Before the Fact (15 page)

“But it looks so bad. She’s sure to hear about it.”

“Well, what does that matter, my little Janey? Surely I know you well enough to be able to ask you to pour out my tea.”

“But I’m supposed not to like you. Oh, Johnnie, it’s been difficult to keep that up these last months.”

“My precious!”

There was the sound of a kiss. Of kisses.

Then Johnnie said:

“It’s all right about next Wednesday?”

“Yes. But ...”

“But what, my Janeykins?”

“I’m so afraid we shall be caught one day. I know so many people in Bournemouth. And so do you.”

“Sweetest, it’s all right so long as we don’t go to the flat together. Nobody ever gets a chance of seeing us together. Honestly, it’s as safe as houses. Besides – you want to come, don’t you?”

“Johnnie! Need you ask that?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Lina crept upstairs.

That evening it all came out.

By an effort of which she would not have believed herself capable, Lina sat through dinner. She could not eat more than a mouthful. To Johnnie’s inquiries she said that she had a bad headache. It almost made her begin to cry again to hear him asking with such solicitude, as if he was really fond of her.

She felt utterly crushed.

There was no anger against Johnnie or against Janet. Things were too serious for anger. All she knew was that the bottom had dropped out of life. It was the end of everything.

After dinner she went up to her room again and sat for what seemed hours in the chair by the window. She could not think, she could not plan. Her mind was numbed with misery. It was simply the end. All she had worked for, all her forbearance, all her struggles against Johnnie’s worse nature, had gone for just nothing.

She sat on, in the dark.

Johnnie came up and turned on the light.

“Poor old monkeyface. Still feeling rotten? Why don’t you go to bed? Shall I bring you up a spot of whisky or something? Might do you good.” He came to her chair and made as if to embrace her.

Lina shuddered away from him. “Will you sleep in your dressing room to-night, please?” she said dully. By to-morrow she might be able to think: to decide what must be done.

“Really want me to?” Johnnie hated sleeping away from her. Or pretended to hate it.

“Yes, please.”

“All right,” Johnnie said magnanimously.

Lina began to cry.

“Poor old thing. Bad as all that, is it? Go to bed, sweetheart. I’ll help you, shall I?”

“Go away,” Lina said brokenly. “Go
away.
”

“Don’t you want me with you?” Johnnie put his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t
touch
me!” Lina sobbed hysterically.

Johnnie drew back. “What on earth’s the matter with you?”

Lina did not answer that. She felt for her handkerchief, could not find it, and held her hands over her eyes. The tears trickled between her fingers.

“What’s the matter with you?” Johnnie repeated, more suspiciously and more coldly.

Lina shook her head.

Johnnie gripped her shoulder. “What’s the
matter?
”

“Oh, leave me alone.”

“No. There’s something up. Come on – what is it?”

“Something I’ve found out. I don’t want to talk about it. Please leave me alone.”

“No, I won’t. What have you found out?” Johnnie went on persisting.

“Oh, about you and Janet,” Lina sobbed out at last.

“Me and Janet? What on earth do you mean?” Above her head, Lina knew, an expression of preternatural innocence was only admitting Johnnie’s guilt more plainly.

“You and Janet – and the flat in Bournemouth – and everything. Go away, for heaven’s sake. Go
away.
”

“I simply don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

It was Lina’s own phrase, thrown back at her.

“Oh, don’t go on lying,” Lina moaned.

There was a long pause.

“And how do you imagine you know all this?” Johnnie’s voice was a little uneven too.

“I heard you; in the drawing room; when I came in this afternoon.”

“Eavesdropping, eh?” Johnnie sneered.

“Oh, what do
words
matter? I heard you. I know.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

Johnnie’s tone filed across Lina’s raw nerves. For the first time she faced him directly.

“Johnnie, don’t you understand things are serious? I’ve stood your thieving, and embezzling, and trying to forge my name, and all the rest, but this is too much. My – my closest friend. I didn’t want to talk about it tonight, but if you make me ... How long has it been going on?”

Johnnie seemed to have recovered his grip. “You really want to know?” he said lightly.

“Yes.”

“All right, then; don’t blame me if you find afterwards that ignorance would have been bliss. Nearly a year.”

“Do you love her?”

“Not in the least. She’s beginning to bore me stiff.” There were two spots of colour on Johnnie’s cheekbones which, if she had understood them, might have warned Lina not to take everything he might say now at quite its face value. There is an impulse, when we are upbraided for something we really have done, to make ourselves out even worse than that.

Lina looked at Johnnie in horror. “You – you
cad!
”

“What do words matter? Anyhow, my dear, what do you think you’re going to do about it?”

“Do?” Lina echoed dully. This was a Johnnie she had never seen before and never suspected. But it was all on a par. “What do you expect me to ‘do’ about it? Divorce you, of course.”

“Oh, yes?” Johnnie sneered. “And where’s your evidence?”

“In Bournemouth.”

“Going to make a personal tour of all the flats in Bournemouth? You’ll have a job, you know. I’m not a complete fool. We’ve covered our tracks pretty well. The house agent never even saw me.” Johnnie actually laughed, with a kind of horrid triumph. “You’ll have a hell of a job, my dear.”

“Don’t call
me
your dear.”

“Purely conventional.”

Lina began to tremble again.

Rage snatched her back from the edge of tears.

The Janet affair she might possibly have forgiven, had her forgiveness been implored; but that other one never. That supreme humiliation ...

She jumped to her feet, breathing so hard that she could hardly speak. “I saw Ella’s little boy to-day, too. My own servant – in my own house – the very first year ...”

“Oh,” said Johnnie calmly, “so you know about that too?”

“I didn’t think even you could be so – horrible. I feel absolutely – filthy myself, ever having had anything to do with—”

“Well,” Johnnie said slowly, “if we’re going to exchange compliments, you’re not really so clean in any case, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

Johnnie laughed. “Do you think I didn’t realize what was going on between you and that tow-headed young would-be author? Not that I minded, in the least. But fair’s fair, so don’t be a hypocrite, my dear.”

Lina gasped. “Johnnie – you cad ...”

“Oh, deny it if you like.” Johnnie shrugged his shoulders. “But do you think I don’t know how any woman of thirty-five will fall for any young man who tells her she doesn’t look as old as she does? It used to make me laugh, to hear him laying on the butter. But as I say,
I
didn’t mind. Good luck to both of us, I thought.”

Lina was beside herself with rage. “No,” she said shrilly, “even if it had been true, I don’t suppose you would have minded – so long as you could go on getting money out of me.”

“Of course,” Johnnie said evenly; though the spots of colour on his cheeks deepened and spread a little. “Of course. What do you think I married you for?”

“Oh! So it’s come to that, has it?”

Johnnie pushed his hands a little deeper into his pockets and grinned at her cruelly. “Yes, I think it’s about time you had a few home truths too, as we’re going in for home truths this evening apparently. And after all, I’m getting a bit sick of smarming to you for your damned money that you’re so mean with.

“I’m afraid, my dear, I never really cared two straws about you. After all, I do like my women to be pretty. But I took you in all right, didn’t I? Good Lord, your people knew well enough what I was after. But you were so conceited, you never guessed.

“Really, my dear girl, what use do you think a woman like you would have been to a man like me, without your money? I believe you’re under the impression that you’ve been what they call ‘a good wife’ to me? Well, all I can say is I’d sooner have a wet fish in my bed. Look what you were like on our honeymoon! Spoilt the whole thing. If you can forget all that, I can’t. I promise you, if I’ve played about a bit, you’ve driven me to it.

“Yes, it’s about time you did know the truth. And if you know so much, it won’t do any harm for you to know a bit more. Did you know, for instance, that Freda Newsham and I—”

“You
devil!
Get out of my room. I won’t listen – I won’t listen.” Lina threw herself face downwards on the bed and stopped her ears with her fists.

But Johnnie, standing over her, went on with his recital, and she did listen. Johnnie was pulling the wings off the fly at last.

He flayed her with names, sacrificing his mistresses to make a knout for his wife.

Lina heard them through a fog of horror – Mary Barnard, Olive Redmire, Edith Brough, girls from the village, any pretty woman Johnnie took a fancy to – even Clara Fortnum herself.

“And now,” concluded Johnnie loudly, “you can do what you damn well like about it. And to hell with you and your blasted money!”

He flung out of the room.

“My dear girl,” Joyce repeated patiently, “take a lover.” She said it as one might say: “Take a dose of castor oil.”

“But I don’t want a lover,” said Lina, for the tenth time.

“Then divorce Johnnie.”

“He said I couldn’t. I haven’t got any evidence.”

“You haven’t tried to get any. A good private detective could get it for you in no time.”

“I hate the idea of a detective nosing into my affairs. I don’t think I could bear it.”

“Do you want to divorce Johnnie, or do you not?”

“Oh, I suppose so. I could never live with him again, of course. Never! Besides, he doesn’t want me.”

“He’ll want you quick enough, when funds begin to run low.”

“Oh, Joyce,” said Lina weakly, and began to cry once more.

Joyce regarded her tears for a moment with a sisterly eye. Then she repeated her panacea.

“My dear Lina, what you need is a lover.”

They were sitting in the drawing room of Joyce’s house in Hamilton Terrace. Lina had not seen Johnnie since he had flung himself out of her bedroom, and out of the house, on that terrible evening a week ago, after saying things that could never be forgotten or forgiven. She had left for London the next morning, after a frenzied telegram to Joyce: left Johnnie forever, left Dellfield, left Upcottery with its treacherous Janet and its treacherous, malice-driven Freda, never to see any of them again – just thrown a few things into a small case and scuttled.

It had been a miserable week.

No word had come from Johnnie.

“He’s biding his time,” said Joyce.

Joyce was very outspoken about Johnnie. Not bitter, just practical. Lina had been more loyal than she need have been. She had not uttered a word about Johnnie’s dishonesty, only about his unfaithfulness. But there was plenty for Joyce to be outspoken about without that.

“What you don’t allow for, Lina, is that Johnnie knows women. It’s about all he does know, but for women and horses he’s got to have full marks. He’s led you all this time by the nose. He always knew what you were going to do, and you always did it; he knew how to get anything he wanted out of you, and he always got it. He’s always been one move ahead of you, and you’ve always worked to plan – his plan. Now it’s up to you.”

“How?”

“By not doing what he counts on your doing. My dear girl, you’ve got to face the fact that Johnnie’s a complete rotter. No man who was worth a damn would be content to be kept by his wife as you’ve kept Johnnie; no man who wasn’t a complete rotter would keep mistresses on his wife’s money. It’s easy enough to see what’s in Johnnie’s mind. He knows you’re weak. He’s giving you a month or two, and then he expects you to come crawling back to his feet saying he can keep as many mistresses as he likes on your money, if only he’ll keep you too.”

“I wouldn’t say anything of the kind.”

“Not so bluntly. But he expects that you’ll turn a blind eye. I’m certain he does. If Johnnie knows women, I know Johnnie. He thinks he’s got you just there.”

“He’ll soon find out he hasn’t got anything of the sort.”

“Then for heaven’s sake let him! It’s simple madness of you to keep on his allowance, and keep Dellfield going for his benefit. Shut the place up, cut him down to nothing, and file your petition
at once.
Do show a little backbone, Lina. It’s now or never. Johnnie’s not the faintest use to you, and you’ll soon get over the loss of him. If you’re weak now, he’ll be a plague to you for the rest of your life. You’ll never be happy, tied to that rotter. For goodness sake, don’t be so spineless.”

Joyce was very convincing.

“Perhaps I’m not so spineless as you think,” Lina would retort.

She knew Joyce was right. There was no hesitation about divorcing Johnnie. Lina had been determined on that from the first. But she pretended to Joyce to be not so determined as she really was, because she wanted her conviction strengthened. She had spent a great part of the first week in tears, but they had been tears of anger and bruised vanity rather than tears of weakness; though she had not let Joyce altogether realize that. She liked Joyce to think her weaker than she was, because she wanted to depend on Joyce; and Joyce was so extremely dependable. Also she wanted to be comforted, and cosseted, and bullied into doing what she had already made up her mind must be done.

No, there never had been any question about not divorcing Johnnie. The only trouble was the first step. Lina always had hated first steps.

So, by playing up her weakness, she got Joyce to take the first steps for her.