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one I've known all my life.'
'And the man you were accustomed to sleeping with, of course.'
Frances lifted her chin haughtily. 'What I did before I met you is not really
any of your concern, but since you've insisted on turning one microscopic
molehill into something resembling Mount Everest, you may as well know
that I never have actually slept with Chris at all.'
Harry's eyes narrowed. 'I don't believe you,' he said flatly.
'As you please.' She began piling the breakfast things rapidly on a tray.
'Nevertheless I might point out that one of the disadvantages of living next
door to each other is that one's never really able to cohabit on one's home
ground. It would have embarrassed my father, and heaven knows how Mrs
Bradley would have reacted. Then at our respective universities I shared a
flat with four other girls, and Chris shared with three men, literally no room
at the inn.' She smiled scathingly. 'It was only very recently that we finally
got to that stage, anyway I was a remarkably late developer in matters of
the flesh.'
'So where did your amorous confrontations take place back of a car? The
drawing-room sofa when your parents were out?' The distaste in Harry's
voice whipped colour into Frances's cheeks.
'The goings-on of the lower orders must no doubt be of tremendous interest
to people like you, Harry Curthoys,' she said, stung, 'but I don't intend to
satisfy mere prurient curiosity, just the same. I admit we made one or two
highly unsatisfactory amatory attempts, and because he's the only other man
who ever even came near to making love to me I suppose that was the
reason I said Chris's name that night.' Her voice shook and she snatched up
the tray, making the cups wobble dangerously.
'Here let me.' Harry tried to take the tray from her but she resisted fiercely,
glaring at him from hostile, wet eyes.
'I might remind you that I don't keep harping about your precious Annabel,
and don't tell me you didn't share a bed with her often enough, and probably
dozens of other women besides!'
'Are you jealous?' he asked swiftly, and a gleam lit his eyes for an instant.
Frances swept past him, her eyes derisive. 'Why on earth should I be
jealous, Harry ?' She went off to the kitchen, able to hear Harry's voluble
curses quite clearly as he strode off to the stables to get out the car. Frances
winced as she heard him gunning the engine of the Range Rover away down
the drive, and washed up at top speed so she could take refuge in the attic,
away from the keen eyes of Mrs Bates.
She dashed angry tears from her eyes as she climbed dispiritedly up the
stairs to an attic a great deal less chaotic now than it had been when she
started. Mason, the gardener, had put up some shelves for her, and ledgers
and files were arranged now in orderly rows. A great many documents were
already stored in acid-free ventilated boxes in the regulated temperature of
the new muniment room, which was better suited to them than the extremes
of the attic. In the beginning Frances's task had seemed Herculean to her on
some days, but now, after working doggedly for the entire time since the
wedding, she felt she could see light at the end of the tunnel.
Today, however, it was almost impossible to concentrate on the inventory
she was typing. The scene at the breakfast table had upset Frances badly.
Not that it was the first, by any means ever since their wedding night
Harry seemed unable to leave the subject alone. She gave up even trying to
work after a while and put her head down on her arms arid indulged in a few
tears, as she thought of the other problem troubling her, in addition to
Harry's hostility. Lately she was troubled by vivid dreams of Hal and
Arabella, who seemed inextricably confused with Harry and herself in their
unhappiness, and several times in the past month had woken up, shivering
and terrified in the middle of the night, to find herself in some other part of
the house, most often in the muniment room, that one-time resting place for
the coffins of the dead.
Frances sat up straight, making a resolution to forget Arabella and Hal
Curthoys, consign them to the past where they belonged, and concentrate
her energies on putting the present to rights instead. Perhaps then the
sleep-walking would stop. The door opened a little later to admit Bates, who
came into the hot, airless attic carrying a tray with an insulated jug and a
plate of Mrs Bates's freshly baked walnut biscuits.
'Good morning, Miss Frances. My wife thought you might prefer a cold
drink to coffee, since it's so hot today. She's made you some fresh
lemonade.'
'Lovely,' sighed Frances. 'Tell her I shan't want too much for lunch,
though it's too warm.'
Bates looked non-committal. 'I believe she mentioned something about a
seafood salad, Miss Frances. And Mr Harry rang with a message for you. It
seems he forgot to remind you at breakfast that he's dining with his uncle Mr
Dangerfield in Oxford this evening and is likely to be late.'
Frances found she was rather relieved that Harry would be out for the
evening, and when she had finished her stint in the attic took a long,
leisurely bath with a novel, not even bothering to dress afterwards. Cool and
comfortable in a thin white lawn nightdress and dressing-gown, she curled
up in her usual chair in the morning-room later on to watch a programme
about a Saxon burial ground while she nibbled at a cheese sandwich and
drank more lemonade. When there was no sign of Harry by ten she took a
stroll in the twilight before going to bed. It was still quite warm and she went
as she was, not bothering to put on a coat since her only company was the
quarter-moon which hung in the violet sky. It seemed to mock her solitary
state, and Frances gave it a withering look as she wandered aimlessly past
Mason's lovingly tended flowerbeds and bent to count the stars reflected in
the still waters of the moat.
The air was heavy with the scent of newly cut grass and made her oddly
restless, reluctant to return to the house, and she ventured further, away from
the gardens and on into the park, deliberately following the path to the
church. As it came into view Frances halted, frowning a she peered along
the line of yews leading to the door, which was open. A light burned inside
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