Free Love Is My Reason by Mary Burchell Page B

she smiled w hen Mrs. Preston—it was usually Mrs. Preston—addressed some special kind remark to her.
    From time to time her glance sought David, as though he represented some form of security. But there was nothing gauche or awkward about the way she conducted herself in what would have been, for most people, trying circumstances.
    When Mrs. Preston admired her stole and said how pretty she looked in it, she said shyly,
    “ David gave it to me. He found it was my birthday today. ”
    If it was a slight shock to some of them to hear her refer thus intimately to David, all of them except Celia concealed the fact. And she only slightly raised her admirably marked eyebrows.
    “ And may we ask how old you are today? Bertram enquired. “ Or are you already too much of a young lady to be asked such a question? ”
    “ I ’ m not a young lady at all. ” Anya shook her head gravely. “ And I am eighteen. ”
    Perhaps it struck all of them that few people could have celebrated their eighteenth birthday in more melancholy circumstances. At any rate, there were sympathetic glances for her and, leaning forward, Mrs. Preston patted her hand and said,
    “ We shall have to celebrate properly another time. It would be a shame for you to have to remember your birthday only for sad things. ”
    Anya said, “ Thank you, ” and looked back at Mrs. Preston with a faint smile. And then, as she did so, something happened which neither David nor his aunt had foreseen. Her glance shifted from Mrs. Preston ’ s face to the fob brooch which swung forward as its wearer leaned towards the girl.
    “ Who— ” Anya leaned forward in her turn, and her politeness gave way before a strange, incredulous urgency —“ who is that? ”
    Mrs. Preston glanced down at the photograph and smiled with sad pride.
    “ That is my son. ”
    “ But—it can ’ t be! ” Anya looked up, and her startled gaze travelled round the circle of faces, as though she sought some explanation among them. “ I know him. I mean, I know that photograph—quite well. ”
    “ You know him? ” Teresa Preston ’ s voice ran up excitedly, almost hysterically, so that Celia said wa rn ingly, “ Careful, Mother. It ’ s all right. She is probably mistaken. ”
    “ No, I am not mistaken. ” Anya spoke almost sharply to the other girl. “ I do know the photograph. I have one like it. It ’ s upstairs. David— ” she turned eagerly to him for confirmation —“ you saw it. You even asked me about it. ”
    “ David! Is that true? ” Mrs. Preston turned almost accusingly upon him.
    “ Yes, but — ”
    “ Why didn ’ t you tell me? Don ’ t you see what this means? Why, it ’ s proof positive — ”
    “ No, Teresa. It isn ’ t proof positive of anything. ” That was Lady Ranmere, unemotional, almost stolid, in her determination to bring everything bade to a normal level. “ It was I who persuaded David to say nothing for the moment. I hardly thought this evening was the right occasion for upsetting discussion. In any case, I understand that Anya ’ s photograph is of two young men. She doesn ’ t know which is—the important one. ”
    “ I don ’ t know what you are talking about. ” Teresa Preston ’ s usually rather colorless face was suffused and her eyes flashed indignantly. “ You had no right, Mary, to keep such a discovery from me. My dear— ” she put a slightly trembling hand on Anya ’ s arm —“ my dear — ”
    “ Mother, please don ’ t commit yourself to anything until you hear the full facts. ” It was Celia ’ s voice which interrupted—coolly, cl early and, to tell the truth, with a note of authority not unwelcome to some of her hearers.
    “ But I want the child to tell me what she knows. Would you—would you bring your photograph down here and show me? ”
    “ Let her finish her dinner first, ” Lady Ranmere began. But Anya, who was looking at the other woman with a sort of puzzled compassion, said,
    “ I don ’ t