The House of the Laird (14 page)

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

That night s
he stayed awake for a long time because she had the hope, amounting almost to a conviction, that the telephone beside her bed would ring, and she would hear Iain
’
s voice speaking to her from London. But it did not ring, and she grew so sleepy at last that she simply had to close her eyes and allow the waves of sleep to rush up over her, although her feeling of disappointment was acute.

In the morning she looked eagerly for a letter for him, but there was no letter. She decided that he was very likely a bad correspondent, or perhaps he was planning to return almost immediately, so she did not worry. But she was disappointed again.

But in the afternoon Mrs. Barrington ordered the car, with her hostess
’
permission, and suggested to Karen that she accompany her into Inverlochie.

“
I thought,
”
she said, with that warm and well-nigh irresistible smile of hers,
“
that we might make a start on some of your more urgent shopping.
”

Aunt Horatia had already made it clear to Karen that she intended to make herself responsible for the payment of all the things she required, and had
overruled Karen
’
s objection by declaring that she could look upon the outfit as a wedding present.
Or if she wished to do so she could pay her back later on when, as Iain
’
s wife, she would have money of her own—in fact, plenty of money of her own!
But as this made Karen feel that she was mortgaging something that did not yet belong to her, and anticipating the benefits bestowed by
a
well-to-do husband when he was not yet her husband, she preferred to swallow her pride and express gratitude for such an extremely generous wedding present, since somehow or other she had to obtain the right kind of clothes for her wedding. She could not very well become the wife of a man like Iain with nothing but her present few possessions.

And in Inverlochie that afternoon, although, she was never quite at her ease in the society—undiluted as it was, since Aubrey for
o
nce did not accompany them—of Fiona Barrington, Karen really enjoyed her first taste of the more selective kind of shopping.

There were one or two first-class little dress establishments in Inverlochie, and Fiona knew exactly where they were situated, and how to obtain the maximum attention once she had entered them. Karen felt like a distinctly
gauche
and very young sister beside her, but the assistants in these various exclusive shops sized up her possibilities almost at a glance, and with the help of suggestions from Fiona the bride-to-be found that exactly the right sort of garments were brought forward for her to try on.

I
t was Fiona who decided that with her exceptionally delicate complexion and her light hair and blue eyes she would look well in a color she had never dared to wear before—a kind of apricot pink. An evening frock with a skirt composed of yards and yards of billowing tulle in this particular color, and a bodice patterned with rhinestones, was selected for her, and Karen could hardly recognize herself when she stood before a tall pier-glass and gazed
at her reflected image. The apricot-pink sent such a delicious flush over her cheeks that she knew that for the first time in her life she was really enchanting, and the depth of her blue eyes was enhanced so that they appeared to gleam like the deepest sapphires between her long eyelashes.

Then there was a cloudy black net which did even more startling things for her complexion, and a gold lame stole which added an exciting touch of sophistication and banished a little of her extreme air of youthfulness.

“
It
’
s a good thing to look young,
”
Fiona observed, watching her with amusement as she studied her own appearance in the mirror with obvious amazement,
“
but when the man you
’
re going to marry is several years older than you are it
’
s not such a good thing to appear too young
!”

And this was something Karen had hardly thought about before.

They spent another pleasing half-hour in a shop that sold wonderful twin-sets and glamorous knitwear, and here again Fiona knew exactly what suited Karen, and the latter allowed her to make all the decisions for her.

Underwear proved slightly more embarrassing, for combined with Karen
’
s unconcealed appreciation of the delightful wisps of nylon
a
nd lace was the disturbing thought that these were really intimate purchases, especially the transparent nightdress, like the heart of a wild rose, which Fiona held up and admired, and remarked while she did so that she thought it looked exactly like Karen, somehow, while it was undoubtedly the very best thing to in
c
lude in a trousseau.

When she saw Karen blushing wildly the look of amusement in her eyes grew noticeably, although at the same time there was something behind the amusement which for a moment caught and held Karen
’
s attention, and she wondered how she would word it if she had to describe it to anyone. It had nothing whatsoever to do with amusement; it was withdrawn and cool and critical—and cold, Karen thought. And there was even the merest suggestion of contempt—or did she imagine it?

But when they went next door to the old-fashioned George Hotel for tea, and in the panelled lounge, in front of a brightly burning fire, shed their coats and scarves and made themselves comfortable in deep leather chairs, while a waiter brought them hot buttered toast and tea, her friendliness was so marked that Karen wondered whether after all she had imagined that look in her eyes.

Or it might have been a purely momentary flash of jealousy—something belonging to the past over which she had suddenly no control. For, after all, there had once been a time when she had concerned herself with trousseau items in connection with a marriage which was to have made her Iain Mackenzie
’
s wife. And now that another girl was planning to become; that wife she might occasionally feel slightly irked.

But while they had their tea she talked to Karen in the friendliest of tones, and was interested in all the details of this approaching marriage about which Karen herself as yet knew little.

“
I think you ought to have a proper honeymoon,
”
she remarked, when Karen explained that she was hoping to go straight to Craigie House after the ceremony.
“
After all, one only gets married once in a lifetime—or usually—and a honeymoon is the reward for all the anxious moments that go before a wedding.
”
She looked at Karen with her golden eyes, observing how readily she flushed whenever the actual subject of the wedding was touched upon, and how confused her eyes appeared at even the mention of a honeymoon, although some luminous quality in her face
whenever
Iain
’
s name was brought into the conversation gave away the fact that she was deeply in love with him.
“
I think Paris is the ideal spot—or you could follow the sun for a few weeks. Wouldn
’
t you like to do that with Iain?
”

Karen knew that she would. But more than anything she wanted to go back to Craigie House with him.

“
You mustn
’
t let yourself be brought back
to earth too soon, you know,
”
Fiona remarked, inserting a cigarette in her long holder, and lying languidly back in her chair. A faint sparkle lit her eyes.
“
It
’
s a little bit depressing, but even in the most devoted unions that moment of being forced back to reality does come, and it
’
s a moment to be
k
ept at bay for as long as possible. It
’
s unfortunately true that when you climb the heights you can
’
t stay there eternally, and that descent by the way you climbed is a trifle jarring sometimes. I found it so—but then perhaps I didn
’
t marry the man I ought to have married! If you
’
re sure you
’
re marrying the man you ought to marry you may get a different result.
”

Karen gazed at her in a silence that was caused by sheer inability to think of any suitable words with which to answer her, and Fiona looked at her through a faint haze of cigarette smoke.

“
It
’
s all a process of adjustment, of course—but in some cases the adjustment is easier. I
’
m not sure that being terribly in love makes it any easier—it could make it a little harder
!
”

This time the attractive, soft voice seemed to drawl slightly, and Karen wondered whether it was purely her imagination, whether that faint sparkle in the golden eyes was now a shade malicious. But she still felt she was being talked at, rather than expected to join in a conversation.

“
However, I don
’
t want to fill you with any misgivings, and at your age you
’
re almost certain to believe in the permanence of the happy ending. And this engagement of yours to Iain is rather like a happy ending to a romantic adventure, isn
’
t it?
”
watching a cloud of smoke curl upwards.
“
You met in a train, and you fainted in his arms on a railway station, and naturally all his protective instincts were so strongly aroused that he wanted to marry you at once!
”

She flashed a brilliant smile at Karen, and the girl flushed almost painfully.

“
How—how did you know?
”
she asked, for she had confided nothing of what had really happened to her since she left London early in January to anyone save Aunt Horatia and Ellen McBain. She hadn
’
t thought Mrs. Montagu-Jackson was the type to pass on a confidence of that sort, and Ellen had had no opportunity. Which left only Iain to do th
at
enlightening and somehow it hadn
’
t occurred to her that he would do that in very much detail to an ex
-
fiancée
.

“
My dear child,
”
Fiona answered her softly, with a touch of archness in the raising of her brows,
“
these things get out, you know—and, in any case, it is terribly romantic that you should be proposing to marry in a week or two because you met one man on a train! And it
’
s always the
‘
one
’
man, isn
’
t it?—the one who makes the violent appeal? There
’
s never any doubt about it once you actually meet.
”

“
N-no,
”
Karen agreed, gripping her hands together tightly in her lap.
“
I don
’
t think there is.
”

“
But the great thing is to make sure there isn
’
t any mistake. Because a mistake is fatal in such a thing as marriage—because once you find out that it wasn
’
t really
‘
the
’
one there isn
’
t very much you can do about it!
”

Karen felt suddenly cold inside. She disliked this conversation very much indeed, and she was wondering why it had ever developed along such lines. But Mrs. Barrington tossed the end of her cigarette into the glowing fire, leaned forward and patted the younger girl
’
s hands affectionately.

“
Don
’
t look so frightened,
”
she said.
“
You know your own heart, and we both know Iain—and he
’
s the kindest man I
’
ve ever come across! Whatever
happens, he just couldn
’
t ever be unkind to anyone!
”

That night, when Karen was lying in her big bed and feeling almost as if she was alone and utterly deserted in the midst of a sea of doubts, the white telephone beside the bed started to ring, and her heart gave such a tremendous jolt that for a few moments she was trembling too much to lift the receiver. Then, with the receiver to her ear, she heard Iain
’
s voice at the other end of what sounded a very faint line.

“
Is that you, Karen?
”
he said.

Karen answered in as faint a voice as the line.

“
Yes—oh, yes!
”

“
How are you, darling?
”
There was a pause during which he obviously waited for her to say something in response, but her tongue wouldn
’
t frame any words, and he continued:
“
I sat down to write you a long letter this morning, but somehow I didn
’
t know what to say to you. Letters are so unsatisfactory, and I wanted to speak to you, but I thought you
’
d probably be out. And last night I was at a business dinner which dragged itself out for so long that when I got back, to my hotel it was much too late to ring you. Although I was terribly tempted!
”

“
I wish you had,
”
she breathed back, rather huskily.
“
I don
’
t really expect I was asleep.
”

“
My darling child,
”
he exclaimed,
“
don
’
t tell me you keep awake until the small hours?
”

“
Oh! Was it the small hours?
”

“
The very small hours!
”

She felt, rather than detected, a laugh at the ba
ck
of his voice.

“
In any case, I was thinking of you until I fell asleep,
”
she confessed.

“
Were you?
”
The line had definitely improved, and the tenderness that swept into his voice was like something living which reached out to her.

“
What sort of thoughts were they? Are you by any chance missing me very much? And have the hours been inclined to drag since I left Auchenwiel?
”
She realized that he was teasing her very gently, but the teasing note in his voice was something she loved best about him. And then the golden bubble of bliss in which this late telephone call had encased her was pricked by his next words.
“
I
’
m so sorry, sweetheart, but I shan
’
t be back quite as soon as I thought—it may even be another week or more. But it
’
s none of my choosing, it
’
s something I must do whether I like it or not. But Aunt Horry has written to say that she
’
s planning to give a dance as soon as I do get back, and in that case I think she
’
d better make it about the 24th, because I can more or less count upon being back in time for that. And don
’
t forget you
’
re marrying me very soon
after that!
”

“
Am I?
”
But Karen
’
s voice was edged with a disappointment so acute that he could not miss it.

“
Are you?
”
he said, a little reproachfully.
“
It
’
s almost all I
’
ve been thinking about ever since I left you, and if I
’
d known I was going to be. away so long I
’
d have risked Aunt Horry
’
s displeasure and brought you with me.
”
There was a pause, and then he asked:
“
Are you remembering what I told you before I left?
”

This time she answered swiftly and eagerly.

“
Yes—oh, yes! Yes, I am!
”

“
And you
’
ll go on doing so until I get back?
”

“
I will,
”
she promised.
“
But I wish you were coming back sooner—much, much sooner!
”

“
My little love!
”
he exclaimed.
“
At least you don
’
t wish it more than I do.
”

Then he told her that he must ring off because it was late, and he mustn
’
t keep her awake any longer. She said goodnight to him with a whole world of suppressed yearning for him in her voice, and he told her cheerfully to start looking forward to the moment when he did actually return.

Then she lay down and tried to put behind her the memory of Mrs. Barrington
’
s curious insistence that however much one was in love it was impossible to remain upon the heights of unadulterated bliss for long, and she wondered why it was that tonight for some reason she could almost believe that what she said was true.

Everything in life was so fleeting. Only a few nights ago Iain had been with her, and she had been living in a kind of wonderland of happiness because he had told her that he loved her. But tonight although there had been so much tenderness in his voice, and he had taken the trouble to ring her all the way from London, she was oppressed by the thought that he was not coming back for a week or more, and the oppression would not let her go.

And Mrs. Barrington had said that he was so kind—he was so kind that he would not willingly be unkind to anyone, and she knew that to be true. Then how much had kindness to do with his being in love with her? How much had pity?