“I’ve read all about you in the papers, of course,” said Jack, “but I’ve not seen you in the flesh since the first months of the war. Do you remember when you were ill and I walked over to talk to you? I’d just got my commission.”
“I remember.” Eric mustered all his courage and plunged before it had time to evaporate. “I’ve seen you once since—in the distance. You and your father and mother and Agnes came to a first night of mine—”
“Were you there?,” Jack asked in surprise. “I came up on purpose to see you.”
“Only for a moment. I’d been ill again and I was supposed to be in bed. I saw the first act from a box, but I couldn’t sit it out. You were all in the front row of the stalls—”
“It was almost your first public appearance since you got back from Germany. Every one was congratulating you. George Oakleigh... and Barbara Neave.” He paused, but Jack’s face told him nothing. “They were there, I remember. When I was in Japan, I saw that they’d married.”
Nothing more was coming, and Eric was forced to admire Jack’s restraint.
“That was the last time I set foot in a theatre,” he ended carelessly. “I suppose I shall have to begin again... I’ve been ill off and on for some time, and it’s like making a new start with me... By the way, I met Raney on the boat from New York. D’you remember when you and I came down from Oxford for the last time? I always felt the night before was like a vigil. The dawn of a new life, a new world...” His voice became wistfully reflective; but Jack, as ever, prosaically declined to share his reverie. “It’s easier to feel that at twenty-one than at thirty-five...” Eric went on with a laugh. “But I suppose one must try... When do you start for Worcestershire?”
“To-morrow. I’m only coming here to pick up clothes and say good-bye. You know Agnes is married? And I hear your sister Sybil’s engaged... I don’t suppose I shall see you again.”
They shook hands at Winchester, and Eric dawdled behind to identify his luggage. He never wanted to see Jack again. Sometime he must walk over to Red Roofs and pay his respects to the family, but he would not go until Jack was safely out of the way. If possible, he would avoid the house altogether, for he never wanted to see Agnes since her marriage. Five years earlier he had fancied that he would like to make her his wife; in those days they would have been very happy together; but Barbara had spoiled his palate for other women....