The Nutmeg Tree (23 page)

“Don't,” said Sir William. “I haven't been a hermit myself, but I'm not going to bore you with the details.”

“I shouldn't be bored a bit,” said Julia, who had no tact.

“In any case I shan't tell you. We start clear from now.”

“But I
must
tell,” said Julia desperately. “You see, if, when we both left here, you'd asked me to go to Aix with you—or anywhere else, for that matter—I'd have come like a shot. Just for a week, or as long as you wanted me. I—I'd come now.”

“I know you would, my dear.”

“Well?” said Julia, staring straight in front of her.

“I don't want you just for a week,” explained Sir William. “I want you for always. And I'm too old, my dear, to go about staying in hotels under assumed names. I should find it a great nuisance.”

“We could take a villa somewhere,” suggested Julia seriously.

“That would be even more conspicuous,” said Sir William.

Involuntarily Julia sighed. She was loving him more and more all the time, and it didn't make things easier. But she thought of Susan and hardened her heart.

“There's something else, William—no, not about me; about Sue and Bryan. I've told him again and again that people as different as they are haven't a hope. But we're just as different ourselves: you're good, like Susan, and I'm the same sort as he is—and what's more, he knows it. If I go and marry you, he'll just think it's all rot.”

“So it is,” said Sir William.

“About us, perhaps,” admitted Julia. “But then you're different again. You're not
pure
good, like Sue. You're older, and you've knocked about a bit, and you wouldn't expect so much. But Bryan won't see all that; he'll just see that I've practised one thing and preached another, and he'll never believe a word I say again. You know what the young are.”

“I know one thing,” said Sir William, “and that is that I strongly object to being made the sacrifice.”

“He'd want a double wedding,” prophesied Julia, still following her own train of thought; “it's just what he'd enjoy. He'd go and marry Susan just to see my face. I'm sorry, William dear.”

Sir William was apparently following his own train of thought too.

“I can understand that you're afraid of getting tired of me—”

“No!” cried Julia, stung. “Never! You mustn't think that of me, William! I know—I could swear—that if I married you I'd never look at another man so long as I lived. I wouldn't want to. I've got an awful lot of—of faithfulness in me, if you can only believe it.…”

“If I didn't believe it,” said Sir William gently, “I shouldn't have asked you to marry me. But I think it's only for the one right man, my dear, and if I'm not he—”

“But you are!” wailed Julia, almost in tears. “I've known it all along, and that's what's so awful. You can't think how I want to—to show you. I've sometimes wished—no, not wished, just imagined—that you were a hopeless invalid, or paralyzed, or something, so that I could just be there looking after you for years and years. I'd love it!”

For a moment Sir William did not speak; and indeed so forcible an expression of devotion was enough to silence any man. Then he reached out and put Julia's coat round her shoulders.

“Come back to the car,” he said.

“No,” said Julia wretchedly. “Once you start kissing me, I'll be done.”

“We've got to get back some time,” pointed out Sir William.

“Not till I've made you understand.” Julia sat up, and as a sign that she had fully recovered herself even managed to smile. “You've made me prouder than I've ever been in my life, William, only it's no use. There's too much against it. I can't say all I feel, I never could; but you'll always be a beautiful memory.”

“Julia!” said Sir William sharply.

“What, darling?”

“You're enjoying yourself.”

Julia flushed. It was only too true that in spite of her real misery, she had been conscious of speaking that last line well.

“And what's more,” continued Sir William, “you're enjoying yourself at my expense. I should simply loathe to be a beautiful memory. As you can't talk sense, you'd better come home.”

This time Julia rose. There was no doubt about it, Sir William possessed an extraordinary knack of tipping up the highest moral plane. Slightly ruffled by her sudden descent, Julia powdered her nose with vigour and in silence, and accompanied him back to the car.

But at least she was right about one thing. As soon as he began kissing her, she was done.

4

“Shall I have to open bazaars?” asked Julia about an hour later.

They were driving slowly up from the Lac du Bar. Their homeward route had been by no means direct.

“Good heavens, no!” said Sir William.

Julia was reassured, but also a little disappointed. She could just fancy herself on a platform, in very good black, with a spray of orchids at the left shoulder.…

“You won't have any of that,” continued Sir William, “and we can live wherever you like. At the moment I've a flat in Town—”

“Where?” asked Julia.

“Mount Street. You may like it. And of course if we keep that on, instead of taking a house, we can go abroad whenever we want to. I'd like to take you abroad, Julia. You enjoy things so.”

Julia rubbed her cheek against his coat. She couldn't kiss him, because he was driving.

“I'd like to go to Venice. Louise—a girl I used to know once—went there, and she said it was heavenly.… William!”

“Well?”

“When I talk about people like that—people who may be a bit rum—does it worry you?”

Sir William put down his left hand and felt for hers.

“Not in the least, my dear. You have the most entertaining friends of anyone I've met.”

“That's lucky,” sighed Julia; “because I expect I shall a good bit. And Louise was an awfully good sort.… If you're going to stop the car, darling, do it before the village.”

Ten minutes later, at the villa gates, she asked him to stop it again—this time merely to let her get into the back.

“Thank you,” said Sir William. “I must admit I've been curious.”

“Curious?” repeated Julia in surprise. “Why, what have I told you?”

“What young Relton said as we started,” replied Sir William. “And he ought to be kicked for it.”

Chapter 21

1

The last action of Julia's free will, before she finally and joyfully submerged it in Sir William's, was to persuade him not to announce their engagement. Sir William wanted to do things at once, thoroughly, and get them over; he wanted to send a notice to the
Times
, tell the Packetts, and marry Julia as soon as possible. Flattering as this programme was, and much as Julia longed for its completion, she nevertheless held him back. She feared the consequences—and not only upon Bryan: she had an uneasy conviction that the Packetts wouldn't believe it. They would just think that Sir William had gone mad, and that she was abetting him. Rather to her surprise, Sir William, when she laid this view before him, was very much annoyed.

“My dear Julia,” he said firmly, “if that's your only objection I shall go straight into the billiard-room and tell them now. There's no other way of showing you how foolish you are.”

Julia jumped up—they were sitting in their usual place among the vines—and seized his arm.

“Don't, William! Not just yet! I'm a fool all right—I'm anything you say—but it isn't
that
only. I've got to think of Susan and Bryan. I've got to get that business settled first.”

“It's settling itself,” retorted Sir William. “It's settling itself perfectly. Young Relton is at last finding out what Susan's really like, and Susan—who must have found him out long ago—is beginning to realize that she'll never change him. In a couple of weeks, and especially if Susan goes to London, the whole thing will have blown over.”

Julia tightened her grip.

“Then don't you see how important it is that they shouldn't be—be disturbed? It's not only that club business, William,—and that was my idea too,—it's partly what I've been saying to Bryan. I
have
influenced him, though he wouldn't admit it. And now if we go and get married he'll forget everything else and send their engagement to the
Times
as well, and quite likely go back to London himself and start working like hell and all—” Julia gasped for breath—“out of cussedness. We must leave things alone, William. You say yourself it's only a matter of weeks.”

“And if it's longer?” enquired Sir William. “If it's two months, or two years? Are we to spend the rest of our lives waiting for two young idiots to come to their senses?”

“Now you're just being silly,” said Julia comfortably. “And they're not idiots at all. They're just very young. I expect when
you
were young—”

“Thanks,” said Sir William. “One of the things I like about you, my dear, is that you don't flatter me.”

Julia slipped down onto the grass beside his chair and gave him one of her long, candid looks.

“I don't want you young, darling. I want you just as you are, experienced, and understanding, and—and able to deal with me. And besides—”

She broke off, still gazing, on a sigh of pure happiness. Sir William reached down and touched her cheek.

“Besides what, my dear?”

“You
do
look so distinguished!” said Julia simply.

An absurd glow of happiness took Sir William by surprise. There were many good reasons, he could not help knowing, why a woman in Julia's position should be glad to marry him, and in his more sober moments—when the fact that she had simply fallen in love with him seemed to pass belief—he had often enumerated them. But he had never yet included his personal appearance.…

“I see I was wrong,” he said lightly. “You're a flatterer after all.

“I'm not flattering you a bit,” said Julia earnestly. “I don't say you're the handsomest—I wouldn't say you were like poor Valentino—but you're the most distinguished-looking man, William, I've ever seen. It's your side-face, and your height, and the way you hold yourself. I thought it the moment I saw you.”

“Then you must be in love with me,” said Sir William.

As they went down to the house—the question of announcing their engagement tacitly shelved—he suddenly began to laugh. Julia asked why, but he would not tell her. She had explained so firmly that he was no longer young: and he had just caught himself wishing that instead of putting on a dinner-jacket, he could appear before her in his tail-coat.

2

There was no end, Julia felt, to the good things which were now being showered upon her. As though Sir William, and all he implied, were not enough, she received that evening the first real mark of Susan's affectionate confidence. Susan came in while Julia was changing for dinner and sat down—just like a daughter—on the edge of the bed.

“Uncle William's just told me,” said Susan, “that it was your idea about letting me in on this new club. What made you think of it?”

Julia smiled complacently.

“I knew it would be just the thing for you, Sue. I mean—I knew
you
'd be just the thing for them. You're so efficient, and clear-headed.”

This answer, besides being for the most part true, was evidently the one Susan wanted. She looked at her mother with genuine warmth.

“You can't think how I like you to say that. The others—Bryan, and even Uncle William—seem to look on it simply as a nice hobby for
me;
they don't see the other point of view at all—that I'm possibly being of real use. You've got the right attitude.”

“This is my lucky day,” thought Julia; and determined to venture further.

“This Mr. Bellamy, Sue—when I'm back in Town, I think I'd like to meet him. Will it be all right if I just go down to the club?”

“Oh!” cried Susan, quite radiant at the prospect of at last making a convert. “Of course it will! I'll write and say you're coming. Only—are you quite sure it would interest you?”

Julia was certain. She had never met a man yet in whom she could not become interested at a moment's notice. It was Susan's interest she felt needed arousing—Susan's interest in Mr. Bellamy, not merely as a good worker, but as an individual young man.

“I hope he won't knock himself up,” said Julia thoughtfully.

“Who? Mr. Bellamy?”

“Sir William says he isn't strong,” explained Julia. “He says he's terribly thin. I expect he doesn't feed himself properly.”

Susan looked serious.

“I hope he doesn't go sick, because he's really running the whole thing. He's really important. Listen, Mother—”

Julia's heart leapt. It was all she could do not to kiss Susan then and there, out of sheer gratitude. But she restrained herself. She knew that if Susan were once made self-conscious, that beautiful word would never be heard again.

“What is it, Sue?”

“I've been thinking—if I meet him in London, he'll probably want to stand me a meal, and I know he's awfully hard up. But if
you
asked us both to your flat—or I could ask him there myself, quite easily—”

“Of course!” cried Julia. “Of course you'll come! I'll give him roast beef and a suety pudding!”

At that Susan laughed, and Julia laughed too. She hadn't got a flat—she hadn't even a dining-table—and when she reacquired these things, by marriage with Sir William, Susan would quite likely disapprove and refuse to make use of them; but in spite of these obstacles Julia already saw, in her mind's eye, Susan and Mr. Bellamy sitting one on each side of her, exchanging looks of love above a well-spread board. The picture was so clear, and filled her with such confidence, that she ventured on a leading question.