Once You Have Found Him

by Esther Wyndham

  “Nonsense, you should be glad. You should rejoice with me as I rejoice ... Ah, we are home already.”

  “Do you still want to take me for a walk on the Downs at the week-end?” she asked dejectedly, “or are you too disgusted with me?”

  “Of course not. Of course we shall have our walk on the Downs. We mustn’t waste your shoes whatever happens, but it will have to be Sunday as I am wanted to play polo on Saturday.”

  The car had come to a standstill and he had got out and was now helping her out. In a few moments they would be saying good-night to each other. Was there nothing she could say or do to soften the impression that her conduct must have made on him?

  They said good-night to the butler-chauffeur and went indoors.

  “Will you have a drink?” he asked. There was a tray of drinks in the hall.

  He poured one out for her and one for himself, and they went upstairs together as quietly as they could for fear of walking Lord and Lady Hanbridge. Poppy’s room came first and she paused outside her door and then turned to him impulsively, pleading with her eyes. “Please believe me,” she said, “I am an idealist too. I too believe in love.”

  “Oh, I still believe in love,” he replied, “but I am not going to wait for the ideal woman ... Good-night, sleep well.”

  “Good-night.” Sick at heart she opened the door of her room and closed it behind her. What had she done? Driven him into Daphne’s arms? If so, Arthur’s little plot could not have misfired more miserably.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “WHAT do you think,” Philippa said to her mother and Romilly on Saturday morning, “Erika was going to wear the white dress herself for the ball and then gave it up to Nicole without a word because Nicole admired it.”

  “How do you know?” Lady Hanbridge asked. As usual they were up in her bedroom after breakfast discussing the plans for the day.

  “Florence told me. But don’t say anything, will you? Especially not to Nicole; it will make her feel so bad. Erika made Florence promise not to tell, so we mustn’t give her away. Florence knew because they had discussed it together the day before. There was never any question but that she was going to wear the white herself.”

  “How very sweet of her,” Lady Hanbridge said. “It shows what a charming nature she has.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Philippa agreed warmly. “I think it’s the most truly generous thing I have ever heard. I’m sure I couldn’t have done it.”

  Romilly did not say anything. He was standing looking out of the window. Poppy and Nicole, with Timmy and Dennis, were strolling on the lawn. The two girls, one with the red hair and one with the black, made a very pleasant picture. They passed under the copper beech and Romilly noticed that Poppy’s hair might have been part of the living tree.

  Poppy, of course, had no idea that Florence had given her secret away. As she strolled up and down making idle remarks to the others, her thoughts were on Romilly. Was anything going to turn up tomorrow to prevent her from going for this walk with him on the Downs? She was fearful that something would happen. More than anything she feared that Arthur Bingle would make some demand on her which would make it necessity for her to tell Romilly that she could not go with him.

  Only one more day and her ordeal would be over. Why then was she not feeling more light-hearted? ... Only one more day and she would never see Romilly again.

  The day before, Friday, had passed without any embarrassing or untoward event. She had been constantly in Romilly’s company but she had not had any chance to speak to him alone. He had seemed to her to be in particularly good spirits and in rather a teasing mood. In his behaviour to her there had been no trace of the intimacy of the night before. That conversation between them coming back in the car might never have taken place.

  It had been the last day of Goodwood and after the races they had gone back to have tea at Daphne’s house. Daphne was being unusually attentive to Arthur. She was obviously doing her utmost to get him back. Poppy wondered how much Romilly minded. He didn’t seem to mind, but you could never tell with him. He had an amused expression on his face, a detached expression, as if he were finding the drama of life infinitely comic. She wished she understood him. She had never before experienced that tremendous longing to get into another person’s mind. What an unusual world his mind must be. She felt sure that there would be nothing commonplace in it. She did not think that he was capable of thinking a commonplace thought or of uttering a commonplace word. His would be a rare mind, a unique mind.

  On Saturday afternoon, after an early lunch, they went to Cowdray Park to watch Romilly play polo. Poppy had never been to a polo game before and she had always somehow associated polo with wealth, and had expected a polo audience to be very smart and sophisticated. But at Cowdray at any rate this was not the case, however true it might be of polo in other parts of the world, or other parts of the country. There was the atmosphere here of a jolly picnic. Hatless, happy, bare-legged children predominated among the spectators. There were rows of cars parked round the field, and family parties were picnicking on the grass while young people were crowded on the roofs of their cars to get a better view.

  As friends and relations of one of the players, the party from Hanbridge were in a special enclosure, and Arthur and Daphne soon joined them there. The ground was in the most beautiful setting, on the edge of the great park. In the direction of Midhurst the ruins of an old abbey gave an air of romantic charm to the scene.

  Romilly brought his own special grace to this activity as to everything else he did. Not only did he seem to be one with his pony but he made the game look so easy. His movements were apparently untroubled, his riding faultless. Poppy felt terribly proud to be his friend, and then it came over her all at once that after tomorrow she would have no more right to claim his friendship, that she would not be able to mention to a single soul that she had danced with him, eaten many meals at the same table with him, walked with him on the Downs, sat in the privileged enclosure to watch him playing polo. The realization depressed her acutely.

  Arthur Bingle suggested to her that they should go and have a cup of tea or an ice cream, and she went with him obediently to the tent behind the enclosure where refreshments were being served, fearing that she would be given some instructions which would make it impossible for her to go walking with Romilly next day. But to her infinite relief Arthur said to her as soon as they were out of earshot of the others, “Daphne has got to go and see her father tomorrow—he’s ill—and she has asked me to drive her there.”

  “Are you going to?” she asked hopefully.

  “I have reluctantly agreed to do so,” he replied with a chuckle. “She had to plead with me. She has found that the worm has turned at last with a vengeance,” and he chuckled again.

  “Then I shan’t see you after today?” she said with a lilt of the heart. “I am leaving on Monday morning.”

  “That is so. I don’t suppose we shall be back in time for me to see you tomorrow evening ... You have done a great deal for me and I am not ungrateful. If you will give me your real name I will send you an invitation to our wedding!”

  Not for anything in the world would she have told him her real name. “Has she accepted you?” she asked, wondering what the effect would be on Romilly.

  “She has not yet had the opportunity—not since you came on the scene, that is. I may ask her tomorrow or I may not. Perhaps this softening process should go on a little longer.”

  She made no reply to this, and he went on: “When I say goodbye to you today, I want you to say, ‘I shall see you again, shan’t I? Will you ring me up in London?’ And say it anxiously. I will make a point of saying goodbye to you when she is listening. It will seem that I already know where to ring you up in London. Don’t neglect to say that it is most important.”

  “When do we say goodbye? At the end of the game?”

  “Oh, no, I daresay we shall be meeting this evening.” Her heart sank. Now that she was so nearly free from his t
yranny, an extra few hours seemed almost more than she could bear. But at any rate it would be over today, and there was still tomorrow. Yes, she had tomorrow to look forward to—tomorrow free from his odious presence—tomorrow with Romilly on the Downs. Might she not allow herself really to enjoy tomorrow?

  But before they left the polo ground that afternoon something was to happen which was to make her dread tomorrow. One of the players in Romilly’s team was the Marquis of Liss, the eldest son of the Duke of Hampshire. He came up to them after the game and Romilly introduced Poppy to him as “my South African cousin.”

  “You are all coming over to dinner with us tomorrow, aren’t you?” Lord Liss said. “That’s splendid. My father and mother were in South Africa last year on a visit, so you will have a lot to talk about.” He made this last remark heartily to Poppy.

  Poppy turned away in extreme dismay and found Arthur Bingle grinning at her. Later when he had a chance to speak to her alone again he said, “Well, for once, I expect you will wish I was there to help you.”

  “What am I to do?” she asked helplessly.

  “I will give you a word of free advice—even though you have been so extremely unpleasant to me. Ask questions. You’ll probably sit next to the old boy—the Duke—so you’ll do most of your talking to him. He’s as deaf as a post, but seems to be able to hear the sound of his own voice all right. Keep him plied with questions. Ask him his impressions of South Africa. Do the same with her—the Duchess—if you have to talk to her. If you ask enough questions you won’t have to answer any.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She did really feel grateful to him at that moment.

  “You’ll be all right,” he said comfortingly. “Funnily enough I wouldn’t like you to get found out at the eleventh hour ... But remember what you are to say when I finally say goodbye to you tonight,” and again there was the threat in his voice.

  That evening the young people from Hanbridge, together with Arthur and Daphne, went to a country club for dinner and dancing. It was a very old house turned into a club, and the room where they ate and danced, arranged like a restaurant, must at one time have been the great hall. The only music was that of a piano, but the pianist played almost continuously and was most obliging in playing any tunes that were requested. There were about a dozen tables in all, and every one was occupied, and more people who had come in after dinner and could not be accommodated at a table sat in the bar next door and came in to dance, so that the floor was fairly crowded.

  When dancing with Romilly, Poppy tried to push all unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind and concentrate on the happiness of the moment. She was particularly happy when, during one dance, he led her up to the pianist and asked him to play “Some Enchanted Evening”. A little while later when they were sitting at the table the pianist again played “Some Enchanted Evening”, and immediately Romilly said to her, “We must dance this. It’s our tune.”

  But apart from that he did not show her more attention than he showed the others. He danced with them all about equally, though perhaps rather less with Philippa, as was only natural. Poppy had the feeling that however much he might have wanted to concentrate on one or other of them, his consciousness of his duties as host would never have allowed him to do so. He was the perfect host; it was his concern that everyone should enjoy himself, that the party as a whole should be a success. In such circumstances therefore it was difficult to tell whether he would rather have been dancing with Daphne than with any of the others. The only difference Poppy could see when he was dancing with Daphne was that he talked more to her. What he had to say to her seemed to be inexhaustible, and it was evidently always of a serious nature. What did they really feel about each other?

  She could not resist asking Arthur on one occasion when she was dancing with him if he knew what Romilly and Daphne were talking about. “They seem to have so much to say to each other,” she said. “Do you know what it is all about?”

  “No, but it’s not through want of trying to listen,” he answered with his hateful honesty. He seemed to be possessed of no shame whatever. “The moment one gets near enough to hear they stop talking.”

  Philippa was looking radiant that evening. Dennis was chaffing her continually and she was teasing him back. They did not seem to be able to leave each other alone. Timmy and Nicole on the other hand were both rather silent, but they danced often and close, and Poppy noticed that when they were dancing together they had more to say than when they were sitting at the table.

  Soon after midnight the pianist packed up, much to the regret of most of the people present who were not yet ready to go home. “Do play for us, Romilly,” Philippa begged.

  “Yes, please do,” the others joined in.

  “It’s a bit late, isn’t it?”

  “No, go on, do, there’s a darling,” Philippa pleaded.

  Thus encouraged Romilly went over to the piano, opened it again and began to play amidst general acclamation. The woman who ran the club went over to him and thanked him. It was evidently not the first time that he had thus obliged. He played delightfully, entirely by ear, and with a far greater sense of jazz rhythm than the professional pianist who had just left. Nicole and Timmy and Philippa and Dennis got up to dance, thus leaving Daphne, Poppy and Arthur alone at the table. “Come on, Arthur, we must dance this,” Daphne said. Arthur could not resist the invitation—though he looked his apologies at Poppy as he got up. Poppy knew instinctively that Romilly would never have been guilty of such rudeness as this, leaving a girl alone at a table; nor would she herself nave been guilty of suggesting it as Daphne had done. Romilly at once saw that she had been left alone and he beckoned her over to the piano. She went and stood beside him and he began to play “Some Enchanted Evening”, looking up into her face, smiling. “Who suggested dancing just now—Arthur or Daphne?” he asked.

  To this direct question she could only answer the truth. He said nothing but began to hum the tune as he played: “Once you have found her never let her go.”

  “We will go after this,” he said presently. “I hope you feel fit for our walk tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I do indeed.”

  “Heel quite all right again?”

  “Oh, yes, and I’ve got my lovely new shoes.”

  “In that case I think we’ll go for a really long walk. Can you manage about twelve miles?”

  She had never walked so far in her life but she answered promptly, “Of course. What time do we start?”

  “We oughtn’t to start later than ten ... I hope it keeps fine for us. The weather has been almost too good this week. It seems to have been enchanted. This has been an enchanted week in many ways...”

  “Yes,” she agreed softly. “It’s been so unreal.”

  “I feel that too. At moments I’ve had the most extraordinary sense of unreality. To be enchanted means to be under a spell. It is not necessarily pleasant.”

  “Haven’t you found this week pleasant?”

  “Not altogether ... Come, we are going home now.” He ended the tune with a flourish and firmly closed the lid of the piano. There was some clapping and some cries of disappointment.

  “Your playing was a joy,” Poppy said as they walked back to the table. “You play so beautifully.”

  “Nonsense. I wish I could play.”

  “You can. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “I can’t do the most important thing in the world,” he said.

  “What’s that?” she asked with interest.

  “Make one other human being supremely happy.”

  They were back at the table with the others so there was nothing more she could say though she longed to ask him to elucidate this statement. He asked for the bill and while they were waiting for it, Arthur said to Poppy so that no one at the table could fail to hear him, “Well, this is goodbye I’m afraid, Erika. I shan’t be seeing you tomorrow,” and he looked at her intently, frowning slightly to remind her of her part.

  “But I sh
all see you again, shan’t I? You will ring me up in London?” Her voice sounded as anxious as he could have wished.

  “Of course. I mean goodbye as far as this week is concerned. I shall certainly ring you up in London.”

  Arthur took Daphne with him in his car and the rest of them crowded into Bumble. Poppy sat in front squeezed between Romilly and Nicole. She shut her eyes and allowed herself to think of nothing but her closeness to him. No doubt it was wrong to be so acutely aware of his physical proximity, of the touch of his shoulder and his thigh, but after all, she thought wearily, it could hurt nobody but herself. Nobody would ever know.

  He did not speak a word during the drive home and she sensed that he was angry about something. Was he upset because Arthur was taking Daphne to see her father tomorrow? What did it matter? What did any of it matter to her? There was only tomorrow, and after tomorrow she would never see him or any of them again. This extraordinary feeling she had for him would die away as soon as he was out of sight. It would have nothing to feed upon. It was just part of this extraordinary week—this enchanted week as he so rightly called it. And again how right he was in realizing that enchantment was not necessarily pleasant. This week had been more like a nightmare than a dream, and yet there had been such lovely moments in it—unforgettable moments—moments she would never want to forget. That first dance at Arundel Castle, for instance, and then the moment tonight when he had said, “We must dance this. It’s our tune,” and the moment when he had seen she was alone and had beckoned her over to him at the piano ... And then there was that time in the shoe shop ... And this time now, squeezed up against him ... The warmth of his thigh against hers ...

  “Oh, God,” she thought suddenly, “can this be love? Have I been such a fool as to let myself fall in love with him?” She tried to pull her mind away from the conscious bliss of being thus pressed close to him, and then she let it go again, thinking, “What’s the harm in it just for this one evening? As soon as I leave here I shall stop thinking of him. There’s only one more day. Soon enough then,” and she abandoned herself to the delicious awareness of the electric current of warmth that was flowing from his body into hers.