Once You Have Found Him

by Esther Wyndham

  “You’re all so unkind about Arthur,” Lady Hanbridge put in. “Why do you dislike him so? He seems to me to be perfectly harmless. He’s always been very nice and polite to me.”

  “You’re a saint, darling,” Philippa said. “You don’t dislike anyone.”

  “But what is it about him you all dislike so much?” Lady Hanbridge persisted.

  “He’s awful.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything, Pip. What is it about him? You tell me, Romilly.”

  “I don’t know exactly, Mother. I. can’t put my finger on it. I think it’s partly because he claims a friendship we have never given him. When he first came to the neighborhood—how long ago is it?”

  “It’s not two years.”

  “Well, friendship surely is something which must grow naturally.”

  “Yes,” Philippa put in indignantly, “the very first time he met me he called me Pip—not even Philippa. Philippa would have been bad enough.”

  “Well, he’s so much older. He looked on you as a child.”

  “I don’t like being looked on as a child.”

  “No, it isn’t only that,” Romilly said. “I can’t explain it. We just don’t like him, that’s all, but it’s probably only prejudice and as we are neighbors we must be on good terms.”

  “But is this true?” Lady Hanbridge asked Romilly. “Do you think Erika’s fallen for him?”

  “He’s buzzing round her like a wasp round a honey-pot, but whether she enjoys his attentions or just suffers them I can’t make out.”

  “She certainly doesn’t seem to mind them,” Philippa said. “She was dancing with him cheek to cheek yesterday.”

  “That means nothing nowadays, does it?” Lady Hanbridge asked, trying to be modern. “But if they do fall in love, I suppose it would be very suitable. I don’t suppose her father would mind. It would be nice to have her as a neighbor ... Why do you look like that, Romilly?”

  “It’s unthinkable,” Romilly said.

  “Why?” Philippa asked. “We haven’t really got anything against him. We might get to like him. After all, we don’t know him very well, and Erika might bring out the best in him.”

  “It’s unthinkable,” Romilly said again.

  “I should have thought you would be glad,” Philippa retorted.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it was a bit embarrassing for you, wasn’t it, feeling that she had come here to marry you?”

  “Pip, really, you go too far, darling,” her mother expostulated.

  “She allows her imagination to run away with her,” Romilly said sarcastically. “A couple of mornings ago she conceived the idea that Erika had fallen for me. Tomorrow it will probably be Dennis. It’s her romantic nature, poor child ... Anyway, I don’t mind who it is as long as it’s not me. Keep off me, that’s all I ask you, for heaven’s sake. As long as you don’t weave any romance between me and Erika I don’t care what foolishness you perpetrate ... Good-bye, I’ll see you later,” and he went out.

  “He’s really angry,” Philippa said in surprise when she and her mother were left alone.

  “Well, you do tease him so.” '

  “He doesn’t mind my teasing. It never makes him angry. But he’s angry now—really angry. What did I say? Mummy, what did I say?”

  “You said it must have been embarrassing for him to feel that Erika had come here in order to marry him. It wasn’t very kind.”

  “But before that? What were we talking about before that?”

  “About the possibility of Erika marrying Arthur Bingle.”

  “Yes, that was it. It was what you said. It was that that made him angry. You said it would be nice to have her as a neighbor, and then you asked him why he looked like that.”

  “Yes, he made a dreadful face.”

  “Now why should that have made him so angry?” Philippa asked musingly. “Why on earth should that have made him so angry?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  POPPY and Romilly went into Chichester alone together In Bumble. The old car made such a noise that conversation was not easy, but on the other hand silence was not embarrassing. Poppy glanced from time to time at Romilly’s beautifully modelled profile and at his strong brown hands on the wheel. She found herself thinking about Erika and wondering how she was getting on and what would be the ultimate outcome of her runaway marriage. Would her father forgive her? Could the deception be kept indefinitely from the Hanbridges? Were they not bound to hear sooner or later that Erika was married, and then wouldn’t the whole thing come out? , . . But by that time she would be out of it. After today there were only three more days left—Friday, Saturday and Sunday—and then her part in the affair would be over, and whatever they thought of her when ultimately the deception was discovered, as surely it must be, would not matter to her, for she would never know of it.

  Would she ever see any of them again? Perhaps from a distance. She would always be interested in the family. No doubt she would see their pictures again in the Tatler; no doubt one day she would read of Romilly’s engagement. She would not be able to help following his career. She would always wish him success. Perhaps she might even one day go to the Law Courts and sit unseen up in the gallery and listen to him pleading a case.

  If ever the deception did come out, would he be curious as to the identity of the girl who had taken Erica’s place? Would he remember sitting next to her in his car driving into Chichester that day to buy a pair of shoes so that she might go walking with him on the Downs? That was one thing which she must remember to impress on Erika: on no account, if, and when, the whole story came out was Erika to give her, Poppy’s, identity away. She could not bear it that the Hanbridges should ever get to know who it was who had abused their kindness and hospitality so shamefully.

  She had expected Romilly to drop her at a shoe shop and while she was there perhaps go and do some shopping of his owe, but much to her surprise he came in with her and sat down in a chair next to her and interested himself' in the shoes she was going to buy.

  The salesman called her madam, and obviously imagined that she and Romilly were newly married.

  “Now whatever you do don’t go and get them too small out of vanity,” Romilly cautioned her. “That’s what Pip always does—tries to cram her foot into size four when she really takes a five.”

  “Madam has very small feet,” the salesman praised.

  “I want them plenty big enough,” Poppy said, “because I want to be able to wear socks with them.”

  “How comes it that with all the shoes you have got, you haven’t got one pair you can walk in?” Romilly asked while the salesman went to look for what she wanted.

  “I didn’t think I would be doing any walking here,” Poppy replied promptly. She had had many more difficult questions than this to answer. “And, anyway, how do you know I have got so many shoes?”

  “I have seen you wearing about six different pairs already, and I know how much luggage you brought with you!”

  “You are very observant.”

  “It didn’t need great powers of observation to notice your luggage!”

  “But you have also noticed my shoes?”

  “Most certainly. I have noticed everything about you—everything you have worn.”

  “Are you so interested in women’s clothes?”

  “Not in all women’s clothes, but I happen to be interested in everything to do with you.”

  “Why is that?” she asked, her heart beating rather quickly.

  “Because you yourself interest me.”

  “Do I? In what way?”

  “Because you are a puzzle to me, an enigma.”

  Just then the salesman came back with several shoe boxes and she was obliged to give the whole of her attention to making a choice. But as a matter of fact it was Romilly who made the final choice for her. “I like that pair much the best,” he said definitely. “But try on the other foot and walk about in them a little to make sure they are comfortable.”
r />   Poppy did as he advised.

  “Madame could do with half a size smaller,” the salesman said.

  “No,” Romilly replied for her, “she wants to be able to wear socks with them.”

  “Wouldn’t madam like to try them on with a sock?”

  “Have you got some?”

  “Yes, we sell socks here.”

  “Good. Do you want some socks, Erika, or have you got any?”

  “No, I want to buy a couple of pairs.”

  The socks were brought out, and here again it was Romilly who made the choice for her. “Have that green pair,” he said, “and wear the same dress you wore when we went walking before.”

  “Did you like that dress?”

  “Yes, better than anything else I have seen you in so far.”

  She was delighted because it was the one, out of all Erika’s wardrobe, that was nearest to her own taste—and then she suddenly wondered what right she had to be so pleased.

  She paid for the shoes and socks out of Erika’s money but made up her mind to keep them for herself and pay Erika back.

  “I would like to have given them to you,” Romilly said as they went out, “but I suppose you wouldn’t have allowed it, and I didn’t want an argument in the shop.”

  “You were quite right. I certainly wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “And yet it felt all wrong you paying for yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know quite. It just did. If you go and choose a woman’s clothes for her it seems natural to pay for them.”

  “Are you so used to choosing women’s clothes?”

  “No, this the first time I have ever done it.”

  Why should the statement of this simple fact make her so ridiculously happy?

  “Now we are here I must show you the Cathedral,” he said. “I think we had better go straight from here to Goodwood. If we go back we shall be late. There’s plenty of room for the others without Bumble. They’ve got Dennis’s car and Father’s. I’ll just go and telephone to say we’ll be going direct ... There’s nothing you want to go back for especially, is there?”

  “No, nothing. I’d love to see the Cathedral.”

  They telephoned from a call-box and then walked to the Cathedral, Romilly insisting on carrying her parcel.

  It was fortunate for Poppy that the whole of West Sussex was unfamiliar to her, so that all her impressions were fresh and there was no need of any pretence. She genuinely found it the most entrancing country, and was able to express to him her appreciation of it in a way she would not have been able to do if she had seen it before and had merely been acting a part.

  She genuinely thought the Cathedral one of the most beautiful she had even seen.

  “You should see Canterbury,” he said.

  She stopped herself just in time from saying, “But I have,” and said instead, “I hope to before I go back.”

  “I wish I could drive you round and show you something of England myself.”

  “I wish you could.”

  “What have you seen already?”

  “Hampton Court, Syon, Henley...” She named the places that Erika had told her she had seen.

  “There’s so much else,” he said. “You ought to go to the Cotswolds and to Yorkshire and Cornwall and Scotland, at least...”

  “I know, but time is such a factor and we want to go to the Continent too.”

  “Yes, there’s so much to see in the world, my goodness. A lifetime isn’t enough.”

  “Do you go abroad a great deal?” she asked.

  “Not as much as I should like. I don’t like going quite alone and I’ve never found the perfect companion.”

  “Not even Dennis?”

  “Oh, Dennis. Ireland is the only place for a holiday for him! Good old Dennis. I went to stay with him once in Ireland, but never again. His home is near Limerick, in the most beautiful country imaginable—but a great barn of a house, icy cold even in August, and with the most bewildering number of stray, strange relations staying there you have ever seen. He has maiden aunts as some people have mice!”

  Poppy laughed. “You do make it sound attractive. I wonder how Philippa will like that.”

  “Philippa? What has Philippa got to do with it?”

  “I—” she stammered, at a loss for an answer, suddenly realizing that she had spoken out of turn.

  “Do you think Pip cares for him?” he asked with sudden illumination.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know what I meant.”

  “Yes, you do. I believe you’ve discovered something. This calls for thought—and for a drink.”

  They had been walking away from the Cathedral back towards the car, but now he changed his direction and led her to the Dolphin and Anchor.

  “Tell me more about this,” he said when they were sitting down together and he had brought their drinks to the table.

  “There’s nothing more to tell. I’m probably quite wrong. It was just an impression, an instinct.”

  “Do you know I believe you are right ... Poor little Pip.”

  “Why poor?”

  “Because she has had to keep a secret! It must have been dreadful for her.”

  “You are not going to say anything, do anything?” she asked anxiously.

  “You don’t really think I would do anything to hurt her, do you?”

  “No, of course not. You are very fond of each other, aren’t you? I mean even more than most brothers and sisters.”

  “It must be sad for you not having any brothers or sisters,” he said compassionately. “What are you smiling at?”

  “I was only thinking that perhaps, if one had a sister, one might get into trouble for her.”

  “Why should one? What sort of trouble?”

  “I can imagine if I had a sister being so fond of her that I would do anything in the world for her.”

  “Anything?”

  “Yes, anything,” she answered seriously.

  “Even something dishonest?”

  “Yes, even something dishonest ... Can you understand that?”

  “Yes, I think for someone one loves one would do anything in the world,” he replied. “Even commit perjury.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you feel like that,” she exclaimed.

  “You sound relieved.”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—because when you like someone you like them to think as you do on—on—important subjects.”

  “And you think this is an important subject?”

  “Yes, very. Yes, I think it is very important to know that about people—to know that they would do something dishonest, dishonourable even, for the sake of those they love.”

  “You treat it very seriously. I can’t imagine the occasion ever arising.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it would. It’s only hypothetical of course; but supposing—supposing, for instance, that Philippa was married to a man who got himself into great trouble and only you could save him, and consequently her, from disgrace. Would you do something dishonest to save her?”

  “Do you mean would I steal? No, not even for Pip.”

  “No, not steal. Not as bad as that but something that wasn’t quite right.”

  “You’ll have to be more explicit.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. These hypothetical cases are silly, aren’t they? Anyway, you said you would commit perjury for someone you loved. That’s good enough.”

  “Erika, tell me something,” he said with sudden seriousness. “Have you any cousins?”

  “I’ve got all of you!"

  “I mean any cousins in South Africa? Anyone who is very close to you?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “No particular reason. I just wondered.”

  She knew suddenly that he was thinking about the snapshot of Lew which he must have seen in Erika’s cigarette-case. Ought she not perhaps to tell him about Lew? She had been distressed at first when he had
seen the photograph that she might have given Erika’s secret away, but ought he not perhaps to know? She wished she had discussed this point with Erika. What if he, Romilly, had made up his mind to ask Erika to marry him? Well, it would serve him right to get a rebuff, because if he did want to marry her it could only be for the sake of her money. If he had any tender feeling for her, she, Poppy, must have known it ... No, she would not tell him about Lew without Erika’s consent ... But hardly had she made this decision when the counter-thought came to her: “By this time Erika and Lew are probably married and he is bound to hear of it in time, and I’m sure if the real Erika had come here she would have told him. I’m sure she wouldn’t have kept it to herself.”

  And yet she did not want him to hear from her lips that she was in love with someone else. She would not willingly tell him.

  There was silence between them for a few minutes and then he said, “I don’t want you to think I’m inquisitive, but I couldn’t help seeing that photograph in your cigarette-case the other day, and maybe I jumped to the wrong conclusion ... Are you in love with anybody? It’s not just idle curiosity. I have a very particular reason for wanting to know.”

  She could do no less now than tell him the truth. “Yes, there is someone,” she said slowly, “but my father doesn’t approve.”

  “Why not? Is there anything against him?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Let’s be honest with each other, shall we? Your father would like you and me to get married, wouldn’t he?”

  She nodded.

  “My poor Erika, your coming here must have been even worse for you than it was for me! Oh, this is wonderful, it’s cleared the air. Now we can really be friends. Now we can really be at ease with each other. I do like you so much. I’ll do anything in my power to help you—if you can think of anything I can do.”

  (This was how the situation would have developed if the real Erika had come to Hanbridge, Poppy thought, and then everything would have been all right, everything would have been above-board. Oh, how wrong she had been to interfere, to make it possible for Erika to have this week for her wedding. If she had not interfered, Erika would be sitting in her place now, telling Romilly that Lew had followed her from South Africa and that they wanted to get married, and Romilly would probably have been able to think of some scheme for helping them. It would all have been so easy.)