Having taken this decision she began very quickly to dress. Better leave the house before anybody was about. She slipped downstairs, feeling like an escaping criminal, took the key of the garage from the hall table, climbed out of the schoolroom window into the cold, dark morning air, and by seven o’clock was well on the road to London in her little car. She would be in time to have breakfast with Paul before he left for his office. Poor darling, how he must hate working in such a place; it was wonderful to think of him doing it for her sake. Everything would be all right when she was with him, and she would be safe again. The idea of seeing him so soon filled her with nervous excitement.
Shortly after nine o’clock she drove up to the house in Ebury Street where Paul had rooms. Her heart beat in great thumps as she rang the front door bell. For an eternity there was no answer; at last, however, the door was opened by an elderly woman who held in one hand a bucket of soapy water. She looked at Philadelphia with hostility and said, in reply to her question, ‘Mr Fotheringay has not been called yet.’ Philadelphia hesitated. She felt cold and dazed after her long drive.
‘I must see him, though,’ she said at last. ‘It is very important. I am his sister. Please will you show me the way to his room?’
The woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mr Fotheringay is on the first floor, but he gave orders that he was not to be called. You must please yourself,’ she said, and falling to her knees she began scrubbing the linoleum on the floor.
Philadelphia went upstairs timidly. She knocked several times on the first door that she came to, and finally, receiving no answer, she turned the handle and walked in. The room was evidently a sitting-room, and at first sight seemed to be empty, although the electric light was burning. Suddenly, however, it was empty no more, for she realized with a start that Paul himself lay on the sofa, fully dressed.
In certain emergencies the human brain neglects to register such subsidiary emotions as that of surprise. To Philadelphia, overstrung, hysterical, and worn out by her long and fasting drive, it seemed quite natural that Paul should be lying on his sofa instead of in his bed, that he should still be wearing evening dress at nine o’clock in the morning, and that although he was fast asleep the electric light should be turned on, shining full in his face. A person of more experience might have been prepared for what followed; Philadelphia only felt an overpowering relief that she had found him again. Everything must be all right now, it seemed.
‘Paul,’ she said, leaning over him. ‘Darling. Wake up.’
No answer. No movement. No sound in the room but that of his thick, heavy and regular breathing. She touched him rather shyly on the arm. ‘Please wake up, Paul.’ She shook him gently. She shook him really hard. ‘Paul, don’t be so unkind to me. You must wake up. I’ve come so far to see you. Please, please, my darling.’
At last he half-opened his eyes, looked at her as though from a great distance, and said in a thick voice: ‘For God’s sake, leave me alone. I told them not to call me,’ after which he turned over deliberately and once more lay motionless.
‘Paul, you must speak to me,’ she cried, shaking now with angry sobs, and losing all self-control she began to hit him on the chest until he opened his eyes again. This time he seemed to recognize her. He took one of her hands in his and said with a great effort, ‘Go away, darling, I’m drunk.’ After that neither tears nor protestations could move him.
Philadelphia went slowly down the stairs. That was the end. She must get back to Michael, who would never treat her so. She felt sick and faint now, and was blinded by her tears. The woman who had let her in was scrubbing the front door steps. Philadelphia passed her quickly, aware of curious looks, got into her car and drove down the street until she thought she must be out of sight. Then, oblivious of passers-by, she stopped and cried until she could cry no more. After that she began to think of what she should do next. In spite of her unhappiness she realized that to drive home at once in her present condition would be impossible; she must have something to eat first, and a rest. Whom did she know in London? Her Aunt Loudie was in Switzerland, Sally was almost certainly still on the Riviera. Amabelle – she would be kind. She started up the engine of the car and, after getting lost several times, for she did not know her way about London, she found herself at last outside Amabelle’s house. She rang the front door bell; there was no answer. She rang again, and presently a red-faced footman appeared still struggling into his coat.
‘Can I see Mrs Fortescue, please?’
‘Mrs Fortescue has not been called yet.’
Philadelphia was trying to decide what she should say next when she found that the door had been rudely shut in her face. Such terrible things had happened to her already that this incident, which on any ordinary occasion would have caused her unspeakable mortification, seemed quite unimportant. She even sat in her car this time without bothering to move on while she considered what her next step should be. Sally was her last remaining hope, if she was back from the Riviera all would be well. She drove to
