Free The Sweet Dove Died by Barbara Pym

and dealing with the removal men. It seemed too much to ask of her and yet he must not forget that she had offered to do it – he had not even had to hint at it. She would take one or two things for herself and the rest would go to the furniture depository. Then Phoebe could go and choose what she wanted, apart from the things he had already suggested for her.
    The hot afternoon dragged on. Then a man entered the shop quickly, almost stealthily, and asked the price of a paperweight in the window. James recognised him as the man who had watched him at the sale where he and Humphrey had first met Leonora, and on various other occasions. This was the first time they had met at close quarters. He told the man the price of the object and they made some perfunctory conversation. Then the man made a suggestion which brought a not unbecoming blush to James’s cheek, though it was not the first time such a proposition had been put to him. If his suitor had been more attractive, and if Miss Caton had not come in at that moment, who knows what might have happened. As it was the man mumbled something about a friend being interested in the paperweight and left the shop as quickly as he had entered it.
    ‘Oh, that man – he’s always hanging round here,’ said Miss Caton, with an impatient gesture as if she were brushing away an insect. ‘You don’t want to have anything to do with people like that.’
    Even though he was inclined to agree with her James resented her nannyish attitude and the tea in the thick white cup which she now brought him. He drank it hurriedly, now particularly conscious of its unsuitability in such surroundings.
    Suddenly, as if the day had not already held more than enough, he saw Phoebe standing looking into the window, obviously nerving herself to come in.
    His first feeling was one of panic. A man sitting in a shop, perhaps especially in an antique shop, is in a vulnerable position. It had not occurred to James that Phoebe would ever come to London uninvited. He had always thought of her in the country, in the dark little cottage rooms, or sitting under the vine in the back garden, not here, near Sloane Square, where Leonora might appear at any moment. For an instant he imagined the horror of their meeting – Leonora, cool, poised and exquisitely dressed, Phoebe, shy, on the defensive and in her odd clothes, and he unhappily in between. What would they say to each other? Obviously it must never happen. As Phoebe opened the door and came in he remembered with relief that Leonora was dining out this evening with an old admirer, one of those respectable pick-ups in the great gardens of Europe, so she would be safely out of the way. He could take Phoebe to his flat and out to dinner and then put her on to a train at Waterloo.
    Humphrey did not encourage ‘followers’, so James’s greeting of Phoebe was a little constrained. He did not kiss her, but took her hand and murmured something vaguely affectionate.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
    ‘Oh, I couldn’t bear the country and Anthea Wedge’s journal any longer, so I decided to come and see you, then go and stay the night with Mother.’
    In Putney, he remembered she had once told him and he had thought it was perhaps not where one would care to have one’s mother live.
    Phoebe looked even more skinny and droopy than usual in a rather unbecoming beige crepe dress which was in the fashion of that summer but yet reminded him dimly of his mother at some unspecified period of his early life. The dress was obviously new and he noticed that she had put silver varnish on her nails. Her appearance was touching and upsetting and he found himself longing to make love to her.
    It was five o’clock – time to leave the shop, but too early for dinner. He decided to take her to his flat for a drink.
    His sitting-room was depressingly untidy with piles of books and objects on the floor. When they were inside they kissed awkwardly, as if for the first