Free Under Gemini by Rosamunde Pilcher

onto the recordplayer while Flora made a pot of coffee. In their dressing gowns (Flora’s, her old school one, and Rose’s, a miracle of drifting flower-splashed silk) they sat on the king-size velvet sofa and talked.
    And talked. There were many years to cover. Rose told Flora about the house in Paris and the finishing school at Chateau d’Oex, and the winters in Kitzbühel. And Flora filled Rose in on her own history (which didn’t sound nearly so exciting), making the most of the finding and buying Seal Cottage, the arrival of Marcia into their lives, the jobs she had taken in Switzerland and Greece. That reminded her of something.
    â€œRose, did you say you were going to Greece?”
    â€œI may be. But after this summer of flying around the United States, I’m beginning to feel I never want to get into another plane. Ever.”
    â€œYou mean you spent the whole summer out there?”
    â€œMost of it. Harry’s been planning this trip for years, and we did everything from shooting the rapids on the Salmon River to riding down the Grand Canyon on muleback, hung about with cameras. Typical tourists.” She frowned. “When did your father get married again?”
    It was hard to keep track of her thought processes. “In May.”
    â€œDo you like Marcia?”
    â€œYes, I told you. She’s great.” Flora grinned, remembering Marcia’s swelling hips and straining blouse buttons. “In more ways than one.”
    â€œHe’s so attractive, isn’t he? I wonder how he managed to stay single for so long?”
    â€œI’ve no idea.”
    Rose tipped her head to one side and regarded Flora from beneath long, bristling black lashes. “How about you? Are you in love, engaged, thinking of getting married?”
    â€œNot at the moment.”
    â€œHave you ever thought about getting married?”
    Flora shrugged. “You know how it is. At first, you think every new man you meet is going to end up standing next to you at some altar. And then it stops being important.” She looked at Rose curiously. “How about you?”
    â€œSame with me.” Rose got up and went in search of a cigarette. Lighting it, her dark hair swung forward, hiding her face. “Anyway, who wants to settle down to boring old housework and yelling kids?”
    â€œPerhaps it’s not that bad.”
    â€œYou’d probably like it. You’d probably like living in the depths of the country, in the back of beyond.”
    For some reason Flora felt compelled to stand up for such an existence. “I like the country. And I’d live anywhere provided I was living with the man I wanted to live with.”
    â€œMarried to him, though?”
    â€œI’d prefer it that way.”
    Rose took her cigarette and turned her back on Flora. She went over to the window, drew back the curtain, and stood looking down into the lamp-lit square. After a little she said, “Talking about Greece—if I went tomorrow, and left you here alone, would you mind very much?”
    It was hard not to sound taken aback. “Tomorrow?”
    â€œI mean Friday. Well, that’s today I suppose.”
    â€œToday?” Despite herself Flora’s voice came out in a squeak of surprise.
    Rose turned back. “You would mind,” she told Flora. “Your feelings would be hurt.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. It’s just that you took me by surprise. I mean, I didn’t think you were serious about going to Greece. I thought you were just talking about it.”
    â€œOh, yes. I’ve even got a seat booked on the plane, but I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to go. But suddenly I think I will. You don’t think it would be mean of me to go?”
    â€œOf course not,” said Flora, robustly.
    Rose began to smile. She said, “You know, we’re not as alike as I thought we were. You’re so much more honest, transparently so. And