The House of Discontent (10 page)

By the end of the Paul Jones Patricia’s self-confidence had been quite restored. She was beginning to enjoy herself in spite of an inner voice which kept whispering to her that Anthony Brierleigh wouldn’t come now; it was too late. However, she kept her eyes nearly all the time on the door. It was impossible to give up hope completely.

Camilla introduced Patricia to her brother, Johnny, who, although he did not share Camilla’s wonderful good looks, had a puckish face which Patricia thought very attractive, and a most engaging smile.

“Why haven’t I met you before?” he asked her. Patricia told him that she had only recently arrived from Hongkong.

“Well, I’m going to see as much of you as I can now to make up, do you mind?”

Patricia assured him laughingly that she did not mind at all.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She laughed again. “Aren’t you being rather precipitate?”

“I’m in the middle of my military service,” he replied, “and I’ve got to go back on Monday so there’s no time to waste. And now Camilla has gone and got herself tied up in the daytime. We’ve always had such fun together. It’s all Anthony Brierleigh’s doing.”

“How is it his doing?” Patricia asked quickly, too quickly she was afraid.

“Oh, he said that she would be rotten with children, or words to that effect, so she is determined to show him that she can be as good with them as anybody. That’s Camilla all over. You’ve only got to dare her to do something. She’s always been like that. I had to stop daring her to do things when we were children because she used always to do them, and then I used to find that very often I hadn’t the courage to do them myself!”

“Does she care so much what Anthony Brierleigh thinks?” Patricia could not help asking.

“Haven’t you met him?” Johnny asked in surprise.

“Yes, we’ve met.”

“I believe you girls all care what he thinks of you, don’t you?”

“Do we? Is that the reputation he has got?”

“Yes, girls are supposed to be crazy about him. We ordinary chaps, haven’t got a look in while he’s around.”

“Nonsense,” Patricia said sharply.

“Well, I’m glad you’re proof against him, anyway. I like him a lot, as a matter of fact, but I’m not really sorry he isn’t here this evening. I don’t suppose you’d be dancing with me so much if he were here.”

“Why not?”

“Well, would you?”

“Of course I would if you asked me.”

“By the way, you haven’t told me yet what you are doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing,” she replied, laughing. “Except that some time I’m going to see Mary in the hospital.”

“Then you will come out with me tomorrow? ... Grand! That’s a date, then. I’ll ring you up in the morning ... By the way, how is Mary? She’s getting on all right, isn’t she? Good! Do you think she’d like me to come along with you and see her tomorrow? ... Look here, if you really want a job, why don’t you do something in that hospital like Camilla? Then you wouldn’t have to go away from here.”

“I don’t suppose they want anyone and I’m not trained to be a nurse,” Patricia replied.

“Well, between you and me, I’m sure Camilla won’t stick it very long, so you could take her place.”

At the moment, looking towards the door over Johnny s shoulder, Patricia saw Anthony come in and her heart began to thump. It was ridiculous that the mere sight of him should have such an effect on her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

PATRICIA looked away from Anthony quickly and laughed up into Johnny’s face. “Well, perhaps I will if you dare me to,” she answered coquettishly.

She hoped with all her heart that Anthony was looking at her at that moment and would get the impression that she was gay and amusing—the same kind of impression that she had had of Camilla when she had seen her dancing with Edward.

“I think you ought to become a nurse,” Johnny replied seriously. “I should say you would make a wonderful nurse. You’ve got a kind face. Anyway, I should love to be nursed by you!”

“You’d find me very strict,” she said, looking into his face again, smiling, still hoping that Anthony was watching her.

She glanced again towards the door. He was no longer there. She searched the room eagerly with her eyes: there was no sign of him. She thought in sudden panic: “He has come and gone away again.”

She looked for Camilla. Camilla was dancing, but Patricia noticed that she also was looking anxiously towards the door and paying little attention to her partner.

“Did we both behave in the same way?” Patricia thought. “How degrading!”

She realized suddenly that she had been unnecessarily flirtatious with Johnny entirely for the effect that she hoped it might produce on Anthony, and a wave of self-disgust came over her. Anthony had come and gone, and with his going the evening had died for her. The whole excitement of the evening had been anticipation of his coming, and now everything seemed flat and dull and cold. She was left only with this unpleasant sense of self-disgust and also with a sense of guilt towards Johnny.

“I’m getting tired,” she said. “Do you mind if we stop for a bit?”

“No, we’ll go and see what we can find to eat and drink. I’m jolly hungry. I don’t know about you.”

Patricia didn’t feel hungry at all. She felt rather sick. She was sick with disappointment. Perhaps Anthony hadn’t gone? Perhaps he was still somewhere in the house? Perhaps if she went to look for him she would find him?

“I’m just going up to powder my nose,” she said to Johnny. “I won’t be long. I’ll join you back here.”

“All right, and we’ll have one more dance before we go and eat.”

She slipped out of the drawing-room, and her heart almost stood still, for in the passage outside, standing talking to Mrs. Grey, was Anthony. Her heart began to beat again, almost to the point of suffocation, and the colour rushed to her face and neck. Mrs. Grey saw her.

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “I was so sorry not to have seen you when you arrived, but Camilla has introduced you to people, hasn’t she? I saw you dancing with Johnny. I’m so glad. He will look after you. Have you met Sir Anthony Brierleigh? This is Mrs. Leslie’s niece, Miss Norton.”

“We have met already,” Anthony said gravely.

“Yes,” Patricia said, “when Mary had her accident.” She found difficulty in controlling her lips to bring out the words, and she could not look at him.

“Yes, how is Mary?” Mrs. Grey asked. Patricia told her that she was getting on well. “She was so miserable to miss the dance,” she added.

“Yes, poor little thing. It was bad luck. But I expect Camilla will insist on having another one on her next birthday.”

Patricia did not refer to Anthony’s promise to give a party for Mary on his next leave, but she hoped that he would say something. He said nothing about it, however.

“Well, I’ll leave you two young people,” Mrs. Grey said. “I must go and have a word with the Bishop, who I see over there looking intensely bored.” She went away, leaving them alone together, and Patricia’s heart began to pound again.

“So you decided to come after all,’ she began, saying out of nervousness the first thing that came into her head.

“I couldn’t keep away,” Anthony replied.

She raised her eyes quickly to his face, but he was not looking at her. He was looking over her head.

“Did you want to keep away?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Why? she asked, hardly above a whisper.

“Because I don’t feel at home at this sort of thing.”

She longed to ask him what had induced him to come after all, but did not dare. She was more afraid now of their being interrupted than of anything else. She couldn’t hope to keep him to herself like this for more than a few moments. Someone was bound to come up and speak to him and take him away from her.

“Don’t you dance?” she asked, hoping, if only he would dance with her, to be able to keep him to herself for a little bit longer.

“I don’t like dancing,” he replied.

“Then why come to a dance?” she asked.

“Why, indeed?”

“You’re not very easy to talk to,” she broke out, suddenly exasperated.

“Jabber, jabber, jabber,” he said. “What do you expect me to say? It would be a good thing if the number of words people could use in a lifetime was limited, then they wouldn’t waste so many talking rubbish.”

“Do you mean I’m
talking rubbish now?” Patricia asked indignantly.

“Yes.”

“But what have I said that was so stupid?”

“You have wasted words asking silly questions to which you already know the answers.”

“How could I know that you didn’t like dancing?”

“I was thinking of that question. That was quite a legitimate one.”

She tried quickly to recall the other questions she had asked, but at that moment, as she had feared, they were interrupted—and by Camilla, which was the most regrettable interruption of all.

“Good evening, Anthony,” Camilla said gaily. “So you have condescended to come after all.”

“To wish you a happy birthday,” he replied, adopting her own light tone.

“And now you are here, I hope you are going to ask me to dance?”

“For you, Camilla, I will have to do what I don’t like,” and he gave her a little bow. Camilla took his arm and led him towards the ballroom. He went with her without a glance or a word to Patricia.

For a moment the latter stood where she was, biting her lip, and then, with her head held high and her colour flaming, she went back to join Johnny. She had never been snubbed in her life before, but fortunately for the moment anger triumphed over her mortification. “He’s the rudest man I’ve ever met,” she said to herself. “I’ve never seen such manners. I hate him.”

“You have been a long time,” Johnny greeted her.

“I’ve been talking to Mrs. Grey,” she said, not without truth.

She tried not to look at Anthony and Camilla dancing, but she could not avoid a swift glance which told her that Anthony, even if he didn’t like dancing, was expert at it.

“I suppose it is only with me that he doesn’t like dancing,” Patricia thought bitterly.

The band just then stuck up the Paul Jones again, and Johnny made her, reluctant though she was, join in. She did not want to dance any more. She wanted to go home and hide her hurt and humiliation and disappointment in the privacy of her own room.

When the tune changed she was standing opposite a stranger, but before he had had time to claim her as his partner, Anthony brushed by him and put his arm round her quickly and danced her away.

“I don t want to dance with you,” she said, straining away from him.

“Are you going to sulk?” he asked.

“It’s not a question of sulking, but hasn’t it occurred to you that you were extremely rude to me?”

“In what way?”

“I as good as asked you to dance with me and you refused, but you didn’t refuse to dance with Camilla.”

“I asked you to come and skate,” he replied, “but you preferred to go to Ludlow on the back of a motor-bicycle. There is no accounting for tastes.”

“I had a previous engagement to go to Ludlow,” she defended herself.

“And Camilla asked me to this party of hers before I ever met you,” he retorted. “Besides, I didn’t think that
you
would make me do what I don’t like.”

“You mean dance?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m not making you now.”

“Yes, you are, because if I don’t dance with you now you will insist on thinking me rude.”

“I do think you rude.”

“You are piqued,” he said.

“I’m not. I’ve forgotten all about it. It doesn’t matter in the least to me one way or the other, but I suppose any girl might be excused for being piqued under the circumstances.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s all it is—just pique,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing very much.”

“I don’t understand you,” Patricia said coldly.

“I don’t intend that you should,” he replied. “Has it occurred to you that there is anything strange in the way we are talking?”

“What do you mean?” she asked again. “In what way strange?”

“Aren’t you talking a little bit as if you had some claim on me?”

“Not in the least I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. Of course I have no claim on you. You can’t imagine for a moment that I could really think such a thing? Why should I? Just because you were kind to me that night in London as you would have been to any stranger? You must think me an awful fool.”

“Perhaps I do.”

She tried to struggle away from him at those words and the Paul Jones began again.

“The music has come to release you,” he said, letting her go.

Patricia was so flustered that she was hardly conscious of dancing round in the circle. Her mind was in a whirl. She was indignant and confused. If only she had had time to think out her replies to him, but she had been forced to say the first thing that came into her head, and it had always been the wrong thing. What an idiot she had been to tell him that she minded the way in which he had behaved. She had put herself at a terrible disadvantage. She had made herself cheap, and he was conscious of it, undoubtedly, because his whole attitude had undergone a change. He had lost his respect for her; he had talked to her with amused superiority, and then he had had the cheek to say that she spoke as if she had a claim on him. She burnt with shame.

When the music changed again exactly the same thing occurred. Anthony brushed by the strange man who had stopped opposite to her and put his arm round her quickly.

“You can’t do this,” she said.

“Can’t I? Don’t talk. You wanted to be danced with, so, I’m going to dance with you!” He held her close and she did not talk again, but she strained stiffly away from him.

“Forget for a moment how much you hate me,” he said. “Forget how I hate dancing and just pretend that we are both enjoying this.”

She relaxed and a great peace came to her. She was acutely conscious of being in his arms, and for a moment she shut her eyes and abandoned herself to him entirely; for that moment she was utterly happy.

“After this,” he said, “I shall ask Camilla to dance, and then I am going home.”