Marry a Stranger (19 page)

“Whew!” he exclaimed, in a very low undertone. “So that’s your lord and master! Do you know, Stacey, I’ve got a kind of an idea that he doesn’t altogether like me!”

But Stacey, when—because she couldn’t think of any other alternative to her husband’s suggestion—she had taken him into the library, and seen him installed in one of the deep leather chairs, ringing the bell for Hannah to bring some refreshments, tried very hard to erase from his mind any impression that Martin had seen anything either in or about him that would lead to a condition of dislike.

“Martin’s so busy,” she defended her husband. “And he didn’t get much sleep last night. He was called in by Dr. Hurst to see one of his patients, and it meant that he didn’t return here until the small hours.”

“And is he norm
a
lly rather bad-tempered and peevish? He looked it to me.”

“Certainly not!” Stacey exclaimed, with quite a lot of indignation in her voice this time. “But doctors scarcely lead normal lives, you know, and Martin is a very busy consultant in London. It’s not much fun for him to have his few days’ holiday broken into when he wasn’t really expecting anyone to bother him at all.”

“
Or
some unknown childhood friend of his wife’s bursting in to upset his after-dinner peace?”

“Oh, as to that”—Stacey realized that there was a kind of grave twinkle in his eyes, and he seemed to be regarding her speculatively—“as to that, I’m quite sure Martin didn’t mean anything at all. You mustn’t be misled by his manner. Usually he’s very
nice to strangers—to people he hasn’t met before,
I mean
—
”

“But although he hadn’t met me before, I didn’t find favor in his eyes!” He grinned a little one
-
sidedly, and accepted the drink she poured out for him. “Well, perhaps it’s not so altogether extraordinary, seeing that you
are
his wife, and I’m considerably nearer your age.” He regarded her pensively. “You don’t mind him being so much older than you, Stacey? I mean, it’s true he’s not Methuselah, but he can certainly give you a few years, and according to Aunt Bee he’s been married before.
However, that's none of my business
—
” He broke
off. “So long as you’re happy with him, Stacey
—
?”

Stacey felt the color rush into her cheeks as she vowed that she was very happy, and after looking at her a little longer with that slightly sceptical look on his face—and taking another sip at his drink—he suddenly decided to tell her the reason why he had been so keen to see her. And after giving her a rough picture of the kind of life he had lived over the past twelve months, and letting her into a few of his aspirations and dreams for the future, all of which concerned the country he had decided to adopt—East Africa, where his heart seemed to be firmly planted—he suddenly looked a little self-conscious and admitted that he was thinking of getting married very soon, and that was the reason why he had flown home for a brief leave, only a few hours of which were to be spent with his Aunt Beatrice.

“You see, Stacey, there doesn’t seem to be anything to wait for”—his boyish face flushing a little—“and Muriel is as keen as I am to get settled down soon. I’ve had a new bungalow built, and when we’ve got the garden started
...
well, it’s a bit of a wilderness at present, but Muriel’s very knowledgeable about gardens, and her father’s giving us quite a handsome wedding present—a cheque, you know, which we can sink into the property.”

“Why, that’s wonderful!” Stacey declared, and really thought that it was.

He looked pleased.

“Well, naturally,
I
think it is. And I also think
Muriel
—
” He colored more deeply than ever.
“She’s a wonderful girl, Stacey! I wish you could meet her—perhaps you will one day! We’re getting married in the north of England in about three weeks’ time, and then I’m taking her straight back with me—flying back. Until then I’m going to stay with her people.”

“I think that’s very nice,, Stacey said, with enthusiasm. “And I’m sure I hope you’ll be very happy, Dick. I’d like to see you married, but I’m afraid that’s not possible, but I can give you a wedding present—something nice!” The idea caused her to beam at him. “You must let me know if
there’s anything special you’re wanting
—
”

“That’s very kind of you, old girl,” he said gratefully. He got up and went across to her and took her hands, pulling her out of her chair. “Stacey, tell me—you
are
happy, aren’t you? That petrifying husband of yours doesn’t have the same effect on you that he had on me? Because if I thought that he did
...
Stacey, you don’t have to stick it out if you’re unhappy, you know! You can always break away—and if ever you’re up against it you can come out and live with us. You and Muriel’d get on together—or there’s always Aunt Bee, if you were
desperate. She’s taken a kind of fancy to you
—
”

“Dick, don’t be so silly,” Stacey exclaimed, pulling away her hands, but avoiding meeting his direct gaze nevertheless. “Of
course
I’m happy. Martin’s been wonderful to me, he really has! Why, when he married me, I
—
” But she suddenly thought it wisest to say no more about her own marriage, and the reasons which had led up to it and which an outsider—even a well-meaning outsider, such as Dick—might think extremely unsatisfactory reasons. Or, at any rate, not enough to culminate in marriage which, if it was to succ
e
ed, should be based on something which was less materialistic. “You’re not to trouble your head about me, anyway, but I’m pleased you wanted to see me to tell me about your marriage. And now, perhaps you’d better come along to the drawing room and meet the others
—
”

“No, thank you,” he interrupted quickly. “I met a very glamorous personality this afternoon who assured me you’d be
delighted
to see me, but I’m not at all sure I ever want to meet her again. I found her a little bit overwhelming. But she’s quite something to look at, isn’t she? And as for your husband
—
Well, you can say goodbye to your husband for
me, and tell him I think he’s jolly lucky to have you for a wife, even if you do look a bit young for the part. Tell him in case he doesn’t know it that loyalty’s your middle name, and he can be thankful for that!”

With which somewhat obscure observation he started to move towards the door. But once there he turned and looked at her again seriously.

“Aunt Bee told me to tell you—any time you feel lonely, you’re to go and see her! She means it—any time!”

And then he gave her hands another squeeze, and she let him out of the front door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When s
he returned to the drawing room Vera Hunt was lying back languidly in a chair and smoking a cigarette with a thoughtful air, and Martin was in the middle of a conversation with Bruce Carter and discussing the various beauty spots around Fountains Court. He appeared perfectly composed, and very suave, and almost as affable as usual, and when Stacey entered the room he stood up at once to provide her with a chair.

“Don’t tell me your friend’s gone already?” he said. “We thought you’d bring him in and introduce him to Bruce. Vera tells me she formed a very good impression of him.”

“I thought he was quite charming,” Vera remarked, with a sleepy smile under her eyelashes at Stacey. “But I expect you had such a lot to talk about that you preferred to keep him in the library. Is there any chance of his coming back again?”

“No,” Stacey answered, conscious that she probably sounded a little curt—for she had not been too pleased with Martin’s reception of her childhood friend. He was the only friend she had who had any connection with her past life, and her husband had, she recognized, been almost rude to him. “He’s going north tomorrow, and in three weeks he’s flying back to
East Africa.”

“Tough luck!” Vera exclaimed, still smiling at Stacey, and Bruce Carter decided that his hostess needed someone to come to her rescue, and changed the conversation for her.

For the remainder of that evening Martin remained exceptionally polite, and quite attentive, to his wife, but she knew that the spirit of warm friendliness and liking which had united them in the afternoon was gone now. His eyes smiled at her, but it was the smile of a stranger, and she felt somehow certain that he would make no further mention of her visiting London and staying at the flat before he left on Sunday morning. And she was right.

The next day, which was Saturday, he went for a walk with Bruce in the morning, and in the afternoon he shut himself up
in the library while Stacey took
Tessa for a long walk through the country lanes. When she returned it was tea time, and Bruce joined her and Vera in the drawing room, while Hannah carried tea to the master of the house in the library. He joined them for a drink before dinner, but after dinner he made sorting papers in the library an excuse to absent himself again, and even Vera began to look a little peevish as the result of her host’s neglect of her. It was dull, she found, spending an evening alone with an almost silent Stacey, while Bruce Carter laid out patience cards and was apparently quite content to do so. At ten o’clock, therefore, she announced that she was going to bed, and after the briefest good nights she went upstairs to her room. Stacey also was feeling tired and completely dispirited, and she said good night to Bruce and went up also. She was looking at herself in her mirror, staring at her own reflection blankly, when the tap came at her door, and in response to her hurried “Come in” Martin entered.

He looked very debonair in his dinner jacket, and he was actually smiling slightly. He walked to the dressing table and picked up a doll in satin petticoats which served the purpose of a pin cushion and examined it intently for a moment, and then he set it down and turned to her, the smile quite gone from his face.

“We shall be leaving early in the morning,” he said, “and as there’s no reason why you should get up early just to say goodbye, I thought I’d come and get our farewells done with tonight.”

Stacey remained silent. She just looked at him, and something in the expression of her face made him smile again, crookedly.

“Poor Stacey!” he observed. “It seems such a pity that you married me when, if only you
’
d waited a few months, you could have married a man who might have been able to teach you what marriage
really means! However
—
”

Stacey’s eyes widened as if he had struck her across the face. Somehow, although the words rushed up in her throat, she could not tell him that Dick was the last person in the world she would have married, and that in any case he was engaged to another girl with whom he was very deeply in love, and that they were to be married in a little over three weeks. In after days she often wondered what his reaction would have been if she had told him that, and if she had also told him that for Dick she entertained an affection that was almost exactly similar to the affection a sister entertains for a brother. But she did not do so—and why she did not do so she could never be quite certain.

Unless it was because of the coldly arrogant expression on his face, and the faintly sneering note in his voice. He believed what he wanted to believe, and she saw no reason why she should correct the impression. His very antagonism antagonized her, and she felt herself stiffening in a resolve to say nothing that would change his opinion of her, or
alter his ideas.

“However,” he repeated, “there’s nothing very much we can do about it, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to put up with the bargain you made, Stacey, and remember that you took me for better or worse—and there it is!”

He moved over to the door, and when he reached it he looked back at her with an inscrutable expression on his face.

“You’ve got Mrs. Elbe to keep you company here now, and the Adens are only a quarter of a mile away. Mrs. Aden has invited you to visit them as often as you like, so I should do so. I may manage to get away from London in a week or two’s time, but I’m not certain. However, if you want anything, you can always ring me up—or ring my secretary! She will always see to it that I get a message.”

Still Stacey said nothing—absolutely nothing. She felt as if she had been temporarily petrified.

“Goodnight, my dear—and goodbye until we meet again!”

As he closed the door she came to life—became as if galvanized into action—and simply sped across the floor and dragged it open, but his long strides were already carrying him away down the corridor, and he had reached the head of the stairs before she could even call out.

Vera Hunt, in a glamorous dressing gown, appeared from the direction of the bathroom, with a bath towel draped over her arm, and an aroma of expensive bath essence and dusting powder clinging about her.

“A lovers’ quarrel?” she exclaimed, mockingly. “Dear me! But I expect you’ll make it up before morning!”

But in the morning, listening to the car gliding away down the drive, Stacey could only sit up in bed and feel as if from now on her world would be barren indeed.

And then she caught sight of the envelope pushed underneath her door. She fairly sprang out of bed, darting upon it with her heart in her mouth because for a few moments she felt certain—absolutely certain—that it was a message from Martin. And then a disappointment that was almost agonizing caught her up in its grip as she noticed that the envelope was of a type Martin would never use—a
thick, expensive, crackly kind of the palest shade of mauve imaginable. And, moreover, it smelt of perfume—Vera Hunt’s perfume.

Stacey picked it up gingerly and opened it. Vera had scrawled only a few lines, but they were enough to send every shred of color receding from Stacey’s face.