through, don’t you? And anyway, most of it’s bravado. I know what you’re thinking,’ she added as Gerry opened her mouth to speak. ‘You’re about to tell me that I shouldn’t be putting Lydia’s happiness before my own, that she wouldn’t be as hesitant if it were the other way round—but it could never be happiness if that’s what I had to do to get it. There’d be no peace—and peace
‘It sounds to me like you’ve made your decision already. Why are you so angry with her, though?’
‘Is it really that obvious?’ Josephine asked, surprised.
‘Oh yes. You’re livid, darling. Is that because you’ve found someone
‘People want too much, then they take offence because I can’t give it,’ Josephine said, knowing how selfish and condescending it sounded. ‘Give them dinner and they expect a lifetime.’
‘It’s human nature to be disappointed, though. If two people collide who want the same thing, it’s nothing short of a miracle. And spending as much time with Lydia and her friends as you do—it was only a matter of time before one of them made a play for you. It’s unfortunate that it happens to be Lydia’s girlfriend, but you shouldn’t mess with fire if you don’t want to get burnt.’ She paused for a moment to light a cigarette. ‘Are you sure you’re quite as blase about what people think of you? You wouldn’t be the first person to turn love down because of what it might do to your reputation.’
‘Being with another woman, you mean?’
She nodded. ‘It’s not as easy as it used to be, although money and an artistic nature help.’
Josephine smiled, but there was a serious side to the question which she had often thought about. ‘I have two lives, Gerry, and the less one knows about the other, the better I like it. You’re right, of course; back home, people already think I’m peculiar but there’s a limit to how far I’ll push my luck, if only for my family’s sake. I’d defy even you to walk down Inverness High Street with a woman on your arm, but what I do when I’m here is up to me.’
‘You lost someone in the war, didn’t you?’
‘At the Somme, yes, and as far as Inverness is concerned, it’s the only normal thing I’ve ever done. How did you know?’
‘Oh, people talk. You’re often discussed, you know—the celebrity amongst us, your fleeting visits and famous friends, the mysterious other life in Scotland and the handsome inspector from Scotland Yard. And now the exotic flowers at reception. The gossip in this place is simply shocking, but then what else do we have to do?’ Her words reminded Josephine of the letters that Archie had discussed with her; Gerry would certainly have the knowledge to write them, but not the spite, she thought, nor the patience to remain anonymous, and she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it arrived. ‘The war’s another good excuse not to commit, of course,’ Gerry added, ‘if not a particularly original one.’
‘You’re not the first person to tell me that, and I don’t suppose you’ll be the last.’
‘No, you’ll probably hear it from Marta on Friday night, depending on what decision you come to. We girls will clutch at any straw to convince ourselves that rejection isn’t our fault—trust me, I’ve had plenty of practice.’ She smiled, then said: ‘We’re very alike, you and I.’
‘In what way?’ Josephine asked. To her mind, she and Gerry could hardly have been more different: they were roughly the same age, but their backgrounds were worlds apart and, while she was reserved and constantly questioned herself, Gerry was bold and unselfconscious.
‘We have a freedom that many women would envy us for. We have money and we have independence—all right, so you’ve earned yours by being talented and I’ve fallen into mine because of who my parents are, but the end result is the same: we’re not subject to the same cares as other people, and we very rarely have to compromise. I’ll have to marry eventually, I suppose, if I want to inherit, but I can do what I like until then. You don’t even have that pressure on the horizon.’
‘I’m not entirely without ties, you know. I can’t just up and leave Inverness—there’s my father to think about, and a house to look after. I have responsibilities.’
‘Responsibilities, yes, but not duties—that’s the difference. And from what I’ve seen, you fulfil those responsibilities on your terms. It’s a lot to give up, whether Lydia’s in the picture or not. I’m not surprised you’re complacent in matters of the heart.’
‘Is that what I am?’ Josephine gave a wry smile, which Gerry returned in kind.
‘That’s the nicest way of putting it.’
‘You’re right, of course. It’s the marriage thing that scares me to death—the day-to-day with someone, the wretched domesticity of it all, the constant demands on each other.’ Gerry started to laugh at the horror in her voice, but Josephine had only just begun. ‘And the conversation—my God, the conversation. Can you imagine how exhausting it must be to find things to say for a lifetime? Or the effort it takes to be interesting every night at dinner? I don’t know that I want that, with a man or a woman. It doesn’t fit in with my life.’ Satisfied that she had made her point, she spoke more seriously. ‘I’ll never forget what someone said during the war when I was at Anstey—it’s a physical training college just outside Birmingham.’
‘Yes, I know of it,’ Gerry said quickly. ‘I didn’t realise you were there, though—not until the other night when I heard you talking to Bannerman. I didn’t know she was connected with it, either.’
‘It was a long time ago now, and she’s done such a lot in between—I don’t suppose it seems that important to her any more. But it was Celia Bannerman who said it, actually. She called us all together one day—Jack was already dead by then and nearly every girl was wearing mourning for a member of her family—and told us very gravely that only one in ten of us would marry. The rest would have to make their way in the world as best they could, because nearly all the men who might have married us had been killed. It should have been a terrible moment for all the girls in that room, but I remember looking round at them and wondering—was it just me who felt relieved?’
‘Relieved? Even though you’d lost someone you loved?’
‘Yes. Shameful, isn’t it? I didn’t dare admit it to anyone at the time, and it didn’t change the grief I felt for Jack’s loss or the anger at the injustice of it all, but it was definitely relief. Selfish, perhaps, but it suddenly felt like a life full of possibilities and free of obligation. And I suppose that’s always been the greatest achievement for me —earning the right not to do something I don’t want to do. Everybody’s continually telling me that I should be writing more plays, building on last year’s success—but the fact is that I don’t much feel like it at the moment and I don’t need to do it, so I choose not to. And there’s no one at home to convince me I’m wrong.’
‘I can’t decide if you’re a traitor to your sex or a role model for us all. Most women complain that marriage
Josephine laughed. ‘It’s funny you should say that. Marta once told me that a woman’s entitled to both these days—work and love. I’m not particularly diligent with either. I’m sure I’d be a terrible disappointment if she really got to know me.’
‘I doubt that,’ Geraldine said, seeing straight through the lightness of the comment, ‘but it’s natural to be terrified of failure.’ Josephine felt herself redden. ‘Being adored, as you put it, creates a lot to live up to. That brings me back to my original point, though. Money makes you lazy, and independence makes you lonely.’
‘You? Lonely?’ she said, skilfully deflecting the attention from herself. ‘From what I hear, you can turn even a charity dress fitting into an opportunity for seduction.’
‘You’re not fooled by all that bravado, surely? I have to drink to keep that up.’ Once again, Josephine was struck by how quickly Gerry’s moods changed. ‘Someone once told me I was too rich to care, you know,’ she admitted. ‘I argued at the time, but I’m not so sure that I haven’t proved her right over the years.’
Josephine stirred more sugar into a cold cup of coffee, sensing that she wasn’t the only one who needed to talk. ‘Someone who mattered?’
‘Oh yes, she mattered. At eighteen, people matter very much, don’t they?’
‘You were thinking about her the other night in the bar.’
‘I think about her a lot when I’m here. She wanted to be a nurse like her mother.’
‘Who was she?’ Josephine asked, wondering if the past tense which they had both slipped into was down to a broken love affair or to something more tragic.
‘She’s the reason I’ve been wanting to get you on your own since Thursday evening.’ The offer of a drink then had been casually expressed, as Josephine recalled, but perhaps she had been too preoccupied with her work and