Free Will O’ the Wisp by Patricia Wentworth Page B

what?”
    â€œB-bite,” said Folly viciously.
    â€œI should probably have pushed his face in. Go on. What happened?”
    â€œI b-bit—and he swore—and I got the door open—and I got out on to the step—and he grabbed at me—and I jumped. And there was a policeman at the corner, so he didn’t follow me, and I walked home—and it was miles. Ooh! What a lovely fire!”
    â€œYou’ve got to come away from it. Julie’s expecting you.”
    David got up as he spoke. Folly looked at him sideways. Her hands were still shaking a little, but her colour was coming back.
    â€œWhy can’t I stay here? You can stay and look after me. You can have the sofa and Eleanor’s eiderdown.”
    â€œDon’t talk nonsense!” said David.
    â€œI call it nonsense to go out and be frozen to death just when I’m getting nice and warm.”
    â€œWell, you’ve got to.”
    â€œWhy have I got to?”
    â€œBecause Eleanor says so.”
    Folly pursed her lips and looked into the fire. After a moment she said in a meek little voice:
    â€œDoes Mr. Grundy always do what Mrs. Grundy tells him?”
    David looked at his watch.
    â€œYou can have another five minutes. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk—there isn’t an earthly chance of getting a taxi at this hour.”
    â€œWe could telephone for one.”
    â€œWe could; but I don’t think we will.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œWell—I don’t think we want to advertise this show, you know. Anyhow it’s no distance. Now you’d better go and pack your bag.”
    She got up and stood for a moment looking into the glass that hung above the mantelpiece.
    â€œMy curls won’t stay straight,” she murmured. “They look awfully drunk when they’re crooked—don’t they?” She straightened them, whisked round, and dropped him a curtsy. “You do like them though—don’t you?”
    â€œGo and pack!”
    â€œHow impatient you are! David, do say you like them.”
    She came quite close to him, her fur coat slipping from her shoulders.
    â€œWhere’s your necklace?” said David, speaking quickly and saying what he hadn’t meant to say.
    Folly went back a step. She put her hand to her throat, and the quick, bright colour flamed in her cheeks; her eyes looked away from him.
    â€œIt—broke.”
    There was just a moment’s strained silence, and then, with one of the quick movements which reminded him of a kitten, she ran out of the room.
    Left alone, David felt a wave of nausea sweep over him; the words had brought Folly’s danger just too near. He flung round to the hearth with a jerk and began to rake out the fire.
    Folly found him on his knees there when she came back with her suitcase.
    â€œOoh! My nice fire!” she said. But she handed over her case and followed him out of the flat without any further protest, a good deal to his relief, for it had occurred to him more than once that if she really insisted on staying at the flat, he would just have to let her stay.
    They came out into the dark street and the nip of the wind. Folly slipped a hand inside his arm, and when they had gone half a dozen steps she pulled on it.
    â€œIs my case heavy?”
    â€œYou know it isn’t.”
    â€œDo you mind carrying it?”
    â€œNo.”
    They passed a lamp-post as he said, “No,” and he looked down at her, frowning. The collar of her fur coat stood up about her ears; the curls were lost in it; the ribbon showed like a pale streak. Her eyes were like pools of sad green water. She pulled at his arm again.
    â€œDavid—”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œDavid—” in a very small voice indeed.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œDid you come to that place to look for me?”
    â€œYou seemed pretty sure of it at the time.”
    â€œâ€™M—I was angry. Did you come there to