Once You Have Found Him

by Esther Wyndham

  “It happened in a great hurry,” he said. “They got married very quietly from her father’s house. They are abroad now. He has put his house on the market and they will not be coming back to our neighborhood ... There is one thing I cannot understand,” he broke out suddenly with vehemence. “Your conduct with regard to him. Everything else I do understand, but I find it very hard to swallow that. It was right out of your part. It couldn’t have helped the real Erika in any way. You might have made him genuinely fond of you. What was the point of it, what did you hope to gain by it, knowing all the time that you were an impostor? Or did you care for him? That seems to me the only possible, reasonable, explanation.”

  This was more than she could stand. The truth must come out. “Of course I didn’t care for him,” she declared indignantly. “He forced me to do it.”

  “Forced you? How on earth ...?”

  “He knew I was an impostor. He had seen the real Erika on the train at Victoria. Erika and I changed clothes on the train, you know ... That very first day at the races he let me know that he knew, but he said that he wouldn’t give me away if I would do something for him in return—if I would flirt with him in order to make Mrs. Cunningham jealous.”

  “And you submitted to that?”

  “What else was there for me to do? He threatened to go to Lord Hanbridge at once if I didn’t do it ... I had Erika to think of as well as myself. I had undertaken to do this for her. I had accepted three hundred pounds. I had to do my best.”

  “Well, well,” he said. “Poor Daphne. And to think I have been feeling sorry for him! As an old farmer friend of mine always says, ‘For sich there are sich,’ meaning that for such people there are such people. I see no reason why they shouldn’t be very happy together.”

  She sensed, rather to her surprise, that he was still angry. She had hoped that her explanation would have exonerated her in his eyes. “You still think that I ought not to have done it?” she demanded.

  “No, I understand now.”

  “But you are still angry with me?”

  “No, not with you. I am angry with myself now, and angry because I have not had a chance to give him the thrashing he deserves ... Miss Duncan, there is still one more question which I must ask you, though of course you needn’t answer it.” He sounded agitated all at once.

  “I will answer anything I can,” she said.

  “Will you have another drink?” he asked in a different tone.

  “No, thank you. I haven’t finished this one yet.”

  “I think I’ll have another,” and he summoned the waiter. “By the way, I suppose it was you who was being ‘paged’ that day at Brighton when we were having tea in your hotel?”

  “Yes, it was Erika who wanted me on the telephone.”

  “It must have been extremely awkward for you ... Did Erika know about Arthur Bingle?”

  “No, I didn’t tell her. I was afraid it would upset her. She was worried enough anyhow at all I had been through.”

  “That must have been a very bad moment when your father—I mean her father—rang you up?”

  “It was—one of the worst.”

  “How did you get over it?”

  “Pretended I had lost my voice.”

  “Just as Erika did when I telephoned to her in London?”

  “Yes, I am afraid that that was what gave her the ide ... But I hate to talk about my deceptions. I would give anything to make you forget them. What was the particular question you wanted to ask me?”

  The waiter came with a fresh drink and Romilly was silent until he had gone away. Then he said, “What were you doing at Brighton? That isn’t the question either, and equally I don’t expect you to answer it. No doubt it is impertinent of me to ask.”

  “Not at all. I went down there for the last five days of my holiday. I was going abroad for my holiday with some friends when this—this family trouble cropped up; but after I left Hanbridge there were still five days left.”

  “And you were alone there?”

  “Yes, and staying in very much greater luxury than I could have afforded if it had been on a longer holiday.”

  “You had beastly weather,” he said conversationally.

  “Yes, but what could one expect after—after—such a wonderful week?”

  “It must have been a week of hell for you,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” she replied quickly. “There were moments of it when—when...”

  “When you forgot you were playing a part?”

  “Yes.”

  She saw him look at his watch, and she thought to herself desperately, “He is disgusted that I could have forgotten it for a moment. Now he will go away and I shall never see him again, and I have not managed to convey to him how truly sorry I am for what I did.” She was searching round in her mind for something to say which would convince him when he asked casually, “Will you have dinner with me?”

  “I would love to,” she replied without hesitation, although she knew that the longer she stayed with him the harder it was going to be afterwards.

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “Anywhere you suggest. But I would like to go home and change first if I may. I’ve been working all day.”

  “Of course. It won’t take you long, will it?”

  “No, only a few minutes.”

  “Where is ‘home’?”

  “Dorset Street.”

  “Can I wait there?”

  “Certainly. Helen—Helen Graham—with whom I share a flat, will be in.”

  “I should like to meet her.” He asked for his bill and while he was counting his change the important question slipped out as if the answer had no real interest for him at all: “Is there in fact anyone else in your life?”

  “No.” Her voice was so low that the word was almost inaudible.

  “Then the photograph in the cigarette-case...?”

  “Was Lew’s. I didn’t know it was there.”

  He made no comment on this. He just said, “Shall we go?”

  They took a taxi to Dorset Street and spoke little on the way, and then only of indifferent matters such as the congestion of the traffic and what ought to be done about it. Helen was in the flat when they got there, preparing the dinner. Poppy introduced Romilly to her and then left them while she went into her bedroom to change. Helen offered him some sherry, which he declined, but he accepted a cigarette. He then began to ply her with questions: How long had she and Miss Duncan shared a flat? Did she like sharing with her? Did they get on well together?

  “I can’t imagine anyone not getting on with Poppy,” Helen said warmly. “She’s a wonderful person to share with. She’s so tidy, so generous, so marvellously unselfish.”

  “That’s a very good testimonial.”

  “You haven’t known her long?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “Hasn’t she told you? Hasn’t she mentioned my name? Hanbridge.”

  “Oh, yes. There was a girl here—Erika Hanbridge—came in for a drink some weeks ago, but I didn’t meet her. Is she your sister?”

  “No, she’s my cousin ... Then Miss Duncan hasn’t told you ...? Never mind. It’s nothing.”

  Helen was mystified. She couldn’t quite place him. He was a most attractive young man but he seemed unaccountably ill at ease. He got up and went over to look at the bookcase. “Are these yours or hers?” he asked.

  “Only a few of them are mine. Poppy’s a much greater reader than I am. She’s always buying books. I only get them from the library. She’d rather spend money on books than clothes. I’m afraid I’m the opposite.”

  Just then Poppy came in, having changed into a simple black dress. Her color was high and her eyes shining. Helen had never seen her looking so beautiful, and yet there was something strange about her manner too. She too seemed nervous, embarrassed. She was usually so calm, so unruffled by any social contact. Where had she met this young man? Why had she, Helen, not been told anyt
hing about him? Did he belong to that interlude in Poppy’s life—that fortnight when she had not come on their holiday abroad—about which she had been so strangely reticent?

  “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long?” Poppy said.

  “Where are you dining?” Helen asked, more to make conversation than out of curiosity.

  “I hadn’t really thought,” Romilly replied. “Where would you like to go?”

  “I don’t mind. Anywhere you say.”

  “Well, just let’s go, and then see, shall we?”

  He shook hands with Helen, and Poppy blew her a kiss and they went out. In the street he hailed a cruising taxi. “What about Maxim’s?” he asked. “Do you like Chinese food?”

  “I’ve never tried it but I’d very much like to.”

  “It’s good to try anything once. There’s music there as well.” He told the driver to go to Maxim’s and got into the taxi after Poppy.

  “It doesn’t much matter where we go,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “Everything ... Poppy?”

  “Yes?” She was a little breathless.

  “That’s what your picture was called—Poppy. Is that really your name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Poppy, Poppy, Poppy. Erika never suited you ... This man’s driving like a lunatic. Are you frightened? Shall I tell him to go slower?”

  Before she could answer, the taxi swung round a corner almost on two wheels and she was flung against him. He caught her and held her. She hardly understood the miracle that was happening to her but she did not try to draw away. His arms were round her, holding her tight, his mouth was seeking hers.

  “Poppy, Poppy, Poppy,” was all he said over and over again.

  The taxi came to a halt at some traffic lights and without letting go of her he leaned forward and asked the driver to go slower. Then he sank back with her into a corner of the cab and put his arms round her again and found her lips in a kiss that transported her into a hitherto unknown world of ecstasy.

  He did not break away from her until the cab drew up outside Maxim’s, and then it was only to tell the driver to go round the block again.

  When the taxi went on and she settled back into his arms, it was almost as if already she knew that this was her rightful place.

  He kissed her as if he were drawing her very soul out of her body—as if through her lips he could know her and possess her utterly.

  When at last he allowed the taxi to stop and they got out and entered the restaurant, she felt dazed and yet so blissful that when she went into the cloakroom to tidy herself she was surprised to see her own face looking at her in the glass. As she no longer felt the same person inside she had expected to see a different face. How could the lips he had kissed look like her former lips which had not been thus blessed? She put her fingers up and stroked them and smiled at herself in the glass as much as to say, “They may look the same but we know they are not!”

  He was waiting for her outside and told her that he had engaged a table in the gallery where it would be quieter for them to talk. They went up to the gallery and sat down opposite each other at a table by the rails from where they could look down at the dancing below, and immediately he pressed her knees with his. “I couldn’t be less interested in what we eat—I don’t know about you,” he said, “but let’s get over the business of ordering as quickly as possible and then we shan’t be disturbed. Shall I order for you?”

  “Please do,” she said.

  He told the waiter to bring single portions of a great number of Chinese dishes.

  “Now let me look at you properly,” he said. “Do you allow everyone to kiss you like that?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’d break your neck if you did. I think I’d break your neck if you allowed anyone else to give you so much as a chaste salute on the forehead. You’re going to find me fiendishly jealous. Do you mind very much?”

  She shook her head, smiling at him and caressing his face with her eyes. He looked so happy, so boyish, so irresistibly attractive.

  “God, you are beautiful,” he said. “You mustn’t look at me like that or I shall disgrace you by kissing you again in front of all these people ... Does this mean that you love me a little, Miss Duncan?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, smiling.

  “How soon will you marry me, Poppy?” he asked with sudden seriousness.

  She came down to earth with a jolt. “But your parents would never accept me,” she said. “Especially after what I did.”

  “Oh, yes they would. I can easily explain it to them now I understand it all myself. Mother and Pip are anyhow only too willing to forget and forgive. The whole family took to you immediately. The very day after you arrived Mother tried to persuade me to marry you!”

  “But she didn’t know who I was then.”

  “No, but it was you she liked—the real you. It was your own personality you brought with you, don’t forget that—your own looks and manners, your own gentleness and sweetness. The only thing wrong with you was your clothes. You were so terribly overdressed. Except for the green linen, but that I take it was your own?”

  “No, it was Erika’s, but she gave it to me. She angelically wanted me to have something of hers.”

  “It isn’t spoilt, is it? I shall want to see a great deal of it on our honeymoon ... Darling, how soon can it be?

  “You can’t be sure that your parents will accept me.”

  “I can, as it happens, but leaving that aside ... From your point of view? Will I have to ask your father or anybody formally for your hand?”

  “No, I have no one but my sister, Mary.”

  “Then it only depends on you ... How soon can it be, then?”

  “I shall have to wait until Dr. Francis gets another secretary, or can I go on working afterwards?”

  “No, you cannot. It will take every moment of your time looking after me ... Yes, you can if you want to, my darling. You can do anything in the world if you want. At least until we start having babies ... You are enchanting. You are blushing.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Oh, my Poppy, I can hardly believe this is true.”

  “Nor can I. I am so frightened of waking up. Do pinch me.”

  He pinched her arm gently. “It is real, my love ... Oh, I’ve been in such misery trying to forget you.”

  “So have I.”

  “At first I couldn’t find you and despaired of ever seeing you again...”

  “But when you did find me why did you take so long?”

  “You don’t think I wanted to know who you were so that I could come and tell you that I loved you, do you? You don’t think I even owned to myself that I did love you? I was furious with you. I wanted to find out who you were so that I could think of some way of punishing you for what you had done. I was never going to forgive you for deceiving me...”

  “Then your parents will never forgive me,” she said sadly.

  “That’s quite different. They are not in love with you ... Even this evening when I came up to you in the street, my only thought was to punish you in some way—to get even with you if I could...”

  “What made you feel differently?”

  “What you told me about Arthur Bingle principally. After I found out you were an impostor that was the one stumbling block I couldn’t get over. It seemed to me that you could be nothing but a heartless little flirt ... I was afraid of seeing you again. After I discovered who you were I knew that I was in dreadful danger if I saw you again. I went abroad—I still had some part of my holiday left—and tried to forget you ... And then one morning I woke up in Paris (it was only this morning as a matter of fact, though it seems years ago) with my mind full of the dreadful fear that someone else might have snapped you up, and I took the first plane home, and as soon as I had dropped my luggage I rushed round to Eaton Place and waited there outside the doctor’s house for you to come out. I had been waiting ove
r an hour when you finally appeared ... Even then I didn’t know what I intended to do or say to you. I was still furious with you—more furious than ever, because you had had this power over me of ruining my holiday and bringing me home before my time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re right. I’m glad, glad, glad.”

  “Poppy, when did you begin to care for me?”

  “From the very beginning, I think. I didn’t understand my feeling at first. You see, I have never been in love before...”

  “Neither have I—like this.”

  “What about Mrs. Cunningham?”

  “Oh, Daphne,” he said scornfully. “I was never in love with her. I was attracted to her. I thought she was fun to be with. She was in an amusing set. I liked going to her house, I must confess, and then she started confiding in me, which rather flattered me. She told me that Arthur Bingle wanted to marry her and asked me what she ought to do. She said that her income stopped if she married again but that that wouldn’t matter with Arthur because he was well off, and didn’t I think that perhaps it was the right thing to do? I asked her if she loved him and she said no; so I said that in that case I considered that it would be very wrong to marry him. If you were in any doubt it must be wrong to marry. When the right person came along you would know instinctively. Then she said, But what if the right person never came along? and I said that in that case it was better never to marry. Her first marriage had been disastrous and I was genuinely sorry for her. I felt life had treated her badly and that if once she could be happy and find the right man she might become a really nice person. There were nice things about her. I did my best, I must own, to prevent her marrying Arthur because I knew she did not really care for him, and I could not see how there could be any happiness in it for either of them ... That is what we talked about most of the time—she threatening, when she was depressed to marry him, and I trying to persuade her not to ... And then you came on the scene and I saw you together and in comparing you I suddenly saw her true character and realized that she wasn’t worth saving ... She was madly jealous of you and said the most spiteful things about you—but they only succeeded in making her appear odious ... I can’t tell you what you did to me—from that very first day I met you at Pulborough. You were like clean, clear water to a thirsty man. You were so streamlined—so—I can’t quite describe it. Something seemed to break inside me ... I had always decided that it would be quite impossible to marry an heiress, but that very first night I found myself trying to get round it in some way—wondering whether I could make you love me enough to give up your money. And then the first day at Goodwood I saw that snapshot of Lew in your cigarette-case and I realized that there was someone else for you, and I told myself that it was a great relief because I needn’t think of you any more; but to my surprise and annoyance I found that I was thinking of you just as much—I never stopped thinking of you. I found for the first time that I seemed to have practically no control over my mind...