Free No Fond Return of Love by Barbara Pym

had Dulcie herself. It was the pain of his nearness that she wanted to enlarge upon – only four or five minutes’ brisk walk away in Quince Square, and yet so utterly remote.
    ‘Perhaps I could walk past the house on my way back,’ said Dulcie.
    ‘I’ll come with you to the bus stop,’ said Viola eagerly, getting up from her chair.
    ‘Yes, it’s nearly ten o’clock,’ said Dulcie, feeling that she was being pushed away rather early. ‘Perhaps I should be going.’
    ‘The buses may stop running,’ said Viola, ‘and you’ve a long journey.’
    ‘You knew, of course, that his brother is a clergyman?’ said Dulcie as they walked out of the house.
    ‘Yes, I did. A rather dreary vicar somewhere in North London,’ said Viola.
    ‘He doesn’t sound dreary – Neville Arthur Brandreth Forbes. I plan to take a look at him some time. It should be possible to go to a service at his church.’
    ‘Hush – this is Quince Square. He might be …’
    ‘You mean Aylwin might be taking the dog for a walk?’
    ‘I don’t think he has a dog.’
    ‘Well, not literally, perhaps. But going for some sort of evening stroll – smoking a last pipe or something like that.’
    ‘This is the house – this next one,’ said Viola, almost in a whisper.
    It was solid and richly creamy, with new paint glistening in the lamplight. There was a brass dolphin knocker on the gleaming black door. A sound of braying laughter, somewhat out of keeping with the dignified appearance of the house, could be heard coming from the basement.
    ‘The servants listening to a television programme,’ said Viola distastefully.
    ‘Servants?’ echoed Dulcie incredulously. ‘Do people have servants nowadays – I mean, ordinary people like Aylwin Forbes?’
    ‘He seems to be quite well-off, but actually the “servants” go with the house, I think. He has a maisonnette on the two top floors,’ Viola explained.
    ‘His parentage isn’t mentioned in Who’s Who, ’ said Dulcie. ‘I suppose there could be money in his family.’
    The concentration of one’s thoughts on a particular person can sometimes have the effect of making him appear in the flesh, and so it was on this occasion. The front door of the house opened, and Aylwin Forbes came out. He looked older than Dulcie had remembered, and was informally dressed in a blue cardigan, old grey trousers, and red slippers.
    It would have been better, Dulcie thought, as so often on these occasions, if they had not seen him or he had not seen them – if they could have slipped quietly away without having to say anything. As it was, she felt herself cringing with embarrassment at Viola’s false-sounding exclamations of surprise, and at Aylwin’s response which seemed almost to be – and perhaps was – one of dismay.
    ‘Why, Viola and Miss – er …’
    ‘Mainwaring,’ said Dulcie quickly.
    ‘Of course! We met at the conference, didn’t we? I had no idea you lived round here.’
    ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ said Dulcie unhelpfully.
    ‘Oh, I see.’
    The little party walked on in silence.
    ‘Miss Mainwaring has been dining with me. I have a flat in Carew Gardens,’ said Viola.
    ‘Dining’ was perhaps not quite the word, thought Dulcie, and neither was ‘flat’. And why did she have to say Miss Mainwaring, making her sound like a worthy elderly female?
    ‘I was on my way to post a letter,’ he said, though no letter was in his hand.
    ‘Miss Mainwaring has to catch a bus,’ said Viola.
    ‘Yes, I live miles away beyond Hammersmith,’ said Dulcie, making a joke of it, as suburban dwellers sometimes must.
    ‘Ah, yes,’ said Aylwin, with a thoughtful air, as if he might be remembering the house in Deodar Grove where his wife now was. ‘Here is the pillar-box,’ he said, for there was no getting away from it. He fumbled in his pockets. ‘But I seem to have forgotten my letter. How stupid ofme!’
    The women made no comment, and after saying good-night he left them and