There Will Come A Stranger (16 page)

Rory, leaning against the wall beside the outer door, sprang to alertness. Surely he had heard a sound of movement in the flat? Dropping on one knee, he pushed in the flap of the letterbox, and listened. There could be no doubt about it now
—
he heard the sound of running water, and a clink of china. Why, then, had his ringing been unanswered?

All kinds of wild ideas flashed through his mind. Could John have telephoned and told her of his sudden demand for her address, so that she was half expecting him? Did her ignoring of his ringing mean that she refused to see him? How monstrously unreasonable! after all, what more could he have done than write to her an explanation and apology for what had happened?

His suspense boiled into anger. Pressing his finger on the bell, he kept it there, telling himself furiously that if the door was still shut by the time that he had counted fifty, he would break it down!

Startled and dismayed by the renewed shrilling of the bell, Valerie put down the cup that she was drying, and wondered what to do, since evidently the unwelcome visitor had not departed after all. When it continued ringing, urgent and peremptory, she decided it could be no visitor who was pressing it so perseveringly: it must be Vivian, and she must have left her key behind.

Valerie rushed to her bedroom, splashed cold water on her face, dabbed it with powder, touched her mouth with lipstick, ran a comb swiftly through her hair, and anxiously inspected the result. Still it was very obvious that she had been crying. She must keep her back to the light and hope that Vivian would be unobservant—poor Vivian, ringing still!

Rushing to the door, she flung it wide. “Sorry to keep you waiting, darling!” she apologized, as she drew back behind it so as to keep well in its shadow.

There was the briefest pause. Then someone entered. But it wasn
’
t Vivian—it was—but it
couldn
’
t
be
—
!

She couldn
’
t bear that he should see her woebegone and tear-stained. As she dropped her head, her fair hair fell to curtain her, and her hands flew up to hide her face.

Rory took one startled look at her, then closed the door behind him, shutting them in together. He took her in his arms, gripping her as though he never meant to let her go again. His coat was rough beneath her cheek. She felt the hardness of his shoulder, heard the pounding of his heart.

“My darling—oh, my sweetest,
littlest
love!” said Rory, with his lips against her hair.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

On
a Friday afternoon in
mid-May
, Valerie was packing a suitcase. Soon after five o
’
clock Rory would be coming to fetch her; they were going to spend the week-end in Devon, at his home.

It would be no alarming ordeal, for she had already met his parents. Rory had telephoned to them, late on that evening of delirious happiness when they had been reunited, to tell them he was going to be married, and two days later they had come to London to meet their future daughter-in
-
law. Theirs had been no critical inspection. They had made it obvious from the beginning that they were delighted with her, and both she and Vivian had felt at home with them at once.

Rory
’
s mother was a charming woman of fifty, tall and vivacious, wearing well-cut tweeds. His father, about ten years older, was a quiet man of burly build, with grey hair and a fresh complexion and a friendly twinkle in his eye. They both seemed to be absorbed in country interests; their garden and their poultry and their dogs, the W.I., the Rural District Council, and the like. Valerie had gathered that they had been troubled over Rory
’
s lack of home life, feeling that his bachelor existence in London was a dreary business. They were obviously very pleased that he was going to settle down—and still more pleased when Vivian invited them to dinner at the flat, and they discovered that it had been Valerie herself who cooked the admirable meal, beginning with fish cooked in the oven with a delicious mushroom sauce, continuing with fricassee of chicken and ending with a cheese
soufflé
, crisp on top, foam-light within, and perfect coffee. Later, while Valerie and Rory did the washing up with a great deal of laughter, his parents had told Vivian that they could have no better proof that Rory
’
s wife would be as capable as she was attractive. And it does round off everything quite perfectly, Valerie reflected, to know they like me, and are pleased about it all!

Vivian came in. “How are you getting on? Can I do anything to help
?
”

“Not a thing, thank you! I
’
ve practically finished. I tell you what, though—if you
’
ll put the kettle on, we might have tea. Rory can
’
t possibly get here for at least another hour.”

“Shouldn
’
t we wait for him
?
”

“No—he wants me to be ready to start right away, as soon as he gets here. And he never has tea, anyway, except sometimes at the week-end!”

They sat companionably by a small table Vivian had drawn up near the window, so that they might be in the sun. Out on the window-ledge a fat grey pigeon cooed and strutted, waiting for the crumbs that often were forthcoming about this time of day. The distant roaring of the traffic in fee Brompton Road was like the soothing murmur of the summer sea, and made a peaceful background for their talk, which was, as usual, chiefly of the wedding that would take place on the first of June—a fortnight from to-morrow.

“I do wish you were coming with us! Rory
’
s parents would have loved to have you!” Valerie said presently. The one fly in the ointment of her bliss was her concern for Vivian.

Everything had been arranged so that her own future held as great a promise of happiness as any future can, in this uncertain world. The wedding would be very quiet; only relations and a few special friends, including John and Susan and of course Harry, had been invited. Afterwards, they would all come back here to drink good wishes to the bride and bridegroom, and cut the cake. Still later, she and Rory would go off together for the week-end, to a quiet country inn beside the sea, in Essex; they had decided to defer the chief part of their honeymoon, since Rory
’
s annual holiday and the money they could spend on it were limited, until Christmas, so that they might go again to Switzerland. Already Rory had written to Madame Jourdier, asking her to book a room for them at the Casque d
’
Or.

The first months of their married life would be spent here in the flat. Vivian, saying that after Valerie
’
s wedding she would have no more need of it, had handed over the lease to them, with the agreement of the owner. This would give them time to look round for a house; they hoped to find one in the neighbourhood of Kew or Richmond. Rory
’
s parents were in due course going to give them furniture that had been in store since they had left a larger house two years ago, and surplus silver. Vivian was giving them linen, and blankets, and a cheque for carpets. So all seemed to be plain sailing, in addition to the overwhelming, unbelievable ecstasy of being beloved and loving...

But what of Vivian? Hesitantly Valerie asked the question that had been troubling her for days.

“Vivian, I
’
ve been wondering, and so has Rory, where you will go, and what you
’
ll do, after the wedding? I hate to think of you, all by yourself! Have you been making any plans?”

Vivian smiled at her. “Is that why you
’
ve been looking so pensive
?
’
It
’
s very sweet of you, and Rory too, to bother about me when you have all your own affairs to cope with! Honestly, you need not worry about me, darling! I may look up some old friends. Or I might travel a bit. I
’
m used to fending for myself, you know!”

“I know you are. It
’
s just that—oh, you
’
ve been so sweet to me, and done so much for me, and I feel awful about upsetting all the plans we
’
d made!”

“You haven
’
t!” Vivian assured her. “This is
exactly
what I would have planned, if it had been in my hands!”

“Truly?”

“Truly. It
’
s been lovely for me, having you with me since I came back from America. But I
’
ve been hoping all along that you
’
d very soon be making a life for yourself, instead of sharing mine. So for goodness gracious sake, stop feeling guilty about me, honey! I couldn
’
t possibly be more delighted than I am about you and Rory!”

Valerie was reassured. They talked for a few minutes of other things, and then the bell rang, and she ran with a light heart to welcome Rory. Last night when she went to let him in she had found him wearing an enormous pair of spectacles and a false moustache, and he had greeted her as Mrs. MacTavish, and said that he had come to see her twins, as most unfortunately his partner, Dr. Sniffy, had been taken ill with an attack of glumps. Smiling to herself at the ridiculous memory, she wondered whether he would perpetrate some other imbecility to-day.

This time he addressed her in a mincing, high
-
pitched voice of exaggerated refinement, his utterance somewhat impeded by an outsize set of false teeth he had made out of a piece of orange peel.

“
Good
afternoon! This
is
the residence of Mrs. Howe, is not it?”

Valerie took a deep breath, and made a good recovery. “Yes! Mrs. Howe lives here. You
’
re late!” she said severely, “she
’
s been expecting you for the last hour!” Then, turning away from him, she called “Vivian! The piano tuner has come at
last
!”

On which the “piano tuner” pounced upon her, swept her up, and dumped her squealing and protesting on the sofa, gnashing his orange-peel teeth
and squinting horribly until she begged for mercy.

Having chatted for a few moments with Vivian, and assured her that they wished that she were coming with them, they bade her an affectionate farewell. Rory took Valerie
’
s suitcase and they departed. The lift was waiting still, but Rory, having shut the door of the flat behind them, pulled her back as she was going to enter it, and turned her so that she was facing him, holding her by the shoulders.

“Love me?” he whispered.

“No—I
’
ve got tired of you since yesterday!” she began, but couldn
’
t keep it up. “Oh, darling
—
darling—
darling!
Sometimes I just can
’
t believe all this is really true!” she breathed. Rory bent his head. His arms slid round her, and she tilted up her laughing mouth to meet his lips.

Viv
ian, watching from the window, presently saw them cross the pavement to the car. She smiled down at their smiling upturned faces as they raised their hands in final farewell, and waved back at them. Then she watched them driving off together into the sunlit afternoon.

The room seemed very quiet, very empty, as she turned to take away the tea tray. After the first of June, her life was going to be empty, too. Preoccupied with Valerie
’
s affairs, she had not fully realized just how empty it would be, until this afternoon, when Valerie
’
s concern for her had brought it home to her.

Rory and Valerie would always welcome her, always be glad to see her. But she must be careful not to take advantage of that welcome, not to intrude too often on their life together; careful that Valerie should never feel it was a duty to include her solitary sister in their doings; careful not to give unsought advice out of her own experience. It was because of this necessity not to play too great a part in Valerie
’
s new life that she had refused Mrs. Wilson
’
s invitation to go with them for the week-end. “Two
’
s company, three
’
s none.” Far better to begin as they were going on.

Shrinking from the prospect of her future loneliness, she tried to dwell instead on all that must be done during the coming fortnight.

Valerie had gratefully accepted, as Vivian
’
s present, her share of Hawthorn Lodge. Rory had good prospects of advancement in his firm; one day, if all went well, they should be comfortably off, but to begin with they would be far from opulent, and to have the whole rent for the house, instead of half,
as now,
would be a very useful addition to their income. On Monday morning she would see her lawyer, and arrange to have it settled legally.

She must see about a cake, too, and the other refreshments after the wedding, and do some other shopping. She and Valerie had had a tussle over the question of a trousseau. Valerie had declared that as Vivian had given her a complete new outfit such a little time ago, she had no need of anything now, except for one or two small odds and ends that she would buy herself. Vivian had pointed out that if their parents had been alive they would have given her a trousseau—it was the right of every bride! As they were not, it was her sister
’
s right, and pleasure too, to take their place. Finally they had compromised. Valerie had agreed to accept a wedding dress and going away outfit. They had gone to Debenham
’
s to choose materials, and decided on the styles, and early next week Valerie would have her first fittings. And on her wedding day, Vivian decided, I
’
ll give her a cheque, and tell her it
’
s to supplement her wardrobe later on. She can
’
t refuse it from me, on her wedding morning!
...
And tomorrow I
’
ll go out and buy some very special undies for her
—
she can
’
t refused those either, once they
’
re bought
and paid for. And I don
’
t believe she
’
ll want to, when she sees them
...

Washing the cups, Vivian considered the pros and cons of
crepe de Chine
and nylon, embroidery and lace, peach and ivory and palest blue. She looked once more at the patterns for the wedding dress, which was to be a glamorous dream of filmy tulle, and the going away outfit, which would consist of a frock in periwinkle foulard and a navy coat, lined with the same material as the dress. She told herself there would be babies before very long, and pictured them—their waving starfish hands, their tiny heads, bloomed with a soft golden down, the enchanting creases round their wrists and ankles
...

They will need me then! she thought. I
’
ll run the house when Valerie is in bed. I can be baby sitter for them in the evenings, so that she and Rory can go out together. I can help to nurse them when they
’
re ill. Aunts have their uses!

Suddenly a great wave of depression overwhelmed her. Meanwhile, she was not an aunt, and never might be! No one needed her. And in that desolate moment it seemed to Vivian that no one ever would again.

Deep in her forlorn reverie, the sudden ringing of the telephone startled her so that she jumped, knocking her elbow on a chair beside her. With a rueful grimace at her clumsiness, she went to answer its insistent “Prr-prr! Prr-prr!” Always its summons sounded so imperious, so urgent, as though tidings of tremendous import were about to be delivered—when like as not it was nothing of greater consequence than a message that her tweeds were ready to be fitted.

But it was not the drawling voice of the receptionist at her tailor
’
s who spoke as she took off the receiver. Briskly impersonal, the operator, having confirmed the number, told her to “hold
on for a long distance call.” Waiting, she wondered who it could be. One of her brothers, with some urgent piece of family news? But if it were, he would have waited until six o
’
clock when cheap calls would begin; already it was after half-past five. Valerie, perhaps, ringing up to ask if she would deal with something that in her state of bemused bliss she had forgotten?

And then John
’
s voice, as clearly
recognizable
as though he were sp
eaking from the flat below,
asked
, “Is that Knightsbridge 23232?”

“
John
!
Oh, how exactly like you to ring up just when I
’
m in the dumps!”

“Are you?” He sounded perturbed. “Anything serious gone wrong?”

“Nothing gone wrong at all. Only a silly mood.”

“My dear, I
’
m sorry. If only I were nearer you
...
Are you very booked up this week-end?”

“I
’
m not booked up at all. Rory has taken Valerie to his people for the week-end, so I
’
m on my own.”

‘
Good! If you
’
ll, keep to-morrow and Sunday free for me, I
’
ll travel south to-night and be with you any time that suits you in the morning.”

“But—oh, it
’
s sweet of you! But honestly you mustn
’
t dream of coming all that way just because I
’
m in the blues! I
’
m getting over it already—just talking to you has cheered me up!”

“I was coming anyway. I told you that, when you were at B
ield
side,” he reminded her.

“Yes. But you
’
re coming for Valerie
’
s wedding, in a
fortnight. You can
’
t want to come twice in such a short time?”

“Can
’
t I?” John
’
s voice was amused. “Valerie
’
s wedding is another matter altogether. This time it
’
s you I
’
m coming to see.”

Finally they agreed that he should come to her soon after ten, and they would then decide how they should spend the day.

Her thoughts in chaos, Vivian replaced the receiver. Brought so abruptly face to face with the decision she had been shelving ever since returning from Scotland, she felt shaken and irresolute and altogether unlike her usual serene, clear
-
sighted self. All her problems would be so happily solved if she were to tell John that she loved him and would marry him. Loneliness would be at an end. Her life would run henceforth in pleasant places, sheltered and protected, no longer homeless, rootless, aimless. She would have John to turn to, in perplexity or trouble. She would share his life, perhaps his children. Oh, if she could
...
If only she could
...
!

Morning dawned upon a perfect May day, warm and sunny. Punctually at ten o
’
clock the bell rang, and she went to welcome John, looking as fresh, in her trim flannel suit and crisp white blouse, as though she had not lain awake into the small hours, doing battle with herself.

They spent most of the day in Richmond Park, walking and talking, and sitting beneath an ancient oak where countless lovers must have sat before them. For lunch he took her to an inn beside the Thames. It was so warm that tables had been laid on a flagged terrace by the river. The dappled water slid by silently. Swans floated near them, and the mild air was fragrant with the odours of new
m
own grass, and wallflowers. They ate cold salmon, and crisp salad with French dressing, and cream cheese; and drank hock, pale gold in the sunshine.

As they lingered over coffee, he asked her if she would go out with him this evening. “I thought you might like to have dinner at the Savoy?”

“If that
’
s what you would like, I should enjoy it.”

Dressing that evening, Vivian wondered when John would broach the matter that had brought him here. All day she had been expecting him to speak of it. Each knew what was uppermost in the other
’
s mind, and she felt that on her side
self-consciousness
had raised a barrier between them, although John gave no sign of being aware of it.

She was glad that she had had her hair done yesterday, and that her new dinner frock had come from Harvey Nichols. It was a deep midnight blue, simply cut but with the wide
décolletage
outlined in sparkling jewelled embroidery. Yet, becoming though it was, she did not feel her best when she had finished dressing. The strain of indecision was telling on her; she felt curiously uncertain of herself, even a little tremulous.

John came to fetch her shortly before eight. Arrived at the Savoy, Vivian would normally have found it entertaining, while they enjoyed their cocktails before dinner, to watch the comings and goings of pretty women in the latest fashions, famous film stars, a cabinet minister, a minor royalty. But this evening she felt too much on edge, too wrought up and taut, to be fully aware of anything save herself and John. They had a quiet
corner
table. John had already ordered dinner. “I know by now the kind of meal you like, and it
’
s a nuisance to be interrupted, just as one is settling down, to wade through a long menu.” Vivian was grateful, for in her present frame of mind she would have found it difficult to concentrate on choosing food for which she had no appetite.

During dinner her uneasiness did not diminish. She might as well have been eating boiled cod as the smoked salmon John had chosen to begin with, and her usual vivacity had deserted her. She knew that she was being a wet blanket, spoiling his evening, and made an effort to be gay, only to feel that she was being artificial. John glanced at her keenly once or twice, but gave no sign of having noticed that she ate with difficulty, and was pale, and quieter than usual: only, as soon as they had finished their angels on horseback, he offered her his cigarette case, though as a rule she did not smoke.

“You really are remarkably perceptive, aren
’
t you
?
” she murmured, as she helped herself.

“Possibly I know more about you than you realize, my dear!” he answered, as he held his lighter for her. Vivian leaned towards it, glad to avoid meeting his eyes, that saw so much; hoping that he did not notice the unsteadiness of her hand.

Dancing had begun. She had expected that he would suggest that they should join in, but as soon as they had finished coffee he said quietly, “Now I
’
m going to take you home.”

Remorsefully she said, “I
’
m sorry—I
’
m afraid I
’
ve been a very poor companion all the evening! And now you
’
d probably like to dance
—
”

“
You
wouldn
’
t. So I wouldn
’
t either.”

In the taxi, John leaned back in his corner without speaking. Vivian
was
silent also. But for once their silence did not hold its usual quality of companionable peace. To-night it was uneasy, tense with the knowledge of unspoken things that must be said.

And when they have been said, thought Vivian desperately, all our relationship, everything between us, will have been irrevocably changed. Nothing can ever be the same again. I shall have lost him.