The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(228)

‘I never am,’ said Fleur.

That girl had Jon to bend above her when she was green I Pretty? Yes. The browned face was very alive – rather like Francis Wilmot’s, but with those enticing eyes, much more eager. What was it about those eyes that made them so unusual and attractive? – surely the suspicion of a squint! She had a way of standing, too – a trick of the neck, the head was beautifully poised. Lovely clothes, of course! Fleur’s glance swept swiftly down to calves and ankles. Not thick, not crooked I No luck!

‘I think it’s just wonderful of you to let me come and help.’

‘Not a bit. Holly will put you wise.’

‘That sounds nice and homey.’

‘Oh ! We all use your expressions now. Will you take her provisioning, Holly?’

When the girl had gone, under Holly’s thing, Fleur bit her lip. By the uncomplicated glance of Jon’s wife she guessed that Jon had not told her. How awfully young! Fleur felt suddenly as if she herself had never had a youth. Ah! If Jon had not been caught away from her! Her bitten lip quivered, and she buried it in the mouthpiece of the telephone.

Whenever again – three or four times – before the canteen was closed, she saw the girl, she forced herself to be cordial. Instinctively she felt that she must shut no doors on life just now. What Jon’s reappearance meant to her she could not yet tell; but no one should put a finger this time in whatever pie she chose to make. She was mistress of her face and movements now, as she had never been when she and Jon were babes in the wood. With a warped pleasure she heard Holly’s: ‘Anne thinks you wonderful, Fleur!’ No! Jon had not told his wife about her. It was like him, for the secret had not been his alone! But how long would that girl be left in ignorance? On the day the canteen closed she said to Holly:

‘No one has told Jon’s wife that he and I were once in love, I suppose?’

Holly shook her head.

‘I’d rather they didn’t, then.’

‘Of course not, my dear. I’ll see to it. The child’s nice, I think.’

‘Nice,’ said Fleur, ‘but not important.’

‘You’ve got to allow for the utter strangeness of everything. Americans are generally important, sooner or later.’

‘To themselves,’ said Fleur, and saw Holly smile. Feeling that she had revealed a corner of her feelings, she smiled too.

‘Well, so long as they get on. They do, I suppose?’

‘My dear, I’ve hardly seen Jon, but I should say it’s perfectly successful. Now the strike’s over they’re coming down to us at Wansdon.’

‘Good! Well, this is the end of the old canteen. Let’s powder our noses and get out; Father’s waiting for me with the car. Can we drop you?’

‘No, thanks; I’ll walk.’

‘What? The old gêne? Funny how hard things die!’

‘Yes; when you’re a Forsyte,’ murmured Holly. ‘You see, we don’t show our feelings. It’s airing them that kills feelings.’

‘Ah!’ said Fleur. ‘Well, God bless you, as they say, and give Jon my love. I’d ask them to lunch, but you’re off to Wansdon?’

‘The day after to-morrow.’

In the little round mirror Fleur saw her face mask itself more thoroughly, and turned to the door.

‘I may look in at Aunt Winifred’s, if I’ve time. So long!’

Going down the stairs she thought: ‘So it’s air that kills feelings!’

Soames, in the car, was gazing at Riggs’s back. The fellow was as lean as a rail.

‘Finished with that?’ he said to her.

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Good job, too. Wearing yourself to a shadow.’

‘Why? Do I look thin, Dad?’

‘No,’ said Soames, ‘no. That’s your mother. But you can’t keep on at that rate. Would you like some air? Into the Park, Riggs.’

Passing into that haven, he murmured:

‘I remember when your grandmother drove here every day, regular as clockwork. People had habits then. Shall we stop and have a look at that Memorial affair they made such a fuss about?’

‘I’ve seen it, Dad.’

‘So have I,’ said Soames. ‘Stunt sculpture! Now, that St Gaudens statue at Washington was something.’ And he looked at her sidelong. Thank goodness she didn’t know of the way he had fended her off from young Jon Forsyte over there. She must have heard by now that the fellow was in London, and staying at her aunt’s, too! And now the strike was off, and normal railway services beginning again, he would be at a loose end! But perhaps he would go back to Paris; his mother was there still, he understood. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask. Instinct however, potent only in his dealings with Fleur, stopped him. If she had seen the young man, she wouldn’t tell him of it. She was looking somehow secret – or was that just imagination?