She was watching them immediately fill some ugly irregular gaps left by the feet of hurrying pedestrians when Zulena came to her, saying: “The telephone, Mrs. Redfield. It’s Mrs. Bellew.”“Take the message, Zulena, please.”Though she continued to stare out of the window, Irene saw nothing now, stabbed as she was by fear— and hope. Had anything happened between Clare and Bellew? And if so, what? And was she to be freed at last from the aching anxiety of the past weeks? Or was there to be more, and worse? She had a wrestling moment, in which it seemed that she must rush after Zulena and hear for herself what it was that Clare had to say. But she waited.Zulena, when she came back, said: “She says, ma’am, that she’ll be able to go to Mrs. Freeland’s tonight. She’ll be here some time between eight and nine.”“Thank you, Zulena.”The day dragged on to its end.At dinner Brian spoke bitterly of a lynching that he had been reading about in the evening paper.“Dad, why is it that they only lynch coloured people?”
