Faith twisted her hands together. “Yes, yes, I know. Go on!”
“Oh, there isn’t much to tell! Bart’s taking it frightfully hard. He swears he won’t carry on with his usual job; and of course that doesn’t suit Ingram’s book.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “And it doesn’t suit mine either!”
“Yours?”
Vivian smoked her cigarette rather viciously for a moment. “Yes, mine. It’s quite funny, if you look at it in the proper light. I can see that. I mean, you know how I’ve always wanted to get away from Trevellin, and go back to London? Why, when I heard that Mr Penhallow was dead, I — I thought all my problems were solved!”
Faith regarded her with dawning dismay. “Yes, of course. But you will go back to London — won’t you?”
“Oh, no, I shan’t!” Vivian replied. “I’m going to be stuck down in the Dower House, where I shall have to remain for ever and ever — or at least until Ingram wants it for one of his boys, by which time I shall be past caring.”
“The Dower House!” repeated Faith. “But why? Why?”
Vivian shrugged. “Well, it’s obvious that even if Bart were willing to carry on he wouldn’t have the time to, once he’s running Trellick. Ingram can’t manage singlehanded, and I suppose he doesn’t want to engage a bailiff. Anyway, he’s asked Eugene if he’ll do all the book-work — accounts, and that sort of thing — and has offered to let him have the Dower House.”
“Oh, Vivian!” Faith cried pitifully. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Can’t you — can’t you persuade him not to accept?”
“No, I — You see, he’d like it, Faith! And Mr Penhallow didn’t leave as much as he’d expected, and he just hasn’t the health to be able to do anything very strenuous. I can’t say I won’t stay here when I know that there’s nothing he’d rather do. It’s just my rotten luck, that’s all. At least we shan’t have to live here any more. Of course, the Dower House is much too big for us, and I suppose I shall have to do half the work myself, but it will be my own house, which is something.”