Such is love (15 page)

"Certainly. Otherwise you, my delightful Mrs. Onslie, would be in the unpleasant position of still being married to me." He laughed as she whitened. "Fortunately for you, I was married when we had our little—escapade. But since then, I have had the—misfortune to lose my wife."

"In any case, it's immaterial "

"I felt so, too."

"—I shouldn't allow Paula to have anything to do with you, legally or illegally," she finished, ignoring the cynical interruption.

He looked at her amusedly and slightly shook his head.

"I'm afraid you are perhaps just as childish as ever. At any rate, just as unable to realize when the tide is against you. Now listen, and I'll tell you the real facts." He leant forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped. "I admit that exposure would ruin me "

"It might even put you in prison," she amended icily.

He shrugged.

"Very well. But it would also mean irretrievable rum for you—not only socially but where your happiness with your husband is concerned. Incidentally, it would give a nasty knock to his happiness—so far as those proud "I'm-God-Almightly" men have feelings."

She wanted to tell him fiercely that Van had ten thousand times the feeling that he had. But it would be futile. And, anyway, he was speaking again.

"If you insisted on ruining us both—and I swear it should be a very complete ruin for you—I, at least, have a chance of getting away. A very good chance, since I am not without experience. But you, my dear, would have no escape. Your ruin would be in your own home"—he shrugged—"in your own heart, if you like, for I think you're very fond of that chilly husband of yours."

Gwyneth passed her tongue over her lips.

"Don't you see now that you are in no position to threaten me? If anything, the shoe is on the other foot— and it might be wiser of you to be a little more friendly to me," he added dryly.

Contempt, fear and anger looked at him from Gwyneth's blue eyes, but he didn't flinch. He had all the air of a gambler who holds the best cards.

For a long time there was silence in the room. Then she said in a low voice:

"Will nothing make you leave Paula alone?'*

**I can't think of anything, Gwyneth. I'm really much too fond of her."

He laughed softly at the way she looked at him for that:

"How you do hate me!" He leant slightly further forward, and put his hand on her wrist, but she snatched her arm away with a proud, angry little movement. "And how much more attractive this way," he added amusedly. "No wonder even Evander Onslie fancied you."

She knew the fact that she winced angrily at his way of putting it only amused him further, but she managed to say steadily and coldly:

"We're getting rather far away from the point."

"Which is?"

"That naturally I shall do everything— anything, however unpleasant for myself—rather than see Paula's life ruined as mine was."

"You seem to have rebuilt it very satisfactorily, if I may say so," he observed carelessly. "It's not a bad thing to have Evander Onslie's cheque book to draw upon. But so far as Paula is concerned, I advise you—and I mean this with deadly seriousness, Gwyneth—I advise you not to interfere. The two people who would suffer most would not be Paula and myself. They would be you—and your precious Van." j

She sprang to her feet at that. Partly because the truth ' of his words stung her unbearably, partly because she saw it was useless to continue and she might as well go. " He got to his feet too, but more slowly—smiling again i slightly, because she was so lovely in her anger and despair.

"There doesn't seem to be anything else to say." She bit her hp sharply.

"There really doesn't, Gwyneth.'*

"I know you do hold all the best cards, but don't imagine I shall throw in my hand because of that."

"No? Well, I almost hope you don't, for you're so enchanting in a fighting mood. And there's no harm in your struggling for a while—unsuccessfully."

She swept that contemptuous, angry glance over him again; and turned to go without another word.

As she reached the door he spoke again behind her.

"There is one question I should hke to ask—not entirely from idle curiosity."

"Well?" She turned reluctantly, her hand already on the door handle.

"Who was the child who answered the phone this morning, just before you spoke?"

Gwyneth went absolutely rigid. She knew she did. Then she could have cursed herself for betraying any dangerous concern, and she made every effort to cover the blunder.

"I can't imagine why you should be interested," she said dryly. "It was a little boy who is staying with us just now, if you must know."

"No connection of—^your husband?"

"Fm afraid I don't know what you're getting at."

Did that cold blankness really sound as though she were annoyed and puzzled? she wondered. Or did it just sound as though she were feebly playing for time and trying to hide her agitation?

"I only wondered if it were some child you had— adopted?"

She knew he must be drawing a bow at a venture—and a pretty long bow, at that. Calling on the very last ounce of her self-control, she looked back at him with contemp-. tuous calm.

"No," she said coldly, "he is not a child we have adopted. And the answer to your insinuation is "no", also."

And, turning away again, she went out of the room and out of the house.

Her knees were shaking under her so that she could hardly walk along the road, but she kept on telling herself that, at least, on the score of Toby there was no immediate reason to be afraid.

"I put him off there," she repeated over and over to herself, like a child afraid of the dark. "At least I put him off about that. He hasn't any real suspicions. He only made a malicious guess, and I didn't betray myself. Oh, I'm sure I didn't! He couldn't have noticed that first start, and I was absolutely convincing at the end. He was convinced. I know he was."

She found a taxi at last and, giving the address in an oddly husky voice that didn't sound much like her own,

she got in and sank down thankfully on the seat. She felt drained and weary—rather as old people must feel when they had done something beyond their strength, she thought.

Now she wondered a little why she had ever bothered to go. She couldn't surely have been so absurd as to suppose that Terry would listen to any sort of appeal? And what he had said about her not being in a position to threaten was perfectly true.

He was the one who could threaten. He could threaten her whole happiness, and Van's and Toby's. Perhaps Toby didn't come into this immediately, but it was only one short step to him.

If Terry were going to visit their home—and since he absolutely refused to retreat, it was at least probable that she must let him—how could she hope to have Toby permanently? She couldn't explain him away indefinitely, and Terry was so cruelly, wickedly quick at guessing the truth. Already he had a faint suspicion, and she had perhaps . crushed that only temporarily.

"I can't cope with things," she told herself distractedly. But she knew that she must. If she didn't, who else would?

The taxi stopped before she had found the answer to that.

Even tea with Toby had not the full savour today. She could smile at him and listen to his chatter and take pleasure in his pleasure, but nagging at her aU the time was the thought of Paula—Terry, Terry—Paula.

Well, she had failed with the one. What was there to do but try the other? She must see Paula and tell her something—though God knew how much!—of her own wretched story. And she must risk Terry establishing for certain that she was behind any break there might be—and taking what revenge he pleased.

She telephoned to Paula as soon as Toby was in bed. Van was very late at the office that evening and so she was still alone and there was a chance to speak frankly, if necessary.

The first voice she heard was that of Paula's mother. Slow, heavy, dignified, and quite, quite impossible to hurry. No wonder such a lively spark as Paula was out of her element there!

Might she speak to Paula?

She might.

There was a pause and then Paula's voice—faintly bored and cross—sounded at the other end.

"Is that you, Paula?"

"Oh, Gwyneth dear!" came enthusiastically from the other end of the wire, as soon as Paula recognized the voice. "How are you after all your heroic adventures? I'm simply dying to see you."

"I'm quite all right again, thank you, except that I can't use my left arm for quite everything yet. But I rang up because I wanted to see you, too. Can you come along one afternoon soon?"

"I'd love to! The day after tomorrow?"

Gwyneth wanted to say 'Tomorrow,' and get it over, but she must not appear too pressing. And so she said that the day after tomorrow would do very well.

Somehow the intervening day and a half crawled away, while again Gwyneth hid her feelings as well as she could. She guessed .that Van put down any quietness and pallor to her not having entirely recovered, and for that she was very thankful.

On the afternoon that she was expecting Paula, she sent Toby out with Betty again. He was very happy because he had found another little boy who played in the Park, and he was the proud owner of a puppy.

"Could I have a little dog, too?" he wanted to know, as Gwyneth buttoned up his blue coat.

"I don't know yet. We'll have to see, later on."

"I'd rather have a little lion, like the one at the Zoo."

"Well, I don't think we could manage that." She kissed him good-bye and handed him over to Betty.

Ten minutes later Paula arrived.

She was dressed in a beautiful shade of chestnut brown. Her short fur coat was a model and the diamond clasp in her hat was the real thing. Yes, Terry chose his opportunities well. 'Only child of wealthy parents' was right. It was stamped all over Paula.

"Dear Gwyneth!" She hugged Gwyneth with real affection. "I'm so glad to see you. Have you had a very rotten time?"

"No, not really. My arm and shoulder hurt a good deal at first, but that's over now, and I'm practically all right."

"And the little boy?"

"He's quite all right, too."

"No—I mean, you've got him here at the flat, haven't you?"

"Oh yes. He's out just now, but you'll see him later, at tea-time."

Paula tossed off her outdoor things and made herself comfortable.

"And how does Van take to his role of adopted parent?"

Gwyneth looked rather startled.

"We haven't actually adopted Toby, you know."

"No, I know. But, from the way Van spoke on the phone, I gather it's quite likely you will."

"Did he actually say anything about adoption?" Gwyneth ^ felt a breath of excited happiness..

"I don't think he used the word." Paula wrinkled up her forehead thoughtfully. "But he spoke as though—^what's his name?—Toby would more or less always be here."

Gwyneth smiled. There were some gleams of hope and happiness in the world. When the whole affair of Toby was going so well, it didn't seem possible that the other problem would remain insoluble and spoil everything.

"Paula," she said, summoning all her resolution, "I really wanted to talk to you about Terry Muirkirk."

"Yes, of course. I guessed as much.'*

Gwyneth twisted her wedding ring rather nervously on her finger.

"I'm afraid it isn't quite the sort of talk you were expecting, but "

"Just a moment " The interruption came rather

sharply, and, looking up, Gwyneth saw that she was not the only one who was ill at ease.

"I think," Paula said slowly, "that it's much better if I'm quite frank. I know already about you and Terry."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"You—^now?" Astonishment and terror and a strange relief struggled together in Gwyneth's heart. "But yc'U can't know. Who told you?"

"Terry did."

"Terry? When?"

"Yesterday. I saw him yesterday afternoon," Paula said defiantly. "We had a long talk together."

"And he told you—about me?" She couldn't possiHy imagine any motive for his doing that. If he wanted to betray her—ruin her life—Paula was not the confidante to choose. And if that were not his idea, what earthly point was there in his teUing her? He would only completely alienate her.

Then was that it? Had Terry, by some improbable miracle, determined to do the decent thing and send Paula away?

She couldn't believe it. It was too simple—too wonderful. It couldn't be true! And yet, if it were, and Paula could now be relied on to keep silent, the horror was over. She could breathe again—Hve again—be happy again.

"Paula dear." She put out her hand and gently touched the girl's arm. "I'm sorry. Are you feeling very dreadful about it?"

"Oh no." Paula put her hand over Gwyneth's and pressed her fingers hard.

"You're not? I'm so terribly glad. I suppose the shock—"

"It wasn't a shock exactly, Gwyneth. I didn't imagine I was the first girl he'd been fond of. It was a bit of a blow to find it was actually someone I knew, of course. But you're happily married to Van now, so I know you must have got over it long ago. It would be stupid of me to brood over it now. It doesn't really make any difference."

She paused, but no answer greeted this extraordinary expression of tolerance.

Was the girl quite mad? Gwyneth wondered bewilderedly. Hadn't she any appreciation of right and wrong? Didn't she understand the despicable part which Terry had played? "It didn't make any difference," indeed! Then what, in heaven's name, could make any difference?

"Paula, I don't think you can possibly understand," Gwyneth began at last.

"Oh, yes I do. Really, I do. I know you must have felt awful at the tiq^e, poor pet. And of course, you thought he'd treated you very badly. But one does get over these things."

These things! How often did she suppose 'these things' happened?

And then suddenly Gwyneth went cold all over.

"What did Terry tell you exactly?" she asked in a queer, hard little voice.

"Oh, Gwyneth—" Paula looked uncomfortable* "Well, everything, I suppose."