Finished the series and very sad there are no more. Maybe in the future. Quick and easy reads. Format: Paperback. Cadogan Cain and his wife Angie are back again, and this time immersed in the vagaries and dangers of messing with Hollywood. Well written characters and the tension and dramas that ensue allow for an enjoyable read with this new book in the series.
Highly recommended. See both reviews. Amazon Giveaway allows you to run promotional giveaways in order to create buzz, reward your audience, and attract new followers and customers. Learn more about Amazon Giveaway. Set up a giveaway.
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AmazonGlobal Ship Orders Internationally. Amazon Inspire Digital Educational Resources. Amazon Rapids Fun stories for kids on the go. ComiXology Thousands of Digital Comics. DPReview Digital Photography. East Dane Designer Men's Fashion. Betty touched them tenderly: her husband's title-deeds, so to speak, to the honour and respect she bore him. Looking at them she blushed faintly, thinking of the warmer sentiment they had provoked.
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As she blushed her glance fell upon the sermon she had just picked up. This bore no text, but across it, in Archibald's handwriting, were two words: Whit-Sunday, Westchester. The words provoked a score of memories. Once more she knelt in the chancel of that splendid fane, hearing the flute-like notes of the boy; once more she was conscious of being whirled aloft to ineffable heights. Then she dropped to earth as suddenly, with a vivid realisation that if this sermon had never been preached, she would not be here in this house, the wife of the preacher.
With this reflection came a desire to read the sermon. She laid it aside, while she finished the work of replacing the other MSS. Then she closed the desk, and discovered that the lock was hampered. She was wondering whether she ought to seal it, when she remembered that it would be easy to lock up the room. The light was failing, yet the fancy took her that she would like to read her husband's sermon in her own room, overlooking the river as it flowed to the sea.
She went upstairs carrying the MS. The sun was about to set; and the river ran red, no longer golden. Shadows obscured the city beyond. A mist was stealing up from the east, and the barges floating into it were swallowed up. Betty unrolled the MS. But at the first glance she blinked, as if her eyesight were deceiving her.
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Then with a muttered exclamation of surprise, she held the sheets of blue foolscap to the light, and examined them attentively. The MS. Here and there words were interpolated or excised. In the margin were her husband's notes, but the MS. What did it mean? She read it through. Yes: as it was written, so it had been preached, and it had been written by Mark! It's alright if you just wanted to own me. But you should not have helped Molly leave me! Molly, who wants to run away from Brian, seems to be the only one to blame for Hannah's misfortune She rolled up the MS.
The only other sermon in Mark's handwriting was the "Purity" sermon, but many were covered with his notes. Again and again a phrase remembered, a thought treasured-because it revealed the man she had chosen as wise, and noble, and good, and therefore justified that choice and silenced any doubts she might have entertained regarding it-stood out as Mark's. Again and again she read some common-place, some compromise, some paragraph which rang false, slashed by Mark's red pencil. Once or twice she held up the sheets, examining closely the condemned passages; smiling derisively as she perceived the violence of protest in the broad, deeply indented excoriations.
Suddenly Dibdin appeared, bland but surprised. She put the sermons into the basket and went back to Cadogan Place, where a cold supper awaited her. The footman told the cook that his mistress had eaten nothing, but had called for a pint of champagne. The cook expressed an opinion that nothing in the world was so upsetting as a "move"; which turned everything and everybody upside down, and produced "squirmishy" feelings inside. Presently Betty's maid went upstairs, and returned with heightened colour.
Her mistress, so she reported, was as cross as two sticks. Betty, indeed, was pacing up and down her bedroom in a fever of indecision and unrest. The husband she had honoured was destroyed. The ghost of him inspired repugnance-a repugnance which found larger room in the new house. The pleasure she had taken in furnishing became pain, inasmuch as not a chintz had been chosen without the reflection that she was recovering what was dingy and discoloured in her life, substituting for the old and worn the fresh and new.
And now, in the twinkling of an eye, her good resolutions, her hopes and aims, her readjusted sense of proportion-had vanished. She was in the mood to set ablaze that dainty room in which in fancy she had passed so many happy hours, to tear down and destroy the tissues through which she had looked out upon a future as rose-coloured as they. She passed a sleepless night, got up feeling and looking wretched, gave her servants certain hasty directions, and drove to Waterloo.
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In her hand she carried a small bag containing the Westchester and Windsor sermons. From Weybridge she walked to Myrtle Cottage, and the exercise brought colour into her cheeks. She was sure that she would find Mark in the shelter, so she approached it from the side of the grove, being unwilling to face Mary's clear and possibly curious eyes. Mark was at his typewriting machine when she saw him, and as usual so absorbed in his task that he never perceived her.
Betty reflected that he could not have approached her without her being aware of it, but men surely were fashioned out of clay other than what was used for women. He sprang up, with a startled exclamation, and came forwards, holding out both hands. As he spoke her indignation began to ooze from her. Intuition told her that the expression upon Mark's face revealed intense sympathy.
Her trouble, whatever it might be, had moved him to the core.
Chapter 33 ILLUMINATION
Suddenly, a light flickered out of the darkness. For the first time, she saw herself and him alone together, shut off from the world. It came upon her with a shock that she was glad that Mark, not Archibald, had written the sermon. Only he, the lover of her girlish dreams, could have found the words which had stirred her so profoundly. Mark repeated the question, "What has happened? He nodded, realising the fatuity of denial. For a moment they gazed into each other's eyes. Then she said slowly-. Oh, my God, I shall go mad! I married him because you-you had tricked him out in a garment of righteousness!
Had you come forward at the eleventh hour and spoken I should have thanked you and blessed you. Why did you hold your tongue-why-why-why? Why did you not say it yourself? I withheld the truth, because truth, faith, love had gone out of my life, blasted by-b-b-by--". Nothing else is possible between us.
What killed your faith? You have never answered that question. What changed you from the man you were to the man you are?
He saw that she was about to swoop on the truth he had hidden so long. He was impotent to avert discovery. She came very slowly towards him, her eyes fixed on his. The expression in them bewildered him.
She raised both her arms and laid her hands upon his shoulders. She smiled piteously. And yet loving me like that you could believe that I loved him. Ah, love is blind indeed. That was like you. But did it never strike you that I might find out? Betty, I have behaved like a fool. I gave him that sermon which I would have given my right hand to preach. But I had not foreseen its effect. Having given it, I could not take it back. A dozen times his stammer stopped him, as many times he was made aware that this abhorred weakness bound him the closer to the woman who loved him.
When he had finished his story she looked up. Above, the song of the pines rose and fell in melancholy cadence. The day was hot, and would become hotter, but here in this sylvan temple the air flowed in cool and fragrant currents. Mark was silent, reflecting that always he had known this hour would come. From the moment he had read Archibald's letter announcing his engagement, Destiny, with the leer of some hideous gargoyle, had decreed that he should hate his brother and love his brother's wife. Up to the present moment both passions had been controlled and confined.