Free She Came Back by Patricia Wentworth Page B

colour—does it, Inez?”
    Lilla wanted to laugh, and it would be just too dreadful if she did. Those terrible platinum curls! Why couldn’t people let their hair go grey when it wanted to? And then all at once she stopped wanting to laugh and thought, “It’s horrid— they’re not kind.”
    Philip was speaking to Aunt Emmeline.
    “Annie Joyce had a scarf tied round her head. I never saw her hair.”
    “Then you don’t know how much like Anne she might have looked with her hair hanging down on her neck—if that’s the way Anne was still wearing hers.”
    Thomas Jocelyn spoke for the first time. He said,
    “This is all very painful, but it will have to be cleared up. You say Anne died in the boat. I take it you identified her afterwards—formally, I mean. Did anyone else?”
    “They didn’t ask for anyone else.”
    “And you were quite sure that the girl who died in the boat was Anne?”
    “I was quite sure.”
    “It would have to be a very remarkable likeness to deceive you. But, on the face of it, this likeness must have existed. If this is not Anne who has come back, it is someone so like her that Milly, Lyndall, and Mrs. Ramage accepted her immediately. I must tell you that I myself would have accepted her. We may be mistaken. I am not giving it as my opinion that she is Anne—not yet. But do you not think it at least possible that the mistake is yours, and that it was Annie Joyce who died in the boat?”
    “It was Anne.”
    “You certainly thought it was Anne. It seems to me it would be much easier to make a mistake about a dead person than about a living one. The arrangement of the hair makes a great deal of difference to a likeness. Annie Joyce’s head was tied up in a scarf. If that scarf had come off, as I suppose it might very easily have done, may not the family likeness have been intensified sufficiently for you to mistake Annie for Anne— especially after death, when personality and expression are withdrawn and only the features remain?”
    The two Jocelyns looked at one another. Philip had always respected his uncle’s judgment. He respected it now. He had also a good deal of affection for him. He said in a thoughtful tone,
    “I agree that it might happen. I don’t agree that it did happen.”
    CHAPTER 12
    Anne made a quick spontaneous movement. The hand with the ring took hold of Thomas Jocelyn’s arm. The other hand went out palm upwards towards Philip.
    “Uncle Thomas, I’ve got to thank you—at once, without waiting—because you’ve cleared it all up for me. I can see how it could have happened—without Philip knowing. You’ve shown me not only that it did happen, but just how it happened.” Her hand dropped, her eyes went to Philip. “I’m afraid I said some rather horrid things when we talked about it, and I’m sorry. I want to ask you to forgive me. You see, I didn’t understand how it could have happened. I couldn’t get over the feeling that I had been left—” Her voice died. She looked away from Philip, who had not looked at her. She leaned back in her chair and for a moment closed her eyes.
    Without moving, Philip was aware of all she did. Behind perfect control his thoughts were turbulent and racing. How clever—how damnably clever—the slight gesture, the failing voice. Anne wasn’t as clever as that. Anne wasn’t clever at all. She had loved life. She had loved her own way, and for a little while she had loved him. Then, like a trickle of cold water—“Suppose she’s not being clever—suppose it’s real— suppose she is Anne—”
    Everyone about the table shared a momentary embarrassment. Lilla sat a little closer to Perry. She slipped her hand inside his arm and squeezed it. She had the air of a small bright bird seeking shelter. Her fur coat, open at the neck, showed glimpses of a rose-coloured jumper, a string of milky pearls, a diamond clip. Everything about her was warm, and soft, and kind. She leaned against Perry, who was the most