Free house of women by Yelena Kopylova Page A

right," he said.
    "All right. There's ... there's plenty of time, I sup pose, but it's usual. Well' he hunched up one shoulder 'so they say. But they say so much, don't they?"
    "Yes; yes, they do. You ... you may hold me."
    "No." He shook his head; then gave a small laugh as he said, "No; I wouldn't be able to do that because ... well."
    "All right." She moved past him and got into the bed; and he went round to the other side and got into the bed. And after she had
    stretched out her arm and turned off the bedside light, he did the same at his side. Then her other hand groped towards him and found his hand, and she pressed it for a moment as she said, "Thanks, Andrew."
    "You're welcome, Mrs. Jones," he said, and at this they both began to laugh, she so much that she had to turn on her side and bury her head in the pillow.
    It had turned out all right. It augured well for the future.
    On the Saturday morning, just prior to their leaving, the chambermaid looked at her and said, "I hope everything goes all right for you."
    The kind look and the way in which the girl spoke the words strongly suggested to Peggy that the hotel staff must have guessed that she had to get married. Perhaps his father had said something. Anyway, what did it matter? Things had turned out much better than she had
    expected, helped undoubtedly by the solicitous attitude of both
    management and staff.
    When the manager himself shook hands with g
    I 94 I
    them and said that he hoped they would come again; that, in fact, they would continue to make Harrogate their holiday home for many years to come, she felt that Andrew grew in stature the way he answered the manager: "We will do that, sir," he said; "I can promise you. And you have been so kind to us; we'll not forget it."
    It was strange but she was finding out that Andrew could talk to other people with much more ease than he could talk to her. And he had quite a nice voice.
    They arrived home in the afternoon and went straight to the annexe.
    After the hotel, it seemed terribly small, yet welcoming, and so much so that, having taken off their outdoor clothes, they made straight for the kitchen as though nothing were more natural, and she put the kettle on. Only then did she open the cupboard doors to find that the shelves were well stocked with food, dried and tinned goods, and the fridge with perishables, which sight must have brought them back to face reality, for as she went to mash the tea she suddenly stopped, saying,
    "What am I doing? They'll be expecting us to go straight across there and ... and tell them all about it," and he, his voice flat now, said,
    "Yes, yes, I suppose so. And this is where it all starts."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Just what I say: the holiday is over, the living starts from now.
    You'll be at their beck and call and I'll be at everybody's beck and call in that grease shop. But' now he stabbed his finger at her' it won't always be like this; that hotel's opened my eyes. I'm going to get on, Peggy. I am, I'm going to get on."
    "I'm sure you are, Andrew. Yes, I'm sure you are. But in the meantime' she smiled at him' we had better get on across the yard and let them know we're back. Come on."
    For a moment it was as if she had become a schoolgirl again for she darted towards the communicating door, and he followed her, but more steadily. And when they entered the large kitchen and found it empty he stood looking about him in open admiration.
    "They must be in the sitting-room," she said.
    In the hall he paused and looked about him. He had been in the house only once before and he had been too scared to take much notice of anything, only that the place appeared huge to him.
    She had opened the far door and when he heard her exclaim, "We're back!" he hurried to join her and watched her run to where her grandmother was rising from the couch exclaiming, "Oh! my dear, my dear. How wonderful to see you again!" And after she had been embraced he watched her bend over | the other woman