Free It Ends with Revelations by Dodie Smith Page B

theatre most of the day. Jill decided to take sandwiches down to him. She ordered these as soon as she had seen him off and then went to the bedroom intending to spend the morning typing thank-you letters for Miles’s first-night telegrams; she was often glad that she had learned to type during her days as an assistant stage manager.
    She had just settled down at her portable typewriter when the hall porter brought up a note. He handed it to her, saying, ‘The young ladies are waiting in the lounge.’
    The note read:

    Dear Mrs Quentin,
    We should like it very much if you would come out and have coffee with us this morning. We rather particularly want to talk to you privately.
    R OBIN AND K IT
    Robin had written the note. Kit had merely signed her name – Jill marvelled that anyone could get so much individuality into three letters: they were large, angular, and faintly suggestive of Egyptian hieroglyphics.
    Well, one could hardly ignore ‘particularly’ and ‘privately’. Jill got her handbag and went downstairs.
    The sisters rose to meet her and, on hearing that she would be happy to come out with them, thanked her with a touch of gravity. She had been about to say, ‘Well, this sounds exciting,’ but it seemed too flippant for the occasion.
    ‘If you don’t mind the little walk we’ll go to the Spa Street café,’ said Robin. ‘We have a specially private table there.’
    Gravity, Jill decided as they walked along Spa Street, made both the girls seem younger, not older. But they retained sufficient social sense to maintain what could only be described as polite conversation, on their way to the café. Jill found herself both touched and amused – not to mention curious.
    As they entered the café Robin said, ‘This is where you met Father, isn’t it?’ to which Kit added, ‘We feel grateful to it.’ Jill smilingly said, ‘So do I!’ It was merely the called-for , con ventional reply and she wished she had managedsomething better. The formality of the outing was having a paralyzing effect on her spontaneity.
    The sisters conducted her through the shop into the tea room, and on into a small, circular alcove which was the cosy-corner to end cosy-corners. It reminded Jill of a miniature bandstand, but a bandstand with curtains. Once inside it the tea room could only be seen through a heavily draped arch.
    ‘We always come in here unless we’re with Father,’ said Robin. ‘He says it gives him claustrophobia. I’ll admit it’s a trifle airless.’
    ‘Pure imagination,’ said Kit. ‘Enough air comes through that arch to supply a regiment.’
    A waitress appeared who obviously knew the girls well.
    ‘We usually have hot chocolate,’ Robin said to Jill, ‘with lots of cream. But I expect you prefer coffee.’
    ‘No, indeed; chocolate would be marvellous,’ said Jill, wondering how long it was since she had drunk any.
    The order was given. The waitress departed. A silence fell.
    ‘Well,’ said Jill, at last, looking hopefully at the sisters.
    ‘Let’s wait until the chocolate arrives,’ said Kit and then proceeded to chat about the Edwardian decoration of the café … ‘Once people thought it was hideous and now it’s coming into fashion again. By the way, are you interested in Art Nouveau, Mrs Quentin?’
    Jill, disclaiming all knowledge of Art Nouveau, thought that the ‘private’ talk the girls wanted to have with her was likely to be something of an anti-climax after the long build-up it was getting. What could they have in mind?
    At last the waitress brought the chocolate. Robin, obviously guarding against interruption, said, ‘And we’ll pay for it now. Then you won’t have to come back again.’ This transaction finished, she poured the chocolate carefully , spooning whipped cream onto each cupful. Jill thought, ‘I will not prod them again.’
    But at last they prodded themselves, though Robin made only a tentative start by saying, ‘I don’t quite know how to