‘What, Mrs Gandell,’ noting the tone in which she spoke. ‘What?’
‘Miss Vaughan.’
‘What about her?’
‘I haven’t heard a sound.’
‘Neither have I,’ Jones said, and casually went on staring.
Mrs Gandell clapped a hand to her mouth, stared stupidly at Jones.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘A horrible thought just came into my head,’ she said.
What horrible thought?’
‘Suppose she hasn’t come back?’
‘Hasn’t – come – back, Mrs Gandell? What the hell are you talking about?’
She gripped his arms. ‘Suppose she just went off, like that,’ she said, flicking finger and thumb, ‘suppose she never came back?’
‘Oh God!’ he said.
He saw that she was worried, he knew that she was angry. But surely the worst could not come to the worst. No indeed. He brushed his lips against her cheek, and said quietly, ‘I’ll go up and see. And remember how quiet she is, Mrs Gandell, hardly makes a sound, just one of the big mouses here.’
She gave him a push. ‘Do go up, Jones,’ and when he had gone she rushed into the dining-room, sat down at their table, and thought of the worst. ‘If Miss Vaughan went…,’ but she could take the awful thought no further, and sat drumming the table, waiting, listening.
‘I just forgot all about her. Yes, and then her not coming in to lunch,’ and she rushed to the bottom of the stairs, waiting, listening. She dreaded to call out to him.
And as she stood there the afternoon happiness was miles away, and facts as big as fists were coming her way.
‘Jones!’
There was no answer.
‘Jones?’
He came tiptoeing to the top of the stairs, and asked breathlessly, ‘What, Mrs Gandell?’
She sent a hushed whisper upwards. ‘Is she back?’
‘I’m just going to knock,’ he said.
‘Then hurry up. Perhaps she’s asleep.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, and disappeared down the landing.
Then she went back to the kitchen, and did not notice the letter lying behind the front door. She concentrated on the steaming pans. She taunted herself, challenged. ‘No, oh no. She couldn’t do such a thing. To go off like that. No, Miss Vaughan was far too nice a person, and more important still, at this very moment, her only asset.
Jones, meanwhile, was gently tapping on the Vaughan door. He listened. Not a sound. He tapped again. And then, like Mrs Gandell, he, too, feared the worst. ‘She’s gone. Cleared out. The mean little bitch.’
‘Miss Vaughan!’
He leaned his head against her door.
‘Miss Vaughan!’
‘Who is that?’
Jones gave a great sigh. ‘It’s me, Miss.’
‘And who are you?’
It made Jones jump. ‘Me, Jones, Islwyn Jones that was, is, and forever shall be. Are you there, Miss Vaughan?’
And the voice as soft as velvet. ‘Of course I’m here.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said.
‘Are you?’
He thought he heard the tiniest laugh from inside the room.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’
‘I am quite all right.’
