Susan looked at him and sighed. He was not a very romantic person, and it had never occurred to him that he had not yet kissed her, or told her he was glad to see her. Unless he was prized away from his mother's apron-strings he never would. This atmosphere was cloying. It sapped all original thought. Mrs. Chalmers was in evidence everywhere. From the ridiculous ‘Home, Sweet Home’ embroidered picture on the wall to the swear box on the mantelpiece.
Supper as usual was a concoction of scrambled eggs and bacon and after it was over Susan defiantly lit a cigarette. She did not smoke a lot, but tonight she felt so restless she had to do something to calm her nerves. She drew the smoke deeply into her lungs and then exhaled with satisfaction.
As usual, the conversation veered to the subject of the wedding. As Susan had no relatives of her own, Mrs. Chalmers had taken over the arrangements herself, and, of the forty guests on the list, only about a dozen were friends of Susan's.
The question of the house was raised, and Mrs. Chalmers again made her point about this house coming to David on her death anyway, and that to buy a new house was quite ridiculous and much too extravagant.
‘David doesn't want to be troubled with mortgages at a time like this,’ she said severely. ‘After all, this house is far too big for one person. And if David leaves I shall be all alone.'
‘You could sell it,’ Susan remarked quietly.
‘What! Sell my home! Then what would I do?'
Suddenly afraid that Mrs. Chalmers, or David for that matter, might suggest that she come to live with them should they buy a new house, Susan said quickly, ‘You could afford to buy a smaller house. Or alternatively, you could rent a flat. In fact, a flat would suit you admirably.'
‘A flat!’ Mrs. Chalmers’ face was red. ‘I couldn't live in a flat!'
‘Why not?'
Mrs. Chalmers swallowed hard. ‘You wouldn't understand, never having had a home of your own, but a home is something more than three up and two down, you know.'
Susan flushed. It hurt still, when anyone spoke so crudely of her upbringing. Truthfully the orphanage had been a wonderful place, and she still went back there sometimes to see the Matron, but it had not been quite the same as a real home, with a mother and father of her very own. She was sure that this was something else that marred her in David's mother's eyes. She seemed to look down on orphanages, as though the children in them were themselves responsible for their lack of parentage.
David must have felt uncomfortable himself at this, for he suddenly stretched and rose to his feet.
‘Well, Sue, it's nearly ten. Shall we be going?'
Gratefully, Susan rose also. ‘Oh, yes, David. Can you get my coat?'
Outside, the night air seemed inestimably fresh after the dingy atmosphere of the Chalmers house. Susan breathed deeply and was glad for once that the car was an open one. It was wonderful to feel the cold wind tugging at her hair, and clearing her head.
She wished David was not so easily dominated by his mother. For instance, he never chastened her for anything she said to herself, Susan, whatever it might be, and for all she might think that it was because he wanted to keep the peace she knew this was the coward's way out. Mrs. Chalmers might not be so objectionable if she were taken down a peg or two, now and then.
It was a problem, and she did not have any idea how it was to be solved.
When they drew up outside the block of apartments where Susan's flat was situated, she turned to David and said:
‘David, let's get this straight now, shall we? I don't want to live with your mother, however convenient it may be.'
David sighed. ‘I know, Sue, but –'
‘But nothing, David.’ Susan ran a hand over her hair, and David suddenly pulled her to him.
‘Oh, Sue,’ he whispered, ‘I only want to live with you. I don't care where it is!'
Susan allowed him to kiss her, without responding herself. She felt emotionally exhausted at the moment. Then she pressed herself against him, as though willing herself to respond, and he groaned, ‘Oh, lord, I don't know how I'll wait until October.'
‘What would your mother think?’ she taunted him, hating herself for doing so.
‘I don't damn well care,’ he muttered, and kissed her again.
THE flat which Susan shared was situated in a comparatively new block in a quiet cul-de-sac. There was a bedroom, a living-room and a kitchen, with a bathroom along the passage which was shared with two other couples.
Delia Fulton and Susan had both been brought up in the orphanage and in consequence loved the flat which was the first real home they had had. They had both come to London together to get jobs, Susan to work in a typing pool and take a commercial course during her evenings, and Delia to work in a large store from where she too had taken a course, this time in window-dressing, and she now worked for a large department store in Oxford Street.
It had been a struggle to begin with. The rent of the flat had seemed exorbitant, but now they both earned enough money to afford the flat and a few luxuries besides.
The girls were good friends and did not interfere in each other's lives. The orphanage had taught them to respect privacy, for there there had been little.
The next morning Susan woke to find Delia shaking her, and saying :
‘Wake up, Susan. I've brought you a cuppa.'
Delia was a brunette. She wore her hair very long and straight and was invariably dressed in pants and an overblouse or sweater.
‘What's the time?’ asked Susan, struggling up in bed to take the cup of tea Delia held out to her.
‘Eight o'clock,’ replied Delia, now relieved of the tea-cup and lighting a cigarette.
Susan blinked. This was indeed a red-letter day. Delia was never up first in the mornings. She was always the one who had practically to push her friend out of bed.
‘Couldn't you sleep?’ she asked, an amused twinkle in her eye. ‘Or is there some other reason for your early rising?'
Delia stretched and grinned. ‘Well, honey, Alan is taking me down to meet his parents for the weekend. He's calling for me at nine o'clock and I can hardly contain myself.'
‘I see. How wonderful!’ Susan was pleased. Alan Huntley was the nephew of the store-manager where Delia worked. His parents were Sir John and Lady Olivia Huntley and they lived in a massive house near Bristol. Although Delia had been working at the store for over eight years, it was only recently that Alan had started taking an interest in her and as she had admired him from a distance for a long time, she was overjoyed. And now he was taking her down to meet his parents and to Susan it sounded very serious indeed in the nicest possible way.
‘It is, isn't it?’ exclaimed Delia, hugging herself. ‘Just imagine! Meeting his parents!'
‘Yes, you'll soon be getting married yourself,’ said Susan. ‘I envy you.'
‘Why? You have David.'
‘Oh, I know, but I also have David's mother to contend with, and she's a whole mass of problems in herself.’ She sighed.
‘You do sound gloomy this morning,’ said Delia sympathetically. ‘You were asleep when I got home last night. Has something awful happened?'
‘Awful! Oh, no, not really.’ In truth Susan couldn't understand her depressed mood herself. It all seemed to stem from that meeting with Dominic Halstad. It was all most annoying, and most unsettling.
‘Then what's wrong? You don't sound very happy.’ Delia was genuinely concerned.
Susan