Strangers in Company by Jane Aiken Hodge Read Free Book Online Page B

thought Mark would be pleased with her news.
    â€œTwins?” She would never forget his look of horror or the appalling conversations that followed. Twins, it appeared, would be fatal to his “image.” A teen-age idol with twins? It had a built-in absurdity. He explained it to her, first patiently, then with rising heat, finally calling in his manager to “make her see reason.”
    Reason, it appeared, was an abortion or, when she pointed out that it was too late for that, even if she were prepared to consider it, a secret birth and adoption. Curious to think that when she fought for the twins’ lives, she had been no older than they were now. The end had been inevitable. When she refused to budge, Mark had left her, as publicly as possible apparently for one of the glossy young females who filled his world. It had been a “Great Romance” in the gossip columns; the unborn twins well lost for love. Interviewed, Mark had bared his heart to a sympathetic press. Naturally, that famous heart was breaking at the thought of leaving his wife and prospective family, but he must follow his star, and she led westwards. Predictably, when he was safely re-established on the other side of the Atlantic, that particular star, having served her purpose, had set. Meanwhile, the twins had been born, and he had been quoted again. All he had was theirs. Was it too much to hope that they would be called Sebastian and Viola?
    Mrs. Hilton was asking something. Marian roused herself. “Viola and Sebastian,” she said.
    â€œOoh, how romantic,” said Mrs. Hilton. The interrogation showed every sign of continuing until Athens, but Marian had had enough and pleaded headache.
    â€œI thought you looked a bit ropey.” Mrs. Hilton’s sympathy flowed as freely as her questions, but at last she lapsed into blessed silence, and Marian had time to be grateful that even the twins’ names had called up no old association and to wonder, vaguely, who was sitting silently behind them, no doubt hearing everything they said.
    She turned to look when the bus pulled up at long last outside the hotel and saw an elderly woman she had not noticed before, the kind of woman, in fact, that one tended not to notice, a small, neat creature in what must be an unsuitably hot twinset and matching skirt. She, too, had been sleeping but now opened blue eyes in a surprisingly brown face and smiled muzzily up at Marian. “Catching up on my sleep,” she said. “Did you get any last night?”
    â€œNot much.” Grateful for the excuse to escape fromMrs. Hilton, Marian paused to introduce herself. “I’m Marian Frenche.”
    â€œHow do you do.” She spoke what Mark used to describe, with dislike, as University English. “Kay Spencer. Mrs. I hope you haven’t got a burn.”
    â€œI don’t think so. It takes me quite a while. You’re lucky; you’re brown already.”
    â€œYes.” She had a pleasant light laugh. “I’m a mad gardener. To tell you the truth, I come as much for the flowers as the ruins. Did you see the mullein at Sounion?”
    â€œNo.” Turning to lead the way down the emptying bus, Marian did not confess that she would not know a mullein from an aspidistra. They walked into the hotel together, chatting idly, and Marian, picking up her key at the desk, had a prick of conscience, remembering Miss Oakland’s instructions to keep Stella away from the other members of the party. But Mrs. Spencer was turning briskly away at the foot of the stairs. “I’m in the annexe,” She lifted a friendly hand.
    It was well after seven, and by the time Marian had made a quick change into a light cotton and terylene dress the queue was already forming in the lobby. Once again she dived through, with a faintly apologetic smile for Mrs. Spencer, and again found Stella in the little bar, but this time alone, reading a book and sipping an ouzo.