The House of Discontent (11 page)

She stiffened again abruptly. She did not want him to go; she wanted to say something to keep him, but she did not know what to say (the words she might have said she did not dare utter), so she said nothing at all. But he felt her body, which for a moment had been relaxed in his arms, stiffen and draw away from him.

“Don’t you understand,” he said, “that I must dance again with Camilla?”

“In what way am I stopping you?” she asked.

“You are such a little fool,” he said.

“You keep saying that,” she cried out indignantly, “but what have I done, what have I said, that you should think me so foolish?”

He laughed. “You have lived a long time in Hongkong, he said, “but you do not seem to have picked up much of the wisdom of the East.”

“How can I understand you?” she asked. “You talk all the time in parables.”

“In a parable you can find as much or as little as you please,” he replied.

“I’m quite out of my depth,” she said.

“No, you are not out of your depth, but you are afraid of finding yourself in deep water. You can swim, can’t you?”

“Yes, of course I can swim.”

“Then stop being afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. Afraid of what?”

But he did not answer the question because the tune changed at that moment and he had to let her go. He did not talk to her again that evening. She saw him dancing with Camilla as he had said he would, and then, when she looked for him again, he was not there.

Patricia was disturbed and agitated and dreadfully puzzled. Every other man in the room seemed dull after him, every other conversation banal, and yet, when she tried to remember what exactly it was that they had said to each other, their words, so deep with meaning at the moment of utterance, seemed utterly senseless in retrospect She felt that he had said everything, and yet, when looking back on it, she could not see that he had said anything at all. Wherein lay his mystery and his power to charm? What had he really said to her?

Patricia and Edward did not leave until the party was over, and that was not until about three o’clock. In the meantime she had danced mostly with Johnny, and before leaving she had made a date with him for the following afternoon.

She was very weary driving back in the car, and Edward also seemed tired, for he talked very little. She remembered how she had wondered during the drive to the White House what her feelings would be during the drive back. Well, now she was driving back and what were her feelings?

She had expected great things from this evening; how had her expectations been fulfilled? The answer was that they had not been fulfilled at all. The evening had been a bitter disappointment, and yet what more had she expected? The thought of Anthony was more disturbing than ever, that was the only outcome of the evening, and she was farther away than ever from solving the mystery of his personality, and she had no more immediate prospect of hope of seeing him again. Perhaps, if he remembered to give that party for Mary? But how far away that was and how much might have happened to both of them in the meantime.

What struck her more forcibly than anything was the dullness, the acute dullness, of life without the hope of seeing him again in the near future.

Could it be that she was in love with him—in love for the first time in her life? Was that what love did for you—made life, which had never in any circumstances seemed dull before, intensely dreary in the absence of the loved person? Oh, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t be such a fool as to have fallen in love with a man who so obviously had no serious intentions towards any woman.

“Would you say that Anthony Brierleigh was a marrying man?” Edward asked suddenly. He had not spoken for several minutes, and now his question came so much on the lines of her own thoughts that it was only afterwards, thinking it over, that Patricia was surprised by it. At the time it seemed perfectly natural that in the darkness of the car Edward should have been thinking the same thoughts as herself.

“What do you mean exactly?” she asked.

“Well, would you say that he wanted to get married—that he was ready to get married?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. What makes you ask that?”

“Oh, only because Camilla is so crazy about him.”

Edward tried to speak casually, but Patricia divined a terrible hurt behind his words. She understood all at once, for the first time, that he was hopelessly in love with Camilla, and her own trouble was suddenly and completely blotted out in an overpowering wave of sympathy for him.

“Oh, Edward,” she said, “is that how it is? I’m so awfully sorry.”

“Don’t waste your sympathy on me,” he replied, trying to laugh. “I shall get over it all right. Troubles slide off me like water off a duck’s back. I own I’ve been harder hit than ever in my life before, but it won’t keep me under for long. I was a fool not to realize it before.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, not till this evening, though I believe that subconsciously I suspected it all along.”

“How did you know for sure this evening?”

“From the way she behaved when he came in, but still more from the way she behaved when he left. All the life and the fun went out of her then. She became like a pricked balloon. I guessed it then and I twitted her with it and she confessed that it was true. She began to cheer up again when I talked about him. She talked about nothing else for the rest of the evening.”

“Poor Edward,” Patricia said.

“Oh, don’t be sorry for me. I’ve just been a fool, that’s all, and as I said before, I shall get over it”

“And does he care for her, did you gather?” Patricia asked in a low voice.

“She doesn’t know. She thinks he does, but she doesn’t know for certain.”

“What makes her think he does?”

“Oh, because she asked him why he came to the party tonight (apparently he hates dances) and he said that he hadn’t been able to keep away.

“That’s not much to go on, is it?” Patricia asked.

“No, but love’s like drowning—you clutch at any straw. I honestly believe I wouldn’t mind so much if I thought he would make her happy, Mrs. Grey feels the same as I do. I had a talk with her about it this evening. She had known all along how I feel about Camilla and she’s always
been very sweet to me. I told her tonight that I realized about Anthony and she
couldn’t have been nicer about it or
more sympathetic. She also is afraid that he won’t make her happy. She likes him but she thinks he’s wild. She says that in her opinion he would
have to be terribly in
love with a girl to marry her, and that she would then have to use her power over him to tame him. She thinks that unless he was really, desperately, in love he would make his wife, if he had one, utterly miserable. She says it would be awful to be weaker than he was—or, at any rate, to let him know that you were. She thinks Camilla is making a great mistake in allowing him to see that she cares. He has always had the upper hand where women are concerned, apparently, and he thinks he can do what he likes with them.

Patricia was intensely interested in what Edward was saying. She thought to herself: “I let him see that I cared when he wouldn’t dance with me this evening, but it shan’t happen again. I will be like ice with him when next I see him. I suppose he just thinks that I’m like every other girl and that he can do what he likes with me. But I’ll show him. And yet how am I to show him if I never see him again? Oh, I must see him again. I can’t leave him with that impression of me. I must see him again if it’s only to show him that I don’t care a scrap for him.”

With difficulty she brought her mind back to Edward’s troubles.

“Have you ever asked Camilla to marry you?” she asked.

“Goodness, I’m not as far gone as that! But you know, I almost believe I would marry her, so perhaps I’m farther gone than I think. But as for getting married just for the sake of getting married ...”

“No,” Patricia said, rather disconcerted by his answer, “I don’t suppose there is anything in marriage for a man. He loses his freedom and gains very little in exchange.”

“That’s right,” Edward agreed. “Unless he is so gone on a girl that he doesn’t feel that life is worth while without her.”

“And yet an awful lot of men do get married,” Patricia replied mildly.

“If a man wants to marry you and you haven’t got any money,” Edward pronounced sententiously, “you can be pretty sure that he loves you. With a woman it’s different. She may have a hundred and one reasons for marrying. She may want to get married just for the sake of getting married; she may want to get away from home; she may accept you because her younger sister has just got herself a husband ... Oh, there are dozens of reasons ... But if a man wants to marry you, you can be dead sure that it’s love and nothing else.”

They had arrived back at The Knowle by this time and they did not have any more serious conversation that evening. Patricia imagined that she would stay awake all night thinking over all that had happened and all that had been said, but to her surprise she fell asleep the moment she got into bed.

CHAPTER NINE

PATRICIA was allowed to sleep in next morning and was only woken by Margaret, who came in to tell her that she was wanted on the telephone. She got quickly out of bed, still half asleep, and ran downstairs in her dressing-gown. It was Johnny.

“Have I woken you?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m a bit early, but I was so afraid that if I didn’t ring up you might have gone out or have made some other plans for the day. Look here, you haven’t forgotten that you’re coming out with me, have you?”

“No, of course I haven’t.”

“Will you spend the whole day with me?”

Patricia hesitated. “I’ve got to go and see Mary some time,” she said.

“Yes, I know. I thought I’d come with you if I may. Look here, I’ve got a little car. May I come and fetch you? Then I’ll drive you to the hospital, and then we’ll go and have lunch somewhere, and then got to a movie in Shrewsbury if you feel like it.”

“That sounds a lovely programme,” she said.

“Good! That’s grand. How soon can I come and fetch you—in half an hour?”

“Oh, give me a little longer,” she pleaded, laughing. “An hour at least. I’ve only just woken up.”

“All right, I’ll give you an hour. That will make it half past eleven. Good-bye.”

Patricia had hardly got back to her room when Margaret came up to say that she was again wanted on the telephone.

“It’s Sir Anthony Brierleigh,” she announced in a kind of breathless awe.

Patricia’s heart seemed to turn right over and then began to beat suffocatingly. Her instinct was to rush to the telephone, and then she remembered her conversation with Edward in the small hours of that morning and her determination to treat Anthony with extreme coldness if ever she got the chance of seeing him again, so she controlled her impatience and descended the stairs with slow dignity. She picked up the receiver.

“Hallo?”

“Is that Miss Norton? This is Anthony Brierleigh speaking.”

“Good-morning,” she said, trying to control the trembling of her voice.

“Good-morning. I rang up to know whether by any chance you would feel like a walk on the moors today to blow away the dissipations of last night?”

Her instinct was to reply quickly: “Oh, I should simply love to,” but she remembered in time that not only had she decided to be cold to him if ever again she got the opportunity, but that she also had an engagement with Johnny.

“I’m going to see Mary in the hospital this morning,” she prevaricated.

“Then how about this afternoon?”

“I’m afraid I’m going out this afternoon.”

“All right,” he replied. “I only rang up on, the chance.” His voice was distant.

“What about tomorrow?” she asked, her real desire to see him getting the better of her pretended coldness.

“I’m going back to Gloucestershire tomorrow.”

Patricia’s heart fell like a stone. “I wish I could come today,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter at all.” he replied. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” She put back the receiver slowly. She was swept by a wave of misery. He was going away tomorrow. Goodness knows how long it would be before she saw him again. The opportunity of showing an icy coldness had presented itself; she should have been glad that she had been able to refuse his invitation as he deserved, and yet she was anything but glad, and she knew that if it had not been for her previous engagement with Johnny she would not have been able to refuse him.

If only she had not agreed to spend the day with Johnny she would have had this walk on the moors to look forward to, and the chance of getting to know Anthony better. They might have parted as friends instead of as comparative strangers; she might have got to know him well enough during the walk to be able to write to him while he was away—and what a difference that would have made. Oh, dear, if only she had been going out with him—if only she had not been going out with Johnny!

How could she get out of her date with Johnny? On an irresistible impulse she looked up the Greys’ number and got on to the White House. She asked for Johnny and was put through to him.

“Look here,” she said, “would it be the same to you if we went out together tomorrow afternoon instead of today?”

“Well, of course,” he said in a disappointed voice, “if it suits you better...”

“Do you really not mind? It is kind of you.”

“Of course I mind,” he said good-humouredly, “but it can’t be helped, can it? What about this morning?”

“This morning I am going to see Mary, and I should be delighted if you would come with me as we arranged.”

“I’d love to. I’ll be round with you in about half an hour.”

When he had cut off, Patricia at once got on to Brierleigh Cottage. “Can I speak to Sir Anthony Brierleigh, please?” she asked.

“I don’t think he is in, but I’ll go and see.” It sounded like the maid speaking. “Who shall I say it is, please?”

“Miss Norton.” Patricia waited with a beating heart. “Oh, please don’t let him have gone out,” she prayed fervently.

The maid came back again in a few moments. “I am afraid Sir Anthony is out,” she said, “but I don’t think he will be gone long. Would you care to leave a message?”

“Yes, if he comes in within the next half-hour could you ask him to ring me up?” and Patricia repeated her name and gave the telephone number.

Half an hour had passed and he had not rung up. She was ready dressed now to go out, with one ear listening for Johnny’s arrival. She wished that she had made it more definite that Anthony was not to ring her after the half-hour had elapsed, for supposing he rang when Johnny was there? It was an awful thought.

Edward had come down now and was asking her what her plans were. She told him that Johnny was calling for her and going with her to see Mary.”

“If you’re not doing anything this afternoon we might go to a cinema,” he said.

Patricia sensed that he was very depressed.