The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell

by Burchell, Mary

  Leoni—with very vague ideas about times and distances-was willing to leave any decision about departure to Lucas, and it was not until some time after ainner that Mrs. Morrion said, "Well, dear, hadn't you better be thinking about going? You don't want to keep that child out too late. I expect her family keeps better hours than you do."

  "Of course. I forgot." He stood up, tossing the end of his cigarette into the fire, and Leoni realized then that he had been sunk in thought and taking no part in the conversation. "Come along, model child, it s certainly time we started."

  Even then Mr. Morrion said: "Shouldn't wonder if you run into a nasty fog." He went to the window and pushed back the curtain. "See!" He peered triumphantly through the gloom outside, and in the Ught thrown from the window they could see trails and wisps of mist. "You'd much better change your minds and stay the night."

  But Lucas laughed and shook his head. "Nonsense, Leoni wants to get back tonight. It's not really thick, and if it gets thicker—well, I know the way blindfolded by now."

  So Leoni was at last allowed to put on the blue blanket coat once more and make her farewells.

  "I'll be up in London again soon," Julia promised as she

  hugged her. *'And we'll get Norman and Harry to take us out again.**

  Leoni said yes, of course—and secretly thought how far removed nice Norman Conby was from the essential interests of her life. He was a dear, of course, but ....

  "Ready?" Lucas, who had been to fetch the car out of the garage, came back into the hall, wearing a heavy driving coat but no hat.

  "Yes, Tm ready.** Leoni kissed Mrs. Vandeem, thanked Mrs. Morrion for her kindness and received a very warm invitation to come again some other weekend when it was more summery.

  *'Everyone*s so kind to me,*' she told Lucas as he settled her in the car and took his place at the wheel.

  "Well, why not?" He was smiling as he looked over his shoulder, backed the car to turn it in the driveway and then, with a wave of his hand to his mother, drove off.

  "Well—why? Come to that," retorted Leoni with a laugh.

  "Because you're the kind of girl one wants to make happy," he replied instantly. "For one thing, it takes so little to please you."

  "Does it?" She considered that thoughtfully. "I expect that's because of my having been brought up in an orphanage. Nothing really belongs to you individually there. It can't, you know. Now it's terribly exciting and nice having things happen just to me personally. All sorts of things that probably seem quite ordinary to you or Julia or the Dagrams are delightful novelties to me. I expect that's what it is."

  "I daresay—Phew, father was right about the fog. Tell me, Leoni, can you remember anything before your orphanage days?"

  "Oh, no. I went there as a baby, you know. I think my mother died when I was born—or, if not, very soon afterward."

  "I see. And your father?"

  "I don't really know, Lucas. We were never encouraged to ask about our circumstances. In fact, I think matron often didn't know herself"

  "Extraordinary idea."

  "Oh, no. You see, the circumstances were almost always what are called 'unfortunate.' There was nothing to be

  gained by knowing them. I can quite imagine that it was usually best for the children not to know. I think, in my case, that my father was dead before I was born. I know it must sound funny to you, but—I never think about it much. Life, for me, just started in the orphanage.'*

  "Poor child," he exclaimed involuntarily.

  "No—really you needn't think that,'* Leoni assured him with a slight laugh. "I had quite a happy childhood. *'

  "Well—I tell you—it takes so little to please you."

  "But isn't that true of most children?" Leoni said.

  "Um—" He considered that. "Yes, perhaps you're right. It's when we get old enough to look beyond the little day-today things that we get our illusions knocked about a bit."

  She glanced at him, but she saw that he was smiling ruefully, rather than bitterly.

  "Were you happy as a child, Lucas?" she asked, on sudden impulse.

  "Oh, tremendously," he replied without hesitation. "Spoilt little devil of course, but—" He slowed down the car. "C^n you see if there's a hedge and a white railing on your side, Leoni? Just a moment, I'll turn down the window. It's so misted over you can't see."

  He leaned over and opened the window.

  "It's not misted over. It's the foe outside," Leoni said.

  "Yes, you're right. And I can t see any hedge or white railing, can you?"

  "I can't see anything at all," Leoni confessed with candor.

  "H'm, I'm not sure that I can. But I think we're right. Perhaps we haven't come as far as I thought. We'll push on a bit, and perhaps we'll get clear of this. No doubt it s worse down by the river. We ought to get clear of it in a little while. Look out for the white railing, will you? And we should come to crossroads and a clump of trees soon," So Leoni strained her eyes, trying to pierce the thickening mist, which seemed to press right up against the sides of the slowly moving car.

  "I can't see anything like railings, Lucas, but I doubt if we should in this.

  "No. I was thinking the same. We'll pick up our direction at the crossroads. Never mind about the railings. What were we talking about?"

  "You,'*said Leoni, whereupon he laughed.

  "Were we? I thought it was something more interesting. I thought we were talking about you.'' And he flashed her a smile in the dim light of the car lamp.

  "Oh, no. I was asking about when you were a little boy."

  "What did you want to know about me as a little boy?"

  "Lots of things." She suddenly found that was so—that she felt every detail about Lucas, past or present, was of interest."I wish I'd known you then.''

  "You couldn't have, you baby."

  "No, I know. But I wish I hacl."

  "Why?" He was amused, although at least half his attention was on the business of driving almost blind.

  "Because I'd like to have known you before—before life had done things to you, and then I should know whether the fundamental you is as I thought."

  "I don't expect it is, for a moment," he remarked dryly. And then: "Look here, we ought to have struck those dammed crossroads before now.'

  "Ought we?"

  "Um-hm. I think we'd better turn and go back on our tracks a bit. We must have got off the road somewhere farther back, without noticing. '

  "All right." She was perfectly content to leave all questions of direction to him.

  Turning in the fog almost landed them in a deep ditch, but they finally accomplished it and start back down the road at a somewhat increased pace.

  Ten minutes later they had still not found the crossroads, nor any landmark that either of them could recognize. To Leoni the world seemed to have narrowed down into one monotonous road, running on forever through a blanketing fog, with occasional glimpses of hedges when some little freak breeze swirled the fog into thinner patches.

  "Have you any idea at all where we are, Lucas?" she asked at last.

  "I'm sorry, my dear—not the slightest. But don't get scared. We—*'

  "I'm not scared," said Leoni, and that was perfectly true. It would never have entered her head to be scared so long as Lucas was there beside her.

  "No?" He smiled at her. "All right. Then I think we have

  no choice but to drive on until we come to some sign of life, and see if we can find somewhere to phone from.'*

  *Thone?"

  "Why, yes. It doesn't look as though we'll get you home in reasonable time tonight and we'd better let them know what's happened."

  "Oh, yes. Of course." Leoni glanced at the little clock with the illuminated dial and was surprised to see how late it was. "We must have been driving for much longer than I realized."

  "Yes. Not much short of an hour. And the devil of it is that I 'm pretty low on gas.''

  "Are you? " That did startle her a little.

  "Yes. I'm
sorry, Leoni—I seemed to have muffed this journey back to town rather thoroughly. I knew I was low on gas, but thought I had enough to manage it. I had, if we hadn't been doing this involuntary circular tour."

  "Of course. It isn't your fault," Leoni assured him. "You were really going back to town tomorrow morning, weren't you? And then you 'd have got some on the way.''

  He smiled, but wouldn't quite admit that.

  Leoni slumped down a little in her seat, silent now, wondering what on earth one did in such a situation. If the car stopped and just refused to go on—well, there you were! It was ridiculous even to think of getting out and trying to walk.

  And yet there must be somewhere where they could ask the way. They seemed as far from civilization as if they were in the Sahara Desert, but that was quite impossible. They were in England, not more than a few miles from London. There must be houses all around them.

  But her common sense told her immediately that though they had doubtless passed many houses which were clearly visible from the road in ordinary circumstances, one s chance of lighting on any of those houses in this fog was infinitesimal. To leave the road would be to plunge into absolute nothingness. Their only chance was that they might come on some house with a gate onto the road before their last drop of gas gave out.

  And just at that moment the fog thinned momentarily, and Leoni sat up with an excited exclamation.

  "Lucas, stop! I'm sure we passed a gate—a real garden

  gate, not a field one. Just a few yards back. Can you back the car a little?"

  Lucas was already backing it, and gradually there came into their limited rai]ge of vision a small, white-painted gate, which looked to them both like the gate to Paradise.

  *'Thank God!" Lucas exclaimed fervently. "Here, you stay in the warm, and I Ml go and make inquiries.''

  *'0h, no! Please let me come, too."She was acutely aware that to be left in the dark and foggy silence was something her rather strained nerves would not stand. Better any raw cold,^as long as Lucas was there.

  He yielded at once, and came around to open the door of the car for her. As she stepped out, she realized how stiff and cold she had been growmg during the last half hour, and she was glad of the warm clasp of his hand.

  Pushing open the gate, they cautiously made their way up a sloping gravel path. It was impossible to see it, but they coula hear the reassuring cruncn of gravel beneath their feet.

  Suddenly a conventional rustic porch reared up in front of them, and they felt, rather than saw, that they were standing before a door.

  Lucas groped around for some sort of knocker or bell, and failing to find either, rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles.

  To their immense relief, there were immediately sounds of life inside the house. Until that moment, they had both been afraid that the place would prove to be empty, but the sound of a chair being scraped back, and rapidly approaching footsteps put an end to their fears.

  The next moment the door was opened, and immediately there was presented to their fog-dimmed eyes such a picture of warmtn and comfort that for a moment they were wordless before the contrast with their own cold lot.

  The door opened straight into a little square hall, with thick, gay rugs on the red-tiled floor, bright gleaming copper ranged on the small oak dresser immediately opposite and—most fascinating of all in the circumstances— a big log fire crackling cheerfully on an open hearth.

  As they stood there, trymg to find words to describe their plight, the woman who had opened the door exclaimed,

  Well, there now! I didn't really expect you to get through

  in this fog. I'd just about given up. Five minutes more, and rd have gone, and that's the truth."

  To be welcomed hke this was even more astonishing than to have found such an oasis of comfort in the endless fog, and it was Leoni who stammered out, "Oh, I—I'm afraid you must have mistaken us for someone else."

  "We've lost our way in the fog." Lucas took up the explanation. "Yours is the first house we've been able to make out in the last hour or so, and we hoped you'd be able to—" He stopped, remembering that it was no good to talk about setting them on the right road when, in all likelihood, his car had now given out.

  The woman peered out at them.

  "D'you mean to say you're not Mr. Gordon's two friends? The lady and gentleman that were coming from London?"

  With the greatest regret they admitted that they were not and, after a puzzled moment, the woman said, "Well, you'd better come in a minute. The fog's getting into the house."

  Nothing loath, they eagerly came into the warmth, and Leoni even went so far as to cross to the fire and spread out her hands to the blaze.

  "So you're not Mr. Gordon's friends?" The woman still seemed reluctant to take that in. "Well, isn't that odd, now? Me expecting a lady and gentleman these last two hours, and then when they turn up they're not the right ones."

  "Perhaps," ventured Leoni, "Mr. Gordon's friends are not going to turn up at all.''

  "That s just what I was thinking," the woman agreed. "In fact, I'd just given them up and was going, as I said." "Going where?" asked Leoni eagerly.

  "Home, of course."

  "Oh, then are we near a village or something?"

  "Oh, the village is a good two miles away," explained the woman, as though Leoni might have known that without asking. "That's why people like this place, you know. Isolated."

  Lucas and Leoni both tried to look as though they found this a reason for liking a place.

  "At least, that's why Mr. Gordon's friends like it. Honey-mooners and suchlike, you know."

  She looked the two over with frank interest, as though

  Take Me With You J 33

  trying to decide whether they were honeymooners or merely suchlike.

  **I see." Quite instinctively Leoni covered her left hand, which she had drawn from her glove. Under the woman *s stare she suddenly found herself feeling quite extraordinarily "suchlike*' and not at all respectable.

  *'Well, we're absolutely stranded,*' Lucas said, in a rather cool, brisk tone. "It isn't only the fog. We've run right out of gas, cruising around, trying to find out where we were. Can you direct us anywhere where we could put up for the night? Or can I phone from here? Are we anywhere near Woking?" he added as an afterthought.

  "Woking? Never heard of it," declared the woman with complacent ignorance. "And there isn't a phone here. Most of the people who come don't want a phone, you see."

  Lucas—and even the less worldly Leoni—began to take a rather poor view of Mr. Gordon and his odd friends.

  "Is tnere anyone else in the house but you?" Leoni asked suddenly.

  "Oh, no, miss." The covering of her hand had evidently not created the desired impression. "Nobody but me, and I go home. I was just going when—"

  "Yes. You've told us that." Lucas sounded impatient. "Well, when you speak of going home—is there anyone near where you live who could put us up?"

  "No, sir. There's just the two-roomed cottage where I live. And my husband's very bad. I ought to be there with him now."She glanced at the bland Dutch wall clock as she spoke. "The nearest place would be the village, and that's a good two miles. And I don't know whether you'd find room at the Clarence as late as this. They shut up early."

  "They would," muttered Lucas.

  "But what can we do?" It was Leoni, suddenly appealing directly to the woman. "You see the fix we're in. We were beginning to think we'd have to spend the night in the car. We were too thankful for words when we saw this gate. We—we can't go crawling around in this fog any more. Besides the car won't go much farther. We'd have to walk, and then you say we mightn't find anyone to take us in."

  " That's true, agreed the woman.

  There was an awkward silence, only broken by the tick of the clock, and the pleasant sound of shifting, burning logs.

  "Look here," began Lucas and Leoni in sudden chorus. They both stopped, and then Lucas said, **You go on," as though he thought Le
oni might make a better job of it than he.

  "Well, I was going to say—it doesn't look as though the two you're expecting are going to turn up tonight. I—I can't help thinking Mr. Gordon sounds a oit informal and— unconventional. Do you think he would mind frightfully if we—if we trespass on his hospitality to the extent of spending the nieht nere? I know it sounds the most awful cheek, but—I can t think of anything else. I don't know if you'd be so kind as to—" she hesitated and flushed "—as to stay on here, but-"

  "I couldn't, miss. My husband's very bad. I ought to be there with him now, ' repeated the woman, exactly as though she had not imparted this information in the same words before.

  "Yes, I know. I'm awfully sorry about your husband." It was difficult really to get up a decent amount of sympathy about the wretched man. "i thought if you want to see how hewasand then—"

  "I couldn't come back again, miss."

  There was another silence. Then Lucas spoke with inspiration.

  "Suppose you go along and see about your husband. That'll set your mind at rest. And let us stay on here and make the explanations if Mr. Gordon's friends turn up. If they don't, we'll be unspeakably thankful to sit out the night in front of this fire. And if they do—well, we'll just have to explain and get out and try to find our way to the village. It may have cleared a bit by then."

  The woman looked doubtful. It was obvious that she was very anxious to get away but at the same time hardly dared to leave, in case her expected visitors might turn up. To leave these two here would certainly solve her difficulty, only....

  "I know there's the chance that we may move off, taking the silver with us, as soon as your back's turned," Lucas said, seeing her indecision. "But we really are as honest as we look, and we couldn't make much of a getaway in this' fog. In any case—" he felt in his pocket and produced his wallet "—we should naturally expect to pay for our night's

  accommodation, quite apart from expressing our gratitude to Mr. Gordon m any terms he tikes.** The woman*s expression of indecision began to go.