Whilst through the temperate days of an English summer Anna fought an often losing battle to adjust to motherhood and to a marriage that she was coming to understand was going to be anything but easy at the best of times, in the cool of the South African winter the gulf between high-handed British and stubborn Boer widened inexorably. As the inevitable end drew near both sides prepared for it as best they could, then settled to wait – the one for reinforcements from home, the other for the fresh grass of spring that would feed the horses and oxen of their commandos. In the event, perhaps predictably, the grass grew before the reinforcements arrived. When Paul Kruger demanded that the British give up their claim to the Transvaal and issued an ultimatum that expired late in the afternoon of October 11th 1899, 47,000 men under the command of Sir Redvers Buller were still en route for South Africa. Within a month and before the desperately needed extra men had arrived, the towns of Ladysmith, Kimberley and Mafeking were under siege. In Britain war fever flickered, flared, then flamed through the country as it had not for a century in a wave of jingoistic excitement. Headlines screamed, bands played and young men queued to enlist. National pride was outraged; it simply was not possible that an army that had built and defended an empire could be held at bay – more, could be beaten into retreat – by a rabble of Bible-thumping Dutch farmers. The recruiting sergeants banged their drums and spoke to eager ears. The troopships sailed, bravely, amidst fluttering handkerchieves and the tears of women. Then reports began to filter back, blacker by the day and the tears for many were shed in earnest, no longer simply the sad tokens of parting but the bitter gall of final loss. Those that commanded the British Army were slow to learn that scarlet-coated, rigidly ranked discipline and courage were simple lunacy when pitted against a handful of crack shots and rough riders whose home and hunting ground that wide, wild country was. Columns marched to relieve the besieged towns, and one by one the marchers died, picked off like wooden soldiers in a fairground shooting gallery by marksmen who had learned to handle a rifle and a pony in the same year that they had learned to walk. In just such a way Subaltern James Rose died, marching to Kimberley where was imprisoned Cecil Rhodes, certainly the most important Englishman in South Africa and, so it was said, the richest Englishman in the world. James never saw the man who shot him, did not feel the mortal blow of the bullet that scattered his brains on the dusty soil. In this, at least, he was lucky; more than half of those who marched with him died harder under the African sun in the defeat that followed as officers too blinded by regulations to see that their enemies were fighting a different kind of war, led charge after desperate charge against a hail of viciously accurate bullets and an enemy who simply refused to stand still to be charged. Hundreds of men died that day, and for nothing; the lessons so painfully offered were not learned and the columns kept marching.
The news of his son’s death was a blow from which Josef was slow to recover, and one which further confirmed his growing conviction that those malicious fates from whom he had imagined he had escaped had found him once more. Despite his efforts, his hard work, his success and his repentance for sins past, the things and the people that he loved were not, after all, safe. Tanya, Grace and now young James – all dead. Alex, his eldest son, hardly a son at all now and scarcely recognizable as the boy he had been as he ruthlessly pursued his own life and ambitions separately from his family’s. And Anna – his pride, his special child – what of Anna? That she was not happy was clear to anyone who cared to look beneath the brittle veneer she always assumed in company. Since the baby he hardly saw her. She had done little or no design work, rarely came to the shop or the workshop, almost never visited the Bayswater house except at direct invitation. When she did come he was always taken aback by her appearance. A beauty she had never been, but always she had had her own slightly eccentric charm and never had her dress or toilette been less than meticulous; since the birth of little Victoria she had become lackadaisical, her hair scraped unbecomingly back, her clothes crumpled and sometimes stained. Each time he saw her it seemed to him that her eyes were reddened as if by recent tears. Yet she would not confide in him, as once she might have done, and though he grieved for her he could see no way to help. She and Joss must work things out between them.
Joss.
If anyone could be said to personify Josef’s worry and confusion it must be Joss. Entirely gone was the boy, bitter to be sure and always difficult yet eager in his own way to please, to care and to be cared for – and in his place a man that Josef, no matter how hard he tried, could not come to know. Some part of Joss was closed to him, and he did not know why, though sometimes in his darkest moments a terrible suspicion assailed him. How often, oh how often, as the years passed did the memory of those last long hours that Tanya and Joss had spent together before she had taken her life nag at his mind like a toothache that would not be soothed? What had she remembered? What had she told him? He could not bring himself to ask. Nothing, said his common sense stoutly – for surely no man could smile and be civil and keep such a secret? And yet through long nights the thought of Joss’s sister haunted him and he knew that atonement must still be made, somehow, by someone. He found himself plagued too by thoughts of the tainted stone upon which all their lives were based. More and more, as he tried to tell Anna on the night before her marriage, he had come almost superstitiously to see the diamond as the root cause of the trouble that seemed to dog him and those he loved; the cursed thing had been nothing but bad luck for anyone who had had anything to do with it. And now, as if to confirm that belief, he was beginning to suspect that the very business in which he had worked so hard and which was founded upon that unlucky stone was no longer as secure as it had been. Still grieving for the son cut down in South Africa, aware sometimes fearfully of growing ill-health, he found himself now for the first time in years uncertain of the financial status of the business. Joss guardedly assured him that the setbacks were temporary – the shortage of diamonds and of gold caused by the South African war, a slight change in fashion, to which Rose and Company had not been quick enough to adjust, the now not so propitious situation of the shop – times were changing, Rose’s now found themselves in a popular rather than prestigious premises; the rich and titled demanded to be wooed – new premises were called for. In Conduit Street perhaps, or New Bond Street – to Josef the idea of spending more money to improve their apparently failing profits was more than a little confusing, but he was getting old and for so long now he had trusted Joss to take care of the financial side of the business that to take his advice, especially since Grace’s death, had become second nature, to question it a departure from the norm. He hoped that Joss did not know of his own personal recent failures in the Stock Market; when the tide of fortune turned against a man it turned, it seemed, with a vengeance.
“Do we actually have the money for this new venture?” he asked his son-in-law one day in December, the last month of the nineteenth century. The day was dark and dreary, the news matched it. The names Magersfontein, Stormberg, Colenso were on every tongue, there were rumours of incompetence, of massive casualties, of defeat and humiliation.
“We’ll make a profit on the Piccadilly premises. The rest we’ll borrow.”
“Borrow?” Josef’s voice shook a little. The wearying breathlessness was upon him again.
“Of course. As you know our capital is rather tied up at the moment.”
“But, Joss—”
Joss looked up from the ledger he was studying. Waited with polite, barely veiled impatience. “Yes?”
Josef hesitated, his troublesome breath catching in his chest. Suddenly he was aware as never before of the younger man’s vitality, of the power and restlessness so severely penned in the slight frame. All at once Josef felt very tired. “Nothing. Of course, you know best. We’ll borrow.”
Christmas was a subdued affair that year. Alex, busy as it seemed he more often than not was with his other and in his eyes more prestigious family, did not manage to put in an appearance at all. Ralph, home from his seminary but wrapped up in his own religious observances of the season, was like a vague and gentle shadow in the house. Michael, home early from his first term at university and strangely subdued, spent much of his time uncharacteristically quiet in his room. Joss, Anna and the baby visited on Christmas day, but the laughing ghost of James was too evidently present for them all and the occasion was a mockery of those other, happy festivals when they had all been children and Grace had presided at the Christmas table.
After dinner Anna found herself sitting with her father before the dying fire in the parlour. Ralph had gone again to church. Victoria lay, mouth milky, fast asleep upon the couch next to her mother. At six months she was a pretty robust child, even-tempered and well-behaved.
“Where are Michael and Joss?”
Anna lifted her head from her silent contemplation of the flames. “Still in the dining room. Michael wanted to talk to Joss about something. It’s odd, I think, that they should get on as they do.”
“Why odd?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Joss doesn’t make friends easily. He has very few,” – that I know of anyway; she did not speak the thought. “And Michael’s so much younger.” She leaned back and added, tartly tired, “Perhaps it’s just that Joss knows that Michael thinks he’s first cousin to God Almighty. He’d appreciate that.”
Her father looked up sharply at her tone, but curbed his tongue and refrained from comment. “Anna?” he said, gently, after a short silence.
“Yes?”
“We haven’t seen much of you lately. Here. At the workshop. Tom was asking the other day – the design he spoke to you about – for the silver box for the Marquis – have you done it?”
Anna turned her head. “No. Not yet.”
“Tom’s waiting.”
“Yes. Yes, I know. But—” she sighed a little, helplessly “—I’m sorry, Papa, I just can’t seem to—” She stopped. In the lamplight he thought he saw the sudden gleam of tears.
“Anna! Anna, my pet, it’s nothing to cry for! I just promised Tom that I’d ask—” Josef was concerned.
She blinked rapidly, fussed with the sleeping child. “I’m not crying.” She was crying. Again. She hated it. Hated herself. “Anna?” His voice was quiet, questioning.
She glanced at him. She had noticed over dinner how ill he looked. Even in this flattering half-light his face had in it an unhealthy tinge of grey, the eye sockets shadowed. He was grieving still for James, she knew, as indeed were they all. How could she add to his burdens with her own silly worries? How could she even put into words the things she could not explain to herself; the depressions, the tears, the inability to cope with the smallest thing that seemed to have overwhelmed her since Victoria’s birth. A spoiled dinner, the baby crying, a broken bootlace – everything assumed the proportions of a disaster. No wonder Joss was hardly ever at home – if those odious rooms in Kew could be described as such. She remained silent. The baby beside her stirred, settled back into sleep again. Absently Anna adjusted the shawl that covered her. She and Josef sat for a long time unspeaking, with too much to be said and no way of saying it.
In the cab going home Joss said, with no preamble, “Michael’s been sent down from university.”
She looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
“He can’t go back. He’s been expelled.”
“Oh, no!” She waited. Joss said nothing. “Wh-what did he do?”
Joss shrugged. “An unsavoury business involving a girl. The dean’s daughter, I believe.”
“How bad?”
“Very bad. The girl procured an abortion and very nearly died.”
“God!”
“They’re hushing it up, of course. But – obviously – he can’t go back. And no one else will take him.”
Sudden anger stirred. “Of all the stupid, irresponsible, half-witted fools! What in God’s name is the matter with Michael? Is he never going to grow up? Doesn’t he ever think of anyone else but himself? Papa – What will this do to Papa? Has Michael even considered that? Hasn’t Papa enough to worry him without this?” She paused, then added firmly, “He’ll have to tell him. He can’t skulk in his room for the rest of his life.” It seemed all at once as if all the frustrations, all the self-contempt of the past months at her own weakness crystallized into a determination to face this, a real crisis, in a positive and constructive way. “It could kill him. Doesn’t Michael understand that?”
Joss turned his head from her to look out into the dark, gaslit streets. “It won’t kill him.”
So intent was she upon her own anger and concern she missed the oddly intense note in his voice. “It could! Oh, I could murder Michael myself!” She wriggled in her seat, the sleeping child clutched to her. “When is Michael going to tell him? Did he say?”
“I don’t know. Some time soon, he said. He keeps putting it off”
She sat suddenly bolt upright. “Well, he’s got a nasty shock coming. I’ll go and see him tomorrow. Both of them. I’ll make Michael tell Papa while I’m there. At least it might help a little.” For the first time in months she felt the stirring of real energy, of an interest outside her own four prisoning walls of a demanding child, depression and easy tears.
He said nothing. But loudly as if he had spoken she knew his thoughts. The old Anna might have done such a thing. But the new one? She pressed her lips tightly together. Enough was enough. She could not – must not – be content to let the world move on without her. Her father needed her.
The incident, unpleasant as it was, had a strangely efficacious effect upon Anna. That initial spurt of anger and energy carried her through the next couple of distressing days, and her presence did, as she hoped it might, help her father to face the fact of his youngest son’s disgrace so soon after the blow of James’s death. Michael she left in no doubt at all as to her opinion of his behaviour. He was, predictably, repentant and eager to make amends and accepted with a grateful humility that Anna suspected could not last long Joss’s suggestion that he start work with no time lost in the most menial of capacities in the offices of Rose and Company. The storm passed – but to Josef it was another calamitous stroke of bad fortune and one he found very hard to take.
For Anna, however, the web of listlessness and depression that had bound her for the past months had been at last torn away and determinedly she set about ensuring that it should not enmesh her again.
The new year that saw in also the new century was a troubled one for a country at war with the casualty lists inexplicably rising and as yet no good news to cheer the nation, yet still it was after all a once in a lifetime event, and there were many celebrations despite the gloomy war news. Anna’s resolution for the new year and for the new century was simple; she would get back to work, get back to life. She would find someone to help with the baby and she would – she must! – persuade Joss that now they were a family they needed a proper home. In this last she had in fact less difficulty than she had anticipated, for Joss, although still strangely loth to spend money, did not himself care for cramped living quarters when one of the occupants was a lively and noisy six-month-old. He was, however, adamant that they could afford nothing too big nor in a fashionable area. To Anna’s expressed surprise at their apparent lack of capital he replied shortly and to the point. Their financial affairs were his concern. He would make what decisions he felt necessary – and at this time, though he agreed that they needed a home, he refused to invest capital and buy one but agreed to rent a small house by the river not far from Kew Gardens, and with this for the time being Anna had to be content. At least it meant that the invaluable Mrs Lacey could remain with them and in addition she was able to employ a live-in maid to help with the baby and with the household chores. If she had hoped, however, that the move might encourage Joss to spend more time at home she was disappointed. Since the birth of the baby Joss had shown little or no interest in his wife – and Anna, to be strictly fair, accepted that in the circumstances the blame was not entirely his. She had let herself go. She had not bothered to buy new clothes, had become slipshod about her appearance. This too she became determined to change, and in this she was unexpectedly helped by a new acquaintance.
Elizabeth Brown was the needlewoman whose work Anna had so admired at Hermione Smithson’s house before her. When finally they became acquainted, during the month of February when the tide of the South African war was turning at last in Britain’s favour as first Kimberley and then Ladysmith were relieved, this admiration was augmented by a genuine liking for the girl. She was a lively young woman with an infectious laugh and Anna thought her one of the most striking-looking people she had ever encountered. Her mass of dark hair she left loose, flying from her head in a vivid halo that framed a pale face in which greenish eyes were set wide apart above a mouth too generously wide for beauty. Her neck, however, was long and elegant, her skin alabaster white and fine. It was perhaps a strange rather than pretty face, but her constant flashing smile and animated expression lent to it an illusion of beauty. Her clothes, too, were out of the ordinary; not for Elizabeth the imprisonment of stays and corsets and tight bombazine. She dressed with a gypsy-like freedom, her skirt bright and gaily swirling, blouse and shawl wonderfully embroidered in jewel colours. The effect was truly arresting, and fascinated Anna, who felt beside her like a sparrow beside a bird of paradise. They met by arrangement at Hermione Smithson’s house, and though Beth made no secret of her initial scepticism that anything could possibly come of it, she brought with her some samples of her work. Anna was enchanted all over again.
“Would you accept some commissions from me? If I drew what I wanted you to embroider?”
The girl nibbled her lip doubtfully. “We-ell—”
Anna whisked a stub of pencil from her small reticule, reached for an envelope that lay upon the table, “May I, Aunt Hermione?” Without waiting for reply she sketched swiftly upon the back. In a few flowing lines a winged insect appeared, wings poised as if for flight, “See – like that? Or—” the pencil moved again and a shadowed pattern of leaves and flowers with curled, fairy-like tendrils flowed about the letter ‘A’ “—like that?” She stopped, looking up into silence. The girl was staring at her. “Is something wrong?”
Beth, as many people had discovered to their cost, was a girl of instant decision. “No, Mrs Anatov. Nothing’s wrong. I’d be delighted to accept your commissions.” She grinned her sudden, infectious smile. “I was obviously wrong. I thought you’d want me to embroider ‘Mother’ wreathed with violets.” The significance of the remark did not at that moment strike Anna, absorbed as she was. “Wonderful! You must come to the house. Tomorrow. Could you come tomorrow?”
Beth Brown stood up, laughing. “Lordy, Mrs Anatov, give a girl a chance to catch her breath—”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so excited – so keen to start. I can see so many things we could do together. Marvellous things. And, please – call me Anna, won’t you?”
The other girl smiled. “I can’t manage tomorrow, I’m afraid – Anna – I do have a living to earn you know. The next day, though – would that do?”
“Perfect. I’ll have some ideas ready by then. And I’ll get together a few pieces so that you can see some of the work I’ve done.”
Anna could not remember being so excited or so stimulated for a very long time. In the cab going home, her fingers itched for a pencil. Light glittered on the river and in her mind’s eye she saw the glimmer of silver and the gleam of gold. When she reached Kew the house was empty but for Mrs Lacey, who sang amongst the clattering pots of the kitchen. Anna took off her hat and coat then, as she was turning from the full-length mirror stopped suddenly and turned back, her swiftly busy movements slowing. For the first time in months she really looked at her own reflection, studying herself from the crown of her unflatteringly scraped-back hair through her drab and conventional clothes to her scuffed, dull boots. For the first time the significance of Beth’s remark about the kind of work she had expected to be asked to do struck her. She stood still for a long time, studying the dowdy figure of the stranger in the mirror. Beside that image she saw Beth, stylishly flamboyant, striking. With sudden impatient movements she put her hands to her hair, pulling out the pins and shaking her head sharply. Her light brown hair tumbled into her eyes and down on to her shoulders. She fluffed it out, coiled it more softly and becomingly at the nape of her neck. She leaned to the mirror, pinched her pale cheeks hard and watched the flush of colour that brightened her eyes and shaped her face. Beside her stood a small table with its peacock-shaded fringed tablecloth almost touching the floor, upon which rested a small vase of flowers. On impulse she plucked a flower from the vase and tucked it into her hair, then, smiling at her own absurdity, pulled the tablecloth from the table and draped it dashingly about her shoulders. The effect was startling. The uninteresting figure in the mirror was all at once a gypsy. Anna lifted her chin, set her head at a haughty angle. Nothing would ever make her beautiful – but then Beth Brown was not beautiful in the true sense of the word. Suddenly she remembered a sunny room, the sound of the sea, two decorated boxes, a birthday dinner. What had Tanya – beautiful Tanya – said that day? “How lovely your eyes are. And how fine and straight your mouth.” She studied herself with narrowed, critical eyes. Her face was a good, interesting shape – she had her father’s high, Slavic cheekbones and her mother’s short well-shaped nose. If her colouring were a little nondescript, and her mouth a little thin? That same mouth set in a familiar determined line. She did not have to look plain. Dowdy. Dull. And facing herself now, fairly and squarely, she had to admit that these were the words that came quickest to mind. What had she been doing all these months? No wonder Joss had barely looked at her since Victoria’s birth.
Spring was coming. The dead earth, the bare, stark trees would soon be dressed for lovely summer. And so, she resolved, would she. Perhaps Beth would help her. She hoped so. For Beth obviously had a secret, and Anna, here and now, decided she would discover what it was.
Beth Brown’s secret, as it happened, was called Arabella Dawson. Anna met her a couple of months later in Beth’s slap-happily cluttered and overcrowded little room in Bloomsbury, from whose windows stretched an unbroken vista of roofs, chimneys and spires. By the time she actually met Arabella Anna was well used to this muddle of a room where there was never a clear square inch in which to sit that was not covered in material, patterns, clothes, embroidery silks or one of Beth’s stray cats. In those two months the girls had grown very fond of each other and Anna had discovered almost for the first time the joys of fast friendship with a member of her own sex. Their relationship was based in the first instance on mutual admiration for each other’s work. Anna had already recognized Beth’s mastery – Beth had been thunderstruck at Anna’s craftsmanship.
“But – Anna! You must exhibit with us! You can’t just sell this stuff! It’s marvellous! How come I’ve never heard of you?”
“Heard of me?” Anna laughed, self-consciously, “Why should you have heard of me?”
“Have you never thought of exhibiting?”
Anna shook her head.
“Well, we’ll soon change that. Our – that is the Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society’s – next shindig is in the summer. I’ll eat my hat, and yours too, if you aren’t in it.”
“But—” Anna stopped.
“But what?” The other girl looked sharply at her.
“I’m not sure if – well, my husband, my father – they might not think it right.”
Beth straightened, on her face a look of almost comic disbelief. “Are you joking?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then let’s have no more of that. You’re a grown woman and this is the twentieth century, not the tenth. We’ll do something together, perhaps. We’ve a few months before we have to submit it.”
“Submit it?” Anna’s voice was a little faint.
Beth giggled. “Do you know you’ve taken to repeating everything I say? Of course submit it. They don’t take just anything, you know. The Exhibition is the equivalent of—” she spread eloquent hands “—of being hung in the Royal Academy.”
“Have you been accepted before?”
Beth waved an airy hand. “Once or twice. Now – what about colours for the Unicorn Box? I thought silver thread at first, but I’m not sure now—”
Anna was instantly absorbed. “Oh, no. Too sharp, I think, with mother of pearl. I had more in mind an oyster colour—”
Both Joss and Josef showed real interest in the new designs Anna was producing together with Beth. The girl’s exquisitely embroidered miniatures in Anna’s settings made unusual and beautiful jewellery – brooches, lockets, bracelets, even finger and earrings. Her work was set into panels for boxes and other ornaments. She worked decorated monograms and name-brooches.
“Perhaps we should retain her?” Joss suggested soon after his first meeting with the dark-haired and eccentrically impressive Miss Brown.
Anna shook her head. “She wouldn’t. I’ve already asked. She won’t tie herself down to working for one person, no matter how much we offered her. She likes things the way they are.”
But if Beth’s free spirit could not be bought with money, her friendship was given freely and without stint. She it was who suggested one day when Anna shyly asked her advice about buying some new clothes that Anna might like to be introduced to Arabella Dawson. “If she wants to she’ll do wonders for you. Mind you if she doesn’t like you you’ll get nothing from her. You think I’m independent?” Beth rolled her eyes. “Friend Arabella is out on her own. She had a husband once. Just upped and walked out on him. Now she’s involved with the Suffragist movement – the Pankhursts and all, you know? She’ll lecture you till you’re blue.”
“What exactly does she do?”
Beth shrugged and grinned. “Exactly what she likes. But when she isn’t heckling politicians or holding meetings she is – mainly – a stage designer. She dresses a few people privately as well – I often make the clothes up – but mostly it’s stage stuff. Ballet, opera—”
“How fascinating!”
“It would be if she’d give herself half a chance!” Beth bit through a thread, grimaced. “She’s brilliant. But she’s an idiot. If it comes to a choice between a paying job and addressing half a dozen down-at-heel mill girls in Manchester, the mill girls win every time. And you can only let people down just so often. Arabella has—” she pulled a funny, wry face “—a very strong mind.”
Anna laughed with her, a little nervously. “Then perhaps we’d better not bother? I can’t see someone like that wanting anything to do with me.”
Beth put down the work she was holding and straightened, her face serious. “Anna, Anna, Anna!”
Anna said nothing.
“You really do need taking in hand, don’t you?” Beth said. And she still was not smiling.
“Stand still.” Arabella Dawson’s every word was brusque. She was tall, thin, angular, her features sharp and uncompromising. Yet her presence was undeniable, her poise and style something that Anna could only helplessly admire. She did as she was bid and stood still. A bony finger lifted her chin roughly. Blue, piercing eyes studied her face dispassionately. She felt blood rising in her cheeks.
“Yes. That’s what you need. A bit of colour. Turn round.”
Bemused, half-resentful, Anna turned. Beth was sitting cross-legged upon the bed, a cat in her lap, her laughter stifled and her eyes hilarious.
“You aren’t standing up straight. Here.” Arabella grabbed a heavy book and balanced it on the astonished Anna’s head. “Walk to the door and back. Right. And again. Can’t you feel it? You’re two full inches taller. Can’t abide a woman who creeps around like a mouse. Beth – where’s that blue?”
“Behind you.”
Arabella turned, picked up the bolt of blue silk, unrolled it with a smooth, flamboyant gesture so that it glimmered like sapphires in the light. She lifted it, looked consideringly at poor Anna who still stood embarrassedly with the book poised precariously upon her head. “Sit down,” ordered Arabella.
Anna put a hand up to take the book from her head. “No, no, no! Book and all. Sit down. That’s it. Can’t you feel the difference? The world, my dear, is out there—” she swept an arm, almost knocking a cup and saucer from the table “—if you want to see it, and more importantly if you would have it see you – you have to keep your head up!”
Anna all at once had had enough of being spoken to like a recalcitrant child. “Yes,” she said, “I expect you’re right,” and composedly and determinedly took the book off her head. Unexpectedly she caught a gleam of amusement in the other woman’s eye; and she was aware that despite her feeble gesture of defiance her back had remained straight and her chin up. She laughed.
Arabella smiled a spare, satisfied smile. “Blue and green,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do with that.”
When Anna arrived home, a little later than usual, the odd exhilaration of the afternoon still with her it was to find Joss, unusually, already in the house.
He did not turn from the window from which he had evidently watched her arrival. “Where have you been?”
“To see Beth. I met a friend of hers. A quite extraordinary young woman. A Suffragist of all things. Passionately political. She lectured me all afternoon on the rights of women. Or rather the lack of them. Did you know—” Anna stopped, struck suddenly by his stance. “Joss? Is something wrong?”
He turned. His face was set, his mouth a grim line. “It’s Boris.” The words were flat.
She stared at him, white suddenly to the lips. “Boris? Oh, Joss – no!”
He moved a hand in a sharp little negative gesture. “Not dead.”
Her heart resumed its beating. “Thank God for that. But – what then?”
For one moment pain flickered upon the impassive face. “He’s lost an arm. His right arm.”
Anna’s hand was at her mouth. “Oh, God.”
For a fraction of a second his head went down, his eyes closed. She was across the room in a flash, catching his hand in hers. Still figures caught in the web of light that streamed through the window they remained so, silently, for a full minute.
“He’s coming home?” Anna asked at last.
Joss, entirely in control of himself again, lifted his head and nodded. “Yes. He’ll be here quite soon as a matter of fact. The letter was – delayed.”
Anna nodded. Who could blame Boris for communicating such news at the last possible moment? “I’m sorry,” she said, helplessly; in her mind as clearly as it had been yesterday was the picture of two young, shabby figures as they walked across the lawn at a little girl’s birthday party. “Poor Boris.”
“They’ll be home in a week or so—”
“They? Why of course, I had quite forgotten – his family.”
“They’re hoping to stay with your father until they can find somewhere of their own to live.”
“I’m sure that will be all right. Papa will be pleased. It’ll be company for him.” Anna turned away. “Poor Boris,” she said again, softly.
“Anna?” The question in his voice stopped her. She turned back. He put a finger to her chin and turned her face to the light. “What have you been doing to yourself?”
She smiled, pleased that he had noticed. “Arabella – the girl I was talking about – did my hair for me. Do you like it?”
“It’s very becoming.” His expression had not changed.
“She’s – she’s designing some clothes for me. Something – a little different—” Anna stopped at his frown.
His hand dropped. “That sounds very expensive.”
She suppressed a twinge of irritation. She could not for the life of her understand why he should act as if they were paupers. What did he do with their money? For what was he saving it? “No. As a matter of fact it isn’t. She’s a friend of Beth’s. She only works for people she – well, likes or is interested in. I can easily afford what she’s charging from the money that I’ve earned from—” she stopped suddenly, flushing “—that is, of course, if you agree? If you don’t think the money better spent elsewhere?”
He turned from her abruptly. “The money that is yours you must do with as you think best. I want none of it for my purposes.”
The door closed behind him. She stared at it, all the exhilaration of the exciting afternoon drained from her, and not simply by the news about Boris. “I want none of it—”
What, she wondered bleakly, did he want? From her or from anyone else?
When she found out it was to both their cost.