“Helen is going, I suppose?” she remarked, referring to Trevor’s wife. “Of course, and the two Henderson girls, and little Lady Runton. So we shall be a merry party.”
Jean was delighted. In the excitement of the moment she forgot the dark cloud that had fallen upon her.
Yet next second she reflected, and wished that her departure upon that cruiser was immediate, in order that she could escape the man who had so suddenly and unexpectedly returned into her life.
“We shall go to Scotland after our return,” he said. “Remember, we’ve got house parties on the eighth, seventeenth, and thirtieth of November.”
“And Christmas at Bracondale,” she said. “I love spending it there.”
“Or perhaps on the Riviera? Why not? It is warmer,” he suggested.
“It may be, but I really think that nowadays, with the change in the English climate, it is just as warm in Torquay at Christmas as at Nice.”
“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “Perhaps you are right, after all, Jean. If you want warmth and sunshine from December to April you must go to Egypt for it. People have begun to realise that it is often colder in Monte Carlo than in London. And yet it used not to be. I remember when I was a lad and went to Nice with the old governor each winter, we had real warm sunshine. Yes, the climate of the south of Europe has become colder, just as our English climate has become less severe in winter.”
And he ate his lobster salad and drank a glass of Chablis, thoroughly enjoying it after the hard mental strain of the morning.
“I think I shall go for a run in the car this afternoon. I feel to want some fresh air. Will you come?” he asked.