The Primrose Bride (3 page)

“
It
’
s not all that urgent,
”
the younger man said,
“
I came along because I heard from my boy that Andrew is back with the bride.
”

“
They
’
re right here,
”
from the doctor.
“
Had dinner with us. The girl looks tired, and I don
’
t think she should be bothered with meeting any more new people tonight. But
you won your bet, Tony. She
’
s fair, and her eyes are blue
-
green. Molly owes you a bottle of whisky.
”

“
I
’
ll collect it at the weekend. What is she like otherwise, this girl?
”

“
Charming.
Well read, of good family, unostentatious, and young enough to learn quickly and thoroughly.
”

“
What did I tell you! The career-man down to the last detail.
”
There was wryness in the younger man
’
s tones.
“
I
’
ve always liked Andrew, but recently there have been times when I detested him, too. The Governor tells him there
’
ll be a vacant High Commissionership at Cunan in about a year and an eventual governorship into the bargain, and what happens? Andrew knows his own worth, and he also knows that a governor has to have a wife—of the
right kind.
So while he
’
s on leave he finds one—the ideal type for a
man
of his sort. Where is he now?
”

“
Inside, reading a report I gave him—I came out because I heard you on the path. My wife and Mrs. Eliot | are looking over the house. Are you coming in?
’

“
No, I
’
ll
meet
up with Andrew tomorrow.
”
A pause.
“
Do you
think
the girl has gone into it with her eyes
open?
”

The doctor sounded thoughtful.
“
Don t you think you
’
re rather dramatizing the thing, Tony? It seems that Andrew knew this girl when she was a child, and it
’
s more than possible that when he met her again he fell in love.
”

“
Oh, come, doc, don
’
t give me that. You know as well as I do that he
’
d have gone further with Camilla Marchant if
s
he
’
d fitted in with his career. Camilla is just his type
—
fiery and y
earning
to be tamed—but she happens to be
the
daughter
of a shipping agent who isn
’
t too scrupulous, and who certainly wouldn
’
t suit Andrew for a father-in-law.
”

“
I suppose you
’
re right in that.
”

“
I know I am. Just before Andrew went on leave the Governor had a long talk with him—practically ordered
him
to get married if he wanted to be backed for promotion by an official recommendation. So Andrew searched about the English countryside for someone who might be moulded and trained to look and act the part. She has to please the
Governor
’
s wife, so
h
e knew exactly what he was after; someone typically English and malleable. As usual, he had luck on his side—found someone he actually knew already. This girl he
’
s married may be as charming and well bred as you say, but she
’
s also either a fool or a social climber. A fool, if she thinks he married her for herself!
”

“
Keep
your voice down, Tony.
”
There was another pause, during which Karen became aware of sweat coursing along her skin and knives stabbing at her head. Then the doctor added,
“
Just bear in mind that Andrew and his wife have known each other from childhood—her childhood, anyway—she
’
s not more than twenty-one or two. The fact that he sought her out means that he has some feeling for her. It doesn
’
t really matter if it
’
s not as strong as the feeling he had for Miss Mar
ch
ant. In time, they will grow together as Andrew and that high-spirited creature could never have done; they
’
re both too strong-willed. Let me warn you, Tony. Take things as they are. Andrew
’
s marriage is his concern, and his wife
’
s. We both know him well enough to be sure he
’
ll be loyal to her and that from now on Camilla Marchant will cease to exist for him.
”

“
I don
’
t care for Camilla, but I
’
d have admired
him more
if he
’
d married her. To use another woman as a step towards a governorship
...
”
He broke off, and must have moved away, for his voice came only faintly as he said,
‘
Tell Molly to keep the whisky; I
’
d have done anything to lose that bet. And if that girl who
’
s married Andrew is genuine, I hope
I’ll
have
very
little to do with her. Goodnight
”

Karen
’
s eyes were closed, her hands
clench
ed and sweating. A shining pallor sharpened her features and the small lamplight cast shadows over her eyelids and across her upper lip. She looked and felt as if she had received a mortal blow.

Everything was shatteringly
clear
now. Those daily jaunts with Andrew, the care with which he had made sure to see her in almost every type of setting, the driving and riding lessons, the dancing, the talks about music and literature.
He knew her aunts had carefully supervised her educations, that they had done their best to keep her in the Welhayes circle, that they themselves were well bred, even if they did run the pottery workshop and argue with wholesalers. Karen
’
s background was the small Cornish town from which he himself had sprung; her companions were friends of his family and therefore she was socially almost his equal. Not quite—which was a help rather than otherwise; it strengthened his influence.

How very fortunate for him that the
“
Karen child
”
should fall in love with him. She would be so anxious to
p
lease him that training her would be no trouble at all;
h
e didn
’
t care for gratitude, but it might easily be bearable if it took the form of obedience and graciousness, for his sake.

He hadn
’
t mentioned that there was an immediate chance of his promotion to high office. He had weighed her up and decided it might put her off ... as it would have. Karen didn
’
t want position and power; she wanted to love and be loved, to have children and watch them grow, to be the center of a happy home. Her needs were as simple as that, yet she had chosen to fall in love with a man who would never give her even the least of them; a man, moreover, who had spent what love was in him on some woman whom he had decided to give up rather than take the chance that as his wife she might jeopardize his future.

It couldn
’
t be true! Andrew was considerate and kind, he teased and bantered, gently commanded and took possession. He had assured Aunt Laura that he would care for Karen for ever, that they would come back to Welhayes for long leaves, that some day he and Karen would settle there. And yet
...
hadn
’
t he always kept something in reserve? Some part of himself? He hadn
’
t asked her to marry him, hadn
’
t led up to a climax with caresses or even in talk. He had simply looked her over for three weeks, gone away to think things out and come back when his decision was made. Karen would do; it was easy to be kind and affectionate towards her because she loved him, she had the bare essentials and his own grooming of her would accomplish the rest.

And what now? she thought despairingly. She had to go home with him, start some sort of life which would never have meaning. And she wouldn
’
t be able to bear it; she knew that. She made herself remember that he hadn
’
t kissed her very often. Hardly at all during those first weeks, and then only as if he were teasing her or bidding a child au revoir. And during those last days before the wedding, he had mostly greeted her or said goodnight in front of the aunts. Just once he had taken her into the garden and held her in his arms; something had banished the gentle mockery that night and he had left a bruise on her arm and a pain in her lips, and she had gone to bed feeling frightened and ecstatic. But it had been the other woman he was kissing, or forgetting perhaps—it hadn
’
t been love for Karen that stirred him.

Oh, stop it! Tearing herself to shreds wasn
’
t going to do any good at all. But how was she to
act? How did one deal with a
man
one loved so desperately without a chance of being loved in return? Perhaps there was a chance. If she went along quietly doing what he wished, falling into
t
he pattern he visualized
...

But no, that wouldn
’
t be living! She might not be strong and hot-tempered and forceful, but she did possess her quota of spirit and independence. She wasn
’
t going to sit ba
ck
meekly and wait for him to discover that as a wife
s
he did have her points. She would tell him what she had overheard, have it out with him. But, fatalistically, she knew he would laugh at her for listening to gossip, and set about erasing it from her mind; and possibly he would be right in doing so. She scarcely knew the doctor, and the younger man had been merely a voice. Men gossiped as well as women.

But ... but not those men. One of them, the doctor, had talked fairly and impartially; and the man Tony was Andrew
’
s friend; anything he might say against Andrew would come from a bitter disappointment, not from malice.

Karen squared her shoulders, touched her face with a clammy finger. As Mrs. Mears came into the room she turned so that her back, was to the light.

“
Oh, you
’
re still in here,
”
the older woman said cheerfully.
“
Andrew was just saying that it
’
s time you went home. He thinks you must be tired.
”

“
It
’
s the first of many times. Come in and see me whenever you feel like it, and if you want me to put you wise about the other people here, I
’
ll be having coffee and biscuits at eleven tomorrow morning—come and join me. If Jake and I can help you in any way, don
’
t hesitate to ask. And do call me Molly.
”

They were back in the glow of the living room, where both men stood close to the open door. Andrew turned, smiled and thanked Mrs. Mears. Karen repeated her thanks and preceded him into the night. They walked to the path which linked both houses, dutifully turned and waved before they were obscured by the riotous hedge.

“
You
’
re over meeting your immediate neighbors,
”
Andrew remarked.
“
Decent couple, aren
’
t they?
”

“
Very nice,
”
was all she could manage.

“
They took to you. The doc says you have the stamp of a good constitution.
”

“
I expect you found that a relief.
”

He glanced at her quickly in the darkness.
“
Keyed up? There
’
s no need to be.
”

What could she possibly answer to that
?
“
Well, wasn
’
t it a relief?
”
she asked mechanically.

“
Not particularly. It was obvious back in England that you were a healthy type.
”

Yes, it must have been, or Andrew Eliot would not have wasted his leave on her. Hysteria rose to Karen
’
s throat; she had the peculiar feeling that she was going a little mad. And yet if, just then, he had slipped an arm about her and held her, tenderly, she would have shed every fear and all the unhappiness. But all he did was
to
nod down towards the faintly silvered sea and the silhouetted palms and say, a little guardedly,
“
Let
’
s go to the beach for a minute.
You’re
a bit edgy, and no wonder. You seemed to sleep a good deal on the plane, but perhaps it wasn
’
t restful sleep. You can relax now, anyway. We
’
re home.
”

As they walked the sandy lane Karen said nothing. Her perceptions, sharpened by the sudden anguish, took in the sea-scents, the rustling of the palm fronds high overhead, the whiteness of the starlit beach, the soft
w
armth of the air. But something in her hated this lush green island, and
a
ball of grief grew to a suffocating size in her throat.