The Nutmeg Tree (27 page)

“By the way—I've had a cable. I've got to go home to-night.”

That was all. Susan went back to the house and occupied her morning, as usual, with the plays of Racine. She was not quite certain that she had heard aright. In any case, when Mrs. Packett, at luncheon, enquired why Bryan was not there, she said merely that he had gone off for one of his long walks.

But she knew, all the same, that something had happened to her.

5

Julia and the young man lunched at a small café at Arney-le-Duc, and the young man paid. Julia let him. There was nothing else she could do. She hadn't spirit enough even to tell him a tale or two in exchange. She had so far made not the slightest attempt to account for herself, nor did she do so during the long, hot, dusty afternoon. She simply sat, tongue-tied and wretched, not even hearing when her companion produced one of his brief, uncomfortable remarks. She sat like a woman in a trance, or a woman half-dead; her face was so queerly blank that the young man, in his alarm, turned off from the Paris road at Auxerre and drove into the town to procure her a cup of tea. He had great faith in tea where women were concerned—his own mother, the widowed head of a large family, was regularly revived by it five times a day. The idea was a sound one, but from his own point of view unfortunate, since Sir William's Daimler was now only twenty miles behind. Had the Citroën kept to the main road, it would have been overtaken in less than an hour, and the young man's responsibility would at once have come to a welcome end. But he turned aside; Sir William drove on; and the chance was lost.

Outside the Café de la République Julia drank her tea in silence. It did her a certain amount of good; it made her a little more able to comprehend, if not to take an interest in, her immediate surroundings. These were highly picturesque; they had been admired (the young man told her) by Walter Pater. Something in his voice made Julia look, not at the roof-line, but at him; and for the first time she realized that he was extremely worried.

“Look here,” he stammered, at once abandoning the scenery to profit by what no doubt appeared to him a glimmering of intelligence, “Look here—I'm most frightfully sorry—”

“I know,” said Julia wearily. “I'm a damned nuisance to you.”

The young man turned crimson.

“You're not in the least. I hate driving alone. Only—the fact of the matter is—I've been running it rather fine. I mean, I've got exactly enough cash to get me to Paris—for food and petrol and so on. I mean, it's just enough for one. You see—”

“That's all right,” said Julia. “I understand. You've been sweet to bring me as far as this. As a matter of fact—” she racked her tired brain for some convincing story—“I've got friends here. Staying here. I'll be quite all right now.”

It didn't convince the young man. He stared in front of him, his forehead still wrinkled, and said uncomfortably:—

“Look here—this may be cheek on my part—but why don't you go to a consul? There isn't one nearer than Paris, but if we went to an hotel we could make them ring him up.”

Julia reached across the table, took a cigarette out of the young man's packet, and let him light it for her. To go to a consul, in her mind, was like going to the workhouse—it meant you were so down and out there was nothing left for you but public assistance. “All right,” thought Julia, “I'll take it. I've got to. I've got to get back somehow.…”

“They're doing it every day,” said the young man, with a kind of clumsy tact. “I mean, sending people home. A friend of mine got stuck last year, at Genoa. Another chap I know was stuck at Paris. It's ten to one I shall be stuck there myself.”

“All right,” repeated Julia aloud. “You move off, and I'll go along straightaway.”

“I'll come with you.”

“No,” said Julia, at last managing a smile. “I'll look more distressed by myself. Distressed British Subject—that's my line now.”

The young man stood up, felt in his pocket, and produced a handful of crumpled ten-franc notes.

“If you try leaving any of those with me,” said Julia, “I—I'll get back into the car!”

To make his farewells easier, she pretended to be very busy doing her face. It took her a long time; and when she looked up again, she was quite alone.

6

Like the young man's mother, like every other Englishwoman at half-past four in the afternoon, the Misses Marlowe wanted their tea.

“If I don't get a cup soon, I shall go to sleep,” complained the elder. “It's this dreadful heat.”

“It's the lunch,” said her sister more realistically. “But we'll be at Joigny in ten minutes, and there's a place there.”

“A
nice
place?” asked Miss Marlowe wistfully.

“A.A.,” replied Miss Ann.

The two ladies sat forward in their seats, eagerly scanning the railway line for the first sign of the bridge.

On crossing it, as Sir William did half an hour later, all drivers must slow down; the Modern Hotel stands directly and invitingly in front of them. Sir William looked at it and realized that his throat was exceedingly dry. He had been driving now, with a brief interval for lunch, for something like eight hours, and anxiety had taken possession of him. Among his fears was the dread that he might have developed a blind spot—that his eye, automatically observing every car on the road, might have ceased to transmit its messages to the brain. There was another car to be observed now, a very old Daimler standing outside the hotel; Sir William looked at it with extreme care, and this time at least his eye made no mistake.

It was the car Julia had shown him, outside the Pernollet, as belonging to two old ladies who had once given her a lift.

Sir William drew up beside it, climbed stiffly out, and entered the hotel just as the Misses Marlowe were paying for their tea. Julia was not with them. He stood a moment on the threshold, trying to frame some question which he could reasonably ask of them, resentfully aware—for he had lost all sense of humour—that owing to Julia's reprehensible habits he did not even know what name they knew her by. Then, while he hesitated, the two ladies looked up and caught sight of him.

“Oh!”
cried the Misses Marlowe in unison. “We've seen your wife!”

Without waiting to be invited Sir William walked over and sat down at their table. For some reason it was evidently expected that he should be anxious: the two ladies showed no surprise at his lack of ceremony.

“Young men are so reckless!” exclaimed the elder. “Hasn't she got back yet?”

“No,” said Sir William, his mind all at once alert and busy. A young man—there was nothing surprising about that! But where did the recklessness come in? “Were they breaking the speed limit?” he asked. “I know on these roads—”

“No, indeed!” exclaimed Miss Marlowe. “They could hardly get along. And the car made such peculiar noises—”

“
Spluttering
noises—” put in her sister.

“—that we were really quite alarmed.”

“So am I,” admitted Sir William. “In fact, I'm looking for them now. This young man—a young acquaintance of ours—insisted on taking my wife for a run, and I'm afraid they may have had a breakdown. Could you tell me exactly where you saw them?”

“Not far out of Bourg,” said Miss Marlowe promptly, “but that was about half-past ten. If they kept to the Paris road they ought to be somewhere behind us. Where were they going?”

“Oh, some beauty-spot or other,” said Sir William vaguely. If they really were on that road, why hadn't he passed them? The blind spot, after all? Had Julia seen him go by—and made no sign?

“Auxerre?” suggested Miss Ann. “If your wife is fond of Pater—”

In spite of fatigue and anxiety, Sir William smiled: he made a mental note that he must one day give Julia
Marius
, and see what happened.…

“That's very likely,” he said aloud. “I ought to have thought of it myself: it's the only place where I could have missed them. I think”—he pulled himself up again—“I'll go back there now.”

7

Driving slowly through the picturesque streets of Auxerre, Sir William saw a small disreputable car move splutteringly off from before a small deserted café. It had only one occupant, but he was a young man such as the Misses Marlowe had described. Sir William accelerated, found himself jammed by a slow-moving cart, and changing his mind came to a sudden stop. He could catch the Citroën easily; in the meantime he got out and crossed over to the Café de la République. On the other side of the privet hedge, at an empty table, sat a woman with her elbows among the crockery and her head on her fists.

“Julia!” said Sir William.

Julia looked up, her mouth and eyes opened, she made a queer, flurried movement as though she were trying to conceal herself behind her hands. Sir William walked up to her and leant heavily on the table.

“My dear Julia!” he said. “What on earth will you do next?”

About the Author

Margery Sharp (1905–1991) is renowned for her sparkling wit and insight into human nature, which are liberally displayed in her critically acclaimed social comedies of class and manners. Born in Yorkshire, England, she wrote pieces for
Punch
magazine after attending college and art school. In 1930, she published her first novel,
Rhododendron Pie
, and in 1938, she married Maj. Geoffrey Castle. Sharp wrote twenty-six novels, three of which,
Britannia Mews
,
Cluny Brown
, and
The Nutmeg Tree
, were made into feature films, and fourteen children's books, including
The Rescuers
, which was adapted into two Disney animated films.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1937 by Margery Sharp

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3432-6

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

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