"So I am," declared Sophie Rayter with energy. "Every evening except Sunday, and twice on Wednesdays and Saturdays.'' And she laughed.
"In the purely artistic sense of the word, of course," Lucas amended dryly, and Leoni thought that the glance the famous actress shot at him was not a friendly one.
She was not exactly surprised. Lucas was behaving with less than his usual charm, and a little as though he would rather give annoyance than pleasure.
"Lucas must bring you to tea with me one day when there isn't a matinee," Sophie Rayter remarked, recovering from her momentary annoyance and patting Leoni's hand.
And while Leoni stammered out her delighted thanks, no one, of course, explained to her that this was the sort of
invitation that was issued two or three times a day and not implemented more than once in a hundred times.
Others then claimed the star's attention, and Lucas and Leoni withdrew, pausing at the door to speak to auntie, who still held grim watch on all who went in and out.
Although no word of greeting had passed between them when she entered, Leoni had now decided that there was not the slightest reason for them to maintain a mysterious silence toward each other. So, as Lucas was saying good night (to which he received the very briefest reply), Leoni exclaimed, ''Auntie, I had no idea I should see you here. '*
"Why not?" snapped auntie. "What did you think I'd be doing?"
"I mean, I didn't realize that you were Sophie Rayter's dresser."
"Whose dresser did you think I was then?" auntie demanded shortly. "I've been her dresser for ten years," she added in a tone that suggested that Leoni should have known that by instinct.
"Oh, I didn't know that. I just thought you admired her and knew about her and—"
"Well, you'd better go along home now," auntie interrupted sharply. "It's quite late enough for you to be out. Don't keep her out to supper, Mr. Morrion. My niece expects her home at a Christian hour, and she's not got enough sense to look after herself. I didn 't know it was you she was going out with, or I 'd have put my foot down.''
"Would you?" Lucas looked a her with a smiling dislike to which she seemed quite impervious. "But as I've known Leoni since she was a little girl, perhaps it would have been difficult to put down even your foot with sufficient firmness. I'll get her home in reasonable time. Come along, my dear," and he took Leoni lightly by her arm with an affectionate friendliness which, along with the endearment, constituted sheer defiance of auntie, Leoni decided.
But whatever his motive for doing so, that he should call her "my dear" pleased Leoni as much as anything that had happened that evening.
As they made their way out of the theater by the stage exit, and through the cold, moonlit streets to the car park, Leoni explained eagerly, "Auntie is the real aunt of Mr.
Dagram. You know, they're the family I live with. I told you about them. I knew—"
"Oh, I see," he interrupted, with a sort of grimly amused emphasis which Leoni thought was disproportionate to the occasion. After all, it was not so much for one to "see."
She wanted to ask him what it was he saw with such dry appreciation, but they had arrived at the car park, and he was busy settling her in the car, with a fur rug over her knees.
"Are we to take auntie's warning quite literally and not go anywhere for supper?" he inquired with a smile as they drove out into the streets again.
For a moment the temptation was severe. Leoni would have loved to prolong this delightful evening to almost any length. But years of discipline—and, to tell the truth, an innate desire not to impose on any freedom allowed her— made her answer regretfully, "I'm afraid we'd better not. I know Mrs. Dagram doesn't expect me to stay out as late as that. And anyway," she added as an afterthought, "I've got to be up in good time for the office in the morning. I thmk we ougnt to go straight home."
He asreed at once, though she had an obscure feeling that he would have enjoyed taking her to supper, if only for the pleasure of flouting auntie's wishes.
Leoni was silent as they drove through the emptying streets. Her mind was almost too full of happy impressions to take in any more, and the indefinable pleasure of sharing the dark intimacy of the car with Lucas seemed all the clearer for there being no word between them.
It was as though they were enclosed in a pleasant little world of their own, and for the moment she had the illusion that they understood each other so well that they hardly needed to talk.
Almost immediately on that came the recollection that there was a very great deal indeed about him that she did not understand. But she thought pleasantly, almost sleepily, / een like what I don V understand.
Her mind traveled in leisurely contentment over the events of the evening. And when she reached the point of the invitation to tea, she suddenly found words.
"Do you think she really meant I was to come to tea?" she burst out.
"Hello, I thought you were asleep," he said with a smile. She could not exactly see the smile, only from his tone she could guess it was there.
"Asleep? Oh, no. I was just thinking—about the evening, you know, and how wonderful it's all been.'*
"I'm very glad, Leoni."
"I've no idea how to thank you enough," she told him earnestly.
"You have no need to thank me. Only to come again some time," he said jgravely.
"I... I'd love to, if you really like to have me."
"I really like to have you," he assured her.
She digested that in happy silence. Then she returned to her original question.
"Do you think Miss Rayter really meant me to come to tea with her?"
"Highly unlikely."
" Wh-what did you say?"
"I said it was most unlikely."
"Oh!" Leoni was somewhat dashed. "But she said it quite as though she meant it."
"Of course."
Leoni considered that and then said, "You're really very cynical about it all, aren 't you?''
He laughed.
"I'm sorry. Yes, perhaps I am. But it's no good pretending that I thmk Sopnie did mean that. She's probably given the same invitation to twenty people this week, and for-
totten the lot of them by now. Very disillusioning, I know, ut not so much so, especially if some cynic like myself warns you before you can take it all too seriously."
"I suppose that's true," Leoni agreed rather soberly. Then, as though she were gradually connecting up some unconnected impressions, she added, "I think I know why auntie dislikes you so much."
"Because I dislike her?" he suggested dryly.
"No. Oh, really, that was rather rude of me. I'm afraid I was thinking aloud. I didn't mean she was right to dislike you. I meant—I meant—"
"Go on thinking aloud, Leoni," he said and laughed.
"Well, the girls at home say that she simply adores Miss
Rayter, and so I suppose she senses when people don V like her and is furious with them."
''Very likely."
"And you ... you don't like Sophie Rayter much, do you?" Leoni asked with diffident interest.
There was a slight silence, which Leoni could not help thinking was also an astonished silence.
"Well, Leoni, since you put it so frankly," he said rather carefully, "I don't."
Even on the strength of having exchanged no more than a few sentences with her, Leoni would really have liked to argue the point. She found Sophie Rayter tremendously thrilling and attractive, with a sort of strength beneath her beauty, which suggested that all the elegance was just a covermg for something almost elemental in her.
"Although her acting is so finished," Leoni said slowly, "I could imagine there s almost a barbaric splendor about her sometimes."
He glanced quickly at Leoni, but it was too dark for them to see each other's expressions.
"How odd that you should say that," he said rather crisply. "She has just that—barbaric splendor—when she's angry or really deeply moved."
"You—know her very well, don
't you?" Leoni asked, wondering for the first time just how well he did know her.
"Of course. Is this your road?"
"Oh, yes!" Looking out of the car window, Leoni saw to her surprise that they were almost home. "It's halfway down on the right hand side. Yes—just here."
He drew the car in to the curb, and Leoni turned to him eagerly.
"Thank you again and again. It's been—yes, I think it's been the most wonderful evening I've ever had."
"Oh, my dear—" that was not even for the benefit of auntie that time"—I'm so very ^lad! I can't think that there was anything to justify such praise."
"Oh, there was," Leoni insisted. "As though dinner at the Savoy and chocolates and the theater were not enough in themselves, there was even the terrific thrill of going behind the scenes as well." He laughed, and she could not resist adding, "And, even if you don't like Sophie Rayter, I must say that the biggest thrill of all was when you asked me
so coolly if I'd like to go backstage and see her. I hadn't the remotest idea that you ever knew her."
There was the most extraordinary silence. Then he said, in a voice Leoni hardly recognized, "But, good God, I thought you knew! She's my wife.''
CHAPTER SIX
It was just as well, Leoni thought afterwards, that she had been sitting down, and not standing, when this extraordinary piece of news was imparted to her.
As it was, she felt quite weak and silly with the shock of it, and could only say feebly, "Your—your wife? But I had no idea you were married. '*
"Hadn't you? But did they never say anything about it at the Vandeems'? Did Julia not mention it?"
"Why, no. Julia doesn't even know. She thinks there-there was some sort of... well, some sort of scandal, but—"
He laughed shortly.
"Well, it might be described as that, I suppose," he said, and she had not the courage to ask him why. "Now I come to think of it, I don't know that there's any reason why the Vandeems should have mentioned it. It was secret for long enough and, as you'll have gathered, it's not exactly an outstanding matrimonial success. Sophie herself never speaks of it if she can help it. Most of her public think she's unmarried and, I believe, like her the better for it."
He was rather moodily silent and, because Leoni felt she must break that silence with some sort of remark, she asked timidly, "Does auntie know? I suppose she must."
"Oh, yes. Of course. That was another thing that made me think you must know."
"Why, yes. I see that now. It... it must all have fitted into place."
"Yes. Though I never thought of anything but your knowing already through the Vandeems. That's why I made that rather unforgivable remark about it's being da—well, awkward that you were at the office."
"Oh, I see. But—" she actually caught his arm in her eagerness "—it isn't awkward really. I mean, I shouldn't dream of saying anything to anyone. They don't even know that I know you."
"Don't they?"She thought he smiled slightly at that, and he certainly put his hand over the eager fingers that were gripping his arm. "Well, so far as I know, no one there knows about my marriage. It isn't exactly a secret, Leoni. Only a dreary fiasco that I'd rather not have discussed."
He gave that as a simple statement of fact. Not with any special drama or bitterness. But Leoni felt something of a lump in her throat.
"I'm—awfully sorry about it, Lucas. Has it been going on—I mean, have you been married long?"
"Oh, good Lord, yes. Eight or nine years."
"Why, almost since you knew me! Since I ... I spoke to you at the gate."
"Um-hm. Just about as long as that. I think it was only a month or two before we married that you spoke to me that time. We met in Paris and were married there. I was under age, of course. We kept it a secret for some while—she wanted it that way. I believe a good many people thought it was a rather resounding affair. '
Leoni caught her breath remembering what Julia had said. But before she could make any comment, he suddenly seemed to recollect where they were and the lateness of the hour.
"Well, I don't think we'll sit here any longer discussing the details of my sordid past," he said lightly, releasing the hand he had covered with his. "And please don't be all solemn and awed about it. The role of misunderstood husband is not one that fits me, and the blame for it all is at least half mine. These things happen, Leoni, and if one can't exactly enjoy them, at least one mustn't inflict an account of them on others."
He got out of the car and came around to open the door on her side. By the light of a street lamp, Leoni saw that he was smiling, and certainly the smile had nothing of the misunderstood husband about it. As he handed her out of the car, he might indeed have been an especially young uncle bringing her home after an evening's enjoyment.
This was not how Leoni had regarded him during the
whole of this magic evening. But it was, she saw, the way she must regard him in future unless she preferred to give up seeing him altogether. No wonder he had underlined the avuncular attitude and chosen to appear so much older than she. Those were the only terms on which they could continue their friendship—and perhaps even they would not be sufficient safeguard.
He must have been following the same line of thought himself because, as she stood beside him on the sidewalk and he smiled down at her in the lamplight, he said, "Well, does this disclosure make me unsuitable for an asking-out-to-tea uncle?**
*'0h—oh, no.*' She was troubled, and her voice showed the fact, but no sort of argument or shock could make her decide at this moment to give up a friendship that meant so much.
"That's all right then." He still spoke in a light and easy tone. "Good night, Leoni—and thank you for a delightful evening."
She repeated her own thanks in a rather low voice and then turned hastily and went up the path to the front door.
He got back into the car and watched until the door had opened and then closed behind her. Then he said very softly, "Oh, damn and blast!" let in the clutch and drove off.
Leoni was admitted by Mrs. Dagram who, if she had sat up on purpose to see her home, at any rate showed no signs of having done so. She busied herself with one or two tasks which she appeared to be in the habit of doing around midnight, wnile Leoni drank cocoa and ate a piece of excellent homemade cake.
"Was it a nice evening, dear?** Mrs. Dagram asked, but with a lack of curiosity that immediately made Leoni anxious to tell her everything.
"It was simply lovely,'* Leoni assured her, with a gravity which did not entirely accord with the words. "He—he took me to the Savoy and then to see Sophie Rayter in Veronica. He—it was one of the directors, Mrs. Dasram. I met him at the Vandeems* house, as I told you—I dia itW you that. He's very nice, I think, and I met him first when I was a little girl. But... but auntie knows him, and I don't think she approves of him."
"It isn't necessary to see eye to eye with auntie on all things,*' Mrs. Dagram said imperturbably. "I don't always, myself. But she has good principles and shrewd judgment. It s worth paying attention to her opinion, Leoni.
"I... I m sure it is," Leoni said, twenty times more impressed than she would have been if Mrs. Dagram had immediately upheld auntie's opinion against her own. "Apparently Lucas—that's Mr. Morrion—knows auntie because of—of Sophie Rayter." It was becoming a little difficult to explain without saying too much. "He took me backstage afterward to see her—to see Sophie Rayter, I mean—and I saw auntie there. I don't think she was especially pleased."
Mrs. Dagram surveyed Leoni thoughtfully.
"What is Mr. Morrion's interest in Sophie Rayter?"
"Well-well, didn't auntie ever tell you?"
"I wondered what/ze told/<?w."
"Oh-they're married."
"Well, I'm glad he didn't conceal the fact. I just wondered if he tried to pass himself off as an unmarried man."
"No. But, as a matter of fact, I didn't know it until this evenine. He thought I did, though."
"Did he?" Mrs. Dagram sa
id—skeptically, Leoni couldn't help thinking.
"Yes—really, Mrs. Dagram."
"Very well."
"Please don't just take auntie's opinion of him, will you?"
"Certainly not. Auntie sees anything connected with Sophie Rayter slightly out of proportion—and no doubt this man is no exception to her rule. Personally, I don't happen to have the same opinion of Sophie Rayter as she."
"Oh, don't you?"
"No. But that's neither here nor there. I don't know her as well as auntie does, of course, but what I do know I don't like or admire."
"Why don't you like or admire her, Mrs. Dagram?" Leoni could not refrain from asking.
"Well, I think she's unscrupulous and acquisitive, and I should say her emotions are coarse rather than deep. She's something of a savage with a very good veneer on top. But that's just my personal opinion. She may be a very much
injured and misunderstood woman. Auntie thinks so, I know. How old is this Mr. Morrion, by the way?*'
*'Oh—something under thirty.**
"Hm. Well, she*s a good deal older, of course.**
"Is she?** Leoni was considerably surprised.
"Certainly. Something under forty would fit her better.**
"He—he was very young when he married her. **
"Yes, Leoni, I daresay. But don*t indulge in too much romantic sympathy on his behalf We don't know the whole story, and the one inescapable fact is that he's a married man. Running around with a married man never did any girl any eood.
"No. 1... I agree with that in principle. But sometimes there are exceptions, aren't there?
"Every single case is an exception, my dear,*' Mrs. Dagram said, with a smile that was exceedingly like matron's when she was dealing with the juniors. "It is always safer at eighteen to guide one's conduct by the general rule rather than the exception. Don't take this too seriously, Leoni, and go along to bed now. Tm glad you had a nice evening, dear.**
. She kissed Leoni and bade her good night. Leoni returned both the kiss and the good night, and went rather slowly out of the room. But the sound of the front door being opened galvanized her into quicker action. She ran upstairs, two steps at a time, for the only person coming in at this hour would be auntie, and Leoni had no mind for any discussion with her that night.
The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell Page 10