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"Don't worry about that. It will have done you good. I expect you're
wondering how I knew you were in the hall. It was the fourth stair. It
always creaks when anyone treads on it. Oh, you haven't any shoes,
poor child. What size do you take?"
"Six," Caroline told her.
"So do I. You can borrow a pair of mine. Ah, Belle, bring some coffee
and biscuits, will you, please? And would you fetch a pair of my
sandals too. Miss Browning is walking about barefoot"
When Ian had mentioned that his mother was an invalid, Caroline had
vaguely imagined Mrs. Dryden as a frail elderly white-haired woman
with an imperious grande dame manner, controlling the household
from a sickbed.
But although she was probably fifty, Mrs. Dryden looked barely
forty-five. Her hair, far from being white, was as dark as Ian's. If she
had any grey hairs at all, they were still few enough to be discreetly
touched out.
As if she read Caroline's thought, Mrs. Dryden said, "I expect you're
wondering why I'm lying about doing embroidery at this hour of the
day. It must seem very lazy. Unfortunately I have what they call a
heart condition, so I have to sit about like a poor old thing of ninety.
So annoying, because otherwise I'm as fit as a fiddle."
At this point Belle returned with a pair of yellow sandals, and at the
same time there came the sound of a car approaching.
"That will be John Woolf. I expect he would like some coffee too,
Belle."
Mrs. Dryden put away her tambour, and collected some snippets of
thread which had fallen on her lap. She had a youthfully slim figure,
and was dressed in white linen trousers and a rose-red shirt. Like Ian,
she had a naturally olive skin browned by sitting in the sun, although
not his gypsy darkness.
"Morning, Joceline." Doctor Woolf greeted Mrs. Dryden with the
easy informality of an old friend. "And how are you today, Miss
Browning? As well as i am, by the look of you."
Caroline smiled and nodded. "I'm sorry I was responsible for your
being called out last night," she said contritely.
"Not to worry. It relieved Ian's mind. Anyway, he was quite right to
call me."
He stayed about a quarter of an hour. When he had gone, Caroline
said, "I must go too, Mrs. Dryden. Heaven knows how they're
managing at the salon this morning."
"Oh, you can't go yet," her hostess said quickly. "Ian left the most
strict instructions that you were not to be allowed out until he came
home. He'll run you back to the hotel after lunch, I expect. He should
be home in a few minutes. Let's stroll round the garden, shall we? I
am allowed a little mild exercise."
As they walked round the lovely garden, Mrs. Dryden pointed out a
creeper entwining a stone archway.
"That is a night-blooming cereus. It blooms for only one night,
usually early in August," she explained. "I think it's the most
spectacular of all our Bermudian plants. The flowers are simply
glorious, but as soon as the sun rises they wither and die."
In other circumstances, Caroline would have been interested in the
creeper and, later, written to her father about it.
But at the moment all her thoughts were concentrated on the
imminent return of Ian. Fortunately Mrs. Dryden did no seem to
notice that her remarks were falling on inattentive ears, and went on
naming various unusual plants.
They were returning to the house by way of one of the citrus groves
when Caroline saw Ian coming towards them. Her cheeks began to
burn, her pulse to race.
But having kissed his mother's cheek and tucked her arm through his,
he acknowledged Caroline as calmly as if what had happened last
night in the bedroom had completely slipped his mind.
They had lunch at a round glass table in a sunny garden room at the
back of the house. Ian took little part in the conversation, which
consisted mainly of Mrs. Dryden asking their guest about her family
and her work at the salon, and Caroline answering her questions.
On learning that she had three brothers, Mrs. Dryden said, "Oh, our
family is just the opposite. I have three daughters. The two eldest are
married now, and Julie, my youngest girl, is working in New York.
But when they were all living at home poor Ian was completely
outnumbered. His only escape was to go off on a fishing trip. It's a
wonder he didn't grow up a fanatical misogynist."
"Some people might say I was," Ian put in coolly, his eyes meeting
Caroline's for the first time since they had sat down.
His mother laughed and passed over the remark, but Caroline knew it
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