The Partnership by Phyllis Bentley Read Free Book Online Page A

of view. Annice said nothing, but Lydia thought she could feel reluctance in her attitude; imagining that she was encountering the influence of the soldier from over the hill, she set herself with all her force to fight it. She did not refer to him in any way, for she felt instinctively that if she did she would be routed, but dwelt upon the nearness of Annice’s family, the kindness of Louise, and her own pleasure if she could take Annice home with her. This last was perfectly genuine; from the first she had been inexplicably attracted to the girl, and now she felt a real affection for her. The firm substantial curves of her young body seemed homely and reassuring, her eyes and lips were friendly and—in spite of the soldier—good; there was something alive and merry about her which made one feel cheerful even in sight of Foyle Tower. With these thoughts at the back of her mind Lydia went on expounding and arguing the advantages of her plan with earnest vigour. Her face grew flushed, and her hat slipped to the back of her head, while her companion, motionless, gazed quietly out to sea. At last Annice interrupted her.
    â€œAll right,” she said unexpectedly, “I’ll come.”
    She turned her head and smiled at Lydia, and at once it became plain to the elder girl that the attraction between them was mutual; her ownaffection was returned by this stalwart child of adversity. She was surprised but immensely pleased, and jumped up at once to put her plan into execution. Annice, startled but dutiful, rose and followed her, the paper parcel containing all her worldly goods in her hand.
    Lydia despatched a telegram to Louise announcing Annice’s arrival, and then busied herself with finding a room for the girl for the night, as it appeared she was not to return to the hotel. This was not so easy; Lydia had no idea where to look for a suitable room, and when they had tramped the place for an hour unsuccessfully—Lydia with increasing despondency, Annice with her customary air of serene indifference—Lydia decided to consult the Foyle Tower authorities. They, however, were far from helpful (possibly because of Lydia’s tone in making the request). Glancing sourly at the hole in Annice’s coat, they affirmed that they knew of no such place, and that all their rooms, as Lydia knew, were full. Annice hereupon affirmed that if she was left to herself she could find a room all right and meet Lydia at the station next morning; but this Lydia would not hear of—she had too definite and lurid a picture in her mind of the possible result of leaving a homeless Annice free to listen to the persuasions of the soldier. Eventually, by taking a very high tone with the Foyle Towerites, and offering a payment rather out of proportion to the service required, she secured the privilege of accommodating Annice on a sofain her own room. This arrangement was repugnant to the fastidious Lydia, and it appeared to be equally repugnant to Annice; the girl’s bright cheeks took on a deeper hue, and she protested stoutly that she could easy find a room if she were left to it. Lydia, however, was now excited to the point of overbearing all opposition, and the pair passed the night together.
    Lydia sent the child early to bed, so that the painful scantiness of her wardrobe—at which she guessed—might not be a source of embarrassment to her, and when she herself came up Annice was rosily asleep. But in the small hours of the morning a fierce wind and much heavy rain kept Lydia awake, and a subdued sigh from the sofa led her to believe that her companion was awake too. In this she was wrong, for no amount of wind could keep Annice awake; but when she spoke to the girl in a low tone, after what seemed her usual hesitation, Annice answered. Encouraged by the screening darkness, the two fell into confidences about their respective lives. Lydia spoke of the Reverend Charles, of Louise, of the Dysons, and