1
THE tiny study at Alexandra House was bright with flowers, although it
was November. The flowers had been the gift of one of Harriet Nelson's
youthful admirers, Rosie Wilmot, an art student. The room was littered
with a mass of futilities, including torn music and innumerable signed
photographs. The guilty smell of cigarette smoke hung on the air,
although the window had been opened.
Harriet, plump and pretty, with her red hair and blue eyes, lolled
ungracefully in the wicker arm-chair; her thick ankles stretched out in
front of her. On a low stool, sufficiently near these same ankles to
express humbleness of spirit, crouched Rosie Wilmot.
"_Chérie_," Harriet was saying with an exaggerated Parisian accent,
"you are a naughty child to spend your money on flowers for me!"
"But, darling, you know how I loved buying them!"
Rosie's sallow cheeks flushed at her own daring. Her long brown neck
rose up from a band of Liberty embroidery, like the stem of a carefully
coloured meerschaum. She rubbed her forehead nervously with a
paint-stained hand, fixing her irritatingly intense eyes the while on
Harriet's placid face.
Harriet stretched out an indolent hand. "There, there," she said
soothingly, "I'm very pleased indeed with the flowers; come and be
kissed."
Milly raised scoffing eyes to the ceiling. She made her mouth into a
round O, and proceeded to blow smoke rings.
"Let me know when it's all over," she said derisively, "and then we'll
boil the kettle."
"You can boil it now," said Harriet, waving Rosie back to her
foot-stool.
They proceeded to make tea and toast bread in front of the fire. Milly
fetched some rather weary butter and a pot of "Gentleman's Relish" from
the bedroom, and Rosie produced her contribution in the shape of a bag
of Harriet's favourite cream puffs. She had gone without lunch for two
days in order to afford this offering, but as Harriet's strong teeth bit
into the billowy cream which oozed out over her chin, Rosie's heart
swelled with pleasure; she had her reward.
"_Méchante enfant_!" exclaimed Harriet, shaking her finger, "you
mustn't spend your money like this!"
At that moment the door opened and Joan and Elizabeth walked into the
room.
"Good Lord, _you_!" exclaimed Milly in amazement.
They laughed and came forward, waiting to be introduced.
"Oh, yes; Harriet, this is my sister Joan, and this is Miss Rodney."
Harriet nodded casually.
"This is Rosie Wilmot, Joan; Rosie, Miss Rodney."
Rosie shook hands with a close, intense grip. Her eyes interrogated the
new-comers as though they alone held the answer to the riddle of her
Universe. Milly dragged up the only remaining chair for Elizabeth.
"You can squat on the floor, Joan," she said, throwing her sister a
cushion. "That's right. And now, what on earth are you doing here?"
It was Elizabeth who answered. "We've come up for a fortnight. We're
staying with the woman who has my flat."
"But why? Has anything happened?"
"No, of course not. We just thought it would be rather fun."
Milly whistled softly; however, she refrained from further comment.
Harriet was examining Joan. Joan fidgeted; this self-possessed young
woman made her feel at a disadvantage.
"You're musical too?" inquired the singer, still staring.
"Oh, no, not a bit; I don't know one note from another."
"_Tiens_! Then what _do_ you do?"