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.The face at the window was impassive now, but that seemed more unnerving than the surprised look, and suddenly Jane fled, leaving the bed half made and her husband’s striped pyjamas lying on the floor.I suppose it may interest him to see the vicar’s pyjamas, she thought, but was the window-cleaner a church-man? Now that she came to think of it, she couldn’t remember ever having seen him in church.Perhaps he was a Roman or Chapel or went to the little tin-roofed Gospel Hall by the gasworks; or perhaps he was nothing — a frightening thought, like seeing into the dark chasm of his mind.Of course, it was just possible that he was merely High and carried a candle or swung a censer at Father Lomax’s church.Yes; that was it.Jane saw him now through a cloud of incense, his rugged features softened …‘Nicholas!’ she called out, but there was no answer from the study, and then she remembered that he had gone out immediately after breakfast, she couldn’t remember where.Somebody was ill or dying; he had gone to play golf or perhaps to the church to see how the decorating was going; he had taken to looking in on a Saturday morning to encourage the’ ladies, and Jane felt that they really welcomed that more than her own uncertain help.Anyway, he was not here, so she could not confide her thoughts about the window-cleaner to him….‘Madam!’ Mrs.Glaze appeared at the foot of the stairs in her hat and flowered pinafore.‘Mr.Mortlake is here.’‘Mr.Mortlake? Good heavens!’ Jane called out in agitation, her thoughts going back to the meeting of the Parochial Church Council and her outspokenness about the magazine cover.Had he come to see her privately about it? To reproach her for her interference?‘I have shown him into the drawing-room,’ went on Mrs.Glaze.‘The drawing-room? Yes, certainly.’ Jane smoothed back her tousled curly hair with her hands.‘I will come down.’‘Well, madam, I don’t think you need disturb yourself.’‘Why, is the vicar with him?’‘Mr.Mortlake has come to tune the piano,’ said Mrs.Glaze in a surprised tone.‘To tune the piano — of course!’Jane almost shouted.She ran downstairs into the hall.There was his hat, a bowler of rather an old-fashioned shape, lying on a chair.Oh, the relief of it! He had come not to scold her, but to tune the piano! She wanted to rush in to him, to greet him with some exaggerated mocking gesture, ‘Buon giorno, Rigoletto,’ posturing and bowing low.But he would not appreciate it or understand.So she seized his hat and placing it on her head, pirouetted round the hall singing,O Donna Clara,I saw you dancing last night …From inside the drawing-room came the sound of Mr.Mortlake striking out single notes, cautiously, then rather impatiently.It would be some time before he ventured on to the rich chords and harmonies peculiar to his profession.Jane replaced the hat on the chair and opened the front door.A young man, who had evidently been about to ring the bell, stood on the doorstep.He was rather flashily dressed and carried a large suitcase.‘Good morning, madam,’ he said.‘Are there any old clothes for sale here?’‘This is the vicarage,’ said Jane in a rather vague tone.‘Oh, I see …’ His confidence seemed to leave him for a moment.‘So you wouldn’t really expect any, would you?’ Jane asked.‘Unless the ones I’m wearing would do?’‘The ladies like to keep old things to wear in the mornings,’ he said, recovering his poise.‘I know that.’‘I expect I shall go on wearing these all day,’ said Jane.‘My days don’t really have mornings as such, not in that way, I mean.’The young man edged away from her.He thinks he has come to a private mental home, thought Jane, the patients are not dangerous, but are allowed to take walks in the grounds.‘I’m sorry I can’t oblige you,’ she said pleasantly.‘What a lovely morning it is,’ she added as he wished her a hasty good morning and hurried out through the gate.And it certainly did seem to have improved, after that shock about Mr.Mortlake [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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