t the heart to destroy any of her pleasure.
Her own dress was decided upon several days before
Jane thanked her with a marked lack of enthusiasm ... not because she didn’t wish to see Toby, who, after all, might be invited to stay at the Villa Magnolia if his mother was unlikely to accompany him, and Florence felt she could bear it. But because the very thought of seeing Miranda and Roger together day after day for several weeks affected her with an extraordinary feeling of revulsion. And it had nothing to do with her own attitude to Roger, for, despite the distinctly hopeful gleam in his elderly aunt’s eyes whenever she referred to him, the charm Roger had once held for Jane was as dead and incapable of being revived as if she had never known him.
It was extraordinary ... it was fantastic ... but it was true!
Putting him out of her heart and her thoughts had been as painless as if someone had administered an anaesthetic ... and she confessed to herself that she did not quite understand the change in herself. She had been very fond of Roger. She had hoped to marry him.
But she never even thought of him nowadays, and she had been forced to conclude that being very fond of someone was not apparently enough when they provided you with a serious shock.
The roots were pulled right out of the ground, and nothing could induce them to take root again.
It was as final as that.
The party list was checked for acceptances two days before it was to take place, and Mrs. Bowman expressed herself as satisfied because so far no one had refused. And the only two people who had not acknowledged her invitation were very old friends, and were quite unlikely to let her down.
Dr. Delacroix’s secretary had telephoned to say that he would be delighted to dine with Mrs. Bowman and her companion, and the parents of Mademoiselle d’Evremonde had accepted on her and their own behalf. The other guests included another elderly couple, a Swiss banker and his wife, who were close friends of Madame Bowman, and her Swiss lawyer, who was apparently a bachelor, but already in his sixties, so unlikely to make much appeal to Jane ... although, as Mrs. Bowman said to her smilingly, it didn’t really matter, did it? The fact that there were few eligible bachelors on her list of close associates could not really matter to Jane, since all her main interests were firmly rooted in England.
At first Jane was a little startled by this somewhat naive attitude on the part of her employer, and then the realisation of what was behind the naive attitude really sank in, and for the first time she felt vaguely alarmed because Mrs. Bowman had apparently got it firmly fixed inside her head that Jane’s attachment to her nephew—and his to her—was so strong that it could end in only one thing. And that one thing was marriage!
Hence her coy looks whenever she mentioned Roger, and the affectionate gloating that occasionally overspread her features when she sat contemplating Jane, and no doubt already thought of her as her niece-by-marriage.
Something, Jane promised herself, would have to be done about this before many more days, and certainly weeks, had passed, otherwise the disappointment in store for the old lady would be too great to be contemplated.
But, just before the dinner-party, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy illusions. Mrs. Bowman was so happy going through her wardrobe with Florence and calling in the local dressmaker to do something about a black lace dress that required to be lifted slightly since she seemed to have shrunk since she wore it last, and rifling her jewel-box for her choicest triple row of pearls and a set of diamond and sapphire brooches and bracelets with which to embellish the black lace, that Jane simply hadn’t the heart to destroy any of her pleasure.
Her own dress was decided upon several days before
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