‘And you’ll leave the house to me? I’ll make it just too lovely!’
‘That’s a bargain.’
‘Kiss me, then.’
With her lips parted and her eyes looking into his, with just that suspicion of a squint which made them so enticing, Jon thought: ‘It’s quite simple. The other thing’s absurd. Why, of course!’ He kissed her forehead and lips, but, even while he did so, he seemed to see Fleur trembling up at him, and to hear her words: ‘Au revoir! It was a jolly accident!’
‘Let’s go and have a look at Rondavel,’ he said.
In his box, when those two went in, the grey colt stood by the far wall, idly contemplating a carrot in the hand of Greenwater.
‘Clean off!’ said the latter over his shoulder: ‘It’s good-bye to Goodwood! The colt’s sick.’
What had Fleur said: ‘Au revoir at Goodwood, if not before!’
‘Perhaps it’s just a megrim, Greenwater,’ said Anne.
‘No, ma’am; the horse has got a temperature. Well, we’ll win the Middle Park Plate with him yet.’
Jon passed his hand over the colt’s quarter: ‘Poor old son! Funny! You can tell he’s not fit by the feel of his coat!’
‘You can that,’ said Greenwater: ‘But where’s he got it from? There isn’t a sick horse that I know of anywhere about. If there’s anything in the world more perverse than horses –! We didn’t train him for Ascot, and he goes and wins. We meant him for Goodwood, and he’s gone amiss. Mr Dartie wants me to give him some South African stuff I never heard of.’
‘They have a lot of horse sickness out there,’ said Jon. ‘See,’ said the trainer, stretching his hand up to the colt’s ears; ‘no kick in him at all! Looks like blackberry sickness out of season. I’d give a good deal to know how he picked it up.’
The two young people left him standing by the colt’s dejected head, his dark, hawk-like face thrust forward, as if trying to read the sensations within his favourite.
That night, Jon went up, bemused by Val’s opinions on Communism, the Labour Party, the qualities inherent in the offspring of ‘Sleeping Dove’, with a dissertation on horse-sickness in South Africa. He entered a dim bedroom. A white figure was standing at the window. It turned when he came near and flung its arms round him.
‘Jon, you mustn’t stop loving me.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because men do. Besides, it’s not the fashion to be faithful.’
‘Bosh!’ said Jon gently; ‘it’s just as much the fashion as it ever was.’
‘I’m glad we shan’t be going to Goodwood. I’m afraid of her. She’s so clever.’
‘Fleur?’
‘You were in love with her, Jon; I feel it in my bones. I wish you’d told me.’
Jon leaned beside her in the window.
‘Why?’ he said dully.
She did not answer. They stood side by side in the breathless warmth, moths passed their faces, a night-jar churred in the silence, and now and then, from the stables, came the stamp of a sleepless horse. Suddenly Anne stretched out her hand.
‘Over there – somewhere – she’s awake, and wanting you. I’m not happy, Jon.’
‘Don’t be morbid, darling!’
‘But I’m not happy, Jon.’
Like a great child – slim within his arm, her cheek pressed to his, her dark earlock tickling his neck! And suddenly her lips came round to his, vehement
‘Love me!’
But when she was asleep, Jon lay wakeful. Moonlight had crept in and there was a ghost in the room – a ghost is a Goya dress, twirling, holding out its skirts, beckoning with its eyes, and with its lips seeming to whisper: ‘Me, too! Me, too!’
And, raising himself on his elbow, he looked resolutely at the dark bead beside him. No I There was – there should be nothing but that in the room! Reality – reality!
Chapter Ten
THAT THING AND THIS THING
ON the following Monday at breakfast Val said to Holly:
‘Listen to this!
DEAR DARTIE, –
I think I can do you a good turn. I have some information that concerns your ‘Sleeping Dove’ colt and your stable generally, worth a great deal more than the fifty pounds which I hope you may feel inclined to pay for it. Are you coming up to town this week-end? If so, can I see you at the Brummell? Or I could come to Green Street if you prefer it. It’s really rather vital.
Sincerely yours,
AUBREY STAINFORD
‘That fellow again!’
‘Pay no attention, Val.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Val glumly. ‘Some gang or other are taking altogether too much interest in the colt. Greenwater’s very uneasy. I’d better get to the bottom of it, if I can.’