Once You Have Found Him

by Esther Wyndham

  “Won’t you let me stand them to you?”

  Poppy shook her head. She had already drawn the money for the holiday out of the bank before she heard of Mary’s trouble, and when she went to Hanbridge she had hidden it away in a secret place in her bedroom. She got it out now and gave Erika what was owing to her.

  “Where will you be staying in Brighton?” Erika asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it will be the best hotel I can get into. I’ve got all this to spend in five days. I’m going to do myself proud for once!”

  “Then where can I get hold of you?”

  “I’ll send a message through to say where I am.”

  “Good, send it to the Dover Buttery, will you? Lew and I will be meeting there every day.”

  “And next week you can get hold of me at Dr. Francis’. I shall be back at work ... I would like to know at once, if you don’t mind, if the whole thing comes out.”

  “Of course I’ll let you know at once, but I hope it won’t. I’m afraid there’ll be the devil to pay if it does. Between you and me I’m beginning to feel just a little bit nervous. When one wants a thing badly enough one doesn’t count the cost. But afterwards, when one has to face up to the consequences...”

  “You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t feel nervous now,” Poppy said. “How much better that suit looks on you than me.” Erika was now in her own clothes and Poppy was really comfortable again in her own grey flannel suit. They packed up the clothes Erika had just taken off in the small suitcase.

  “I would like you to have something of mine,” Erika said, “for a keepsake. As you know, I’ve got the most indecent number of clothes ... By the way, was I smart enough?”

  “You certainly were,” Poppy laughed. “Rather too smart if anything. You put everyone else in the shade. There was such a nice French girl staying there—a friend of Philippa’s—who had very few clothes. I lent her one of your evening dresses for the ball at Arundel. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “What do you think? ... But do have something. Would you like an evening dress, or what? Please, you must have something.”

  She was so insistent that Poppy did not feel she could very well refuse, so tentatively she suggested a scarf or a chiffon handkerchief.

  “Get on with you,” Erika said. “I want to give you a dress at least ... Yes, you must.”

  “Well, I am very fond of that pale green linen dress—the one with the white trimming. But if it’s a favorite of yours...”

  “Would you really like that? It isn’t at all a favorite of mine as it happens. Of course you shall have it, though I would rather you had something better.”

  “I do like it—almost as much as anything you have got.” She did not like to say that she preferred it to anything Erika possessed apart from the white evening dress.

  “Do you know which case it’s in?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. Florence—that’s the sweet little housemaid there—insisted on doing my packing. But don’t let’s bother now.”

  “We’ll certainly bother now. It won’t take any time—and to tell you the truth I’m not too anxious to face Dad. I wonder if he suspected anything from your voice ...?” They found the dress without too much difficulty. It gave Poppy a strange little pain to see it again. It reminded her so vividly of her walk with Romilly.

  Lew was getting impatient. “Are you two ever going to be ready?” he called out.

  “Sorry, we’re coming now ... Sorry to keep you, darling.”

  “You’ve got a nice place here, Poppy,” Lew said, “and a nice lot of books. It’s pretty cosy altogether.”

  “Why don’t you meet here so long as you have to be parted?” Poppy suggested on the spur of the moment. “I can leave you my key.”

  “May we really do that?” They were both thrilled by the idea. “Yet another kindness from your hands,” Lew said. “I don’t know how we are ever going to repay you.”

  “My friend who shares the flat with me is away until Sunday and so am I,” Poppy said. “I’ll show you where you can hide the key so that I can find it.”

  “And whichever of us gets here first can come in and wait for the other,” Erika put in. “Oh, it will make all the difference ... I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning, Lew—let’s say at eleven. I may not be able to get away before then.”

  “All right, sweetheart, I’ll be here.”

  “Then I’ll ring you up here tomorrow morning,” Poppy said, “to find out how things have gone and to give you my address.”

  And so it was fixed, and Erika and Lew departed together, later to separate at the corner of the street in which Erika’s hotel was situated.

  Left to herself Poppy at once began to pack a case to take to Brighton with her. She would need her best clothes as she was going to stay in a grand hotel, but she carefully packed the dress Erika had given her on top so as to crush it as little as possible. She found herself stroking it before closing the lid of the case. It was the only tangible thing left to her of her visit to Hanbridge. For the rest she had only her memories, but how vivid those were!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE weather continued wet and cold for the whole of that week. Poppy, installed in an expensive hotel on the front at Brighton, had the greatest difficulty in keeping up her spirits. As far as physical comfort was concerned she was in clover. She had a large room with a balcony overlooking the sea and her own private bathroom next door. Breakfast was brought up to her in bed, and as there was nothing tempting to get up for (the sea was grey and angry and the wind made walking along the front most unpleasant), she stayed in bed reading until about eleven each morning. For the rest, she explored the antique shops in the Lanes, visited the Pavilion, went to cinemas, ate solitary and excellent meals in the grandeur of the hotel dining room, and sat in the glass-enclosed verandah listening to “a ladies’ bijoux” orchestra.

  She read a great deal but took in very little of what she read. She could not get the thought of Romilly out of her mind, and his face was always before her and his voice always sounding in her ears. From her own present experience she was learning a good deal about human nature in general. In future she would have more sympathy with those people who declare that they cannot help falling in love. Hitherto this had always seemed the most arrant nonsense to her and she had had no patience with it. “Of course one can help falling in love,” she would have said. “It is only a question of practising a little self-control.” Certainly one could control one’s actions, but she was now learning that it was a very different matter to control one’s thoughts.

  She knew that to let herself love Romilly was absurd; she had as much self-control as anybody, and yet she could not stop thinking about him. He came into her mind involuntarily, but more than anything he invaded her dreams. Some of the dreams she had about him were very sweet indeed, and she would wake so happy that the realization afterwards that she had no right to any such happiness was almost a torture.

  “Say if I were happily married,” she asked herself, “and then suddenly found myself obsessed like this with the thought of another man, what should I do about it?” How dreadful it must be for women, or men too for that matter, who find themselves in such a situation. One could, of course, refrain from doing anything about it, but even to think like this about another man would be a gross disloyalty. “I daresay it wears off if it has nothing to feed upon,” she told herself. “As time goes on I shall think of him less and less until gradually I shall forget him altogether ... Thank goodness I am not being disloyal to anyone else. My feeling can hurt no one but myself.” This was the only comfort she had—that she was hurting no one but herself.

  “Until one has been in love oneself one can have no conception of its power,” she thought. “It is just as well for me to experience this. I shall be a wiser, more understanding person in future. I shan’t be quite so intolerant. I can understand now how people are driven to actions of the greatest folly and even madness through the power of l
ove, how they can sacrifice the happiness of those they love and even their honor for the sake of it—if once they allow it to get the better of them ... But surely if you were happily married you couldn’t feel like this about anyone else. If you do it must mean that you are not really happily married—you only think you are. You think so out of laziness and force of habit ... How much there is to be learnt about human nature, how strong are the latent forces within us of which we have no conception ... A week ago I would never have believed that I could feel like this. All these years, unknown to myself, I have had this force lying within me, coiled up, asleep.”

  She felt unhappy, bewildered, unsure of herself. She had been shaken to the very depths of her being by this new experience, and yet, had she but known it, she was truly living for the first time. She was amazed that the very hopelessness of her love did not kill it stone dead.

  On the Tuesday morning, as arranged, she had rung up Erika at her own flat and had been told that all had gone well the day before. Erika’s father had suspected nothing; her mother was better, but they had had no real chance to talk. They had been to a theatre that evening, and beforehand people had come in for drinks. She had not had an opportunity yet of talking to her father alone.

  On Wednesday evening, Erika had rung up Poppy at the hotel in Brighton to say that she had spoken to her father and had told him that there was nothing doing as far as she and Romilly were concerned.

  “What did he say?” Poppy had asked eagerly.

  “He only grunted, and then someone came in and interrupted us. I’m going to try and have another go at him this evening ... By the way,” Erika had added, “Romilly rang me up this morning.” (Poppy had felt the most curious sensation at this news.) “As luck would have it I answered the telephone myself. Fortunately I caught on at once who it was and adopted your idea of pretending to have lost my voice. It also gave me an excuse for not seeing him.”

  “Did he ask to see you?”

  “Yes, he suggested we might go out together some time, but I told him I had to stay in bed—doctor’s orders—so he said he’d ring up again. The most lovely flowers arrived from him this afternoon with a note saying he hoped I’d be better soon ... The sooner we go to Paris the better. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to keep this up.”

  “What sort of flowers?” Poppy had not been able to help asking.

  “A mass of the most lovely red roses.”

  “You will write and thank him for them, won’t you?” Poppy had asked anxiously.

  “Sure I’ll send him a note.”

  “You have sent off the letter to Lady Hanbridge, I hope?”

  “Yes, I copied that out on Monday evening and sent it off first thing on Tuesday ... Is there anything special you want me to say to Romilly?”

  “No—just thank him sufficiently and say how sorry you are you couldn’t go out with him ... You’ll keep me in touch with what happens?”

  Erika had promised to do so. She had said what a godsend Poppy’s flat had been to her and Lew.

  The news that Romilly had rung up and asked Erika out was very disturbing to Poppy. In fact after that she felt more restless and unhappy than ever. She was tempted at moments to go back to London, but two things kept her in Brighton—firstly, the hope that the weather might improve, and secondly the fact that she had told Erika and Lew that they could have her flat until Sunday and she did not want to spoil things for them. All the same she longed for the week to be gone; she told herself that things would be better when once she started work again. It was this idleness which was so hard to bear. Idleness was the most wonderful thing in the world when you had peace of mind, but the most intolerable when you were worried or agitated.

  She was anxious now for Erika to leave the country. If she stayed much longer and Romilly continued to ring her up the truth was bound to come out. Sooner or later Erika would answer the telephone to him in her own voice and he was certain to spot it.

  Erika did not ring up on Thursday, and Poppy was in a fever wondering what had happened, and when there was still no news of her by Friday evening she could not settle to anything.

  It was not until the Saturday morning that news came. Erika apologized for her long silence and said that she was now ringing up from Poppy’s flat from where she could talk freely. It was almost impossible to ring up from the hotel without fear of interruption from either her father or mother. “Hell’s broken loose,” she said.

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  “I’ve at last made a clean breast of everything. I just had to. Lew and I couldn’t bear being parted any longer.”

  “How’s he taken it?”

  “Oh, it’s been pretty awful, as you can imagine. He ranted and raved—said it would kill Mother—that was the worst part, but when I told him that it was he who would kill her by taking it so badly he calmed down a bit ... I think it’s going to be all right. I always knew it would be better to face him with a fait accompli. I’ve even got him to agree at last to see Lew.”

  “Does he know—everything?” Poppy asked anxiously. “Does he know that you never went to Hanbridge at all?”

  “No, I haven’t been able quite to bring myself to tell him that. He thinks I left Hanbridge on Saturday and that Lew met me in London and we got married by special licence. I had told him all about Romilly caring for someone else and not, in any case, wanting to marry a rich woman, and that did help to reconcile him. I know I’m a coward but I just couldn’t face telling him the whole truth in one go. I think he’d have had apoplexy. It was bad enough as it was, I can tell you.”

  “Poor Erika. I do hope everything will be all right now ... Will you and Lew be able to be together now?”

  “Yes, he can come to our hotel now. Oh, Poppy, it’s such a relief—but I never want to live through such a scene again. And poor Mother’s been so upset, naturally.”

  “How much longer will you be staying in England?”

  “We’re planning to go to Paris early next week and Lew will be coming with us ... But I’ll speak to you again. You’ll be back in your flat tomorrow night and after that I can get you at Dr. Francis’? Good.”

  “By the way, has Romilly rung up again?” Poppy asked.

  “No, thank goodness. I don’t think I could have coped with that on top of everything else. I’ve been so frightened of him ringing up while Dad or Mother was in the room.”

  Poppy was immensely relieved that things had turned out as they had. Romilly would be a Hanbridge now for the week-end, and with any luck Erika would be in Paris by the time he rang up again. The deception might never have to come out after all. If Mr. Hanbridge had accepted Erika’s story of being married on the Saturday, it seemed unlikely that she would ever have to tell him the whole truth.

  How much easier things would have been if, in fact, Erika had gone to Hanbridge and had then found some excuse for leaving on the Saturday, and had married Lew as she had told her father; but no, Erika was greedy; she had wanted a week for the wedding; she had wanted a week’s honeymoon ... But it was only natural really. It would have been terrible for them to have been parted and to have had to face Mr. Hanbridge’s anger after only one day together.

  By Sunday the weather suddenly cleared. When Poppy woke in the morning she found that the sky was a soft blue and the sea lay stretched in front of her window like a piece of blue moiré silk streaked with purple. “This would happen on my last day,” she thought ruefully, and then added to herself, “But after the wonderful weather of last week, I suppose I’m lucky to have even one fine day.”

  The waiter who brought her breakfast told her that it was going to be very hot, so when she got up she put on the green linen dress which Erika had given her. It gave her a half-sweet, half-painful sensation to wear it again, so vividly did it remind her of him. It almost seemed to have an enchantment of its own, a tangible something left over from that enchanted week.

  She got up rather earlier than she had done for the last few days
and walked on the front and then sat in a deck chair on the beach watching the bathers. She was particularly interested in watching the children. It did not seem worthwhile going into the water herself on this last day.

  At about half-past twelve she strolled back again towards the hotel, not thinking of anything very much, a little dazed by the sun—and then quite suddenly she saw Bumble, Romilly’s car, and her heart contracted as if a great hand had taken hold of it and squeezed it.

  The car was empty, parked at the side of the road. She looked round quickly but there was no sign of Romilly or of any of the family. She withdrew instinctively into the doorway of an ice-cream parlor. Her heart now was beating wildly. He was near—he must be somewhere near. She did not want him to see her and yet she longed to see him. If she waited here surely he would turn up sooner or later and she would be able to watch him unobserved. She did not somehow think that she would have long to wait because he had parked the car in a place where he would not be allowed to leave it for more than a few moments ... Or was she silly to wait? Wouldn’t the sight of him perhaps upset her? Probably he would be with Mrs. Cunningham and she would witness some signs of intimacy between them which she had no right to see and which would only make her acutely miserable ... And yet she stood rooted to the spot. Even If she was to see Daphne Cunningham in his arms she could not resist waiting there to catch a glimpse of him.

  “Erika!” The voice came from behind her. It was Philippa’s voice, and then a whole party of them, including Romilly, came trooping out of the ice-cream parlor (they had been in the back where she had not been able to see them). There were Philippa, Nicole, Romilly and three children—two boys and a girl, whom Poppy took from their good looks and general resemblance to the rest of the family to be the younger Hanbridges. The children were licking ice-cream cones.

  “Erika, what are you doing here?” It was Romilly speaking now. She was caught; there was no escape; but, oh, the sweetness of hearing his voice again, of being again in his presence.