Free The Drowning People by Richard Mason Page B

lunch table in a troop and moved into the drawing room, an ocean of uncomfortable sofas of ornate wood and somber pattern. Almost at once the party began to split up, for lunch had lasted longer than anticipated and many of the guests were late for engagements elsewhere. I saw that Sarah was one of the first to say her good-byes and that instead of kissing Pamela she shook her hand. Alexander she kissed, and Ella too, although the brushing of the cousins’ cheeks which passed for a kiss did not suggest much unspoken affection. Charles, rising, leaned forward to kiss Sarah and was rewarded by the quick out-stretching of her fine white hand.
    When she had gone, Camilla found a place next to me on a sofa and said, softly enough for only one or two people who would share her opinion to hear, “Well I
said
she was an odd fish, and you can see that I was right.
Very
strange. Hardly spoke at
all.
” She considered the question gravely for a moment. “I think she’s superior,” she said at last, with an air of finality. “And frankly I don’t see any reason why she should be, do you?”
    But her question was merely rhetorical; I was not expected to answer it and when I did not she let the matter drop and spoke of other things. I listened to her vaguely, concentrating most of my attention on the question of how I could possibly get Ella to myself for a moment. A moment was all it would take, I thought. But one by one the guests got up to leave and I felt my time of opportunity dwindling. Ella showed no inclination to talk to me and I had no desire to cross the expanse of carpet and sit with her and Charles. I wanted her alone or not at all.
    Again it was Camilla who came to my rescue with her suggestion of seeing the engagement presents. “Ella darling,” she called from our sofa, “aren’t you
dying
to see what everyone’s brought you?”
    “Of course she is,” said Pamela, smiling.
    Sensing my chance and seeing Ella about to protest, I joined the chorus with a well-timed “So are we.”
    “Well why don’t we open them now, sweetheart?” said Charles on cue.
    Ella looked doubtful. “We could, I suppose,” she said.
    “Then let’s,” said Pamela decisively, rising. To the few guests who remained, she said, “You won’t mind coming upstairs, will you? It’s just that there’re too many gifts to bring down.” And with a laugh, taking the arm of her future son-in-law, she left the room and led the way upwards. Alexander followed with Camilla and the girl with the villa in Biarritz. A plump relation, the only other member of the party still present, had gone to sleep in an armchair. Ella and I were left alone.
    “So,” I said quickly, my irritation at lunch giving an edge to my voice, “this is it?”
    “What?” She looked at me from under the sweep of her blow-dried fringe and I saw something of the woman I remembered.
    “Is this the island?”
    There was a pause. The relation in the armchair gave a gentle snore.
    “Is this what you meant by events overtaking you?” I persisted, courageous after weeks of pent-up frustration and excitement.
    With a sharp nod of the head Ella motioned me out of the room and onto the landing. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, putting her foot on the first stair.
    “No of course you don’t. I forget that in our particular school of fish one should never admit to having said anything real.” There was a note of sarcasm in my voice which I saw made her uncomfortable. “Particularly if one hasn’t said it to someone one’s known since childhood.” I was pleasantly surprised by the ease with which my words came.
    “Don’t talk to me about schools of fish.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s a tired metaphor.”
    “All right then, I’ll ask you plainly. What on earth are you doing?”
    “I am marrying the man I love, James.” But even as she said it, her tone rang false. We both observed this. “And anyway,” she whispered almost fiercely, angry