The idea of Edie looking demented was enough to fill Alexa's heart with chill. "What dreadful cousin?"
Virginia told her, in some detail, the saga of Lottie Carstairs. Alexa was horrified. "I remember the Carstairses. They were very old, and they lived in a croft up the hill from Tullochard. And sometimes on Sundays they used to come to Strathcroy to have their dinner with Edie."
"That's right."
"They used to drive a tiny, rattly car. The two little old people sitting in the front and the great gawky daughter in the back."
"Well, the two little old people are now dead and the gawky daughter has gone witless. Which is putting it mildly."
Alexa was indignant. "But why should Edie have to look after her? Edie's got enough to do without such a responsibility."
"That's what we all told her, but she wouldn't listen. She says there's nowhere else for the poor soul to go. Anyway, last week she arrived in an ambulance and she's been with Edie ever since."
"But not for ever? She'll surely go back to her own house?"
"Let's hope so."
"Have you seen her?"
"Have I? She wanders round the village and talks to everybody. And not just the village. I took the dogs up to the dam the other day, and 1 was just sitting there on the bank when, all of a sudden, I had this queer feeling and I turned around, and there was Lottie sneaking up behind me."
"How spooky."
"Spooky's the word. Edie can't keep track of her. And that's not the worst of it. She goes out at night too, and drifts around the place. I suppose she's quite harmless, but the thought of her peering through windows is enough to put the fear of God into anybody."
"What does she look like?"
"She doesn't bok mad. Just a bit strange. With very pale skin and eyes like boot buttons. And she's always smiling, which makes her spookier than ever. Ingratiating. I think that's the word. Edmund and Archie Balmerino say she was always like that. She worked at Croy one year as a housemaid. I don't think Lady Balmerino could find anybody else. Vi said it was the year Archie and Isobel were married. Archie swears every time you opened a door, Lottie was always lurking behind it. And then she smashed so much china that Lady Balmerino sacked her. So all in all, as you can gather, it's something of a problem."
The telephone rang.
"Oh, bother." Alexa, engrossed in the drama of Strathcroy, resented the interruption. Reluctantly she got to her feet and went to her desk to answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Alexa Aird?"
"Speaking."
"You won't remember me-Moira Bradford-but I was a guest at the Thomsons' dinner party last week… and I wondered…"
Business. Alexa sat down, reached for her note pad, her Biro, her engagement diary.
"… not until October, but thought it better to fix things right away…"
Four courses, for twelve people. Perhaps, Mrs. Bradford suggested delicately, Alexa could give her some idea of cost?
Alexa listened, answered questions, made notes. Behind her, she was aware that Virginia had got out of her chair and was making for the door. She looked up. Virginia made gestures, mouthed "Just going to the john…" and before Alexa had the opportunity to tell her to use the cloakroom and not go upstairs, was gone.
"… of course, my husband will see to the wine…"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said my husband will see to the wine."
"… oh, yes, of course… look, shall I get back to you?"
"But can't we decide everything now? I'd rather do it that way. And another thing is serving. Do you have a colleague, or do you do the serving yourself?"
Virginia had gone upstairs. She would see everything, draw the obvious conclusions, guess the truth. In a strange way, Alexa felt a sort of resigned relief. There wasn't much point in feeling anything else because it was too late to do anything about it.
She took a deep breath. She said, in her most capable voice, "No. I don't have a colleague. But you don't have to worry, because I can manage it all very easily on my own."
Virginia, in stockinged feet, climbed the staircase, reflecting, as she always did, that this was one of the prettiest of small London houses. So fresh, with its wallpaper and shining white paint. And so comfortable, with thick carpets and extravagantly generous curtains. On the landing, the doors to the bedroom and the bathroom both stood open. She went into the bathroom and saw that Alexa had new curtains here, a quilted chintz patterned with leaves and birds. Admiring them, she looked around for other signs of refurbishment.
There were none, but other unexpected objects caught her eye and the implication of these drove all other thoughts from her head. Two tooth-brushes in the tooth-mug. Shaving-tackle on the glass shelf, a wooden bowl of soap and a shaving-brush. A bottle of aftershave-Antaeus by Chanel-the same that Edmund used. By the side of the bath was a huge Turkish sponge, and hanging from the tap a ball of soap on a cord. From hooks behind the door hung two towelling robes, one large, blue-and-white-striped, the other smaller and white.
By now she had totally forgotten her reason for coming upstairs. She went out of the bathroom, back onto the landing. Downstairs was silent. The telephone call apparently was finished, and Alexa's voice stilled. She looked at the bedroom door, then put out her hand, pushed it completely open and went in. Saw the bed, piled with double pillows; Alexa's night-gown neatly folded on one set, a man's sky-blue pyjamas on the other. On the bedside table a pigskin travelling clock softly ticked. That clock did not belong to Alexa. Her eyes moved around the room. Silver brushes on the dressing-table, silk ties slung on the mirror. A row of masculine shoes. A wardrobe door, perhaps faulty, hung open. She saw rows of suits on hangers, and on the chest of drawers a pile of immaculately ironed shirts.
A step on the stair behind her. She turned. Alexa stood there, in her crumpled cotton clothes looking much as she had always looked. Yet different. "Have you lost weight?" Virginia had asked, but she knew now no diet was responsible for that indefinable radiance about Alexa that she had noticed the moment she saw her.
Their eyes met, and Alexa's were steady. She did not look away. There was no guilt there, no shame, and Virginia was glad for her.
Alexa was twenty-one. It had taken long enough, but now it seemed that, at last, she had grown up.
Standing there, she remembered Alexa as a child, as she had first known her, so shy, so unsure, so eager to please. Then, the newly married Virginia had trod with the greatest of care, chosen her words, always painfully aware of the pitfalls of impetuously saying or doing the wrong thing.
It was the same now.
In the end it was Alexa who spoke first. She said, "I was going to tell you to use the downstairs loo."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"You didn't have to. It's pretty obvious."
"Do you mind me knowing?"
"No. You would have found out sometime."
"Want to talk about it?"
"If you like."
Virginia came out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Alexa said, "Let's go back downstairs and I'll tell you there."
"I haven't been to the john yet." And all at once they were both laughing.
"He's called Noel Keeling. I met him in the street. He'd come to dinner with some people called Pennington-they live a couple of doors down-but he'd got the wrong night, so he was at a loose end."
"Was that the first time you'd ever seen him?"
"Oh, no, we'd met before that, but not very memorably. At some cocktail party, and then I did a directors' lunch for his firm."
"What does he do?"
"He's in advertising. Wenborn and Weinburg."
"How old is he?"
"Thirty-four." Alexa's face became dreamy, the very picture of a girl able to talk at last about the man she loves. "He's… oh, I can't describe him. I was never any good at describing people."