There Will Come A Stranger (8 page)

“My small, my
slim Susanna,

Come out with me to dance,

And I will teach you how to kiss,

And weave a sweet romance—”

Close to her ear Rory murmured the last two lines, then asked her “Does that apply to you too, Valerie?”

“That would be telling!”

“As you
’
re so cagey, we must investigate at the first opportunity.”

“The opportunity won
’
t arise, as you
’
ll be off at dawn to-morrow!” she retorted, dimpling.

“We shall have to meet in London, then.”

Meet him in
London! Oh, if it were only possible
—
!

“I
’
m practically never there,” she said regretfully. “You know that I live miles and
miles
away, in Darlingford!”

“Oh, so you do. Too far. You
’
ll have to move. Well, how about coming out with me one evening when you
’
re passing through on your way home?”

“We
’
re only going to be there for two nights on the way back.”

“Two nights! Good—time to come out with me twice then!”

But Valerie, ruled by discretion rather than inclination, said firmly that one evening would be all that she could manage. Finally they agreed that he should take her out the second evening she would be in London.

“What shall it be?” he asked her. “Dinner and dance—or a snack and then a theatre, then supper at some night club where there
’
s a good cabaret, and do a spot of dancing there?”

To Valerie it all sounded very expensive. She had no notion what his means might be, only that he was in some shipping firm and shared a flat with a friend, so, mindful of his pocket, she said she would prefer dinner followed by dancing. It was decided that he should call for her at half past seven at her hotel and that they would spend the evening at the Savoy. That settled, they danced for the most part in silence and said no more of it until the dance had ended and they were on their way back to the others, who were gathering round to say good-bye to Rory. Then from his pocket he took out a looseleaf notebook.

“Write down the address of your hotel in this, would you?”

Taking the little book, she put it on a corner of the table, and did as he had asked her, while above her head the others inter-changed a chorus of farewells and promises to meet another year. Giving it back to him, she went to wrap up for the drive back through the frosty night.

Rory was going to take her to the Casque d
’
Or. She found him waiting for her by the door. As she joined him, Hilary passed them on her way towards the cloakroom.

“
’
Bye, once again!” she said to Rory, “or rather,
an revoir
till seven-thirty on the twenty
-
fourth
!
”

Her casual words were like a cold wind, chilling the radiance of Valerie
’
s happiness that Rory had asked her to go out with him in London. Probably he had a date with some girl every evening of his life. His invitation to herself had been given on the impulse of the moment, and would never have been given but for the turn their talk had chanced to take. Guileless, romantic goose that she had been, to think it could be otherwise!

They went out from the bright lights and the warmth into a world of bitter cold, lit by a moon so brilliant that it paled the stars. The soaring, snowclad mountains were illumined by its silver fire. Here was reality: the indoor world that they had left behind seemed suddenly trumpery and artificial.

There was a long footwarmer in the sleigh; its warmth crept comfortingly up among the rugs which the driver muffled to the eyes, tucked up about their chins, finally enclosing them in a windproof, snowproof cover that he buttoned to the hood, “Exactly like a nannie,” Valerie declared, “tucking away twin babies in a pram!”

With jingling bells they started off. Valerie sat upright, staring ahead. Beside her Rory leaned back comfortably. It was ridiculous, she knew, to feel
self-conscious
simply because she knew that he was looking at her. Bright though the moonlight was, he could not read her thoughts!

Close to her ear his voice, lazily amused, told her, “You look as if you
’
d dined upon a poker! How often must I tell you to relax, my good girl?”

Beneath the rugs his arm slid Skilfully about her waist and drew her close. “Still such a little thing, in spite of all the furs and what-nots!” Rory said, half-laughing and half-tender.

If she were wise she would pretend to be annoyed with him. If she were wise, she
’
d pull away from his encircling arm.

But she did nothing of the kind. She laid her head upon his shoulder. And when Rory drew her closer still, and bent his head, her lips were ready for his kiss.

CHAPTER
SIX

As the taxi bore them through the crowded London streets to their hotel Vivian and Valerie were thinking, rather wistfully, how incredible it seemed that the little world high among the snows where they had spent four memorable weeks still remained just as they had known it: that the deep-toned chiming of the church bell still rang out at its appointed times into the shining, frosty air, that still the dazzling peaks soared proudly to the sky and shadows lay like azure stains upon the snow although they were not there to see, that even now Elsie, with rosy face beaming beneath her golden plaits, was bringing drinks, and turning on hot baths, and generally ministering to all the lucky individuals they had left behind them at the Casque d
’
Or. Only one thing would be different: already someone else was in possession of the room that had been theirs.

It was raining, just as it had been on the morning of their departure. By contrast with the picture in their minds London looked depressingly dark and overcrowded.

Vivian said, “Well—it
’
s over. All behind us
...
Did it come up to your expectations?”

The face that turned to her was radiant in the intermittent light of passing street lamps, as Valerie told her, “More! Oh,
far
more! There just aren
’
t words to tell you how much I enjoyed it, every single minute of it! You couldn
’
t
possibly
have given me a lovelier time if you had taken me to—to El Dorado!”

Vivian laughed at her enthusiasm. “I
am
glad, darling!”

“You really did enjoy it too, didn
’
t you? On your own account, I mean—not only because I did?”

“Yes—yes, of course, I loved it!” Vivian assured her.

Secretly she was reflecting that she had enjoyed the first half of their holiday far more than the second fortnight.

John Ainslie
’
s going had left a blank for her that no one else had filled. She was surprised to find how much she missed that tall, athletic figure, that strong, square, sunburnt face, those calm, clear, steady eyes of his. She had been surprised, too, to realize how greatly she had grown to rely on his advice and help. When a letter had arrived from lawyers in America concerning complicated business matters which she found it hard to understand, or from her stockbrokers regarding some investment, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to turn to John for his advice
—
and take it, too, when given! With
John, the barriers such as we all put up about ourselves to hide our deeper feelings from the eyes of our acquaintances had quickly crumbled. Some affinity between them had drawn her on to talk to him with less reserve than she had talked with anyone, even Valerie, since Pete
’
s death.

So it had hurt when he had gone away with no more than a casual hope that they might meet again some day, yet had not even taken the trouble to ask for her address: hurt her to realize their friendship evidently meant so much less to him than to herself. It hurt her still
...

Impatiently, for the hundredth time, she
c
hecked her train of thought. I must get some
occupation for myself, she told herself. I
’
ve drifted too long, doing nothing very definite, and an idle life leaves too much time for brooding over trivialities as well as tragedies. And there
must be something useful I can do! Meanwhile I can at least try to stop dwelling on my own affairs!

Determinedly she turned her thoughts to other matters. She had been relieved, when Rory had left Varlet-sur-Montagne, that Valerie had shown no sign that her enjoyment had waned with his departure, for she had fancied, once or twice, that her young sister had grown to like that debonair young man more than a little. Evidently she had been wrong, for after his departure Valerie had seemed as gay as ever, if anything even more starry-eyed and radiant. So after all there couldn
’
t have been anything in it. Probably it was just as well that Valerie, so vulnerable in her inexperience, should not have lost her heart to one who with his charm and gaiety and good looks was sure to have a girl friend—if not several!—impatiently awaiting his return.

All the same, it was a pity that her Cinderella story would be coming to an end the day after to-morrow without the equivalent of a glass slipper to ensure a happy ending! Not that she had lacked for cavaliers at Varlet-sur-Montagne; towards the end of their stay there someone or other had given her the nickname of “the honey
-
pot” because of the numbers of young men who gathered round her, offering to take her ski-ing, asking her to have cakes and chocolate with them of an afternoon, to dance with them at night. So in two days
’
time she would return to Hawthorn Lodge without the faintest gleam of a romance on the horizon, and everything would be as it had been before.

Only she can
’
t go on like that indefinitely, Vivian decided, a little frown puckering her smooth brow. I shall have to think up some new trump card to play for her. But what
—
?

Her cogitations ended as the taxi stopped outside their hotel: not the one where t
h
ey had stayed last time they were in London, which had been too large and noisy for their liking, but a small, quiet one off Knightsbridge, the Cranford, recommended by Susan Prescott. They liked its rather old-fashioned atmosphere, and when they were alone in a pleasant, airy bedroom they agreed that it was far more suitable than the Aldermere, where they had stayed before. Neither felt inclined to see a film or play; they had been up late the previous night. So they had dinner early, and were in bed by ten o
’
clock.

Next day was going to be a busy one for Vivian. She had business appointments that would probably take up some considerable time, and a longstanding engagement to dine with an American friend who had known Pete
’
s family all his life.

“I wish he
’
d asked you too,” she said to Valerie at breakfast. “I
’
m afraid you
’
re going to have rather a dreary day of it, all on your own! We might just as well have arranged for you to go back to Darlingford to-day instead of waiting, as I
’
m not coming back with you to-morrow,”—for she was going to spend the weekend with an old friend who had married since they last met, and gone to live at Guildford. Vivian was going to be godmother to her baby girl, who would be christened on Sunday.

“Oh, I shall be perfectly all right!” Valerie assured her. “I shall have my hair done, and do a bit of window-gazing, and perhaps go to a newsreel in the afternoon. And then I shall be going out to-night with Rory.”

Vivian was surprised that Valerie had not told her this before. Did her silence mean she was so thrilled about it that she couldn
’
t bear to speak of it, for fear she might betray emotions she preferred to keep to herself? Had her own suspicions about Rory been well founded, after all
?
Or did the prospect of going out with him really mean so little to her that she hadn
’
t thought it worth the mentioning?

“With Rory? Oh—I
’
m glad! How nice for you! I didn
’
t know.”

“Didn
’
t I tell you?” Valerie
’
s voice was casual, and her face was hidden by a silky wing of hair as she bent over her coffee. “We arranged it at that dance, the night before he left. I suppose I didn
’
t think of it next morning.”

Vivian still thought it curious that she hadn
’
t spoken of it in the fortnight that had passed since then. Perhaps she hadn
’
t felt as casual as she sounded
?

“
I
’
m glad,” she repeated, “It was rather sad to feel that we
’
d lost touch with everyone we met in Switzerland!”

“I expect we shall be hearing from John Ainslie, too, some time or other,” said Valerie, glad to steer the talk away from Rory.

“Hardly likely, as he hasn
’
t got our address!”

“Oh, but he has! He asked me for it quite a time before he left.”

“Oh,
did
he
—
?” Now it was Vivian
’
s turn to
sound more casual than she felt. There was no reason, none at all, why Valerie should not know how pleased she was that after all her friendship with John would one of these days be renewed
—
and above all that he had liked her well enough to ensure meeting her again. Yet for some indefinable cause she felt that she would rather keep her pleasure to herself. With it was mingled a faint bewilderment: it seemed so curious that it should be Valerie he had asked for their address, and not herself, with whom he was so much more intimate!

“I
’
m glad,” she said, “I liked him—and besides, that means we shan
’
t lose touch with Susan and Harry either. I meant to ask for their address before they left, but I forgot.” She glanced at her watch. “Heavens—I must be off! See you this evening before dinner, darling, if not sooner. And I do hope you
’
ll manage to amuse yourself all day.”

“Of course I will!” Valerie assured her. “It will be an adventure, being on my own in London for the first time!”

When Vivian had gone, Valerie went to their room. The beds were made. The chambermaid was busy with a duster, but departed, saying she would come back later. Valerie telephoned for an appointment early in the afternoon at a hairdresser
’
s in Sloane Street, where she and Vivian had had their hair done with great success last time they were in London.

Then, instead of going out at once, she perched herself on the arm of a chair, hands clasped in her lap, gazing out of the window. But she did not see the houses opposite, nor the plane trees in the street below, for it was Rory that she saw, as she had seen him last against the background of the moonlit mountains when she looked back from the doorway of the Casque d
’
Or.

For a long time she sat there, dwelling on her dreams and memories: the dreams and memories that had accounted for her radiance after Rory had left Varlet-sur-Montagne. The memory of his arms, holding her close, her head lying content against his shoulder, as though it were the most natural resting place in all the world. The memory of his lips upon her own, his voice murmuring endearments in her ear, his cheek pressed to hers...

She dreamed of their next meeting. She would wait for him this evening in the hotel lounge (for no matter how she tried, she knew she never would be able to come down late enough to keep him waiting even a couple of minutes)—proud, when he came in, of his good looks and that intangible quality he had of seeming somehow more alive than other people. His eyes, amused and teasing, would smile down into hers. And then at last they would be alone together in the taxi, and his arm would draw her close again—oh, blissful moment! But she would laugh, and shake her head, and draw away, and tell him that she didn
’
t want to arrive at the Savoy looking as though she had been pulled backwards through a bush! So he would kiss her only once, lightly, on the dimple he was always teasing her about. And then
...

A key was rattling in the lock. The chambermaid had returned. Valerie said, “It
’
s all right
—
no, don
’
t go away again! I
’
m just going out.”

One couldn
’
t dream for ever, but there were nine long hours to go through somehow until her dreams came true. Oh, hurry, hurry, Time!

The
flat
in Ebury Street that Rory shared with Barry Hughes, his cousin, consisted of two bedrooms and a living-room. It was on the first floor. They shared a bathroom on the half-way landing with the occupants of the ground floor flat, two cheerful young architects with whom they were on very friendly terms. A great deal of traffic went on between the two flats in borrowing and lending sherry glasses for a party, and white ties and waistcoats when one or other of them had been having an unusual run of festive evenings and the laundry hadn
’
t quite caught up with them, and even socks, when somebody had run right out of them except for ones with large potatoes in the heels, which happened about once a week.

Barry had got back first this evening. He was twenty-five, three years younger than Rory, tall and fair, with blue eyes harbouring a twinkle that belied his quiet manner, and a rather dashing taste in waistcoats. He was getting out his books and papers to start work in preparation for the stiff exams that he must pass before he would be qualified for his intended career as a chartered accountant, when he heard someone taking the
stairs two steps at a time, and Rory appeared. The cousins grinned amiably at one another. “There
’
s a parcel from your mother,” Barry said, nodding towards it where it lay on a small table behind the door.

“Good! Let
’
s hope it
’
s food. It was an awful blow last time when it was those vests and pants she
’
d most angelically got me in the January sales, just when I
’
d been driven to replenishing them for myself because the last ones had literally come to pieces on me and ... I
say!
She
’
s done us proud this time! One of her fruit cakes, and some eggs
—
all of
‘
em whole, too—and a pie of some sort.” He read the label. “Pork. You
’
d better start on it to-night, old boy—I
’
m going out, and it
’
ll save you forking out downstairs.”

They had meals in the restaurant in the basement when they could afford it, and when funds were low bought food and ate it in the flat.

“Thanks frightfully,” said Barry. “Going out again, are you?”

“M
’
m. Got a date at the Savoy.”

“What—again?”

“Yes. But this one
’
s of my own choice. Last time I was properly led up the garden path
—
thought I
’
d been asked to join a party, then discovered when I got there it was to be just the two of us, and that it was up to me to foot the bill!”

“Some bills are worth it.”

“Not this one,” said Rory darkly, remembering how bored he
’
d been by Hilary holding forth on what the Minister for So-and-So had told her yesterday about the latest policy of his department, and who was going to be the new Governor of Soralia, though it was very hush-hush still, and that the
only
place to dine and dance in Paris was the Caprice Ecossais, opened a month ago on the Boulevard des Ambassadeurs, only it was so exclusive that you hadn
’
t a hope of getting a table unless you had some strings to pull.

“Getting a bit
blasé
, aren
’
t you?” said Barry. “Fact is, you
’
re getting to be a very old man. High time, you settled down and gave up your philandering. You could afford to run a house and a whole fleet of prams on what you spend racketing around!”

But Rory wasn
’
t listening. He had taken out his pocket book and was searching through its pages, hoping he wasn
’
t going to have a nasty shock and find that Valerie
’
s hotel was on the north side of the Park
or in the wilds of Kensington, but was conveniently situated somewhere between Ebury Street and the Savoy.

He searched in vain, then began going through its pages more methodically, but still without success, and then a third time.

Barry, busy spreading out his papers, looked up, startled, as Rory exclaimed, “My godfathers! It isn
’
t here!
Now
what the devil am I going to do?”

“What isn
’
t there?”

“The address of her hotel. Oh, blast these loose
-
leaf note-books! All the same I don
’
t remember tearing out a page since I
’
ve come back—it
must
be here
—
”

“You tore one out the other day, with an address you
’
d written down for Peter,” Barry reminded him, Peter being one of the young architects who lived in the flat below theirs. “Could be that you tore
o
ut two pages without noticing.”

Rory ran downstairs and by good luck met Peter, red-haired, freckled, square of build, as he was coming in. “I say—you know that piece of paper I gave you the other day, with that address you wanted? Have you got it still, by any chance?”

“Sorry, old boy—afraid I haven
’
t. Put it in the waste paper basket when I
’
d made a note of it in my address book. I can give you the address, though, if that
’
s what you
’
re after?”

“No—not that one. Oh, Lord—now I
am
sunk!
—
I don
’
t suppose you noticed if there were two pages stuck together? It
’
s thin paper—could have
happened easily
—
”

Peter shook his head. “Could have been—I didn
’
t notice, though. If I had, I
’
d have given it back to you.”

“Could I just delve in your wastepaper basket on the chance it
’
s still there?”