Free The Three-Body Problem by Catherine Shaw

and our shoes were wet through, still I was carried along in a wave of delight which consisted not only in joyful expectation of the play, but also in the quality of the present moment. There was much laughter amongst us in spite of the bothersome weather; Emily in particular hopped over the puddles, refusing to take shelter under the umbrella, and claiming that the drizzle was sent purposely in order to teach us to appreciate the ‘gentle rain from heaven’.
    Arriving in the theatre was heavenly. The luxurious stalls, the plush seats, the gilded decor, the rich curtains; everything was a vision of pleasantness, and the play was magical, thanks to the great effort put into making the dream city of Venice come alive upon the stage. I leant forward to catch every word, and awaited the most familiar speeches eagerly, trying to guess how they would be spoken. Everyone was in the most light-hearted mood, and all was perfect until the interval.
    What happened next was so unexpected as to be almost unbelievable. We had just begun to rise and smooth our skirts in preparation for a short exploratory tour of the hall, when there was a knock on the door of our box, which opened of itself, and there stood a sober-faced gentleman with an air of gloom.
    ‘Pardon me for disturbing you, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I am searching for Mrs Burke-Jones with a very urgent message.’
    ‘I am Mrs Burke-Jones,’ she said, stepping forward andgrowing pale. ‘What is amiss? Is it about my son Edmund?’
    ‘No, madam, it does not concern your son,’ he said. ‘Step this way, please, I must speak with you alone.’
    They departed, and our group remained silent with dismay. After some minutes, Mr Morrison left the box, saying, ‘I shall go and see if everything is all right.’
    Not five minutes passed before he returned. He opened the door, and his face bore a strange, hard look. Turning to Emily, he broke the bad news directly.
    ‘I am afraid it is about your father, Emily,’ he said almost sternly. ‘He is dead. He died yesterday in a boating accident, together with … with Mademoiselle Martin.’
    ‘Dead! Daddy’s dead! Oh, I never saw him again, and I waited so long,’ she wailed heart-rendingly. Then, glancing about her with a look of panic, she suddenly cried ‘I must see Mother!’ She rushed out of the stall, followed by her uncle, who caught her arm and led her away firmly.
    I remained alone with Mr Weatherburn.
    ‘How dreadful,’ I said, ‘I had believed that her father was already dead.’
    ‘No,’ he replied softly. ‘He left several years ago. I believe – no, I know, that he left with the young French girl who was Emily’s governess at the time. They had a child very shortly afterwards, and went to live in France, as it was nearly impossible for them to remain together in England.’
    ‘I begin to understand,’ I said, thinking back over some things that had been said or alluded to in Emily’s house, which I had not really noticed at the time. ‘How difficult it must have been for Mrs Burke-Jones.’
    ‘I can imagine it was desperately difficult,’ he said, ‘although I did not know the family then. I know that she asked Morrison to leave his college rooms and come to live in her house at that time, and all in all I believe the arrangement suited him capitally. He really is a family man, and loves children.’
    The lights darkened, as the play was about to resume. Mr Weatherburn arose, and offered me his arm.
    ‘I do not believe we shall stay for the second half, after what has happened,’ he said. ‘It is awkward, one does not want to intrude on the family, nor to seem to abandon them.’
    The entire audience had by now returned to its seats, and the hall remained nearly empty, so that we soon spotted the small group formed by Mr Morrison, his sister and her daughter, together with the bearer of ill-tidings. They seemed to be conversing urgently. We approached somewhat; I felt badly