Free We'll Meet Again by Philippa Carr Page B

written and where now? Oh, Violetta, why are you not here with me?
    I must be careful. I must work out what I should do. Was I going to leave Jacques before he told me to go? Where could I go to? How? Return to Caddington? Face Violetta, my parents? It was the only way.
    They loved me. They would be happy to have me back. But how could I explain? And yet… what else?
    Think, I told myself. Don’t rush into something as you usually do—as you did into this. You have to do something. You can’t go on here. This is over … for him and for you. Thank your stars you are not in love with him any more than he is with you.
    I would speak to him. I would ask him exactly what his relationship with Mimi was. How many others were there? I would be calm, practical. I must be.
    I sat in the bedroom I shared with him. I heard footsteps in the attic above. I thought, when she left I would speak to him.
    I waited and after some time I heard the front door shut.
    I would go to the salon and confront him. But when I arrived the salon was empty. I went up to the studio. He was not there and I realized he had left with Mimi. I felt uncertain. Waiting had always been trying for me. I wanted to strike quickly. I wanted to be on my way. Where to? That was the question.
    I rehearsed what I would say to him. I was ready and waiting, but still he did not come back.
    He did not return that night. Was he with Mimi? It seemed possible. Perhaps there was someone else. But surely he was staying away to show he cared nothing for my feelings.
    It was early afternoon of the next day when he came into the house.
    I waited for him in the salon. When he came I said with the utmost restraint, tinged only slightly with sarcasm, “You have had a pleasant time?”
    “Very, thank you.”
    “With Mimi, the model?”
    “Is that your affair?”
    “I imagine it is yours.”
    He lifted his shoulders and smiled at me benignly.
    “Are you telling me she is your mistress?”
    “I did not speak of it,” he said.
    “Listen, Jacques …”
    He continued to smile. “I listen,” he said.
    “You can’t expect me to accept this.”
    He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
    This was maddening. He was behaving as though it were perfectly natural for me to find him in the company of a semi-clad woman and then go off to spend the night with her. I could be calm no longer.
    “This is unacceptable!” I cried.
    “Unacceptable?” He repeated the word as though puzzled. “Why so?”
    “How dare you treat me like this?”
    “Treat? What is this treat?”
    He was seeking refuge behind an imperfect knowledge of the language. I had seen him do this before. But I knew he understood.
    “I left home,” I said, “to come here … and now …”
    “You left your home because you no longer wanted to stay there.”
    “I gave up everything … for you.”
    “You are being very … provincial.”
    “And you are so worldly, so sophisticated.”
    “I thought you had grown up, too.”
    “How can you do this … right under my nose?”
    “Your nose?” he said, puzzled again.
    “You know exactly what I mean. You make no secret of what is going on.”
    “Secret? What is this secret?”
    “She is your mistress.”
    “So?”
    I could not go on. I would burst into recriminations if I did, and that would not help me.
    “I hate you,” I said.
    He lifted his shoulders and regarded me with that benevolent tolerance an adult might show towards a recalcitrant child.
    I could bear no more. I ran out of the room, took a coat and left the house.
    There was only one place I could go. Janet Bailey had said: “You know where we are, dear. You can always come to us and we shall be glad to see you.”
    I was so relieved to find she was at home.
    “I am so glad you came,” she said at once. “Geoff and I are getting ready to leave.”
    I stared at her in dismay. This was another blow. What should I do now?
    “Come in,” she went on. “And I’ll tell you all about it.”
    I sat down