Air Ticket (7 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Beverley and David
arrived at last, and to Caro it seemed that a far longer period than a few weeks had elapsed since their wedding day. Beverley clung to her mother for almost half a minute before she let her go, and then stepped back to regard her with interest.

“Mummy, you
are
different! I had a feeling you might be. You look—well, I don’t know quite how you look. Rather rare, somehow, and a bit too exquisite to be an ordinary common or garden mummy!”

“Don’t be silly, darling,” Caro replied; smiling at her. “I couldn’t possibly change all that much in a few weeks. It’s probably my dress, and I’ve discovered a wonderful hairdresser.”

“And you’ve stopped using the wrong kind of lipstick,” Beverley told her, still studying her critically. “Perhaps you were always extremely attractive, only I never noticed it.”

David Rivers as a son-in-law was a young man Caro felt she was quite justified in feeling proud of. . He was very fair, with level, alert gray eyes. Instead of the rather formal handshake she had been prepared for he swept her into his arms and gave her such a hearty hug that it rendered her temporarily breathless.

“Mmm!” he exclaimed, his admiring eyes roving over her. “I’m not going to call you ‘mother’! I shall call you Caro from now on!”

“Good!” she exclaimed, “I don’t honestly feel like a mother to two such completely grown-up young people as yourselves.”

She led the way into the drawing-room, and she could see her daughter’s eyes wandering everywhere with the same unconcealed appreciation.

“Mummy, what a super house! This room is
exquisite,
and I simply adore those flower paintings. Do tell me, is my new step-papa a close relation to a millionaire, or something of the sort?”

Caro was faintly shocked by the bluntness of the query.

“He’s a very eminent local consultant,” she explained.

And even as she spoke, the door opened and Lucien stood there. He moved toward them, his interested eyes on Beverley.

“So you’ve arrived safely,” he said as he put out a hand.

“Why,” Beverley gasped, “you’re not a
bit
like I expected you to be
!”

“Aren’t I?” His eyes were smiling and amused. “And you’re almost exactly as I expected you to be!”

While the two men talked Caro took Beverley upstairs and showed her the room that had been prepared for her and David. It was beautifully equipped, like all the other rooms in the house, and with a bathroom
a
djoining.

“Mummy, I’m honestly staggered by all this,” Beverley confessed. “I can’t take it in. And your Lucien is quite amazingly good-looking, isn’t he?” she continued. “I could fall for him myself if I weren’t already married to David.”

Caro smiled with a touch of affectionate humor in her eyes. And then her daughter looked up into her mother’s face and studied it carefully. “Mummy,” she inquired softly at the end of it, “you are happy, aren’t you?”

Caro made reassuring responses, able to do so convincingly because, in a way, she was terribly happy
—
far, far happier than she had ever been in her life before. And the wonder of being Lucien’s wife was something that uplifted her at moments to realms far beyond and above the description Beverley applied to her own present state of mind, and merited a term far more rare and precious. But there were also moments she had to live through as a result of being his wife that were marred by doubt and a frightening little cold feeling that she could have made a mistake.

Lucien was a passionate lover, but he was also an extraordinarily detached man. She had never been in love before in her life, and Lucien had all at once become her world. But Lucien, in spite of some violent attraction that had caused him to marry her, could, she felt, exist without her. She was conscious that she was merely filling a niche in his life, not only because there were so many preoccupations that claimed him, but because he had once been so deathlessly in love that no other woman could ever take the place of the one he had lost.

B
ut while Beverley’s eyes watched her, Caro had no doubts whatsoever to express, and Beverley, after a few moments, was apparently satisfied. Caro left her to her unpacking and went along lo her own bedroom, where after a short time Lucien joined her. He expressed the opinion that she had picked her son-in
-
law wisely, said little about Beverley, and announced that he had booked a table for dinner that night at the hotel where he and Caro had once dined alone together. She thanked him with gratitude. He lifted her chin and looked at her and then smiled at her.

“No, you’re not at all like Beverley,” he said, and went on into his dressing room.

Caro wore a cloudy gray dress, fine like the wings of a moth. With it she’d fastened a neat row of garnets around her neck. Beverley exclaimed in open approval,
“Terribly smart, isn’t she, David? A mother to be proud of!”

She herself was wearing a white lace dress that made the most of her entrancing fairness and graceful height—and over drinks before they left she made an attempt to get to know her new stepfather better. “I shall call you Lucien,” she said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he answered.

“I couldn’t possibly call you ‘father,’ because I don’t even remember my own father.”

His eyes narrowed a little, and he offered her a cigarette.

“He died when I was only three.” She studied the tip of her cigarette while Caro, at the other end of the room, talked with David. “Everyone falls for mummy. And if she hadn’t been so obsessed all these years
with looking after me and working to keep me
—
”

“Yes?” Lucien asked, very quietly.

“I’m sure she would have married again long before this.
I
want her to be happy—more than anything else I want her to be happy!”

“And haven’t you received the impression that she is happy as a result of her marriage to me?” Lucien asked, still more quietly.

Beverley flickered a glance at his face.

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “Yes,” she repeated more dubiously. “I can’t see any reason why she should be unhappy,” with her glance dwelling on the comfortable appointments of the room. “At least she won’t have to worry anymore about material things, and she won’t be lonely. Those are two important considerations.”

“Let’s hope your mother shares your views,” he replied dryly.

They had dinner on the edge of a perfect dance floor, and the orchestra dispensed tuneful melodies in such a seductive manner that even Caro felt an urge to be drifting dreamily to the strains of the music.

Lucien turned to her and said, “I don’t normally approve of ruining my digestion as those two are doing, but we’ve never danced together, and something tells me you’re rather anxious to follow their example. Am I right?”’
he probed, smiling at her. “And something else tells me that by comparison with Beverley you dance like a feather in the breeze.”

“But Beverley dances beautifully,” she protested.

“Oh, yes, Beverley dances beautifully,” he agreed at once, with just a touch of dryness in his voice, “and she is beautiful. I’m in entire agreement with you. And now, come along!”

Lucien was so experienced and faultless a dancer it would be impossible for any woman not to regard it as a signal pleasure to be selected by him as a partner. He held her at first firmly and closely, but after a time she felt his arms begin to tighten their hold on her. She felt her heart begin to leap and her pulses to sing wildly, and she put back her head and gazed up at him with so much of her love in her eyes that his expression grew very tender as he gazed down at her.

“Lucien,” she asked at last, “you
do
like Beverley, don’t you?”

A faintly whimsical expression chased itself across his face. “The answer is in the affirmative. The thing I like about her best of all is that she’s obviously very devoted to you.”

“How
... how do you know?” she asked.

“Because she told me that she wants you to be happy, and I’m quite sure she meant it.”

“But I am happy,” she told him.

“Are you, my darling?” He smiled into her wide eyes. “Well, I sincerely hope so!”

Caro frowned a little. Was she allowing too many of her secret thoughts to be given away by her expression?

He guided her back toward their table. Then they both caught sight of Olga Spiro dining at a table on the edge of the floor, with Brian Woodhill as her escort, and from that moment the evening became definitely gayer.

Caro hadn’t danced so much for years. She danced with David, with Brian Woodhill, and with Lucien when he wasn’t dancing either with Beverley or with Olga Spiro. And whenever she looked at Lucien her heart turned over and she wondered whether she was being ridiculous at her age.

Olga Spiro had been giving her German lessons for nearly a week. Having seen the way her strange eyes lighted up when Lucien appeared suddenly in the room, Caro found it difficult to understand why Olga had offered to teach her anything at all. It was quite clear to her that Olga and Lucien had been very good friends for years, and on Olga’s side the friendship had obviously meant an enormous amount—so much so that, in spite of his unexpected marriage, she was determined that it should go on and flourish as much as in the past.

Caro was amazed at herself that another woman’s deep feeling for her own husband did so little to disturb her. She knew that if Lucien had wanted to marry Olga he could have done so at any time during the ten years of his widowerhood, and the fact that he had not done so was the thing that really did disturb her. For, taken together with that photograph that had stood upon his dressing table right up until a short few weeks ago, it proved conclusively, she thought, that Lucien had never intended to marry again.

That he had done so, in haste, was a bigger danger to a new wife than was an old and devoted friend.

Tonight, when she saw Olga and Lucien dancing together, she was too happy and contented to feel anything but sympathy for Olga. With Brian Woodhill, on the other hand, there was no need to make any effort to be friendly. His eyes had told her from the moment they met that he considered there to be a kind of kinship between them, no doubt because they were of the same nationality. And tonight her early impression was confirmed when they were dancing and sitting talking to one another, and more than once she thought Lucien’s eyes studied them across the floor when they were the only couple at their table.

Olga and Brian had abandoned their own table to swell the party at Lucien’s, and Brian said openly that he had been delighted when he looked up and saw the four of them arrive.

“I’d been watching you for some time before you noticed us,” he confessed to Caro, “but I wasn’t sure whether you wished to keep it purely a family party.”

“Until a few weeks ago,” Caro confessed, “I was so accustomed to the idea of being the mother of a daughter of marriageable age that I’m afraid it would never have occurred to me that I might very soon be dancing until this hour of the night. I haven’t danced for years until tonight.”

“Then what have you been doing with yourself?” Brian wanted to know.

“Oh, just living in a little flat in Chelsea,” she admitted.

“I used to live in Chelsea,” he told her. “It has a lot to recommend it. But what were you doing there?”

“Painting miniatures.”

“Miniatures?” he echoed. “I wonder whether I’ve
seen any of them
—
”

She confessed diffidently that someone had once written a magazine article about her and her work, and when she also confessed that until she became Frau Andreas she had been known as Caro Yorke he recalled the name at once, and the magazine article.

“But your work is exquisite,” he exclaimed. “Really exquisite!” He nearly added,
like you,
but stopped himself in time.

Caro felt a warm glow of pleasure at this unexpected appreciation.

“Are you in the least likely to carry on with it now that you’re married again?” he asked. “If you’re not it seems a tremendous pity, and yet I can’t really see you doing so as Lucien’s wife.
”

She found herself answering, “The fact that
Lucien is so wrapped up with his professional obligations might leave me inclined to want to do something with my time. I’m not used to having a lot of time on my hands, and it’s going to seem strange at first.”

“You mustn’t let yourself become dull, you know. I’m sure Lucien wouldn’t mind my showing you a few of the local sights, especially now that the fine weather is on us.” His blue eyes smiled at her.

“That’s awfully kind of you,” she said. “But you mustn’t think I’m dull!”

The others returned to the table, and it was obvious that Beverley was thoroughly enjoying herself. She whispered to her mother, “This is a lovely evening, and I think it was terribly nice of Lucien to
arrange it! He
is
rather sweet, in addition to being a little austere, isn’t he? But I don’t like that Spiro woman.” She lowered her voice as Olga approached the table. “Her eyes remind me of a cat’s.”

About two o’clock in the morning Caro found herself once more alone with Lucien at the table. Lucien looked thoughtfully at his wife.

“What were you and Brian having such a long conversation about?
”
he asked.

“Oh—” Caro looked surprised “—nothing very much. Among other things, we discussed my work. He’s seen examples of it. He wanted to know whether I proposed to go on with it.”

“The answer is no,” Lucien told her, an unfamiliar incisiveness in his voice. “You’ve already strained your eyes as a result of concentrating too much on that sort
of thing, and in future you can forget about painting miniatures.”

The next afternoon
Lucien surprised Caro by suggesting that she accompany him on his afternoon visit to the clinic.

When they arrived there the matron provided Caro with afternoon tea in her room while Lucien did his rounds, and Caro wondered whether the other woman was recalling the occasion only a few weeks before when Lucien had brought her there as a
n
admission, when it must have been perfectly clear to anyone that he and she were virtually strangers.

They were still carrying on a somewhat stilted conversation when Lucien returned to the office and suggested to Caro that she might like to be shown around the clinic. She accompanied him with interest that mounted when she saw how beautifully equipped the clinic was. The wards were light and airy and the children’s ward in particular was delightful. She felt a lump rise in her throat when she saw the occupants of the small beds and realized that every pair of round childish eyes in the room was turning toward her.

Lucien was welcomed with enthusiasm. Caro was conscious of a distinct sensation of surprise when she saw how relaxed and different he appeared in these surroundings. His smile was warm and spontaneous, and he paused beside every bed and had something to say to every small patient whose eyes brightened at his approach. He read aloud to one engaging toddler who must have been the youngest in the ward.

Caro felt she wanted to linger and give the youngest patient a hug on her own account, but she was not quite sure whether such conduct would be approved of. But when Lucien turned to look at her he saw something in her eyes that caused him to go on regarding her for several seconds.

At last they came to the end bed. Caro did not know that this was the very bed her husband had been determinedly making for all the time, and that it was the real reason for his afternoon visit to the ward. He sat down on the bed and took one of the eight-year-old girl’s thin hands in his, and gave her a special kind of a smile.

“Well, Maria,” he said, “and how are you today?”

Maria’s enormous dark eyes had suddenly come to life, and although they were sunk into frightening sockets, and she appeared to have little or no flesh on her face, there was a curious look of contentment in her whole expression as he sat there.

Maria spoke only in whispers, and there were no personal impedimenta on her bed. She was comfortably propped up with pillows but seemed to have no strength left to lift herself. Lucien inserted an arm beneath her and lifted her into a slightly more comfortable position, and her eyes thanked him. Then he indicated Caro and beckoned her to come nearer.

“This is my wife, Maria,” he said. “Won’t you say something to her?
”

Maria looked up at the gray eyes spilling over with compassion and tenderness under the shady hat; and she whispered something huskily that Lucien afterward translated with an upward smile for Caro.

“She says that the
signora
is very pretty,” he told her, and as Caro felt herself blushing he added, in rather more of an undertone and with more amusement in his smile, “And I think she’s got something there!”

A nurse came forward, and Caro withdrew into the background as Lucien talked gravely to her for a few minutes. Then they went out in the car and the sunshine.

As Lucien let the car slide gently down the sloping drive, Caro found the courage to ask him something the answer to which she felt she had to know.

“That little girl,” she said, “the little Italian girl—is she very ill?”

“Yes,” he answered without any change of expression. “I’m afraid she is.”

“Does that mean—does that mean she might not get well again?”

“I’m hoping she’ll get well, but there is a very strong element of doubt, I’m afraid.”

He explained that her parents were Italian peasants, and that her trouble had been neglected for rather too long to make her recovery a certainty now. But Caro gathered that if Maria grew strong again, it would give him greater pleasure, and cause him more satisfaction, perhaps, than anything else had done for a long time. He was no longer the purely fashionable doctor she had come to think of him as being, and in those moments she felt a little humble and unworthy as she looked at him.

That night they dined at home, and afterward Beverley went up to her mother’s room.

“We haven’t really had any time so far to talk,” Beverley said, “and there are a lot of things we’ve got to talk about, mummy. Perhaps you and Lucien will fly over to England one day soon and stay with us. But, in any case, you
will
write to me often, won’t you, mummy?”

“Of course, darling.” Caro had a queer little ache in her heart as she thought of Beverley leaving her again so soon. She went to one of her drawers and took out a tissue-wrapped parcel. “
I
want you to give this to Mrs. Moses with my love,” she said.

“What is it?” Beverley asked curiously, pinching the parcel.

Caro smiled. “A bottle of perfume—really choice—and an embroidered scarf! Both highly unsuitable gifts.”

Beverley leaned forward and kissed her mother quickly.

“Mummy, you’re sweet—and I adore you,” she said. “I hope Lucien appreciates how lucky he is!”