Julius felt better now, back in London, driving up Kensington High Street; the madness that had overtaken him on the Hog’s Back had almost passed. What had he been thinking of? Dreaming of Jillie Curtis, who the last time he had spoken to her, begging her to meet him, had told him to go away and never come near her again, and then put the phone down on him.
‘You can’t marry him,’ said Seth Gilbert, lying back contentedly in Nell’s brass bed and reaching for his cigarettes. ‘You don’t love him, he irritates you to death, and besides, now you’ve got me.’
‘Well,’ said Nell briskly, ‘I haven’t exactly got you, have I? Except as a very thrilling lover.’ She leaned over and kissed him. ‘You’re married, you’ve got children, and we hardly know one another. In three months’ time we could loathe each other.’
‘Unlikely, I’d say.’
‘Be fun finding out, though.’
‘But what I really meant was, you’re not behaving too much like someone who’s about to be married. And you must tell him, poor chap, that you don’t want to marry him. I feel quite sorry for him.’
‘Yes, I will tell him. Not about you – don’t look so alarmed. Just that I can’t marry him. But not just yet. I can’t face it.’
‘You’re a funny girl,’ said Seth, pulling her down onto him again. ‘Wonderfully funny. Now look, how about one for the road? We’ve just about got time –’ He looked at his watch. ‘Half past three, come on, you know you want to . . . I can see it on your face . . .’
Julius let himself into Nell’s house very quietly. If she was working, she got very cross if he made a noise. She would probably be cross anyway, but if he explained that he’d really had to see her and that he wasn’t going to stay, she’d be perfectly happy.
He looked into her little study, which was a shambles as always, sheets of typescript all over the desk, and one half-typed sheet actually in the typewriter. Although it was strictly forbidden, he read what she was typing; it was set in an operating theatre, tracing the heroine’s thoughts as she made her first incision into the patient’s abdomen. He was a little surprised that it stopped mid-sentence; normally she hated not completing a chapter even. Something quite serious must have distracted her: a visitor perhaps, but no, she just wouldn’t have opened the door; no one, not just he, was allowed to disturb her Sundays. Anyway, she wasn’t reading in the little sitting room with the French windows open to the tiny terraced garden, or even the dining room, with its pretty round table covered in a lace cloth and the collection of blue and white china he had given her in a glass-fronted case.
Maybe she was having a rest; it was unlike her, but she had been very tired recently. He really must speak to her, he thought, about leaving doors and windows open, positively inviting burglars in. He unlaced his shoes and as silently as he could, which was very silently, for he knew every creak in every board of that house, he went up the stairs, tiptoed along the corridor, and very, very carefully opened Nell’s bedroom door.
‘Hello, darling, how are you? How was little Kit?’
‘Oh – pretty good, considering.’
Jillie sat down suddenly; her legs were weary and achy.
‘And Alice?’
‘In a terrible state. Talking about divorcing Tom –’
‘What! Whatever for?’
‘Oh, I told you, he was very difficult about her taking Kit to a private hospital. You know how passionate he is about the National Health Service.’
‘Oh, yes, I saw Josh’s article. Hardly grounds for divorce,’ said Geraldine. ‘She’ll get over it. They both will.’
‘I’m not sure. I hope so. Anyway, sorry if I’m late for lunch –’
‘You’re not, and I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked Patrick to join us.’
‘Patrick! Oh, Mummy, why?’
‘Well, he’d just got off the train from some godforsaken place, and he was so disappointed you weren’t here –’
‘I don’t know why. Honestly, Mummy, I’m not feeling very sociable.’
‘Well, it’s too late now, he’s on his way in a taxi.’
Jillie sighed. ‘As long as he doesn’t start talking about the latest gastroenteric virus –’
‘Jillie, that’s unfair. He has a very broad spectrum of conversation in my experience.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d better start going out with him – no, sorry, I’m quite fond of him really, I’ll go and brush my hair and make myself look a bit better.’
Actually, she thought it would be good to see Patrick; he was so nice and steady and normal, didn’t have emotional crises every five minutes. And it had been quite a difficult few days, seeing Ned for the first time since – well, since. Yes, he definitely did have advantages. She not only brushed her hair but also put on a new dress, a blue cotton shirtwaister, and some lipstick, and sprayed herself with Guerlain’s Jicky which was her current favourite and which Patrick had admired last time they went out.
She was just walking down the stairs when there was a crunch on the gravel as a taxi drove in. She ran down the last few steps, opened the front door and, rather to her own surprise, instead of shaking his hand, hugged Patrick and gave him a kiss.
Julius was halfway along Piccadilly when he realised he had left his shoes behind; his foot slipped on the brake and he only just avoided hitting a bus coming in the other direction.
It didn’t seem to matter; nothing seemed to matter, except getting to Jillie’s house. If she was working, he would drive out to Hackney and find her there. He had to find her, be with her; that emotion wiped out any anger or humiliation at the scene that had greeted him as he opened Nell’s bedroom door, Nell pushing some man off her, and struggling to a sitting position, the sheet hugged to her chin.
Julius said nothing, nothing at all, nor did he wait to hear anything they might have to say; he just wanted to get away from them.
At Piccadilly Circus he pulled in to the side, just by Swan & Edgar’s, and pulled off his socks, bare feet being indubitably safer, and proceeded up Regent Street, and then Portland Place, and thence Camden High Street, and on northwards, until at last he was in Highbury, and there, there on his right, at long last, number five. Number five, containing Jillie, happiness, safety. He had paused, wondering how he was going to get across the gravel in his bare feet, when a taxi came up behind him and drove into the drive. And as Julius watched, a man got out, the man he recognised from the other night at the restaurant – and walked up the steps to the front door, and before he had even raised his hand to the knocker, the door opened and Jillie appeared, hugged him – albeit briefly, and gave him a kiss and then shut the great door firmly. Julius sat there for at least half an hour, trying to establish which of his emotions was the most painful, and then turned the Bentley round and drove very slowly home.
Chapter 63
‘Oh – hello,’ said Alice. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘I don’t suppose you were. But I wanted to see Kit. Where is he?’