They reached St. Blaise House at exactly noon. Queenie Winthrop, who hadn't been invited to accompany them but had done so just the same, gave Gwendolen a very acerbic account, lasting for the entire journey, of how she had tried to get into the house to make final preparations for its owner's return."
I had a key of course. Extraordinary as it seems, 1found thefront door bolted against me. Yes, bolted. You wouldn't believeit, would you? Perhaps that Mr. Cellini is nervous of being in the place alone. I'm sure I don't know but it was bolted top and bottom. I rang and rang and banged on the door and the letterbox. When it was all to no avail I looked up and caught aglimpse of him diving down out of sight: And which window do you think he wa at, Gwendolen? The one that faces the street in the middle on the first floor. Your bedroom window. I'm almost positive. What do you think of that?"
"I might think something if you were absolutely positive. But you're not, are you?"
Queenie didn't answer. Gwendolen was a bit much sometimes.Looking cool and offended, she helped her out of the car, but she wasn't surprised when Gwendolen shook off her arm as they approached the front door and inserted her key in the lock. In spite of treating Queenie's account of Mix Cellini's behavior with derision, she had quite expected to find her ownfront door bolted against her and, as the key turned, she was thinking of the vituperative invective she would direct against him, culminating in notice to quit. But the door slid openeasily.
They all went in and took off their jackets. As they walked across the hallway toward the drawing room door, Mix cameout from the direction of the kitchen. He was very disconcerted to see them so early, and both overjoyed and alarmed to see Nerissa, though he had completed his task half an hour before and had been back only to check that he had left no incriminating evidence behind. It was the sight of Nerissa that brought him to a standstill in front of Gwendolen. But for her, he would have made some perfunctory greeting, passed themand struggled upstairs, hand pressed to aching back. He was about to ignore the rest of them and find themost gracious words he could think of for Nerissa whenGwendolen spoke.
"What have you been doing in my kitchen?"
Mix had been using lies and subterfuge to get him out of trouble almost since he was a baby and he always had some defensive excuse ready. "I knew you'd be coming home today. Ithought I'd make you a cup of tea so I went to check on thekettle and the teacups."
"Very thoughtful," said Gwendolen who didn't believe him.
"One of my friends will do that."
This was dismissal and Mix recognized it as such. He had to speak to Nerissa before he went back upstairs. She was looking at him, smiling a half-smile. "That was a great shot of you in last night's Standard, Miss Nash," he said. "You wouldn't have a copy you could sign and let me have, would you?"It was a press photo," she said and her voice soundedsmaller than it had before. "They just took it. They don't give you copies."
"Pity." Mix was determined to say his piece before partingfrom her. He had rehearsed it for just such an occasion. "Miss Nash, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You're just as beautiful in close-up as from far away." He brought hisface near hers. "More beautiful," he said and he staggered upstairs,desperate not to show the pain he was in.
Unwilling to listen to all this, Gwendolen went into the drawing room, attended but no longer physically supported by Queenie "Winthrop. Hazel Akwaa was furiously angry. She wanted to run after Mix and berate him but Nerissa held her arm and said, "No, Mum, don't. Leave it."
"How dare he say things like that to you?" Hazel spoke loudly enough for Mix, by now on the first floor, to hear.
"I'm not the Queen, Mum. He doesn't have to get permission. I must be really stupid, as I didn't realize he actually lived here. I mean, I know we met him outside that time, but it never registered that he lived in this house."
"I'm sorry you had to endure all that under my roof," said, Gwendolen as Nerissa and Hazel went into the drawing room. Her tone was no longer kindly toward Nerissa, whom she blamed as much as Mix for his outburst.
Now she was home she wanted all these people to go. In an impatient way, she acknowledged Nerissa’s kindness in fetching her from the hospital, but there was nothing to stay for. She had her prescribed medicaents and vitamins, she wasn't hungry, and her paramount desire was to lie on the sofa andopen the post that Queenie had brought in from the hallway. There was bound to be a letter from Stephen Reeves. She wasvery tired and she wanted to read it before sleep overtook her.It was Nerissa who recognized how weary she was and took her mother and Queenie away, Queenie calling over her shoulder that Gwendolen must waste no time in seeing what she thoughtof the spring-cleaning she and Olive had done in the kitchen.
Before opening her book, Gwendolen reflected that today was the anniversary of the first time Stephen Reeves came to the house to attend her mother. He had come downstairs and said, "It's a sad sight to see the old folks come to this."
She had offered him tea and, because he looked hungry, that day's batch of homemade cakes.
The compliments Mix had offered to Nerissa and the proximity of his face to hers had upset her more than she had showed at the time. She had made a great effort at self-control in order not to cause trouble the moment poor Miss Chawcer had come home after her stay in hospital, but once she had taken her mother and Mrs. Winthrop home and was in her own house,she began to cry. All the telling herself that the man had only said she was beautiful and come rather too close to her, that he was a harmless fool, had no effect and she gave way to a storm of tears.
Crying was a release, more salutary than attempting to pull herself together, and she was too young to be afraid of lastingmarks to her face. She phoned the beauty salon she used andbooked to have her hair done, a face massage, and a manicure.About to leave the house, she thought of him again and shelooked out of a front window to see if the blue car was parkeddown the hill. She knew the number by heart, had never had towrite it down, but there was no sign of him. Still, she went nervously to her car and remained jumpy and alert until she was in the salon and her hair was being washed. Speculation about him went around and around the inside of her head as warm water splashed on its outside. What did he want of her? That she should go out with him?
She told herself not to be elitist, nearly sure she'd got the difficult word right. Perhaps not to be a snob. God knows, she had no right to be snobbish about anyone, her family wasn't anything much, even though Grandma claimed to be the daughter of a chief. This guy-she realized she didn't know hisname-was probably better educated than she was and had a real job. He hadn't done her any harm, so why was she so afraid of him? A man had once told her she had a true woman's intuitive powers and perhaps she had, for she sensed something ugly about him, something almost evil. This had been particularly apparent when he brought his face close to hers. His eyes had seemed dead and his expression utterly blank, even while he was saying those things about her being beautiful. If onlys he could think of a way to get rid of him, make sure he never came near her again.
Nico was approaching her with his drier and his brush. Shet urned her head and gave him her glorious heart-melting smile.