The Goddess Abides: A Novel (17 page)

“I am glad,” she said. “I can’t do the new dances. I can’t dance alone.”

“And who wants to dance alone?” he retorted.

The owner-manager came up and greeted Jared by name.

“He’s my uncle’s friend,” Jared explained.

“I like your uncle,” she said.

Idle talk, but tonight she must speak only idly. They were too near the edge of something unknown, a further step toward each other, which she did not know that she wanted to take, or even whether she could stop if it began.

“Why do you tell me now that you like my uncle?” Jared demanded as they took their seats.

“I don’t know, I just remember him. Perhaps I feel sorry for him.”

“He’s quite happy,” Jared said.

He was restless, she perceived, and she did not tell him that she remembered his uncle because she pitied him, unable as he was to feel such joy as hers.

“Let’s dance,” Jared said restlessly.

He rose and led her to the dance floor. It had been a long time since she had danced, for Arnold had not enjoyed dancing and since his death she had not gone out. Now under Jared’s superb leading she responded with all her old delight enlivened by the pleasure of new love.

“You dance beautifully,” he said.

He laid his cheek gently against her hair and she yielded herself to him while she held back the words of love which waited, impatient to be spoken. Around them a few couples began to gather, but in the dim light she recognized no one and was not recognized, except that a man spoke in passing, a young blonde girl in his arms.

“Beautiful partner you have there, Jared.”

“Thank you, Tim,” he said coldly, and swept her away. “I wish you wouldn’t make older men envy me,” he grumbled in mock annoyance.

She laughed. “But he is with a very pretty girl.”

“Who wants just a pretty girl?” he retorted. “Besides, I didn’t see her. I see only you.”

The spell of the evening held. They sat down to a new course at the table and were silent except for a desultory few words and then he was on his feet again, inviting her, and together they returned to the communion of the dance, he pressing her to him, she yielding to his every movement. Dangerous, she told herself, dangerous but unutterably sweet. Let no word be spoken, let the communication be only this languorous delight of being close together, joined by the rhythm of music and movement. She grew afraid at last of herself, and of him. An inner wisdom restrained her. The spell must be broken now, before it was too late, now before, overcome by her own desire, she let herself be led away into some solitude when, alone with him, she could ho longer control her own longing. It was near midnight and the theater crowd began to fill the room.

“I must go home,” she said as a dance ended and the orchestra retired for a brief rest.

He drew himself from her reluctantly, still holding her hand in his. “Why must you?”

“What else?” she replied. “Of course I must go home.”

He fell silent then, very silent. He paid the check and put her in her car, waiting at the door. He was so silent, his face was so grave as he looked at her in the dimness of the street, that she wondered if inadvertently she had hurt him. His eyes were troubled, or so she imagined, as he lingered after she was seated in the car.

“Good night,” she said. “I’ve had a wonderfully happy evening.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Wasn’t it selfish of me to keep you entirely to myself?”

“It was where I wanted to be,” she replied.

Their eyes met in a long, steadfast interchange, a communication. Sooner or later, she told herself, it must be spoken in words.

…She woke the next morning in a mood of resolution. The day in New York had been a double revelation. She saw Jared a man at work, she saw herself a woman in love. What had these two to do with each other, if anything? Surely something, she argued with herself. Surely love had a meaning, a purpose, but for her—what? Even before she rose from her bed, even when she had just awakened, the birds in the English ivy clinging to the walls outside the open windows of her room having roused her by their twittering and merriment, she found herself facing the questions hidden in her mind. She lay for a few minutes, her eyes closed. She must pause, she told herself, she must take thought of what she was to do with herself—and with Jared. The time of mourning for Arnold, even for Edwin, was over. Another spring had come, another love, a new life was about to begin. But what was that life to be? It was still within her power to decide, although such was her obsession with Jared that it might not be within her power if she met him again, unfortified by decision. She was dismayed to realize her own weakness. I am capable of anything, she thought in shocked dismay. I am entirely capable of seducing him. That is what I am afraid I might do! If we are alone together somewhere, some evening, even here in this house, I could do it. And he would not resist. He has passed the point of resistance. He is beginning to think of me in that way.

She was aware of a double self in this thinking. One self delighted in the possibility of seduction, oh, yes, of course a seduction so skillfully brought about that he would appear the aggressor and she the one who yielded. The other self? At this moment that one appeared as vague, as wavering as a ghost. The morning sun shone too warmly into the luxurious bedroom, the bed was too soft, her body too ready with healthy desire. She could only remember last night when, pressed to him, they had moved as one through the slow steps of the dance. For a moment she submitted to desire, then unable to endure her loneliness, she threw back the covers and got out of bed.

This daily ritual, this tending of the flesh! She stood before the mirror and twisted her long loose hair about her head and pinned it, ready for her morning shower. Then she leaned forward and examined her image. She was still beautiful in the morning, but would he ever see her so? Without makeup, she still had color, her lips softly red, a mild flush on her cheeks, her eyes blue under her lightly marked brows. She had good eyes, people always noticed her eyes, and seeing herself, she seemed to see another woman, a woman awakened to new life of some sort, the cool exterior changed, the poise gone, a tremulous, questioning, shy woman, puzzled, perhaps, or not quite daring enough. It was she, and facing herself, she was afraid again. She moved away from the image and made haste to return to the routine of bath and dress, of breakfast served as usual at the small table set for her alone in the bay window of the dining room, and Weston, waiting on her in grave silence while she drank orange juice and ate her usual meal, boiled egg and bacon and a slice of wheaten bread, without butter.

“Cook asks if you would like sweetbreads for luncheon, madame,” Weston said when she rose.

“Very nice,” she murmured, not caring, and she went away to her desk in the library and drew from a pigeonhole the plans for the house by the sea, a house that might someday be built, or might not. How could she know? Everything depended on the woman who would live in it, alone or not alone.

She spent the morning over the plans, finishing them to the last detail of door and window. Then, since the day continued fine, she ordered her luncheon served on the terrace and there in the shelter of the tall evergreens which hid her even from Amelia’s sharp eyes next door, she sat in quiet thought while she ate, pausing now and then to toss a bit of bread to a squirrel gazing at her with sharp black eyes. When she had finished a slice of melon for dessert she rose and having made up her mind, she gave her orders.

“Weston, please have the chauffeur bring the car in half an hour. I am going to Red Hills, in Jersey,”

“Yes, madame,” he said.

…By the sea, the air was still cool. She had left chauffeur and car at the road and had walked across the dunes to the top of the cliff where the gray rock began. Here she seated herself upon a weathered log, a twisted pine which a storm had once uprooted and left. The sea was moving in mild waves, rippling into edges of white under the blue sky. The sea was blue over green depths here at the shore but deepening to purple on the horizon. Now here she was alone, and let her savor her loneliness, plumb it to its depth, its bottomless depth. For this was the evil of loving a man as she knew she now loved Jared. Love made the lover lonely without the beloved, an eternal loneliness which nothing could mend until the beloved was here again. She shrank from any other presence. How long had it been since she had sought out her old friends? Even Amelia she had not seen for weeks. She had refused all invitations, she had answered telephone calls with impatience, she had immured herself in her own obsession of love. But last night had forced her to realization. She could not continue as she was. Yet to what was she now to move for change? A question without answer!

She sighed and rose to her feet. Suddenly she wanted to descend from this height. This was too lonely a spot, poised between sky and sea. She would descend from it. She would go down the rickety steps and lie on the white sand of the beach below. Peering over the edge of the cliff, she saw a small cave under the overhanging rock. The tide was out, and the sand lay dry and warm, doubtless, from the sun. There she would hide herself, there she would escape. She glanced at the car on the road. The chauffeur was asleep behind the wheel, his cap slipping from his head and his mouth ajar. Even he would not see where she was going.

She went down the steps, clinging to the shaky rail, and stepped into the soft white sand. The cave was raised a few inches above the beach and she went to it, a place sheltered from the wind. She took off her coat and folded it into a pillow and lay down on the sand warmed by the sun. The overhanging rock made only enough shade to protect her head and shoulders, but the air was cool so that the warmth of the sun on her body was pleasant. She sighed and relaxed and felt calmed and hidden. An hour of rest would do her good. She had slept fitfully last night, had waked often. Before she was aware, she escaped now into deep sleep, soothed by the lap-lap-lapping of the waves.

…And was suddenly awakened by hearing her name called again and again.

“Edith—Edith—Edith!”

She opened her eyes slowly and stared up at the overhanging rock and could not imagine where she was.

“Edith—Edith!”

She sat up and shook the sand out of her hair. Her feet were wet, they were in water. And it was Jared’s voice shouting at her. He was racing down the steps.

“The tide has turned, you darling idiot! I couldn’t see you until you moved. Oh, how could you! How did you get here all alone? Where’s your car?”

He was rolling up his trousers and preparing to wade to her.

“Take off your shoes and stockings,” he commanded. “The water is only about to your knees, but a few more minutes—lucky it’s a calm day! But the tide is rolling in, the cave would have filled—”

She was peeling off her stockings and now, shoes in her hand, she began to walk through the water toward him. He met her before she had reached halfway, and, his arm about her, he led her to the steps.

“Up with you as fast as possible,” he scolded. “No, I’ll wait until you reach the top. These steps won’t bear the weight of both of us, and I don’t care to scale the cliff.”

He waited, the incoming tide swelling about him, until she had reached the top and stood upon firm ground. Then he swung himself up the steps, socks and shoes in hand, and faced her. He was pale and angry.

“You might have been caught there,” he shouted.

“I can swim,” she said mildly and sitting on a rock she began to put on her stockings while he watched her, still angry.

“I went to your house,” he said. “Weston told me where you were. Where
is
that damned chauffeur of yours?”

“He’s probably wondering where I am and has gone to report me lost or something.”

“You have very pretty legs and feet,” he said suddenly as though he had not heard her.

“I’ve been told that before,” she said. Then, clothed, she rearranged her hair. “I lost my hat,” she continued.

“What’s a hat—” he grumbled.

“Nothing, under the circumstances,” she agreed, “especially as it’s gone. The tide carried it away.”

They were interrupted by the return of her car and with it a police car.

“She’s come back,” the chauffeur shouted to the policeman. The two cars pulled up, and the officer stepped out and came toward them.

“I’m sorry,” she told him with her best smile. “I was stupid and fell asleep on the beach. My friend, Mr. Barnow, came along and rescued me.”

“Before she drowned,” Jared put in.

“Before I drowned,” she repeated.

The officer turned to the chauffeur. “You might have looked over the cliff!”

“I never took thought,” the chauffeur said.

Jared lost patience suddenly. “While you two decide what should have been done, I will drive Mrs. Chardman home in my car. Come along, Mrs. Chardman.”

She rose in a mood of strange peace and followed him and they drove away, together.

…“Why don't you ask me why I came?” Jared asked.

They had maintained a long silence during an early dinner at a wayside inn, a silence she had not wished to break. Indeed, she had nothing to say. The warmth of the sun, now near setting, the mild air, flowing in through the open window, the sea air, fragrant and moist, the happiness of being with him, whatever the reason, induced a profound contentment.

“Why did you come?” she asked, almost idly.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I had to—I couldn’t do anything else—properly, that is. You’ve upset me. I can’t do my work—since last night. I do nothing but think about you, how you look, the sound of your voice, the way you walk. You dance better than anyone I’ve ever known—more gracefully. I can’t tell you—it’s a yielding sort of grace. I can’t forget it. I’ve never felt like this before. Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What can I say? Except that I’m happy, wonderfully happy. I—I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy before in my life—not in this way.” Her voice drifted off in a whisper.

“In what way?” he demanded.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” she said simply.