‘Toby remembered how you hadn’t been out of London at all. I think the boys felt sorry for you – they believe country life lifts the spirits. These Sundays in the country …’ It did not sound as if she agreed with the boys’ opinion of a weekend at Sutton. ‘You mustn’t mind if Mrs Last isn’t very friendly. She bullied me rather, when I first visited.’
Laura was unnerved by this criticism of Edward’s mother. Was it allowed, then, to speak about how cold she was, and how her sons seemed to be unable to relax in her presence? That would go against all Laura’s instincts, which were to act as though such an uncomfortable family life was merely normal. And so she said something formal about how it must have been hard for Mrs Last since her husband died.
Sybil said nothing for a few moments. ‘Yes, it must have been hard,’ she said finally.
‘And for the boys,’ Laura said.
‘Yes, Toby took it hard. It was quite unexpected, quite recent, you know.’ She said nothing about Edward. ‘Your parents are both alive, aren’t they? They must miss you so much.’
‘I’m not really sure that they do,’ Laura said. For some reason, her words came out in a kind of imitation of Sybil’s, and the rather regal judgement that had dominated Sybil’s tone when she spoke about Mrs Last crept into Laura’s own voice. It surprised her. She had never spoken like that about her parents, however resentful she had felt about them. But she felt it was the right thing to do in that moment.
‘I know,’ Sybil agreed with her. ‘I haven’t seen my father since the war began and, frankly, I don’t think he cares.’ The two women stood there, looking up at the grandeur of the Malvern Hills, and Laura realised that her pale imitation of Sybil had brought them back into sympathy with one another.
‘But the boys love it here, don’t they?’ Laura said, wanting Sybil to go on talking about Edward.
‘They do. It’s the bond, isn’t it? Hard to break.’
Not long after, they all left, squashed into the Daimler to the station. Laura had been told by Winifred that she should tip the servants, but when it came to it she could not meet the eye of the little girl who closed her case or the old man who took it to the car, and she preferred to pretend she did not know about this convention. The train was crowded again and they could not sit together. In the end Sybil and Laura took seats in a carriage with a large family who were prepared to squash up, and Edward and Toby stood in the corridor, smoking and talking. Laura didn’t mind sitting apart from him. She felt that she was moving tentatively, but with growing confidence, through a new medium, like a child who has just learnt to swim, buoyed up by the memory of sensual pleasure.
9
It was a few days before she heard from Edward again. Should this have worried her? For a time she could not imagine worrying ever again. At night, on waking, or at odd moments stepping off a bus or wrapping a book for a customer, the wealth of pleasure she had been given suddenly recurred to her and she felt her senses sway and her stomach clench. She relived that night so often that she hardly noticed the hours and days passing. But even so it was a relief when she came back to the flat one evening and saw that Cissie had written Edward’s name and a telephone number on the pad that they used for messages. When she rang him they arranged to meet that Sunday, at a public house he knew. She knew it too, as it happened to be in Highgate, near to her aunt’s house; she had seen it once on a walk with Winifred.
That it was another fine spring day was an unnecessary boon. The pub was dark, and they sat in an alcove, eating something that Laura hardly noticed. Edward drank beer, and then brandy, and this time Laura enjoyed the feeling of drinking at lunchtime, the shuddery warmth engendered by the glasses of wine that Edward ordered for her. After lunch they walked out onto the Heath, where they sat on a bench looking out over a small hill and artificial lake below them. The crocuses scattered all over the green lawn, and the child suddenly running by with a red kite, his mother calling after him – images danced past Laura’s eyes. Greatly daring, she touched the side of her hand to Edward’s, and he took her hand, crushing it in his, and lifted it to his lips, inhaling the scent of her skin, closing his eyes. She closed her eyes for a moment too, and when she opened them he was looking at her, still holding her hand.
‘Here we are,’ she said. Or did he say it? They were both smiling.
‘At last,’ he said. ‘Now I might find out who Laura is, this mystery.’
It was extraordinary to her, that he saw her as a mystery, that he wanted to know about her.