“Pat?”
There was something in the tone, in the way he answered, that made her realise immediately that he was not alone in the room. And the realisation filled her with embarrassment, that she had disturbed them, and with intense, searing jealousy.
Horrified, she moved away from Bruce’s door and ran over the hall to her own room, slamming the door behind her. She thought she heard Bruce’s door open, but she was not sure, and she wanted to shut out all sound from that quarter. She threw herself down on the bed, her hands over her eyes.
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She lay there for over half an hour, doing nothing, her eyes closed. She felt as if she was paralysed by misery, and that even the effort of lifting the telephone and keying in her parents’
number would be too much. But somehow she managed that, and heard her father answer at the other end.
“Are you all right?”
She took a moment to answer; then, “Yes. I’m all right. I suppose.”
“You don’t sound very convinced.”
She made an effort to sound more cheerful. “I’ve lost something at work – something that was entrusted to me.”
“Tell him,” said her father simply. He had the ability to diagnose problems even before they were explained. “Tell your boss about it. Own up.”
“I was going to do that,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
Her father paused before answering. “There is nothing – and I mean nothing – that doesn’t look less serious if confessed, or shared. Try it. Tell your boss tomorrow what has happened.
Tell the truth, and you’ll see how the world carries on. Just try it.”
She spoke to her father for a few minutes longer before ringing off. She felt slightly better just for having spoken to him, and now she got off the bed and walked towards the door. She did not want to go out of her room but she would have to cross the hall to get to the bathroom. She could not bear the thought of seeing Bruce – not just now – but she thought that he would be unlikely to come out.
She crossed the hall to the bathroom. The light still showed under Bruce’s door –
Inside the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror and brushed her teeth. Then she washed her face, splashing it with cold water afterwards.
“Hallo.”
She spun round. A tall young woman, with streaky blonde 208
hair, was standing in the door. She was wearing Bruce’s dressing gown and her hair was dishevelled.
Pat stared at the young woman.
“What do you want?” she asked. She did not intend to sound as brutally rude, but that was how the question emerged.
The other girl was taken aback, but recovered quickly.
“Nothing,” she said. “At least, nothing from you.”
She turned on her heel and disappeared and Pat stared into the mirror. At least she had seen her face, and this would enable her to answer the question which every jealous person wishes to have answered.
And the answer in this case, she thought, was yes. And there was something else – another respect in which she was outclassed; another respect in which she could not compete. She could never wear a man’s dressing gown like that, with such complete shamelessness.
There was every temptation to put off the moment when she would confess to Matthew that the Peploe? was no longer in her possession, but Pat resisted this firmly and successfully. When Matthew came into the gallery the following morning – twenty minutes after Pat had arrived – he barely had time to hang up his coat before she made her confession.
Matthew listened carefully. He did not interrupt her, nor did his expression reveal any emotion. When Pat had finished, she looked down at the ground, almost afraid to look back up at him, but then she did and she saw that the anger she had expected simply was not there.
“It’s not your fault,” Matthew said evenly. “You couldn’t have imagined that he would do such an inconsiderate thing.” He paused, and shook his head in puzzlement. “Why on earth did
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he assume that the painting belonged to nobody? Somebody had to have put it there.”
“He assumes a lot,” said Pat. “He’s a little on the arrogant side.” As she spoke, she wondered where Bruce would be now, and what he would be doing. She had never wondered that before, but now she did.
“I think I’ve met him,” said Matthew. “He goes to the Cumberland, doesn’t he? Tall, with hair like this . . .”
