‘Really, Miriam!’ protested Hubert. ‘How can you decide a thing like that? Fenella knows her own business best.’
‘I didn’t decide it. It’s self-evident, isn’t it, Fenella?’ said Miriam. ‘I’m an old maid and a happy one, and I’ve seen too many of my friends’ marriages go astray to be content to let this one go on without a word of protest. Mind you, Hubert, I wouldn’t have taken it upon myself to interfere and I was quite prepared to see it through if Fenella wanted it that way, but I consider that Talbot’s conduct lets Fenella out, if she’s looking for a way of escape, and I think she is.’
‘Well,’ said Fenella, still flushed and feeling, at this forthright setting out of what she recognised as her real feelings, much inclined to weep, ‘I must say that if Talbot thinks a business deal more important than the date of his wedding, I don’t think he’ll make a very considerate husband. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go and unpack. Has a new date been suggested? I mean, people will want to know….’
‘No,’ said Miriam, almost violently. ‘I have written and told people that Talbot is indisposed – a useful word which commits me to nothing – and that the wedding is postponed sine die.’ She looked anxiously at Fenella, who rose from her chair and went hurriedly out of the room.
‘You know, Miriam,’ said Hubert mildly, ‘sometimes I really think you take too much on yourself.’
‘I take more on myself than you know about,’ said Miriam. ‘I have never had a high opinion of Talbot. He is selfish and conceited. I knew that, if he went running off to Europe like this, the marriage would never take place. I took it upon myself to tell him so. Besides, if you ask me, Fenella has met somebody else.’
‘Really, my dear Miriam! How on earth do you deduce that?’
‘Oh, I know Fenella pretty well,’ said his sister complacently. ‘I just hope it isn’t the landlord of that pub where she stayed last night, because he seems to be married already, but I don’t think that’s who it is. It is likelier to be somebody she has met in London. She is loyal enough and foolish enough to believe that she was in honour bound to Talbot, but this jaunt of his will have given her second thoughts, as she indicated just now. I think she will stay with us until Talbot returns next week, and then she will give him a piece of her mind and hand back the engagement ring. You see if she doesn’t!’
‘Well, really!’ said Hubert, helplessly.
Talbot’s letter was beside Fenella’s plate when she came down to breakfast on the following morning. She recognised the writing on the envelope, as she could scarcely fail to do, and tucked the letter unopened into her handbag, preferring to read it in the privacy of her room.
‘Dear Fenella,’ it ran, ‘you are probably a bit sore with me for going off like this and dishing our wedding date, but your cousins seemed prepared to put off the honoured guests for a week or so, and I know you are only inviting one or two of your London friends. Believe me, dear, this deal was too important for me to pass up on it, and the firm were particularly keen that one of the partners should go, and it was decided that I was the best man for the job, which, of course, is a tremendous compliment. Everything is going beautifully smoothly, so I should think we need only postpone the wedding for about a fortnight. The best man is acting as my second in command at the office while I’m away, so he’ll still be available, and so will the bridesmaids, as they are my sisters, so it will be all the same in the long run, and your cousin says he is willing to give you away at any time which suits you. Not to fret, dear, at the short postponement. See you soon. Love, Talbot.’
Fenella tore the letter into very small pieces. Then she took out a writing pad and replied:
‘Dear Talbot, please don’t bother about marrying me. I should hate to come at any time between you and your business interests. I don’t love you and never have. Why don’t you team up with a computer and have a jumbo jet as best man? Regards, (as I must find some way of ending this note), Fenella.’
She did not trouble to read through what she had written, but thrust the letter into an envelope, took it down to Miriam, who was in the garden cutting flowers for the house, and said,
‘I’ve torn up Talbot’s letter and now I don’t know where to address this one.’
‘Oh, I’ve got the address in my bureau somewhere,’ said Miriam. ‘Don’t forget you’ll need extra stamps for abroad. You’d better let Salmon take it down to the village and send it at air-mail rates. Thank goodness this has happened. Your breakdown in the car may be the best thing that ever came about for you.’
‘Well, yes, I think it was,’ said Fenella soberly. ‘I’ve had time to think things over, and the letter has clinched matters. I’m never going to marry him, Miriam.’
‘Thank goodness for that. Here, hold these, will you, while I snip a few more. I like flowers about the place.’
Fenella took the flowers and when she and Miriam had carried them into the house and arranged them in vases, she said,
‘I think I’ll drive into Douston myself and post my letter. Can I shop for you while I’m there?’
‘Why don’t you write the rest of your letters while you’re about it? – the putting-off ones, I mean. Then they will be done and done with, and we can all settle down and enjoy your stay. I’ll tell you what, Fenella! Why don’t you add a bit to the letter you’ll
