larger chairs and tossed in a heap upon an Empire couch.
In the midst of all this stiffness and pallor Helen Adrian looked as warmly alive as sunshine. Her hair was very nearly as golden. Her skin glowed with health, and her eyes were just that one shade deeper than sky-blue which makes all the difference. She shook her head and said,
“No, that’s enough.”
Felix jerked back the heavy lock of dark hair which was always falling into his eyes.
“Just let your voice out. I believe it’s better than ever.”
She was leaning over the piano towards him.
“No—I don’t want to.”
He said accusingly, “You’re scared,” and she nodded.
“I’m afraid of singing out. I don’t feel—”
“You don’t need to feel. Sing! It’s all there—just let it go.”
He struck the opening chords, but she remained leaning there, tracing an imaginary pattern on the dark wood and looking down at her own finger with its polished rosy nail.
“Felix—”
He banged out a bar and stopped.
“What is it?”
“It’s no good. I can’t go on to a concert platform and sing in a whisper, and I’m not going to let my voice out and crack it.”
“What are you driving at?”
“Oh, well—”
“You’ve got an engagement in Brighton in a fortnight’s time. How are you going to keep it if you won’t try your voice?”
“Well, that’s just it—I don’t think I’m going to keep it.”
“And all the rest of your engagements?”
“I don’t think—”
“You don’t think? You’ve got to think!”
“I’m not going to crack my voice.”
“There’s nothing the matter with your voice.”
She straightened up with a little laugh.
“Well, it is my voice, darling—I’m glad you admit that— and if I don’t want to sing, you can’t make me.”
He swung round on the piano-stool.
“Do you mean anything by that?” Then, with the blood rushing into his face, “What do you mean?”
She was watching him. Now she smiled.
“I just don’t want to sing, darling.”
He got up and came towards her quite slowly and deliberately.
“Do you mean now—or—”
“I mean now.”
“All right, then we try again tomorrow—is that it?”
“No, I don’t think so. Felix, do be reasonable.”
The blood had drained back. The lock of hair had fallen forward again. It emphasised his pallor.
“What do you mean by being reasonable?”
She laughed lightly.
“It’s not anything you’d understand very well, is it, darling?”
He said heavily,
“No, I’m not reasonable about you—you needn’t expect it. But you’re going to tell me what you mean.”
“Am I?”
He said with sudden violence,
“Some day you’re going to get yourself murdered!”
Quite involuntarily she flinched. It was only Felix in a temper; but just for the moment something in her wavered and was afraid.
She stepped back, and the movement brought the door into her line of vision. The ivory panels, the china handle and door-plates with their pattern of small pink roses, stood very slightly at an angle. The door was not quite shut. She went over to it, opened it, and looked out. A yard away Mrs. Bell was on her hands and knees in the passage, polishing the floor-boards.
Helen Adrian shut the door in a controlled manner and went back. Felix was still in a temper, but he didn’t frighten her now. She stuck her chin in the air and said,
“Next time you feel like murdering anyone, darling, I don’t think I should tell the daily first.” Then, with a laugh, “Oh, come off it, Felix! Let’s go down and see if it’s warm enough to bathe.”
Chapter 12
Richard Cunningham walked out along the cliff road. He knew that nothing in the world would have prevented him from coming down to Farne and going to see Marian Brand. If he had been twenty, he couldn’t have been more set on doing a foolish romantic thing. If he had been twenty, he wouldn’t have thought about it being foolish or romantic, he would have just done it. Since he was
In the midst of all this stiffness and pallor Helen Adrian looked as warmly alive as sunshine. Her hair was very nearly as golden. Her skin glowed with health, and her eyes were just that one shade deeper than sky-blue which makes all the difference. She shook her head and said,
“No, that’s enough.”
Felix jerked back the heavy lock of dark hair which was always falling into his eyes.
“Just let your voice out. I believe it’s better than ever.”
She was leaning over the piano towards him.
“No—I don’t want to.”
He said accusingly, “You’re scared,” and she nodded.
“I’m afraid of singing out. I don’t feel—”
“You don’t need to feel. Sing! It’s all there—just let it go.”
He struck the opening chords, but she remained leaning there, tracing an imaginary pattern on the dark wood and looking down at her own finger with its polished rosy nail.
“Felix—”
He banged out a bar and stopped.
“What is it?”
“It’s no good. I can’t go on to a concert platform and sing in a whisper, and I’m not going to let my voice out and crack it.”
“What are you driving at?”
“Oh, well—”
“You’ve got an engagement in Brighton in a fortnight’s time. How are you going to keep it if you won’t try your voice?”
“Well, that’s just it—I don’t think I’m going to keep it.”
“And all the rest of your engagements?”
“I don’t think—”
“You don’t think? You’ve got to think!”
“I’m not going to crack my voice.”
“There’s nothing the matter with your voice.”
She straightened up with a little laugh.
“Well, it is my voice, darling—I’m glad you admit that— and if I don’t want to sing, you can’t make me.”
He swung round on the piano-stool.
“Do you mean anything by that?” Then, with the blood rushing into his face, “What do you mean?”
She was watching him. Now she smiled.
“I just don’t want to sing, darling.”
He got up and came towards her quite slowly and deliberately.
“Do you mean now—or—”
“I mean now.”
“All right, then we try again tomorrow—is that it?”
“No, I don’t think so. Felix, do be reasonable.”
The blood had drained back. The lock of hair had fallen forward again. It emphasised his pallor.
“What do you mean by being reasonable?”
She laughed lightly.
“It’s not anything you’d understand very well, is it, darling?”
He said heavily,
“No, I’m not reasonable about you—you needn’t expect it. But you’re going to tell me what you mean.”
“Am I?”
He said with sudden violence,
“Some day you’re going to get yourself murdered!”
Quite involuntarily she flinched. It was only Felix in a temper; but just for the moment something in her wavered and was afraid.
She stepped back, and the movement brought the door into her line of vision. The ivory panels, the china handle and door-plates with their pattern of small pink roses, stood very slightly at an angle. The door was not quite shut. She went over to it, opened it, and looked out. A yard away Mrs. Bell was on her hands and knees in the passage, polishing the floor-boards.
Helen Adrian shut the door in a controlled manner and went back. Felix was still in a temper, but he didn’t frighten her now. She stuck her chin in the air and said,
“Next time you feel like murdering anyone, darling, I don’t think I should tell the daily first.” Then, with a laugh, “Oh, come off it, Felix! Let’s go down and see if it’s warm enough to bathe.”
Chapter 12
Richard Cunningham walked out along the cliff road. He knew that nothing in the world would have prevented him from coming down to Farne and going to see Marian Brand. If he had been twenty, he couldn’t have been more set on doing a foolish romantic thing. If he had been twenty, he wouldn’t have thought about it being foolish or romantic, he would have just done it. Since he was
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