Away Went Love (11 page)

“But of course she is very attractive and charming. And people do marry a second time.”

“Or a third or a fourth time,” declared Bridget, who followed the domestic tangles of her film favorites with close attention. “But not the Mrs. Tamberly sort of person.”

“Anyway, the man she’s marrying is quite old too.” Tony added. “Boles—that’s the chauffeur—says he’s the richest man in the district and he wishes he had a shilling for every five-pound note Mr. Hullin has.”

Hope said rather hastily how nice, and would Mrs. Tamberly continue to live in the district? And then she led the children away from the topic, as it was obvious that they and Boles had already discussed it at somewhat unsuitable length.

But later, when the twins were in bed, and she was free to pursue her own line of thought, she returned to the subject. Was this perhaps the explanation of Errol Tamberly’s queer proposal of marriage?—if one could call it a proposal. He wanted someone to run his home as smoothly and agreeably as his mother, and thought—though why, it was hard to say—that she would be the right person to fill the role.

‘Though what special qualifications I have, apart from being the sister of the twins and therefore a possible choice, I don’t know,’ Hope told herself.

Anyway, the question was one of only academic interest, of course, since the matter would never be put to the practical test.

She saw the children off at Charing Cross in the morning before going on to the Laboratory, and was glad to notice that they were in excellent spirits and spoke quite naturally of “going home.” Whatever Errol Tamberly’s faults might be, he had certainly succeeded in making the twins feel welcome.

It was an uneventful day. The kind of day when one wished idly that something exciting would happen. Such a pity that Richard had not been free this evening. But of course work did have to come first sometimes, and, in a way, she was glad that he showed himself so conscientious about it. In any case, there were half a dozen things to be done at home, and she could well fill an evening with odd jobs.

In the end, Hope decided to have a meal out before going home, so that she could give the whole evening to clearing up the various small tasks she had in mind.

She had an early dinner at a quiet little restaurant near Leicester Square, and then, since it was a beautiful evening, sauntered a little way before picking up her bus home. There were a great number of people about, enjoying the evening sunlight as she was herself, and outside one of the big cinemas was a particularly dense crowd, watching the arrival of celebrities for a film premiere.

A little against her will, Hope got caught up in the crowd, and was the involuntary witness of the arrival of a famous actress, a Cabinet Minister and a couple of dozen quite undistinguished people. It was all rather amusing and interesting, but Hope was anxious to get home by now, and she had already turned to make her way out of the crowd when yet another car drew up. With a flourish the be-medalled commissionaire threw open the door—and out stepped Richard in evening dress.

He turned to give his hand to a slight, pretty girl in a mink coat, and the next moment they had both entered the foyer of the cinema.

The whole incident had not taken more than a few seconds, and Hope stood looking after them, oblivious of the crowd which jostled her, wondering if her eyesight and her imagination had played her some preposterous trick.

Richard had not been able to come out with her that evening because he had to work late at the office. Yet here was Richard, very much on pleasure bent, acting as escort to an expensively dressed girl on an important social occasion. It simply didn’t make sense.

Somehow Hope pushed her way out of the crowd and, no longer in any mood for strolling, boarded her bus for home.

The bus was almost empty and she sat right up in front, isolated, staring out of the window and yet seeing hardly anything of the passing streets.

What
had Richard been doing? Why hadn’t he told her quite frankly that this was the engagement which kept him from joining her? It must be some long-standing engagement—it must be. Something which he hardly liked to bring forward as a reason for delaying their own celebration, and yet something which he felt he could not possibly put off.

But then, why not tell her? Why resort to some silly glib lie? For a moment she wondered whether she had sounded so dismayed and annoyed that he had hastily invented the old office excuse.

But that was absurd! He knew he could be frank with her. Surely he knew that.

More by instinct than observation she got off the bus at the right stop, and she felt something like relief when she reached her own flat at last. As she closed the door behind her, she imagined for a second that she shut out the tormenting thoughts which had accompanied her home. But they were back with her again almost before she had taken off her hat and coat.

She was, however, ready to consider them in a more balanced and reasonable state of mind. Suppose that Richard had been asked at the very last minute to accompany this girl—that the expected work had not come into the office after all—that he had tried to get in touch with Hope herself and not been able to do so? It was rather a lot to have to suppose, Hope admitted—and it still didn’t explain his friendly, intimate air towards his companion—but there
must
be some explanation of the sort.

Could she be a sister?—a favorite cousin?—some sort or relation? Hope wondered distractedly. But she knew Richard had been an only child, and somehow a favorite cousin who had never been even mentioned in their conversations seemed a rather improbable sort of relative.

Hope was not by nature in the slightest degree jealous. If she could have thought of any reasonable explanation why Richard should be taking out a girl other than herself on this particular evening she would have hoped he enjoyed himself and left it at that.

But what hurt and frightened her almost past bearing was the idea that he might have lied to her. And if he had lied about this, what security was there in anything else connected with Richard?

Again and again she tried to comfort herself with specious excuses or with assurances that tomorrow he would tell her all about it and she would be divided between amusement and shame to think how frightened she had been. But never once, in the whole of the dreadful evening or the broken night which followed, did Hope have one moment of real confidence and reassurance.

This time the morning brought no relief—only the fresh realization that a whole day had to be lived through before any explanations were possible.

Hope was an exact and conscientious worker in the usual way, but it took all the concentration of which she was capable to avoid making mistakes that day. And when the afternoon came to an end at last, she felt weary and depressed, and entirely unfitted for tackling what might prove to be a delicate and difficult situation.

Still, there was a certain measure of relief in the knowledge that the waiting was over and that now at least she would know the truth.

When she reached the familiar little restaurant where they had agreed to meet, Richard was already waiting for her and, as he came forward with a welcoming smile, she felt some of the chill round her heart relax.

He kissed her—with an easy charm that surely held sincerity too—and told her how much he had missed seeing her during the last few days.

Hope hardly knew what reply she made. Something adequate, she supposed, and accompanied by a sufficiently convincing smile, because he seemed to see nothing wrong. And then he was busy ordering their meal, consulting her half laughingly, half teasingly, as though her likes and dislikes were a matter of real moment to him.

But at last that too was over, and the smiling waiter went away, leaving them alone, pleasantly isolated at their corner table.

Now! This was the moment. This was when Richard should plunge eagerly into explanations. Hope thought her very breathing would stop with the intensity of her nervous excitement.

Then she saw from his expression that something quite gay and trivial was coming, and, unable to bear the waiting any longer, she said in a voice that sounded curiously unlike her own:

“How—did you get on—yesterday evening?”

“Yesterday evening?”

“Yes,” Hope said rather faintly. “Did you have to work very late at the office?”

“I’ll say I did.” He grinned at her. “As a matter of fact—”

She didn’t hear the rest. To her surprise, she really did feel for a moment as though the room swung round her, and she had to concentrate all her attention on keeping her head.

Then, as everything settled down again, the clear conviction came to her that there was only one thing to do. Quietly, but quite incisively, she cut across what he was saying.

“You’re lying, aren’t you, Richard? You weren’t at the office at all. You were at the premiere of that film at the ‘Magnifique,’ with a very pretty, very expensively dressed girl.”

She heard him catch his breath in a dismayed little hiss, and, terrified suddenly that he would try to tell her more lies, she hurried on:

“Please don’t deny it or—or try to explain it away, There’s something so degrading about having lies told to one. I’d so much rather know the truth, however unpleasant.”

She hesitated a moment, and Richard broke in, a little hoarsely:

“Well, the truth is that she’s the daughter of the head of the firm. It’s very important to be—to be on good terms with her.”

“Why, Richard?” Hope’s grey eyes rested on him gravely.

“Because—well, can’t you see that she would have a good deal of influence?—It might mean promotion—even a partnership.”

Again Hope hesitated, but only so that she might choose her words very carefully.

“Yes, I see that she might have influence. I think I see the point of the partnership too. That would be, of course, if you were so fortunate as to marry her?”

It was Richard who hesitated that time, and suddenly—because she could bear neither his embarrassment nor her own any longer—Hope came coolly to his rescue.

“Richard, let’s be frank and sensible about this. Things have changed since my financial position has changed,
haven’t they? You used to say once—half jokingly—that you would have to marry money—that your tastes were too expensive for you to live an un-moneyed existence. That was the literal truth, wasn’t it? I don’t know whether you’re really fond of me or not, but—”

“I am,” he exclaimed urgently. “You know I am!”

“Very well, my dear. I’m willing to take your word for that. I’m willing to believe that, if I had had even a reasonable amount of money, you would have been happy to marry me—”

“Happier than I’d ever dared to hope,” he said rather despairingly, and with a sincerity she could not doubt.

“But things just haven’t worked out that way, Richard, have they?”

She looked squarely across the table at him, and saw that he was biting his lip—more agitated than she had ever seen Richard before. He looked oddly tired and white, and every vestige of his usual gaiety and laughter was gone, as though a lamp had been put out. She thought—he looks almost like that. Old and weary and—beaten.

And, on a sudden impulse of pity and generosity, she put out her hand on his as it lay on the table, and said: “Listen, Richard. I’m not blaming you. In a way, you were always quite frank about this money business. If you’d met me six months later than you did, you’d never have made love to me. You would have liked me, but passed on without even thinking of me in terms of marriage. It was just bad luck that we—that we got so far without either of us knowing the true situation.”

He turned his hand and gripped hers hard.

“Hope, you’re an angel of generosity. Don’t try to make it sound better than it is. At this moment I know myself for what I am, but—”

“But that doesn’t affect the main question, does it?” There was a tense little pause. Then she spoke again. “Richard, let’s just wipe out the past weeks. We—we never got as far as thinking about marriage. We met—and liked each other—and that was all. There isn’t really anything between us. There couldn’t
be
anything between us. And”—suddenly her courage failed her—“and, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go.”

“No, Hope!” He got to his feet as she did. “Don’t go like that!”

“It is the only way to go,” she said quite gently. “Please, Richard. There—there’s absolutely nothing else to say. And don’t follow me. I’d rather go alone.”

She was never quite clear afterwards about the moment when she pulled her hand away from his. She only knew that she was walking out of the restaurant, passing the astonished waiter who arrived just then with their meal.

Oh, well, it didn’t really matter. Richard could make some excuse—or no excuse. Nothing really mattered. Nothing, except that she had left before she could weep, and so a little of her pride and dignity was saved.

She was glad that it was cold when she got out into the street. The sharp evening air revived her a little, and made her feel less stupefied. She walked along rapidly, hardly bothering where she was going, conscious only of the one fact—it was over.

For the moment she could think clearly of only one fact at a time. And the overwhelming fact was that she and Richard were not going to be married, after all. Later she would begin to think of other things—she would remember—