The Nutmeg Tree (25 page)

“It's like the House that Jack built,” observed Sir William, fascinated. “So then you made a bathful—”

“No, we didn't. Louise just smashed the basin to smithereens. It was just after she'd been psychoanalyzed, and she was scared stiff of repressing herself. Not that she ever
had
, so far as I could see; but she said yes, and if she'd only known sooner there wouldn't be a whole plate left in the Café Royal.” Julia paused and looked at Sir William anxiously. “She isn't
rough
, you know; it's just that she's got a rather quick temper.”

“She sounds a most delightful and entertaining companion,” said Sir William. “I won't say I'm sorry she can't come with us to-night, because I want you to myself; but when we're in London I shall have great pleasure in meeting her.”

Julia looked at him adoringly.

“You don't know how lovely that is, William. I'd hate to drop her, and I'd hate to have to see her behind your back—in fact I wouldn't, because I've promised myself I'll never know anyone you don't like. You'll never have to be ashamed of my friends, William—truly you won't!”

“I'm sure I shan't,” said Sir William.

He spoke sincerely; he had long made up his mind to the fact that marriage with Julia would undoubtedly bring him some very queer acquaintances; but he was also convinced that her instinct for people could be perfectly trusted. Her friends might be what she called “rum”; they would also be what she called “good sorts.” Their company would probably be extremely entertaining, and he had no fear of their influence, for Julia was too clever to let him be either bored or swindled. His only apprehension was that she might plunge to the other extreme and demand to open bazaars. Well, if she wanted to, she could. Sir William felt that even Julia's respectability would have something lavish and cheerful about it—like a Costers' open-air service.…

“You'd make a first-rate Pearlie Queen,” he told her; and suddenly wondered how many of his own acquaintances, given that remark, would be able to guess the context—
Sir William to the future Lady Waring
.

“Not a single one of them!” cried Julia, when he had explained why he was laughing. She thought the matter over and became slightly indignant. “And they won't even when they've seen me, either. I'm going to be the perfect lady.”

Sir William bent and kissed her.

“Whether I like it or not?”

“Whether you like it or not,” said Julia firmly.

Five minutes later she was being kissed again, this time by Fred Genocchio.

3

It happened in this way: Julia, anxious to see whether her taffeta needed ironing, went down to the house alone and was met on the upper terrace by Anthelmine and the woman from the lodge. They were evidently looking for her; they had a visiting-card, which Anthelmine seized out of her companion's hand and thrust with a flourish under Julia's eye.

It was Fred Genocchio's.

For a moment Julia stood still, a prey to the most violent and conflicting emotions. Astonishment came first, then dismay, then a wave of flattered excitement. She didn't want Fred any more, especially she didn't want him there and then; but how touching of him to have come! Poor old Fred!

“Where is he?” she asked.
“Où est-il?”

“Là-bas,”
replied Anthelmine, jerking her shoulder towards the gates. She looked at Julia with a friendly, conspiratorial smile; she was evidently aware that the visitor had nothing to do with Sir William.

“Je vais,”
said Julia haughtily.
“Merci beaucoup.”

Anthelmine smiled again, and with a lavish display of tact hustled her companion in the direction of the kitchen door. Julia waited till they were gone, then hurried down the drive.
Dear
old Fred! she thought, as she rounded the bend; she would speak to him for just five minutes, very kindly and superiorly, before sending him away. She could do no less. Not to do as much would be rude, unladylike. In her anxiety to get it over Julia almost ran, so that Mr. Genocchio, watching from below, and with no clue to her real motive, may be excused for misinterpreting the situation. He saw Julia hastening towards him, catching her skirt on a rose, trail, jerking it free and hastening on; and with happy (though unjustified) confidence stepped forward and caught her in his arms and kissed her soundly.

“Fred!” cried Julia.

He at once released her. There was no mistaking that repulsive note. Julia backed a little away and held out her hand.

“Why, Fred!” she said graciously. “This
is
a surprise!”

But his mental agility was not equal to hers. Instead of shaking hands like a gentleman, Mr. Genocchio merely gaped.

“What's up?” he asked bluntly. “Aren't you pleased to see me?”

“Of course I'm pleased to see you.”

“Well, you don't seem like it.”

“I'm surprised,” explained Julia. “I thought you were in Paris. Is the trip over?”

“Yes, it's over,” said Mr. Genocchio glumly. “Ma and the others went back yesterday.”

“Is Ma all right now?”

“Yes, she's all right.”

“And the others?”

“They're all right too. What about yourself?”

“Oh, I'm all right,” said Julia.

“You look it,” said Mr. Genocchio. “You look grand.”

The old admiration was warm in his voice, bright in his eyes, and in spite of herself Julia could not repress a slight responsive glow. He
was
beautifully built, even in an ordinary suit. If he had turned up in tights she could hardly have answered for herself.…

“Having a good time here?”

“Lovely,” said Julia.

“You don't want a change? I mean, you wouldn't like to run over to Aix or somewhere—or even back to Paris—for a day or two?”

Julia took a long breath.

“I ought to tell you, Fred,—I ought to have told you at once,—I'm going to be married.”

Mr. Genocchio stared at her a moment in silence, then turned on his heel and stared at a rosebush instead.

“Congratulations,” he said over his shoulder. “Chap staying here, I suppose?”

“Yes. Don't look like that, Fred!”

“Why not?”

“It—it upsets me.”

“I'm upset myself,” said Mr. Genocchio. “I know I've no right to be, but there it is.” He broke off a rose switch and stood turning it in his hands. “I'd hired a car,” he said.

Julia sniffed. She had so indefensibly sympathetic a nature that in another moment she would have wept.

“I'm ever so sorry, Fred. I am truly.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” said Mr. Genocchio, recovering himself. “At least, I don't suppose there is. Is he a good sort?”

The phrase, so totally inadequate to Sir William, jarred on Julia's ear. But an odd shyness, a sort of modesty, prevented her from explaining the true magnificence of her prospects. As she would have put it herself, she didn't want to rub it in.…

“One of the best, Fred. I've been damned lucky.”

“I know who's got the luck all right,” muttered Mr. Genocchio. “Well, it's all in the game. I suppose I'd better be going.”

Julia hesitated. It seemed awful to let him come all that way and not offer him so much as a drink; but what was the good? He wouldn't be comfortable, nor would she. Indeed, when she thought of introducing him to the Packetts, and particularly to Susan, discomfort was altogether too mild a word. It would be plain bloody awful, and no offence to anyone.…

“I see I had,” said Mr. Genocchio slowly. “I've put you out by coming. I'm sorry.”

If only he could have swung off, glorious on his trapeze, and disappeared to the ruffle of drums! If only he could have leapt into his car and rushed away at sixty miles an hour! But twenty feet of gravel path separated him even from the gate, and that was too high to be vaulted. It was the worst exit he had ever been faced with: all he could do was to get himself off …

In Julia too the sense of anticlimax was strong. It was so strong as to be unbearable. All her theatrical instincts, as well as her genuine fondness for the man, rose in revolt. She caught him by the shoulder, turned him round, and held up her face to be kissed.

“Julie!”

“Fred, darling!”

He held her tight (“I hope that's not another bruise,” thought Julia, already assuaged), then almost pushed her from him and hurried off. Julia too turned away, and without looking back again to reascend the drive. As far as the first landing complacency accompanied her: she felt she had handled the situation well, artistically—which meant that she had got the last ounce out of it—and, above all, in a ladylike manner. She was very much pleased with herself. But as she arrived in sight of the house, this agreeable mood changed. She felt a curious sensation of having burned her boats. That was odd and unpleasant enough, but the feeling that succeeded it was worse still. An awful doubt invaded Julia's mind. Would a lady—a real lady—have offered that last kiss without being asked? Above all, would she have
enjoyed
it? Considering these two questions carefully, Julia was forced to answer yes to the first (because Fred wanted it so badly, and it would have been a shame to refuse) and no to the second. This was very bad, since she herself had enjoyed it thoroughly. She had enjoyed it just as much as if she hadn't been engaged to Sir William at all.

“I'm awful,” thought Julia, with sincere melancholy.

But she repented. She repented hard, all evening, until it was time to start for Aix; and then the sight of Sir William in tails drove everything else from her head.

Chapter 23

1

After an evening of unalloyed pleasure Julia and Sir William returned to the villa at one in the morning. They had dined, they had danced a little, but chiefly they had watched the people—Julia as usual keeping up a running commentary on everyone and everything she saw, Sir William as usual listening and laughsing at her flights. To Julia's delight, they saw the Disgusted Lady, who, marvellous in ice-blue slipper-satin, engrossed and despised the services of the best professional partner while her companion of the Pernollet admired from the edge of the floor. “Isn't she grand?” demanded Julia. “Astounding,” agreed Sir William; “a collector's piece.” And Julia beamed at him, because that was just what she had tried to convey to Susan, and he understood so exactly. She was looking well herself, too; she drew many admiring glances; while as for Sir William—“You're the most distinguished man here!” declared Julia. “Look as fond of me as you can, William!” And Sir William did look fond of her, just as though he were a Frenchman—except that everyone was taking him (Julia knew it) for an English lord.…

At Muzin Sir William put the car away in its barn, so as not to wake the house, and they walked up together through the still garden. A full moon dropped silver between the trees, robbing with its brightness all brightness of colour, paling the red roses, darkening the white, but exquisitely defining, by a stroke of silverpoint and a line of charcoal, every bough and twig that daylight merged in green. Julia stood still and let the scarf slip from her shoulders. At once the moonlight flowed over them, making them whiter than milk.

“What a wonderful night!”

“Wonderful,” echoed Sir William. “Whenever there's a full moon, my dear, you must wear that frock.”

Julia spread out her wide skirt and let the light play over it. It was no longer blue, but black and silver.

“I'll always have one like it,” she promised. “I—I'll be buried in it, William.” Suddenly her voice and her hands trembled, the stiff folds dropped together with a long rustling sigh. “William!” she said. “William—I'm frightened!”

At once, as when she came running panic-stricken from the woods, the barrier of his arm held her safe.

“Frightened? Why frightened now, my darling?”

“Because it's too good. It can't last.”

“Nonsense,” said Sir William gently. “It's going to last all our lives.”

“Then you'll die first, and I shan't be able to bear it. Or something will happen to stop us.”

“Nonsense,” said Sir William again. “You're tired, my dear, and excited. All this business has been a strain on you, and to-morrow I'm going to put an end to it. We'll be married straight away.”

But Julia did not hear. She had started, turned away from him, and was staring into the shadows by the house.

“Something moved!” she whispered. “There's someone there!”

Sir William took three long steps from her side and laid his hand against the dark wall.

“No one,” he said. “Come in, my dear; you're imagining things.”

He led her into the house and turned on the hall lights. Safe within four walls, Julia was able to look up at him and laugh while he chided her for her foolishness. Then she kissed him good night and went into her room and sat down before the mirror. Her reflection glowed back at her, flushed of cheek and bright of eye; her shoulders—

Her shoulders!

“There!” said Julia aloud. “If I haven't left my scarf outside!”

2

It was a nice scarf—it had been really good—and the dew would ruin it. Julia jumped up and went to the door, meaning to ask Sir William to fetch it in for her; but once in the lobby she paused. She had a feeling that Sir William might not like to be caught in his pants; she fancied him rather particular about that sort of thing. In the end she went out herself, and indeed had not far to go, for the scarf lay just at the foot of the porch steps. Julia picked it up, turned to reascend, and all at once felt her heart stand still.

Something
had
moved. Something was moving then.

A shadow detached itself from the shadows, took on an outline, showed a face white in the moonlight. It found a bitter and sardonic voice.