“Oh, dear, I am so sorry for you. It must have been awful. But at least he will realize now that he can’t ask the Hanbridges to the party.”
“Not a bit of it; he’s going to tell them. He says he’s never been associated with anything underhand in his life and the only thing to do is to make a clean breast of it. He’s hiring a car and going down there today to tell Lord Hanbridge the truth, and worse than that, he’s making me go with him. He says it’s my punishment, and whatever they say to me won’t be any more than I deserve ... I must say he’s made me see what a terrible thing it was to do. I didn’t realize quite how abominable it was. I do feel truly sorry ... But how can I face them? How can I I’m not even going to be allowed to take Lew with me for moral support—Oh, Poppy, please pray for me.”
“I most certainly shall. You poor thing. Will you let me know how it goes? I’ll come back here as soon as I leave work.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I can ... Naturally he wanted to know who you were, but I told him that I’d promised not to tell and he respected that and didn’t try and drag it out of me, and he’s not going to make me tell the Hanbridges either. He says that your identity doesn’t really come into it. I’m the guilty one, not you.”
“Oh, no, I’m much more to blame than you are. It was I who made it possible for you; I who told all the lies, who acted such a detestable part ... I’m afraid I must go now or I shall be terribly late. I shall be thinking of you all day.”
“I’ll certainly pay today for my week’s happiness,” Erika said miserably. “Well, I mustn’t keep you. I’ll let you know as soon as I can how it goes. Good-bye.”
It can be imagined with what feelings Poppy started work that morning and how difficult it was for her to concentrate on the doctor’s affairs. How would the Hanbridges take it? At least Romilly would not be there when it all came out. He would not meet the real Erika. How would it be broken to him? Would his mother telephone or write to him, or would he not be told until he next went down to Hanbridge Court?
As it happened Romilly was told in a long letter from his mother which recounted every detail of Mr. Hanbridge’s visit and gave a description of the real Erika.
All the mysteries are cleared up (she wrote at the end). The real Erika fits in perfectly with the clothes and handwriting and everything. The letter itself, it seems, was dictated by our Erika ... Of course it has been the most tremendous shock to us, but in the end I was quite sorry for the poor girl. She was so contrite and her father was giving her such a bad time that I could not find it in my heart to be angry with her. It’s the deceiver—our Erika—I am angry with now, and your father just can’t speak about it. The fact that we had all liked her so much makes it that much worse. How could she have hoodwinked us all? And who is she? Mr. Hanbridge had no idea. Erika knows but has sworn not to tell. It seems that she did it because she needed money desperately for some personal reason, but I can’t think of any girl—any nice girl that is—doing such a despicable thing for any reason. But I suppose one should not judge before one knows all the facts, and those it seems we are never to know ... Philippa tells me that you met her in Brighton and that she was keeping up the deception in just the same way. What a consummate little actress she must be ... But the way, the real Erika is like her in some ways, that is they both have red hair and are of the same height and build, that’s why Erika’s clothes fitted her so well. But the real Erika is not nearly so appealing, if you know what I mean, or so attractive. At least she didn’t attract me in the same way, but perhaps it was not fair to judge as she was so miserable and so frightened, poor child. I think we let her off quite lightly. What else was there to do? What worries me most about the whole thing, and I think it is what is worrying your father too, is that we could all have been so completely mistaken in that girl’s character. It makes one mistrust one’s own judgment, and though I know that my judgment is often at fault because I am too prepared to like people, I have always looked upon your father as the best possible judge of character. And you too—I have always had such respect for your opinion. But I daresay it is easier for you to judge a man than a woman. Of one thing I am quite certain—that no man could have deceived your father in this way. It makes me wonder whether perhaps she is an actress. We could get no clue about her from the real Erika and did not like to press too hard because she had given her word, though naturally we are curious to know who she is-—especially Philippa, as you can imagine ... Well, I must stop now. I shall be longing to know what you think about it all.
Fortunately for Poppy, Erika was able to telephone to her at home on Monday evening so she did not have to wait a whole night in suspense. Erika reported that the Hanbridges had let her off lightly on the whole. Her father’s fury with her had been her best shield, as it happened. She was getting so much punishment from him all the time that in the end they found themselves defending her against him. “You were so right about Lady Hanbridge,” she said. “Aunt Alice, as she asked me to call her in the end. What a wonderful person she is. They were really wonderful on the whole, but I hope I never have to go through such a time again. Of course they wanted to know who you were—especially Philippa. She took me aside and begged me to tell her.”
“You didn’t, did you?” Poppy asked anxiously.
“No, of course not. I said I had promised faithfully not to. Lady Hanbridge certainly didn’t press it but she did produce my bread and butter letter and ask me whether I had written it, and as Dad said that he’d flay the skin off me if I told any more lies I had to own that although I had written it, you had composed it. She said, ‘Oh, that explains it.’ Dad was wonderful with them ... Oh, dear, thank God it’s over. I can’t tell you how exhausted I feel. I’m just going to creep into bed and hope to forget it all.”
“When are you leaving?” Poppy asked. “Will I see you before you go? We must make some arrangements so that I can eventually give you back the money.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, as if you hadn’t earned it...”
“No, I insist. I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t promised to treat it as a loan. But it may take some time.”
“Well, Lew and I will often be coming to England. We’ve fallen in love with it, and naturally you will be the very first person we shall get in touch with when we get here. At least you’ve made two real friends for life. I only wish I could introduce you to Dad. He really is a grand person. And to Mother. Poor darling, all this has upset her so much, but thank goodness it’s ended happily. The Hanbridges have promised to come to the wedding party Dad’s giving for us, so you can see how well it’s all turned out.”
Yes, it had turned out well in the end for everyone except Poppy. She was acutely conscious how of the finality of it. There was no more need to wonder what would happen if, and when, it was found out. All had been disclosed; the two branches of the family would hereafter be friends, and her part in the little affair was over. She had been squeezed out. She could well imagine what the Hanbridges must think of her, but probably they would try and think of her as little as possible as one does try to forget unpleasantness, so that soon enough she would be gone from their minds as well as their lives.
But she herself was left with this great love which she must somehow try to conquer. Would it die a natural death, and if so, how long would it take to die? Soon, soon. Pray God this feeling would soon fade. It was making life intolerable. And the worst of it was that she knew instinctively that Romilly had spoilt for her all other men. She had never loved before and she could not imagine that she would ever be able to love again now. No other man could stand up to comparison with Romilly—his looks, his charm, his intelligence, his sparkle, his vitality, his masculinity, his masterfulness ... Without him life was going to be so dull. And here she was rather ashamed of herself because she had always despised people who found life dull, and had believed that it must be some lack in themselves, something boring in their own mental equipment. With all the wonder of the world around one how could one find life
dull, she had always wondered. But now she was beginning to realize that one other person could count for more in one’s life than all the glories and splendours and mysteries of the universe, just because that one other person contained in himself the very quintessence of life’s wonder.
And then it came over her that this feeling which she had for him was a great power, and that instead of crushing it she ought to try to make use of it in some way. Could she not sublimate it, and, in this purified form, lavish it on her sister and her friends, so that she would love them all just that much more, have that much more to give them? It seemed such a shame to waste such feeling. This idea at least gave her a new point of view, a new impulse to occupy her mind. Life was no longer vapid. She no longer felt that she was just killing time until she heard again from Erika.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LADY Hanbridge had said in her letter to Romilly that she would be longing to know what he thought about it all, and she was disappointed not to hear from him by return. When she had not heard anything from him by Thursday morning she rang him up to know whether he would be going to .the wedding-party next day.
“I don’t know yet,” he replied.
“Oh, do come, I think you had better. And we might all dine together afterwards somewhere in London before going back to Hanbridge.”
“Very well,” Romilly said indifferently. “I’ll go if you think I ought to. What time is it?”
“We aim to be there about six ... By the way, what do you think of it all?”
“What is there to think? We’ve been had for suckers, that’s all, by some mercenary little minx or other. There’s no more to think or say about it. The sooner the whole episode is forgotten the better.”
“But aren’t you interested to meet the real Erika?”
“Not very much. But I’ll come if you think I should. I may be later than you, but I’ll meet you there.”
The wedding-party was held in Mr. Hanbridge’s sitting-room in the hotel. There were only half a dozen people present apart from Lord and Lady Hanbridge, Philippa and Nicole, because Erika and her parents did not know many people in England. Champagne was flowing and Erika and Lew looked beamingly happy. Mr. Hanbridge had decided that he had punished them enough for their base conduct and was now all smiles and geniality. In consequence Mrs. Hanbridge was also happy. She had always liked Lew though she was entirely dominated by her husband, and now that Lew and her beloved daughter had come together with her husband’s consent, she was more at peace than she had been for months and therefore that much better in health.
The party had been going for about half an hour when Romilly turned up, and as usual his presence did something to the whole room. It was not Just Poppy’s imagination; there was something electric about his personality.
He had sounded so cold and angry on the telephone that Lady Hanbridge had been a little apprehensive as to how he might behave, but she need have had no fears. He was his most gay and charming self and treated the whole matter of the deception as a joke of very little real consequence.
Conversation was at first general, but when the company split up into groups, Romilly manoeuvred Erika over to the window where they could talk without being overheard.
“I understand that we are not to ask you who the false Erika is,” he said lightly. “That you have given a solemn promise not to divulge her name—but may I ask you one thing?”
“I will answer if I can,” Erika said.
“Do you know her motive for impersonating you?”
“Yes, I can answer that. She needed money desperately, and she needed it at once, but she insisted that it should be treated as a loan.”
“I should have thought that she had fully earned it.”
“Yes, that’s what we said, but she was absolutely adamant. Unless we agreed to treat it as a loan she wouldn’t help us, she said.”
“I see. And do you happen to know for what reason she needed this money—so urgently?”
“No, I don’t, but I know it wasn’t for herself.”
“Has she paid the money back yet?”
“Oh, no. It’ll take time. I imagine she’s going to try and pay it back out of her salary. At that rate it will take her years and years. I wish she wouldn’t. I’ve begged her not to but you don’t know her...”
“That’s where you are wrong. I do know her.”
“Oh, yes, of course you do,” she said rather uncomfortably. “I forgot.”
“I gather from what you say about her salary that she is a working girl?”
“Yes.”
“She’s not an actress by any chance?”
“Oh, dear me, no ... Now you’re not getting anything more out of me. I haven’t given anything away. I’ve promised not to tell and that’s that.”
“You’ve given nothing away,” he said. “Naturally she must have been a working girl or an actress out of work to do such a thing for money.”
“You mustn’t blame her,” Erika said quickly. “It was entirely my fault, entirely my idea.”
“I’m blaming no one,” he said with his most disarming smile. “But you must allow me a natural curiosity about this deceptive young lady. She did play her part rather well, you know—perhaps unnecessarily well. And I think she had a good time. I hope so at least. She greatly enjoyed the attentions of one of our neighbors. I couldn’t quite understand it at the time because she had already told me that she, you rather, were secretly engaged. But now it becomes quite clear.”
“She didn’t tell me anything about that.”
“She didn’t?”
“No—and I promise you she did feel terribly bad about the whole thing. She told me how charming you had all been to her and how much she liked you all.”
“Do you happen to know whether she is engaged to anyone herself?”
“No, but I rather imagine that she had to get this money for the sake of someone she was very fond of. I don’t think she would have done it otherwise.”
“I agree. It would have to be someone you were very fond of indeed to make you do a thing like that.”
At this moment they were interrupted and he had no further opportunity of talking to her alone, and when Erika came to tell Poppy about the party she did not repeat all that she and Romilly had said to each other.
It was the next day, Saturday, that she told her. She and Lew had come to have a drink in Poppy’s flat to say good-bye. They were leaving next day for Paris. She first told Poppy about the party in general terms: it had all gone well. The Hanbridges couldn’t have been nicer. They were particularly nice to her mother, she was glad to say. Romilly had arrived late but when he did come he had been absolutely charming. “My goodness, he’s attractive,” Erika said. “If I hadn’t already met Lew I believe Dad’s little scheme might have come off!” She and Lew were so devoted, so happy and so sure of each other, that she could say things like this in front of him without giving him a qualm.
He merely smiled and said, “It’s lucky for me I met you first then. But I agree, he’s a great charmer. I took to him immensely myself.”
Poppy expressed her pleasure in the party’s success but she was longing to hear more, longing, in particular, to know whether there had been any mention of her.
Erika soon satisfied her curiosity. “He took me aside and talked about you,” she said.
“What did he say?” Poppy asked, trying to hide her intense eagerness.
“He asked about your motive for doing what you did, and I told him how you insisted on paying the money back, and I said how I was sure that you had done it for someone else’s sake, and he said he didn’t blame anyone.”
“Did he really say that?”
“Yes, really.”
“And do you think he meant it?”
“Yes, I do. He was a bit more serious when he was talking to me alone, but in front of Mother and Dad he treated the whole thing as a great joke.”
“A joke?”
“Yes. I really believe that’s h
ow he looks at it.”
“A joke,” Poppy repeated again. “What else did he say when he was talking to you alone?”
“Oh, he asked if you were an actress and whether you were engaged to anyone.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you certainly weren’t an actress and as to your being engaged I didn’t know ... Are you, by the way?”
“No ... Anything else?”
“No, that was about all.” Erika did not tell her what he had said about her enjoying the attentions of one of the neighbors nor what he had said about her playing her part unnecessarily well, because both these things sounded like criticism, and she wanted only to reassure her, so she merely added, “But he really did say that he didn’t blame anyone.”
“I’m glad of that.” Poppy did not like to press for more details for fear of giving away her true feelings, and the conversation turned to Lew’s and Erika’s future plans.
Soon afterwards they took a very fond farewell, and Poppy was left with the empty feeling that the last word on Romilly had now been said. Never again would she have occasion to speak his name, not only to him but to anyone else.
The emptiness was so overwhelming for the moment that it was almost a physical silence about her as if she had suddenly blocked her ears.
When Helen came in a little while later (she had been to a cinema) Poppy was dreadfully tempted to tell her the whole story, but she remembered in time that she could not do so without giving away Mary’s husband, and not for anything in the world would she do that.
Her only comfort out of the whole business was that Mary and Jack seemed to be happier and more secure than they had ever been. Jack had already given her back some of the money and she had put it in her bank to keep until such time as, between them, they had saved the necessary sum to repay Erika.
Mary’s baby was expected in October, so she had that to look forward to. She was longing to have her first nephew or niece. She had always thought that it must be a particularly nice relationship, and now Mary had asked her to be godmother as well.
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