Menfreya in the Morning (23 page)

would. The only certainty was that there would have been no marriage.

“Dear, I think we should be getting along now.”

To the village church with Sir Endelion. “You look lovely, my dear. I’m proud to give you away … This is a happy day for us all.”

Bevil was already there, and his eyes were on me. There were special glances for me alone. A pity we have to go through all this fuss, he meant A simple ceremony would have been so much better … and then away to that little town overlooking the coast, where we can be alone and I can show you that I love you as I never loved anyone before and that, if your stepmother had not died and so released your father’s fortune, I would have married you, Harriet Delvaney … no, Harriet Menfrey, now.

So we walked down the aisle to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” I saw the faces in the pews that watched us … blurred and intent No relations of mine were present Aunt Clarissa had pleaded her inability to leave home at such a time, but I knew the truth was that she could not have borne to see me married when Sylvia and Phyllis had failed to secure husbands.

Out to the carriage and back to Menfreya, Bevil beside me, holding my hand tightly, laughing now and then—a new Bevil, I thought serious, contemplating the future. I was so happy I felt that if I could have had a wish it would have been to prolong that drive for the rest of my life, to sit there in the carriage with Bevil beside me, serious and tender, telling himself—as I was sure he was—that this was the beginning of a new life for nun. He was going to love and cherish me, for better, for worse, as he had vowed to do; it was going to be an end of the life of light adventure. He was going to be the reformed rake who made the best of husbands.

Under the clock which only stopped when a Menfrey was going to die a violent death, into the courtyard where the stones were worn with the wheels of carriages and the hoofs of horses over the centuries.

I had come home—a Menfrey.

Bevil must have been thinking the same for he said, “Well, Harriet Menfrey, we’re home.”

Happy women like happy countries, they say, have no his-

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tones; so there is little to report of the first weeks of my honeymoon.

We went first to Paris, where I bought the clothes I had promised myself. An exhausting business, standing before mirrors, listening to cooing compliments in French-English. But I did acquire some charming clothes; and Paris, when one loves and is loved, is one of the most wonderful cities in the world.

The Eiffel Tower, the Bois de Boulogne, the Sacrfi Coeur and the Latin Quarter—they are all sanctified memories to me still. Bevil beside me, laughing, making me do the talking because I had a better command of the language than he had, for he refused to attempt to discard his English accent. I remember the soft lights of restaurants- and the looks of those who served us who, with true Gallic intuition in such matters, knew that we were lovers. We betrayed it— both of us. That was the joy of it—he as much as L

But our ultimate destination was that little town in the mountains, so we left Paris and made our way south.

The Provencal flower season was over, but how I loved the country with its magnificent mountain scenery and its glorious coast! I was immediately enchanted by our hotel, and when I stood on the balcony and looked away to the sea, I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful.

They were happy days.

Madame, the proprietress, knew BeviL He had been here before.

“And this tune he comes with Madame Menfrey. That is very beautiful.”

Her dark eyes were speculative though, and I wondered with whom Bevil had stayed in this hotel before. Perhaps alone, but it might have been that he had made friends in the town. During the ten days we had spent hi Paris I had had no such thoughts; I had begun to believe I had conquered them; but here they were, at the first sign of suspicion.

But I forgot it when we went down to the dining room, which opened on to the terrace with its view over the mountains. There we dined by candlelight, and all my happiness returned.

“We should stay here for four or five weeks,” Bevil said, for he wanted me to love Provence as he did. Here life was lived simply, and that was how to get the best out of a

honeymoon. “No distractions,” he said. “Not that anything could distract me from Harriet Menfrey—but it’s the simple life for me.”

I was content enough. In the mornings we explored the old town with its winding streets and worn steps and alleyways. The dark-eyed children watched us almost furtively. We were so obviously foreigners; and the stall holders were delighted when we paused to buy fruit and flowers in the market square. We sat outside cafes and watched the life go by. During the afternoons we would sit under the palm trees in the garden and lean on the stone balustrade looking over the mountains away to the sea. We hired horses and rode into the mountains, through lonely villages, along dangerously narrow paths. Bevil insisted on leading my horse along such places, and although 1 was a good horsewoman and capable of managing my mount, I enjoyed the protection. Sometimes we stopped at inns for d&jeuner; we tried all the native dishes and the wine of the country, and we would sit sleepily content half through the afternoon before we rode on.

We rarely made plans. We let each golden day take care of itself. How I loved the warm, sunny days and the evenings when the sun disappeared taking the heat with it Then I put on a warm wrap, and we went out sometimes to walk in the cool mountain air.

One late afternoon we rode into the mountains. We were going into one of the villages for dinner, where Madame had told us we could see some Provencal dancing.

We set off, promising ourselves a ride home by moonlight We were very gay and happy as we rode along, and we sang together a song which Monsieur, Madame’s husband, had taught us. The words were set to the Maid of Aries music, and was about the three wise men coming to Bethlehem. Whenever I hear the tune I am back on that rough mountain path singing, with Bevil beside me … a happy moment which was, in a way, a finale to the complete contentment But, perhaps fortunately, I did not know this then.

Trois grands rob,

Modestes tous les trois,

Brillaient chacun comme un soleil splendide;

Trois grands rois,

Modestes tous les trois,

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Etincelaient sur lews blancs palefrois.

Le plus savant

Chevauchait devant,

Mais, chaque nuit, une 6toile d’or les guide;

Le plus savant

Chevauchait devant:

J’ai vu flotter sa longue barbe au vent

Bevil, singing out of tune in his atrocious British accent, made me laugh immoderately, and he cried: “Well, you do better, Harriet Menfrey.”

“That won’t be difficult,” I retorted. “There’s so little competition.”

And as I sang he told me: “Your voice isn’t half bad, sweetheart. And you speak the language like a native.”

So we went on singing until we came to the little village, where we were warmly welcomed by Madame and Monsieur. We had been expected, they told us. They would have been disappointed if the English milord and his bride did not come to visit them. Madame from our hotel mothered us, but she gossiped about us evidently. In any case in that small dining room we were given the place of honor near the violins which would provide the music for the dancers.

Food was served with the ceremony to which we had become accustomed; the wine was brought and poured as though it were nectar of the gods, and Madame and her waiter watched us as though they were admitting us to paradise, while we tasted the highly spiced food and declared it to be delicious.

It promised to become one of many happy evenings until the English couple came into the room. Immediately I noticed Devil’s astonishment; and as the woman’s eyes fell on him she stopped short—as surprised as he was. She was delighted, too.

As she approached our table, I noticed her bright, honey-colored hair and long, grey eyes, that her lips were smiling, her body voluptuous, and that in spite of this she walked with a jungle grace which was made more obvious because her companion moved clumsily beside her and was inclined to be chubby.

Bevil had risen.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked. “Pinch me, Bobby … then I shall wake up.”

“I hope it’s not a nightmare,” said Bevil.

“It’s the nicest sort of dream. What are you doing here, Bevil?”

Bevil was smiling at me. “This is an old friend,” he began.

She grimaced. “Did you hear that, Bobby? An old friend. I don’t like the description. It could be ambiguous.**

“Only to the blind,” replied Bevil.

**You should introduce us, my dear,” said Bobby.

“Of course,” put in Bevil. “This is my wife.”

The woman’s gray eyes swept over me, and I fancied they missed little.

“This is my husband.”

Then she laughed, as though it were a great joke that Bevil should have a wife and she a husband.

“Don’t tell me,” she went on, “that you’re having a honeymoon, too.”

“It calls for some sort of celebration, I’m sure,” said Bevil. He turned to me. “Lisa and I knew each other … a long time ago.”

Madame was at our table. “You are friends? You would like to dine together?”

“What funl” cried Lisa. “Now, Bevil, you can tell me all.”

Madame signed to the waiter to bring chairs, and soon we were all seated round the table, and the fuss of serving began. She was Lisa Dunfrey, Bevil told me. Not now, she reminded him. There was Bobby. Lisa Manton. “You know,” she said, “Manton Biscuits. Bobby makes them, don’t you, darling. Not personally, of course. Merely profitably. But, Bevil, this is so amusing. Both honeymooning at the same place!”

I wish that Bobby and I could have found it so amusing. He hated it as much as I did, for she turned her attention to Bevil and left him to me.

The weather was glorious, said Bobby. What did I think of the mountain scenery? How did I like French food?

He was no more interested in my answers than I was In his questions; we were both listening to the conversation of his wife and my husband; and none of us paid any real attention to the Provencal dancers who performed so charmingly for our pleasure.

I knew the look which came into Bevil’s eyes when he was . attracted by a woman; I had seen that look for me; now it was there because of Lisa. If Bobby and I had not been there,

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would they have resumed a relationship which they both seemed to look back on with nostalgia? I wondered.

At one point she turned to me and said: “So you’re Sir Edward Delvaney*s daughter. I saw the announcement in the papers, and I remember thinking that it would be a very suitable match for Bevil.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I hope yours is as suitable.”

She laughed and looked into her glass. “Oh yes. Isn’t that satisfactory. All so suitably married—all at the honeymoon stage together. And Bevil has his politics .. ,w

“And you your biscuits,” I replied.

She surveyed me coolly and turned back to Bevil. I gazed at the dancers, not seeing them; instead seeing Bevil and this woman together making love. Was this a foretaste of the future? Would I now and then meet friends of Bevil’s and suffer the acute jealousy which was tormenting me now?

I thought the evening would never end; but at last there was no longer any excuse for staying, and we left them there to return to our hotel. I was relieved to feel the night air, but I had lost my peace of mind.

We did not sing as we rode back. Bevil was silent—still, I believed, in the past.

“How well did you know her?” I asked.

“Know whom?” he queried unnecessarily.

“The beautiful Lisa.”

“Oh, I just knew her.”

It told me nothing, yet I imagined it told me so much.

When we reached the hotel, Madame wanted to know if we had enjoyed the dancing. Bevil was unusually quiet, but I managed to reply brightly that it had been a most illuminating evening.

Bevil made love to me fiercely that night, and I asked myself as we lay in the darkness: Is it Lisa to whom be is making love? Am I the substitute?

We didn’t meet them again, and in a few days Bevil had recaptured his high spirits and I was able to hide my misgivings. The honeymoon continued, but nothing was quit* the same.

7

We had been in Provence six weeks. It was a long honeymoon. November was with us and the rainy weather had set in. It fell in torrents, bouncing up and down on the balcony and flooding the bedroom; the clouds completely blotted out the mountains and the sea, and without the sun there was a decided chill in the air. It was time to leave for home.

It was good to be back in Menfreya. My spirits were lifted by my first glimpse of the house, and as we drove under the old clock tower I told myself that I was going to be happy in my new home. I was determined to be all that Bevil wanted in a wife.

It soon became clear that a ministerial crisis was brewing. Balfour had replaced Salisbury as Prime Minister not long after the new King’s coronation, and Chamberlain, with his following, was threatening to resign over Protectionist proposals. I must understand these problems thoroughly if I were going to be of any real help. The duty of a politician was to make laws which would improve the well-being of the country; it seemed to me that that was a noble ambition. I was fired with enthusiasm. When I told him this he kissed me and said I was going to be the ideal politician’s wife. He would grow enthusiastic over some wrong which in his view was a particular evil. He would discuss the problems with me, and I found myself caught up in his zeal.

He took his duties so seriously. In the town of Lamella he had chambers, and there, when be was in Cornwall, he spent two mornings a week so that those whom be represented in Parliament might come to see him with any problems they wished to discuss. I sometimes went there with him and, to my delight, found that I could be of use and that he realized It Then I forgot that honeymoon incident which had so disturbed me; I was even able to tell myself I had imagined the Whole thing.