“She had to get back to meet Giles.”
We sat down together on the window seat. I took his hand in mine. “I hated you being away, I’ve missed you terribly,” I said.
“Have you?” he said.
We did not say anything for a bit. I just held his hand.
“Was it hot up in London?” I said.
“Yes, pretty awful. I always hate the place.”
I wondered if he would tell me what had happened just now in the library with Mrs. Danvers. I wondered who had told him about Favell.
“Are you worried about something?” I said.
“I’ve had a long day,” he said, “that drive twice in twenty-four hours is too much for anyone.”
He got up and wandered away, lighting a cigarette. I knew then that he was not going to tell me about Mrs. Danvers.
“I’m tired too,” I said slowly, “it’s been a funny sort of day.”
16
It was one Sunday, I remember, when we had an invasion of visitors during the afternoon, that the subject of the fancy dress ball was first brought up. Frank Crawley had come over to lunch, and we were all three of us looking forward to a peaceful afternoon under the chestnut tree when we heard the fatal sound of a car rounding the sweep in the drive. It was too late to warn Frith, the car itself came upon us standing on the terrace with cushions and papers under our arms.
We had to come forward and welcome the unexpected guests. As often happens in such cases, these were not to be the only visitors. Another car arrived about half an hour afterwards, followed by three local people who had walked from Kerrith, and we found ourselves, with the peace stripped from our day, entertaining group after group of dreary acquaintances, doing the regulation walk in the grounds, the tour of the rose garden, the stroll across the lawns, and the formal inspection of the Happy Valley.
They stayed for tea of course, and instead of a lazy nibbling of cucumber sandwiches under the chestnut tree, we had the paraphernalia of a stiff tea in the drawing room, which I always loathed. Frith in his element of course, directing Robert with a lift of his eyebrows, and myself rather hot and flustered with a monstrous silver teapot and kettle that I never knew how to manage. I found it very difficult to gauge the exact moment when it became imperative to dilute the tea with the boiling water, and more difficult still to concentrate on the small talk that was going on at my side.
Frank Crawley was invaluable at a moment like this. He took the cups from me and handed them to people, and when my answers seemed more than usually vague owing to my concentration on the silver teapot he quietly and unobtrusively put in his small wedge to the conversation, relieving me of responsibility. Maxim was always at the other end of the room, showing a book to a bore, or pointing out a picture, playing the perfect host in his own inimitable way, and the business of tea was a side-issue that did not matter to him. His own cup of tea grew cold, left on a side table behind some flowers, and I, steaming behind my kettle, and Frank gallantly juggling with scones and angel cake, were left to minister to the common wants of the herd. It was Lady Crowan, a tiresome gushing woman who lived in Kerrith, who introduced the matter. There was one of those pauses in conversation that happen in every teaparty, and I saw Frank’s lips about to form the inevitable and idiotic remark about an angel passing overhead, when Lady Crowan, balancing a piece of cake on the edge of her saucer, looked up at Maxim, who happened to be beside her.
“Oh, Mr. de Winter,” she said, “there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you for ages. Now tell me, is there any chance of you reviving the Manderley fancy dress ball?” She put her head on one side as she spoke, flashing her too prominent teeth in what she supposed was a smile. I lowered my head instantly, and became very busy with the emptying of my own teacup, screening myself behind the cozy.
It was a moment or two before Maxim replied, and when he did his voice was quite calm and matter-of-fact. “I haven’t thought about it,” he said, “and I don’t think anyone else has.”
“Oh, but I assure you we have all thought of it so much,” continued Lady Crowan. “It used to make the summer for all of us in this part of the world. You have no idea of the pleasure it used to give. Can’t I persuade you to think about it again?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Maxim drily. “It was all rather a business to organize. You had better ask Frank Crawley, he’d have to do it.”
“Oh, Mr. Crawley, do be on my side,” she persisted, and one or two of the others joined in. “It would be a most popular move, you know, we all miss the Manderley gaiety.”