Air Ticket (11 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A
good many weeks later
in the middle of November, Caro once more found herself in the tiny kitchen of her London flat. Mrs. Moses had just departed, after giving the house what she called a “good going through,” there was a savory lunch in the oven, and Caro was arranging a bowl of out-of-season violets.

As she stood in front of the draining board and looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, she felt a little shock of surprise. It was the same face, but if anything it appeared much younger, and any lines that had been there before had now vanished altogether,

She carried the violets into the lounge and then looked around her a little sadly. For soon now the flat would no longer be hers; it would have definitely passed into the possession of David and Beverley, and Caro was there to remove her most personal things. She was bequeathing all the furnishings to Beverley, but Mrs. Moses had been helping her sort out the books she wanted to take away with her, her portfolios of sketches, artists’ materials and so forth, and they were already stacked neatly on the couch. She picked up a tiny miniature of Beverley, dusted it and looked at it very lovingly before she added it to the pile, and then noticed that it was almost one o’clock. And Lucien had promised to be back by one!

She flew to the window, with her heart knocking uneasily
, to
watch for him. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, and she felt something inside her lurch sickeningly. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed one o’clock, and she turned a little pale. And then the front doorbell shrilled determinedly and she flew to open it, her relief so great that she was quite speechless when she finally had the door open.

She stood there in her blue housecoat, looking at Lucien with such wild relief in her eyes that he felt positively alarmed.

“Good heavens,” he exclaimed. “What’s happened? Has the place been burgled in my absence?”

No. Of course not.” She clung to his arm. “
I
couldn’t think what had happened to you, and I was getting so anxious.”

His eyes laughed down at her for a moment, and he was about to ask her how he could be more punctual than he had been when tenderness replaced the laugh, and he took her in his arms and held her tightly for several seconds.

He bent and kissed her upturned lips. “Something smells good,” he said. “Have you been indulging your passion for cooking?”

“Yes. The only grievance I have with my life nowadays is that I never really have an opportunity to cook when we’re at home. Frau Bauer wouldn’t understand it if I asked her to let me cook the dinner sometimes.”

“
One of these days we’ll have a chalet in the mountains, and we’ll go to it for weekends without Frau Bauer or anyone else, and then you’ll be able to cook away to your heart’s content.”

He sat on the edge of the kitchen table and watched her as she began investigations into the contents of the oven.

“
I
must say,” he confessed, “I’ve enjoyed this weekend in your flat.” He looked at her gravely as she moved back to him. “Caro, you won’t mind going back to the old routine, will you? Because it won’t really be the old routine!” He took her in his arms again and kissed the tip of her nose. “You may not see so much of me as you have done—” as she lay in his arms she thought of long sun-filled days and warm Bahamian nights, wonderful days and nights that she would never forget “—but you’ll know that it’s only because I’m unavoidably preoccupied, and not because I don’t want to spend every moment of my life with you. So you won’t mind, will you, Caro?”

She put back her head and looked up at him. “Of course not,” she assured him softly.

“And if you’re lonely, sometimes—well, we’ll have to do something about that.”

“I don’t think you need worry about my being lonely,” she told him, becoming preoccupied with one of his waistcoat buttons.
“I’
ve decided to give up painting miniatures because I don’t want to go on wearing glasses, but there are other forms of painting I can take up. And before very long I shall probably have something else to occupy
me...”

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking down at her shrewdly.

She gave the waistcoat button a twist and addressed
it.

“Do you remember something you said once? That first weekend we were married, when we were up in the mountains?” The waistcoat button threatened to hang by a thread. “Something about Beverley and my first grandchild.”

Lucien laughed softly, kissing the top of her head. “Do you imagine that what you’re trying to tell me is news?” he asked. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted it, and then looked gravely into her eyes. “You really are an idiot, Caro—but a particularly dear idiot! I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this for the last fortnight, at least! And I’ve been waiting to remark that anyhow the grandchild will arrive first, and perhaps that’s just as well!”

Then he fastened his arms about her almost fiercely and kissed her in a fashion that took her breath away.