Before the Fact (20 page)

“Do you, darling?” said Lina perfunctorily. She often called Ronald “darling” now. She had told him that she loved him, but she was not altogether sure that it was true. Anyhow, she had told him: because he had so much wanted it. “Do you? But you see what I mean, don’t you? I must have air. I feel you’re swamping me. Don’t let’s see each other for a few days, Ronald. Please.”

“If you really feel that way,” Ronald said gloomily.

“Yes, I do. Besides, it’ll be much better for you. I feel I’m taking you from your work.”

“Oh, damn my work. What’s that matter, compared with you?”

“That’s simply silly,” Lina said, with a touch of irritation. “Of course you must work. I want you to. I’m interested in it. I want you to get on and make your name. Very well, that’s settled, then. You can always ring me up, you know. And you’ll go on writing to me, won’t you?” She smiled at him, feeling much more amiable now that she had won her point.

“That’s right. You’re like all women, aren’t you? Must eat your cake and have it. I’m not to see you, but I’m to keep you amused with letters.”

“Darling! I do love your letters so. They’re more exciting than anything I ever imagined. They make my toes squiggle with joy when I read them.”

Ronald laughed. “All right, you little wangler. But, Lina!”

“Yes?”

“Will this help you to make your mind up on
the
question?”

“I don’t know. It might.”

“Because it will help me very considerably to bear it, if it will.”

“Oh, Ronald,” Lina sighed, “do you want me so much?”

“More than I ever wanted anything, my lovely,” Ronald said.

“I do wonder why,” said Lina.

It was quite obvious why she should want Ronald: but why should Ronald want her?

Lina did find it a relief to be free of Ronald for a few days. It was as if an enveloping fog had been dispelled from around her and she was able to breathe freely again.

She did not understand herself. I suppose it must mean that I don’t really love him, she thought; and yet I seem to love him much more now that I’m not going to see him.

It was all very perplexing. She would have liked to consult Joyce, but was quite sure that such mental acrobatics would be beyond Joyce’s direct mind.

Ronald went on writing to her, but he did not ring up.

“Have you quarrelled with your young man?” asked Joyce.

“No,” Lina said casually. “We’re just not seeing each other for a few days. I felt I must have air.”

“Air? What do you want air for?” Joyce demanded. “I should have thought you’d had all the air you wanted with Johnnie, and more. Don’t you play fast and loose with Ronald, Lina. He’s too nice for that silly sort of game.”

“I’m not playing fast and loose with him,” Lina retorted indignantly.

But was she?

She would not give him an answer on
the
question; she saw him when she wanted to, and not when she didn’t; she had told him she loved him when she was not at all sure that she did. Was she insisting on all the jam on her bread, and none on his? The last thing she wanted to do was to keep a man on a string, in the usual selfish feminine way.

She went off and wrote a letter to Ronald, the first she had ever written him.

The next morning Lina was awakened by the housemaid ten minutes before the usual time.

“Yes?” she said sleepily. She had had a bad night, worrying.

“Mr. Kirby wishes to speak to you on the telephone, madam.”

Lina scrambled out of bed, put on her wrapper, felt for, rather than looked for, her shoes, and went downstairs. It really was exceedingly annoying of Ronald to ring up when he
knew
she would be in bed.

“Yes, Ronald?”

“Oh, hullo, darling. Good-morning. I got your letter.”

“Yes?”

“And I’m not doing any looking round, thank you. And how dare you belittle your sweet self like that?”

“Have you got me out of bed just to tell me you’d got my letter?”

“Hullo, what’s the matter, darling? You sound a little terse.”

“I was asleep,” Lina said, not without bitterness. “I’m hardly awake yet.”

“Well, wake up, because I want to ask you a question. Do you love me?”

“Was it really necessary to wake me up to ask that?”

“No, perhaps not. Sorry. Well, will you lunch with me to-day?”

“I thought we weren’t going to see each other for a bit?”The possibility of being overheard by anyone outside the dining-room door increased Lina’s exasperation.

“Well, it’s three days now. Surely you’ve had all the air you want.”

“Three days isn’t much. Do be sensible, Ronald. No sooner do we get clear than you want to tangle everything up again.”

“Clear?”

“Well, you know what I mean. Anyhow, I can’t lunch with you to-day, or any day this week. We’re booked every day.”

“Oh! Then what about dinner?”

“And dinner. I do wish you’d leave me alone for a little, Ronald. I did ask you. And I know as soon as I see you, you’ll be on to me again about – about what you always are on to me about. Oh, what is the good of talking like this on the telephone?”

“On to you?” Ronald said slowly. “I should hate to be ‘on to you’ about anything.”

“Well, you have been. You know you have. You must give me time.”

“All right.” Ronald’s voice was cold. “Anyhow, you’re engaged every day this week for lunch and dinner. Is that right?”

“Yes. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Before Lina had reached the top of the stairs she was wondering whether she had not been a fool.

She wondered the same thing at intervals all day.

The next morning she was awake an hour before her breakfast tray arrived and drew a breath of relief as she saw the letter from Ronald upon it. Ronald had understood, as usual.

She opened it eagerly.

“Yes?” said Joyce. “Come in.”

“May I use your telephone, Joyce?” Joyce had an extension by her bed, which she always used when she wanted to make sure of not being overheard.

Joyce took one look at Lina’s tear-marked face, and jumped out of bed. “Yes, of course you can. I’ll go along to the nursery. It’s not – Johnnie?”

Lina shook her head.

As soon as Joyce was out of the room, she gave the number of Ronald’s flat.

“Hullo?” came Ronald’s voice.

“Ronald, it’s me. Lina.”

“Oh, yes?” His voice had gone hard and dull.

“Ronald, how could you write to me like that? How could you?”

There was a long pause at the other end. “It seemed to me about the best way to write,” Ronald said slowly.

“You made me cry.
You
made me cry, Ronald. Good heavens, as if I hadn’t had enough to cry over already, without that. Listen, I’m crying now.” She was crying, unmistakably.

“I’m very sorry, darling.”

“I was going to write to you at first, and then I thought I might say things I’d be sorry for afterwards, so I’m ringing you up instead.”

“Yes?” Ronald sounded more sympathetic now, but very, very cautious.

“Ronald, don’t you love me any more?”

“That isn’t in question, as you ought to know, my dear. But the other way round is. Very much so.”

“But I do love you, Ronald. I told you I did. I only wanted a little air.”

“Yes.” Again there was a long pause at the other end. Lina waited fearfully.

“Look here, Lina.” Ronald’s voice was full of decision. “Look here, I quite see your point of view. All this hasn’t been fair to you. I took you on the rebound, and that’s never satisfactory. I won’t have you like that, either. You’ve got to love me as much as I love you, or it’s not the faintest use our getting married. And you’re perfectly right: you must have time to see things in perspective. Very well. We won’t see each other for three months.”

“Three months!” Lina wailed.

“Is that too long?”

“Much too long.”

“Well, a month, then.”

“But, darling, I shall be
miserable.
I want to see you. I don’t need not to see you to make up my mind. It’s practically made up already. Besides, it’s you I’m thinking of as much as me. I feel you ought to do so much better for yourself than marrying me. Ronald, take me out to lunch to-day.”

“No,” said Ronald. “You must have time to think things out. Goodbye, my darling. And remember:
I
love
you.
”

The click of the receiver sounded in Lina’s ear.

She made her way mournfully back to her own room.

She had been right: that cursed exasperation of hers had led her once more into making a fool of herself.

A whole month!

She felt absolutely alone and forlorn. And this time it was utterly and completely her own fault.

And the unbearable thing was that it was so unnecessary; for she knew now that she must love Ronald.

There had been another letter on her breakfast tray. Lina opened it now, mechanically.

It was from the detective, to report that he had been able now to collect enough evidence against Mr. Aysgarth to make a successful action for divorce inevitable and was forwarding same to her solicitors. He also took this opportunity of enclosing his account to date.

Lina crumpled it up and threw it on the floor.

Then she picked it up again and smoothed it out. Of course. A cheque would have to be sent.

Johnnie ...

It had taken her some moments to realize that it was of great importance to her to divorce Johnnie.

She could not marry Ronald, and be happy at last, until she had done that.

Joyce was giving a party.

The party was on Lina’s account, and Lina knew that it was really to bring herself and Ronald together again. It was over a week now since Ronald had announced his intention of giving her a month to herself, and she had had no word from him during the interval.

Joyce, however, had.

She and Ronald had dined together, and Joyce had come back most indignant with Lina. Ronald, it appeared, was in a terrible state. He had now worked himself up into the belief that Lina never had cared a straw about him and had only been amusing herself with him to help her to get over the loss of Johnnie. He was in despair, and his work had gone to ruin. Joyce had soothed him as best she could and emphasized Lina’s real affection for him, but she had some very outspoken things to say to her sister alone.

“I told you, you weren’t to play fast and loose with Ronald, and look what you’ve done. He’s positively maudlin about you, and all you can tell him is that you want air. What on earth do you want air for? You’re being a perfect idiot, Lina.”

“But I do want to see him! It wasn’t I who made this arrangement. I told him I wanted to see him.”

“He doesn’t believe you. I tell you, Lina, you’re being an idiot. Here you are, nearly forty and behaving like a young fool of sixteen in her first love affair. I tell you, my girl, one can’t afford to be coy at our age. If you let Ronald go, you may not get another chance. Are you fond of Ronald, or aren’t you?”

“I’m not going to let any other woman get him,” said Lina, breathing rather quickly.

“Well, you’re going the best way about it. Ronald’s going to make some woman a damned good husband soon, so it might as well be you. You cling onto him, my girl, with both hands. If you knew as much about this crowd as I do, you’d realize Ronald’s value. He’s a coming man, and he’s solid. You’d be an important person in a few years, as his wife, instead of being buried down in Dorsetshire with no one to talk to but the vicar and Johnnie’s mistresses. Besides,” Joyce added more calmly, “it would be nice to have you up here and hear you rasping your brains occasionally. You’d be quite able to hold your own with our lot as soon as you got accustomed to them, and it’s an amusing life. You’d like it, wouldn’t you?”

“I should love it.” Lina bore no resentment against Joyce. She was used to plain-speaking from Joyce. Whenever it was possible, Joyce always said what she thought.

“Then don’t throw it away. Anyhow, I’m going to throw a party for you next Friday, and Ronald’s promised to come, as a special favour to me. And if you’re not as nice to him as you know how, and put an end to all this childishness between the two of you, I’ll never introduce you to a man again.”

“That’s all I want,” said Lina. Given the chance to be nice to Ronald, she had no doubt of the result.

She wondered if it was horrid of her to feel pleasantly excited at the idea of Ronald in a terrible state because he thought she did not love him.