A Song for Summer

and the farm manager had suggested they keep goats, whose milk was not rationed.

Thinking of goats, of whom she was extremely fond, Ellen began to make her way downstairs.

Sophie and Ursula, shawls over their bridesmaid's dresses, were on the landing, talking to Leon. The lights had had to be turned on by midday, but only a faint glow, cast by a lamp in the shape of a Pre-Raphaelite maiden, illumined the stairs and they were too absorbed to notice her.

"Janey's absolutely sure," Leon was saying. "He wasn't on the train. She waited till every single person had got off; and there isn't another one today."

"He doesn't have to come by train. Pilots get petrol, I'll bet. He could come up by car even now." Sophie, usually so inclined to fear the worst, had all along been convinced that Marek would come--that he would stride in at the last minute and carry Ellen off.

"Can't we do something to slow her up?"' They thought of Aniella in her swagged boat, the draperies trailing in the water. Crowthorpe was wet enough, God knew, but Ellen was doing the short drive to the church in the estate's old Morris.

"We could put sugar in the carburettor," suggested Ursula, who had become addicted to gangster films.

But sugar was rationed, and the wedding was in half an hour.

"He might still come," said Sophie obstinately. "Marek's just the sort of person to burst into the church and if he does I'll tug at Ellen's dress or tell her to faint or something."

From upstairs they heard the rustle of silk, a sharp intake of breath--then Ellen came down the stairs towards them.

"Marek is here?"' she said very quietly. "He's in England?"'

All three turned to her, consternation in their faces.

"Yes," said Leon, "I was with him in the internment camp."

"And he knows that I'm getting married today?"' Silently they nodded.

"I see."

Anguished, waiting, they looked at her. But she did not crumple up, nor weep. She straightened her shoulders and they saw pride cover her face like a film of ice.

"I'll have my flowers, please, Sophie." And then: "It's time to go."

Kendrick was waiting at the altar beside his best man, a Cambridge acquaintance whom no one had met before. Pausing inside the church, Ellen surveyed the guests as they turned their heads. The Crowthorpe retainers in their dark heavy overcoats fared best, accustomed as they were to the hardship of the Frobisher regime and the freezing church. Margaret Sinclair was there, giving her a heartening smile, but not Bennet, who was still breaking his codes ... Janey beside Frank, in the uniform of a private ... a whole bevy of gallant aunts, real ones and honorary ones, in hats they had dusted out specially--and, sitting a little apart and looking not at all like Beryl Smith but entirely like Tamara Tatriatova, (and wearing--Ellen had time to notice--coma pilfered geranium from the conservatory in her turban), the Russian ballerina.

Yet it was the detestable Tamara who had made the previous night endurable, taking Kendrick into his study to listen to Stravinsky and leaving Ellen free to help the maids with preparations for the wedding lunch.

But now it was beginning. Leon was sitting beside the old lady who played the organ; he had insisted on helping her turn the pages, ignoring her plea that she knew the music by heart. He was shuffling the music, still playing for time. She saw him look directly at Sophie, who half shook her head.

"He might still come," said Sophie obstinately. "Marek's just the sort of person to burst into the church and if he does I'll tug at Ellen's dress or tell her to faint or something."

From upstairs they heard the rustle of silk, a sharp intake of breath--then Ellen came down the stairs towards them.

"Marek is here?"' she said very quietly. "He's in England?"'

All three turned to her, consternation in their faces.

"Yes," said Leon, "I was with him in the internment camp."

"And he knows that I'm getting married today?"' Silently they nodded.

"I see."

Anguished, waiting, they looked at her. But she did not crumple up, nor weep. She straightened her shoulders and they saw pride cover her face like a film of ice.

"I'll have my flowers, please,

Sophie." And then: "It's time to go."