Who can they be?”
“One you must avoid; he bodes no good for you, he is steely hearted and rapacious.”
“I bet that's my Mr. Beaver, bless him.”
Downstairs Jock sat waiting in the small front room where Polly's guests usually assembled before luncheon.
It was five past six.
Soon Brenda pulled on her stocking, stepped into her shoe, and joined the ladies.
“Most enjoyable,” she pronounced.
“Why how odd you all look.”
“Jock Grant-Menzies wants to see you downstairs.”
“Jock?
How very extraordinary.
It isn't anything awful is it?”
“You better go and see him.”
Suddenly, Brenda became frightened by the strange air of the room and the unfamiliar expression in her friends' faces.
She ran downstairs to the room where Jock was waiting.
“What is it, Jock?
Tell me quickly, I'm scared.
It's nothing awful is it?”
“I'm afraid it is.
There's been a very serious accident.”
“John?”
“Yes.”
“Dead?”
He nodded.
She sat down on a hard little Empire chair against the wall, perfectly still with her hands folded in her lap, like a small well-brought-up child introduced into a room full of grown-ups.
She said,
“Tell me what happened?
Why do you know about it first?”
“I've been down at Hetton since the week-end.”
“Hetton?”
“Don't you remember?
John was going hunting today.”
She frowned, not at once taking in what he was saying.
“John … John Andrew … I … Oh thank God …” Then she burst into tears.
She wept helplessly, turning round in the chair and pressing her forehead against its gilt back.
Upstairs Mrs. Northcote had Souki de Foucauld-Esterhazy by the foot and was saying,
“There are four men dominating your fate.
One is loyal and tender but has not yet disclosed his love …”
In the silence of Hetton, the telephone rang near the housekeeper's room and was switched through to the library.
Tony answered it.
“This is Jock speaking.
I've just seen Brenda.
She's coming down by the seven o'clock train.”
“Is she terribly upset?”
“Yes, naturally.”
“Where is she now?”
“She's with me.
I'm speaking from Polly's.”
“Shall I talk to her?”
“Better not.”