The Hon. Joanna Southwood said:
‘Darling, I think it’s going to be all perfectly marvellous!’
She was sitting in Linnet Ridgeway’s bedroom at Wode Hall. From the window the eye passed over the gardens to open country with blue shadows of woodlands.
‘It ’s rather perfect, isn’t it?’ said Linnet.
She leaned her arms on the window sill. Her face was eager, alive, dynamic. Beside her, Joanna Southwood seemed, somehow, a little dim – a tall thin young woman of twenty-seven, with a long clever face and freakishly plucked eyebrows.
‘And you’ve done so much in the time! Did you have lots of architects and things?’
‘Three.’
‘What are architects like? I don’t think I’ve ever seen any.’
‘They were all right. I found them rather unpractical sometimes.’
‘Darling, you soon put that right! You are the most practical creature!’ Joanna picked up a string of pearls from the dressing table. ‘I suppose these are real, aren’t they, Linnet?’
‘Of course.’
‘I know it’s “of course” to you, my sweet, but it wouldn’t be to most people. Heavily cultured or even Woolworth! Darling, they really are incredible, so exquisitely matched. They must be worth the most fabulous sums!’
‘Rather vulgar, you think?’
‘No, not at all – just pure beauty. What are they worth?’
‘About fifty thousand.’
‘What a lovely lot of money! Aren’t you afraid of having them stolen?’
‘No, I always wear them – and anyway they’re insured.’
‘Let me wear them till dinnertime, will you, darling? It would give me such a thrill.’
Linnet laughed.
‘Of course, if you like.’
‘You know, Linnet, I really do envy you. You’ve simply got everything. Here you are at twenty, your own mistress, with any amount of money, looks, superb health. You’ve even got brains! When are you twenty-one?’
‘Next June. I shall have a grand coming-of-age party in London.’
‘And then are you going to marry Charles Windlesham? All the dreadful little gossip writers are getting so excited about it. And he really is frightfully devoted.’
Linnet shrugged her shoulders.
‘I don’t know. I don’t really want to marry anyone yet.’
‘Darling, how right you are! It’s never quite the same afterwards, is it?’
The telephone shrilled and Linnet went to it.
‘Yes? Yes?’
The butler’s voice answered her.
‘Miss de Bellefort is on the line. Shall I put her through?’
‘Bellefort? Oh, of course, yes, put her through.’
A click and a voice, an eager, soft, slightly breathless voice.
‘Hullo, is that Miss Ridgeway?
