been in lifts before. Why are you so nervous?’
She moistened her lips. ‘I’m not.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Davina. Not now, not ever. What do you imagine I’m going to do? Leap on you?’
She felt herself go crimson. ‘Of course not,’ she denied too quickly.
His lips twisted slightly. ‘Then you’re far too trusting,’ he told her mockingly, and sent the lift on its way to street level.
She was recalled abruptly back to the present as a child’s coloured ball bounced towards her and she instinctively put out a foot to stop it. She stood quite still for a moment, assimilating her surroundings, and telling herself that these things were all in the past now and could only have the power to hurt her if she allowed them to. But her eyes were stinging suddenly and she fumbled in her handbag for her dark glasses, insisting to herself that it was only the sunlight that was too strong.
She was dazzled now, as she’d been dazzled then, and as she walked on, the words, ‘Too trusting. Too trusting …’ began to sound a bitter knell in her tired brain.
In the end, she took another taxi and went back to the office. The publishing firm of Hanson Greer was situated in a quiet street not far from the Post Office Tower. She pushed open the glass door and went in with a smile for the receptionist in her panelled cubicle. She accepted a list of the people who had telephoned her during her absence and took the lift up to her office.
Her mother had not wanted her to work here, yet at the time it had seemed a perfectly logical thing to do. Her father had been a director of the firm until his death, and if she had been a boy, it would have been quite natural for her to follow him into publishing. And this was supposed to be the age of equal opportunities, so … Besides, Uncle Philip’s offer of a job had come just when she needed it most—when she was looking round desperately for something to fill this emotional vacuum inside herself, and she had seized it with relief.
She knew the reason for her mother’s opposition, of course. She was terrified that Davina would be brought into contact with Gethyn again through her work. But it hadn’t happened. For one thing, as far as she had known until today Gethyn was still in America, teaching creative writing at some New England college. And for another, in the two years they had been apart, he had apparently not produced another manuscript of his own. While he had been in the States, he had written the screenplay for the successful film of his first book, A Power for Good, but no new work had been forthcoming from him, and although he had never discussed it with her, Davina knew this had been a major disappointment for her uncle.
She went into her small room and sat down with a sigh, her eyes fixed absently on the scrap of paper in her hand. She really ought to make a start on returning these calls. One of them at least would probably be urgent. But the names and numbers kept dancing meaninglessly in front of her eyes, and eventually she dropped the piece of paper impatiently into her in-tray to await her attention in the morning.
Her door opened and the smooth fair head of Jan Preston, her uncle’s secretary, appeared.
‘Oh, you are back,’ she exclaimed in surprise. ‘I’ve been trying to get you at home. Mr Greer would like a word with you.’
Davina groaned inwardly. For a moment she toyed with the idea of asking Jan to forget she had seen her while she made her escape, but she soon abandoned it. Jan was a pleasant woman, but she was simply not on those kind of terms with her. So instead she smiled and murmured her thanks, promising she would be along presently.
When Jan vanished, she got up and walked the few paces to the window. There was little to see but a patch of sky framed by other people’s roofs, and the odd pigeon or two, but when she had first come there, she had spent a lot of time staring out at that limited view until she felt she knew every slate and every Victorian chimneypot.
Her fingers drummed restlessly on the white-painted sill. She knew why Uncle Philip wanted to see her, of course. He knew precisely where she had been that afternoon, and could presumably restrain his curiosity no longer.
She supposed she could not blame him under the circumstances. After all, the other party involved was one of his protegés, a writer for whom he had confidently predicted great things. And he had been right. Both Gethyn’s novels had been runaway best-sellers, here and in the States, and he promised to become a major force in the poetic world as well. Since then—two years of silence.
Her uncle’s voice sounded preoccupied as he called out 'Come in’ in reply to her brief tap on the door. He was dictating some letters into a dictaphone as she entered and he signalled to her to take a seat while he went On talking ‘… and shall look forward to seeing you on the 21st. Yours.’ He switched off the machine and smiled at her.
‘Hello, my dear. How did it go? Did this tame lawyer your mother found produce the goods?’
‘Well,’ Davina considered her polished fingernails, ‘at least he’s produced Gethyn. He’s back in Wales. Did you know?’
‘No.’ Was it her imagination, or had there been a slight pause before the monosyllable? Davina glanced up quickly, but Philip Greer was leaning back in his chair, his frowning gaze fixed musingly on a ballpoint pen he was twirling in his fingers. ‘But all the same I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it might just mean he’s ready to settle down and get some work done—some real work.’
Davina bent her head. ‘I see.’
Philip Greer gazed at her rather ironically. ‘What did you expect me to say? I haven’t any other hopes where Gethyn’s concerned any more. I’m resigned to the fact that you’re determined to put an end to this marriage of yours.’
She looked up indignantly. ‘Well, what do you expect?’ she demanded in turn. ‘This marriage of mine, as you put it, hasn’t existed for two years. It barely existed before then.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘If I’d ignored my upbringing and simply gone to bed with Gethyn, it need never have taken place at all. Now there’s an irony for you!’
Philip Greer made an abrupt movement. ‘If you’re saying that the basis for your marriage was no more than physical attraction, then I should point out that a great many successful unions have started out on little else.’
‘I see,’ she said again. ‘Perhaps I pitched my own expectations too high.’
He sighed. ‘Now I’ve made you angry, my dear, and I didn’t intend that. I’ve always felt—responsible in some ways for what happened between you and Gethyn, and I know your mother shares my viewpoint,’ he added wryly.
She flushed. ‘I know. I’ve tried to tell her …’
‘My dear, no one will ever convince Vanessa about anything she doesn’t wish to hear. And I’m afraid she “took agin” Gethyn the first time she saw him. And he didn’t help, of course. He needn’t have made it quite so clear that he was indifferent to her and her opinion of him. If he’d just pretended …’
She gave a strained smile. ‘Pretence was beyond him, I’m afraid. He—he couldn’t even pretend with me—pretend that I mattered, or that he cared, even a little.’
‘Are you so sure he didn’t?’
‘Uncle Philip,’ Davina stared at him,
