'Perhaps you are right. Bridge, then. I am sure he will feel that bridge is rather worthless and then he can have a nice glow of contempt for us.'
They made up -two tables. Henrietta played with Gerda against John and Edward.
It was not her idea of the best grouping. She had wanted to segregate Gerda from Lucy and if possible from John also-but John had shown determination. And Edward had then forestalled Midge.
The atmosphere was not, Henrietta thought, quite comfortable, but she did not quite know from whence the discomfort arose. Anyway, if the cards gave them anything like a break, she intended that Gerda should win. Gerda was not really a bad bridge player-away from John she was quite average-but she was a nervous player with bad judgment and with no real knowledge of the value of her hand. John was a good, if slightly over-confident player. Edward was a very good player indeed.
The evening wore on and at Henrietta's table they were still playing the same rubber.
The scores rose above the line on either side.
A curious tensity had come into the play of which only one person was unaware.
To Gerda, this was just a rubber of bridge which she happened for once to be quite enjoying. She felt, indeed, a pleasurable excitement.
Difficult decisions had been unexpectedly eased by Henrietta's overcalling her own bids and playing the hand.
Those moments when John, unable to refrain from that critical attitude which did more to undermine Gerda's self-confidence than he could possibly have imagined, exclaimed, 'Why on earth did you lead that club, Gerda?' were countered almost immediately by Henrietta's swift, 'Nonsense, John, of course she had to lead the club! It was the only possible thing to do.' Finally, with a sigh, Henrietta drew the score towards her.
'Game and rubber, but I don't think we shall make much out of it, Gerda.'
John said, 'A lucky finesse,' in a cheerful voice.
Henrietta looked up sharply. She knew his tone. She met his eyes and her own dropped.
She got up and went to the mantelpiece and John followed her. He said conversationally, 'You don't always look deliberately into people's hands, do you?'
Henrietta said calmly, 'Perhaps I was a little obvious. How despicable it is to want to win at games!'
'You wanted Gerda to win the rubber, you mean. In your desire to give pleasure to people, you don't draw the line at cheating.'
'How horribly you put things! And you are always quite right.'
'Your wishes seemed to be shared by my partner.'
So he had noticed, thought Henrietta. She had wondered, herself, if she had been mistaken.
Edward was so skilful-there was nothing you could have taken hold of. A failure, once, to call the game. A lead that had been sound and obvious-but when a less obvious lead would have assured success.
It worried Henrietta… Edward, she knew, would never play his cards in order that she, Henrietta, might win. He was far too imbued with English sportsmanship for that. No, she thought, it was just any more success for John Christow that he was unable to endure…
She felt suddenly keyed up, alert. She didn't like this party of Lucy's.
And then dramatically, unexpectedly, with the unreality of a stage entrance, Veronica Cray came through the window!
The French windows had been pushed to, not closed, for the evening was warm. Veronica pushed them wide, came through them and stood there framed against the night, smiling, a little rueful, wholly charming, waiting just that infinitesimal moment before speaking so that she might be sure of her audience.
'You must forgive me-bursting in upon you this way, I'm your neighbour. Lady Angkatell-from that ridiculous cottage Dovecotes-and the most frightful catastrophe has occurred!'
Her smile broadened-became more humorous.
'Not a match! Not a single match in the house! And Saturday evening. So stupid of me. But what could I do? I came along here to beg help from my only neighbour within miles.'
Nobody spoke for a moment, for Veronica had rather that effect. She was lovely-not quietly lovely, not even dazzlingly lovely-but so efficiently lovely that it made you gasp! The waves of pale shimmering hair, the curving mouth-the platinum foxes that swathed her shoulders and the long sweep of white velvet underneath them…
She was looking from one to the other of them, humorous, charming!
'And I smoke,' she said, 'like a chimney! And my lighter won't work! And besides, there's breakfast-gas stoves-' She thrust out her hands. 'I do feel such a complete fool.'
Lucy came forward, gracious, faintly amused.
'Why, of course-' she began, but Veronica Cray interrupted.
She was looking at John Christow. An expression of utter amazement, of incredulous delight, was spreading over her face.
She took a step towards him, hands outstretched.
'Why, surely-John! It's John Christow! Now isn't that too extraordinary? I haven't seen you for years and years and years! And suddenly-to find you here!'
She had his hands in hers by now. She was all warmth and simple eagerness. She half turned her head to Lady Angkatell.
'This is just the most wonderful surprise. John's an old, old friend of mine. Why, John's the first man I ever loved! I was crazy about you,John.'
She was half laughing now-a woman moved by the ridiculous remembrance of young love.
'I always thought John was just wonderful!'
Sir Henry, courteous and polished, had moved forward to her.
She must have a drink. He manoeuvred glasses. Lady Angkatell said:
'Midge dear, ring the bell.'
When Gudgeon came, Lucy said:
'A box of matches. Gudgeon-at least has cook got plenty?'
'A new dozen came in today, m'lady.'
'Then bring in half a dozen. Gudgeon.'
'Oh, no. Lady Angkatell-just one!'
Veronica protested, laughing, she had her drink now and was smiling round at everyone.
John Christow said:
'This is my wife, Veronica.'
'Oh, but how lovely to meet you.' Veronica beamed upon Gerda's air of bewilderment.
Gudgeon brought in the matches, stacked on a silver salver.
Lady Angkatell indicated Veronica Cray with a gesture and he brought the salver to her.
'Oh, dear Lady Angkatell, not all these!'
Lucy's gesture was negligently royal.
'It's so tiresome having only one of a thing. We can spare them quite easily.'
Sir Henry was saying pleasantly:
'And how do you like living at Dovecotes?'
'I adore it. It's wonderful here, near London, and yet one feels so beautifully isolated.'
Veronica put down her glass. She drew the platinum foxes a little closer round her.
She smiled on them all.
'Thank you so much! You've been so kind-' the words floated between Sir Henry and Lady Angkatell, and for some reason, Edward. 'I shall now carry home the spoils, John,' she gave him an artless, friendly smile, 'you must see me safely back, because I want dreadfully to hear all you've been doing in the years and years since I've seen you. It makes me feel, of course, dreadfully old.. '
She moved to the window and John Christow followed her. She flung a last brilliant smile at them all.
'I'm so dreadfully sorry to have bothered you in this stupid way… Thank you so much, Lady Angkatell.'
She went out with John. Sir Henry stood by the window looking after them.
'Quite a fine warm night,' he said.
Lady Angkatell yawned.
'Oh, dear,' she murmured, 'we must go to bed. Henry, we must go and see one of her pictures. I'm sure, from
