No, Mona wasn’t jealous, not of other women, but she was jealous of a career that took Lionel away from her, jealous of the time they must spend apart, of the days and hours when they ached for each other, of the months when they couldn’t meet – when she was in England and Lionel in France. And now he was back in London and she had come up from the country ostensibly to stay with a friend, but really to spend every available moment with the man she loved. But Lionel had gone home for the weekend.
“I can’t help it, darling,” he said. “My mother’s got a house-party, you know the type of thing, ’young people’. How I abominate them!”
“And a collection of nice girls who would all make good ambassadors’ wives, I suppose?” Mona had teased, half jokingly.
“As a matter of fact, you are right,” Lionel replied. “She’s invited Ann Welwyn, a pretty little thing, daughter of the Elstrees. Mother always was a snob, she can’t help it, poor darling, and the Elstrees are looking for a nice rich son-in-law.”
“They can’t have you,” Mona said possessively.
‘“Of course they can’t, my sweet,” Lionel agreed, “but I can’t tell them so openly, can I? I’ve got to be polite but make it very obvious that I don’t like the shape of Ann’s nose.”
“How do you know you won’t when you see her?”
“Shall I tell you?” Lionel asked. “Shall I tell you why no other woman can possibly attract me, possibly interest me in any way?”
Mona had raised her mouth to his.
“Yes, tell me,” she whispered…
Lionel had travelled down to Wiltshire on the Friday night and promised to be back in London first thing on Monday morning. Mona had spent a boring weekend in London, annoyed with herself that she had not gone home, yet feeling it might be difficult to make an excuse to get away again. On Sunday she had walked in the park, lunched with a school friend, and gone to an Albert Hall Concert in the afternoon. It was all rather dreary and she went to bed on Sunday evening thinking,
‘I must go to sleep quickly and then morning will be here and with it, Lionel.’
Monday morning had brought her, not Lionel, but a letter. He was terribly sorry, he couldn’t get away until Tuesday. His mother had arranged a tennis party on Monday afternoon and they were all going to a dance in the evening. Would she please understand and remember that he loved her?
Mona knew that, but it didn’t take away the sense of frustration or lessen the conviction that Lionel’s mother would not consider a penniless second cousin a good match for her clever and wealthy son. The hours of Monday dragged by slowly and Mona was thinking of dining alone in the flat that had been lent her by a friend who was in Scotland, when the telephone rang.
It was Judy Cohenn speaking, a voluptuous, middle-aged lady, whom Mona had met on one or two occasions and had seen the day before at the Albert Hall. Judy was so glad to catch Mona.
“Will you come and dine this evening?” she asked. “I have two young men coming, and it will be much more fun if we make it a parti carré.”
Mona hesitated. She did not like Lady Cohenn and she knew that Lionel would think her both ostentatious and vulgar. Still, it was something to do. Better have a good dinner at the Café de Paris than sit at home feeling miserable. Besides Lionel would be dancing, so why shouldn’t she do likewise? She hesitated a fraction longer.
‘Is it worth it?’ she asked herself. ‘Wouldn’t I be happier going to bed early so that I can look my best for Lionel in the morning? I’ll have a light supper and read a book in bed.’
Then she remembered that she had not changed her library book for a fortnight. It was the lack of something to read that sent Mona out with Judy Cohenn that night. She accepted the invitation and, putting on a frock that Lionel had never liked, went to the Café de Paris.
The two men in the party were exactly what she had anticipated. They were the type one always saw about with Judy Cohenn. One was a rather pretty young man, wearing sapphire and platinum studs and links of which he was obviously inordinately proud – the other was a Romanian with a blue-shadowed chin and somewhat limited command of the English language. This, however, did not prevent him making love to every pretty woman very effectively. Mona felt his knee against hers before they had finished the first course at dinner.
The Cafe de Paris was full. There was the usual glitter of jewels and glistening of white shirt fronts, the usual chatter of voices and laughter that seemed to lack spontaneity, and the usual soft crooning music, which soothed one into a sense of unreality.
Half-way through the evening Ned Carsdale, a young blond baronet, whom Mona had met three weeks earlier, came down the stairs. When he saw her, he hurried across the floor.
“I’m so delighted to find you again,” he said, taking both her hands in his. “Do you know, I’ve scoured the telephone directory, I’ve asked everyone I knew and very nearly had detectives out looking for you. Where do you live?”
“In the country,” Mona answered.
“Damn it! – why did I never think of that? What a fool I am! But you don’t look country, somehow.”
“I can’t help my looks.”
“Thank goodness you can’t,” he said meaningly. “Listen, Mona, I’ve got to see you again. Dine with me tomorrow night?”
“Quite impossible.”
“The next night then? The night after? The night after that?”
Mona shook her head. Poor young man, he was obviously very smitten with her charms, but she could promise him nothing. Every second, every moment must be left free in case Lionel wanted her.
“Ring me up,” she prevaricated, and gave him the number of the flat where she was staying.
“You’ll hear from me tomorrow morning,” Ned Carsdale promised.
“Not too early then,” Mona admonished him.
“And not too late in case you’ve gone out. I’m not going to lose you again.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Mona replied provocatively, but she was amused with the encounter.
“That’s a very silly young man,” Judy Cohenn said when he had left the table.
“Why?” Mona asked.
“He’s spending a very large fortune in a very short time.”
“Why not, if it’s his?”
“It won’t be for long.”
