Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

He looked at her as if from a great distance. Really, Nell was extraordinarily pretty. He could well see why he had fallen in love with her. Queer, that he wasn’t the least bit in love with her now. How awkward it all was. He did wish she would go away and let him get on with what he was doing. What about trombones? One could improve on a trombone …

‘Vernon –’ Her voice was sharp – frightened. ‘Don’t you love me any more?’

It was really best to be truthful. He said with an odd formal politeness:

‘I’m awfully sorry. I – I’m afraid I don’t. You see I love Jane.’

‘You’re angry with me – because of that lie – about the – the child –’

‘What lie? About what child?’

‘Don’t you even remember? I said I was going to have a child and it wasn’t true … Oh, Vernon, forgive me – forgive me –’

‘That’s quite all right, Nell. Don’t you worry. I’m sure everything’s for the best. George is an awfully good chap and you’re really happiest with him. And now, for God’s sake, do go away. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m most awfully busy. The whole thing will go if I don’t pin it down …’

She stared at him.

Then slowly she moved towards the door. She stopped, turned, flung out her hands towards him.

‘Vernon –’

It was a last cry of despairing appeal.

He did not even look up, only shook his head impatiently.

She went out, shutting the door behind her.

Vernon gave a sigh of relief.

There was nothing now to come between him and his work …

He bent over the table …