“No, I suppose not.
I'm sorry if it was wrong to ask.
I just wanted to know how I am with him.”
She still stood between the door and the table looking lost, in her bright summer clothes.
“Perhaps I can say as much as this to guide you.
The heirs presumptive to Hetton are now his cousins, the Richard Lasts at Princes Risborough.
I think that your knowledge of Mr. Last's character and opinions will tell you that he would always wish his fortune to go with the estate, in order that it may be preserved in what he holds to be its right condition.”
“Yes,” said Brenda,
“I ought to have thought of that.
Well, goodbye.”
And she went out alone into the sunshine.
All that day Tony lay alone, fitfully oblivious of the passage of time.
He slept a little; once or twice he left his hammock and found himself weak and dizzy.
He tried to eat some of the food which Dr. Messinger had left out for him, but without success.
It was not until it grew dark that he realized the day was over.
He lit the lantern and began to collect wood for the fire, but the sticks kept slipping from his fingers and each time that he stooped he felt giddy, so that after a few fretful efforts he left them where they had fallen and returned to his hammock.
And lying there, wrapped in his blanket, he began to cry.
After some hours of darkness the lamp began to burn low; he leant painfully over, and shook it.
It needed refilling.
He knew where the oil was kept, crept to it, supporting himself first on the hammock rope and then on a pile of boxes.
He found the keg, pulled out the bung and began to refill the lamp, but his hand trembled and the oil spilled over the ground, then his head began to swim again so that he shut his eyes; the keg rolled over on its side and emptied itself with slow gurglings.
When he realized what had happened he began to cry again.
He lay down in his hammock and in a few minutes the light sank, flickered and went out.
There was a reek of kerosene on his hands and on the sodden earth.
He lay awake in the darkness crying.
Just before dawn the fever returned and a constant company of phantoms perplexed his senses.
Brenda awoke in the lowest possible spirits.
The evening before she had spent alone at a cinema.
Afterwards she felt hungry — she had had no proper meal that day — but she had not the strength to go alone into any of the supper restaurants.
She bought a meat pie at a coffee stall and took it home.
It looked delicious but, when she came to eat she found that she had lost her appetite.
The remains of that pie lay on the dressing table when she awoke.
It was August and she was entirely alone.
Beaver was that day landing in New York. (He had cabled her from mid-ocean that the crossing was excellent.) It was for her the last of Beaver.
Parliament was over and Jock Grant-Menzies was paying his annual visit to his elder brother in Scotland; Marjorie and Allan at the last moment had made Lord Monomark's yacht and were drifting luxuriously down the coast of Spain attending bull-fights (they had even asked her to look after Djinn).
Her mother was at the chalet Lady Anchorage always lent her on the lake of Geneva.
Polly was everywhere.
Even Jenny Abdul Akbar was cruising in the Baltic.
Brenda opened her newspaper and read an article by a young man who said that the London Season was a thing of the past; that everyone was too busy in those days to keep up the pre-war routine; that there were no more formal dances but a constant round of more modest entertaining; that August in London was the gayest time of all (he rewrote this annually in slightly different words).
It did not console Brenda to read that article.
For weeks past she had attempted to keep a fair mind towards Tony and his treatment of her; now at last she broke down and turning over buried her face in the pillow, in an agony of resentment and self-pity.
In Brazil she wore a ragged cotton gown of the same pattern as Rosa's.
It was not unbecoming.
Tony watched her for some time before he spoke.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“Don't you like it?
I got it from Polly.”
“It looks so dirty.”
“Well, Polly travels about a lot.
You must get up now to go to the County Council Meeting.”