"Tm sorry, my dear—" she glanced at her tiny diamond wristwatch "—I simply have to fly. It*s already half an hour later than I realized, and I shall have my work cut out to get to the theater in time. Take care of yourself and get well soon. Au 'voir." And she was gone before Thea could make any further protest.
But even if she had stayed, what more was there to say? How did one insist on being allowed to stay in a household where one was very distinctly not wanted? Geraldine had only one spare room in her beautiful apartment. If she wanted a friend to stay there with her, why should she give up the room to a tiresome young cousin—especially now that the time for which she would want it was quite unspecified.
"If only I knew what to do," Thea muttered wretchedly. "Oh, I wish I knew quite positively about my hand. If I could say categorically to Geraldine that it would only take this-and-this time, she might listen. She wouldn't be willing, and it's awful to have to be so pressing, but at least I could make some reasonable offer.''
There was no one to whom she could turn for advice or consolation. Lindsay would not be coming until tomorrow— possibly not then, because he was very busy with his new production—and in any case, she could not perpetually unload her troubles on him. "It isn't even decent," Thea told herself angrily.
Something of her worry must have been obvious in her lowered spirits, because the nurse tried to cheer her up by
^gg Meant for Each Other
talking about her famous and beautiful cousin, and what fun it must be to have a real actress in the family.
Thea responded as best she could and successfully hid the fact that the famous and beautiful cousin was herself responsible for the present lowering of spirits.
For the first time she slept rather badly that night, but in the morning she was a good deal cheered by the news that her hand was to come out of plaster that day.
"It may have to go back again, of course," the nurse warned her, before she could express any real jubilation, *' but Sir Norman is going to have a look at it."
"Who is Sir Norman? Thea inquired interestedly.
"Oh, Sir Norman Pranbook, the orthopedic surgeon, you know. Mr. Varlon arranged for him to come down and have a look at you."
"Oh, did he?" Thea smiled and felt further cheered by this evidence of Lindsay's special care.
But the whole process of having her hand taken out of plaster and reexamined was much more unpleasant than poor Thea had expected. It hurt a great deal and made her frightened and miserable, and when Sir Norman appeared, although he was perfectly kind in an academic way, ne said "Teh, tch"much too often for Thea's peace of mind.
"Will it be all right fairly soon?" she plucked up courage to ask him at last.
But he simply said, "These things are always a matter of time," which left Thea, as no doubt he intended, no wiser than before she had asked the Question.
When it was all over ana her nurse sympathetically brought her what she described as "a nice cup of tea"—and certamly it seemed nicer than almost any other cup of tea she had ever had—Thea asked anxiously if the nurse had gleaned anything from Sir Norman's manner.
"Oh, well, you don't expect anyone like Sir Norman to commit himself to a bedside verdict," the nurse assured Thea.
"But could you guess anything from his manner?" Thea asked rather pathetically. "It's really very important to me, nurse, and I wouldn't worry so much if someone would just tell me the truth."
"Well, dear," her nurse said kindly, "I'd say it*s going to be quite a long job, but there was nothing in Sir Norman's
manner to suggest that it wouldn *t be completely all right in time. And there's no need to fret about it, because fairly soon now, when you're quite all right again in yourself, you won't have to stay on in hospital, you know. You can have outpatient treatment for your hand, perhaps only once or twice a week, and that won't be much of a tie, will it?"
"No," Thea said slowly. "No, it won't. Thank you very much, nurse, for telling me."
And she tried to look grateful and relieved, for of course one couldn 't possibly tell nurse the real trouble—the problem of having nowhere at all to live while one was attending a hospital for outpatient treatment, and the impossibility of pursuing the training to earn one's own living, much less of doing anything practical about bringing in some money.
Thea was very quiet indeed for the rest of the day. Her nurse put it down to strain and depression after her rather trying examination, and had no idea that her silent little patient was revolving scheme after scheme—each one wilder and more improbable than the last—in her hot and aching head.
Evidently Lindsay Varlon was not able to get away from town, or perhaps he felt that it was no longer essential for him to go so often to see his young friend who was making such a good recovery. Anyway, he made no appearance that day, and it semed to Thea the longest and saddest and most worrying day she had ever spent.
Even that dreadful day just before she came to London, when she had waited—so foolishly, she realized now—for a letter from Geraldine, even that day had not been so interminable and so heart chilling as this one.
Night came at last, but once more it was not the long, dreamless and restful night she was used to. She dreamed short agitating dreams, m which she was always worried and always waiting for something terrifying and unmanageable to happen.
In the mornmg her nurse gave her a sharp look and said, "What's worrying you, dear?"
But Thea could only assure her politely that nothing was worrying her; she just had not had a very good night.
"Well, that won't do. I thought you aimed to be the champion sleeper around here," her nurse said reprovingly.
Thea smilecl in answer to this sally, but immediately ner
^gQ Meant for Each Other
pale little face assumed its grave, anxious expression again. And when Lindsay Varlon came that afternoon, the nurse took it upon herself to say to him, "She's worried about something, and it's putting her back a bit. Perhaps you can find out what it is."
*'I'll try. Has she had any visitors?"
"Oh, yes. It can't be that she's lonely. Her cousin-Miss Marven, you know-came to see her the day before yesterday, and stayed to tea with her and was sweet."
"I see," Lindsay Varlon said a httle grimly. And he went into Thea's room.
Thea had been reading in a half-interested way, but she eagerly pushed aside her book as he came in.
"Oh, hello-I'm so glad to see you."She smiled.
"Are you, sweetheart?" He took her hand and regarded her with smiling attention. "Have you been lonely, then?"
"Well-perhaps that was it."
"Perhaps that was what?" he inquired as he sat down, Still keeping hold of her hand.
"I suppose I meant—perhaps that was why I felt a bit blue. Ana then I had my hand out of plaster yesterday, and Sir Norman Pranbook saw it and wasn't exactly encouraging."
"No! What did he say?"
"Well, he didn't really say anything. But he didn't seem very pleased about it, and then afterward I managed to get out of nurse that it will probably take a good while before I can use my hand much. But it was nice of you to arrange for anyone so important to come and see my hand." She looked up quickly and smiled again, because it was easier to smile now that he was here. "It was you who arranged it, wasn't it?"
"Well, we naturally want the best attention for you."
Thea thought "we was rather good, and wondered if he really imagined she supposed that included Geraldine. And then, following the natural train of thought, she said rather carefully, "Geraldine came to see me yesterday—no, the day before."
"Oh, yes? It was the first time she had come, wasn't it?"
"Um-hm."
"What had she to say?"
"Not very much." Again she spoke rather carefully. "She
was quite—kind in her inquiries, and she brought me some lovely fruit, and—'* Thea broke off, and then said: *'Have you seen her since the accident?"
"Yes. I sa
w her yesterday evening.'*
"Oh. Did she say anything about me—about when I come out of hospital?'*
"Yes,'niea.**
"Then you know that she doesn't intend to have me back? She has Kay Pelham staying there, in my room—at least, I mean the room she let me have. And—and all my things are packed up ready to be taken away, as soon as I can move them.**
"Yes I know.** He pressed his lips together rather tightly, and Thea felt pretty sure there had been a sharp argument about it.
She sighed a little. "I'm sorry, Mr. Varlon. I seem to cause a good deal of trouble all around. *'
"Nonsense, child. It isn't your fault. We'll find somewhere for you to go and—**
"But, it isn*t quite as simple as that, is it?" Thea said gently. "You see, it isn*t even as though we only have to cover a limited period until I've completed my course of training. That's all changed now. I don't know anything very definite about my hand, but I don't think there's much doubt that it will be quite a while before I can use it much for typing—or even perhaps for anything else. Perhaps if you went to see Sir Norman—** She stopped because she thought she detected the slightest change in his expression "Have you been to see Sir Norman?** she asked.
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I have.**
"Since he saw me?**
"Yes.**
There was a short silence. Then she said, "You'd better tell me. It isn't very good news, is it? Or you would have been reassuring me before now. But it's really much better for me to know the truth. Otherwise I—I can't make any sort of plans."
She wondered—and perhaps he did, too—what sort of plans she could make. But anyway, it sounded better to put things that way.
"Listen, Thea. I want you to know that, whatever happens, I won't leave you in any sort of a hole. You needn't
think of yourself as friendless and without any security. It's thanks to my carelessness that you're here now, in any case, and-"
**No, it isn't. But would you tell me about my hand, please?"
"All rieht. The bones are mending perfectly satisfactorily, but the big gash cut some of the tendons, and that's a very different matter. It means that you won't get back the strength in your hand for a long time. Electrical treatment and massage will do a lot and may restore the hand almost entirely eventually, but I doubt—or, rather, Pranbook doubts—whether you will ever be able to put much of a strain on it."
"You mean I won't be able to type."
"I'm afraid not, darling."
"Well, I—I'll have to think of something else." She was very pale, and her mind felt a blank. "There must be things one can do that don't require much strength in one's left hand. After all, it isn't like the right hand. It's not so—so important. If only it wouldn't take so much time—or Geral-dine would let me stay with her a little longer. Oh, it's so simple if only you have a home!" she cried, suddenly overwhelmed by the full realization that she had none.
"Thea, will you please try to feel that you have a home-that you're not without a place to go to. You can go to any club or hotel or lodgings and I'll arrange it for you—or you can have your own apartment or whatever you like—"
"Oh, you mustn't say things like that!" Thea's cry was half amused and half horrified, because she had suddenly remembered Stephen saying, "He's never rented a West End apartment for anyone, as far as I know."
"Why not?" He looked unexpectedly obstinate, as he could at times.
"Why, you know why not as well as I do." She smiled at him and rather nervously stroked his arm, as though to soften what she was going to say. "It was harmless enough so long as I was in Geraldine's apartment and no one knew who really paid. But I couldn't have you maintaining me-paymg for me in a hotel, installing me in a apartment, anythmg like that^without people thinking the perfectly obvious thing. Quite apart from the fact that I haven't the
faintest claim upon you, Lindsay. You must see that. It isn't as though—**
"You have a claim on me,** he broke in firmly. '*If you don*t want to accept the fact that it's partly my fault you*re in this hole, then at least, Thea, do me the justice of allowing that we are friends. Such friends that you called me by my Christian name just now, without even noticing that you did it.**
"Did I?*'She looked faintly put out. "Pm sorry.**
"You needn *t be. I prefer it tnat way."
"Very well then. And of course we are friends. You've been a wonderful friend to me, and no one knows it better than I. But there has to be an end to these obligations of friendship, Lin. I'm not a child. I'm not a sort of orphaned schoolgirl, to be provided for and clothed and taken out for treats by a kind of guardian. Vm a grown-up young woman. I can*t allow myself to be maintained by a man friend. What would people think? What could they think?"
"Need they know?*' His obstinate look had become almost sulky, and it gave an incongruously boyish expression to his usually worldly face. " Haven *t we the wit between us to devise some means of my paying over enough money to you, and for you to make your own arrangements?**
But Thea shook her head.
"How could we? Geraldine knows perfectly well what my real financial state is. She also knows—or would know—who was supplying the money, if I apparently became the possessor of independent means. And she wouldn *t keep quiet, Lin. Geraldine is in a very nasty mood. At the moment, nothing would please her better than to have some real grounds for spreading scandalous tales about us.**
"Us? There isn*t much harm she could do to my leathery reputation,** he said dryly. "But you*re right, of course. She would be delighted to blast yours.**
"You see."
They were silent for a moment or two—she pale and calm and, strangely enough, far more resigned now that the position had been clearly defined, and he dark and somber and obstinately rebellious against a situation that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he seemed to find unmanageable.
Then, rather slowly, he raised his head and looked at her, the light coming back into his eyes and the characteristic half-mocking smile to his lips.
"Well, my child, there is one solution to this problem which will provide you with a home, silence scandalous tongues, and take the weapons out of Geraldine's hands. I think, Thea, that you will have to marry me."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thea drew a deep breath, blinked her long lashes, and said very solemnly, ''What did you say?*'
"I said—and I think you heard me—that you will have to marry me," he told her with a smile.
"Is that a joke?**
"Only if you wish it to be.*' And then, as she was silent and nonplussed, he spoke seriously and urgently. "No, my dear, it was not in the least a joke. It is a perfectly serious proposition. In fact, Thea, it is the only sensible solution to the problem.**
"It seems a rather—desperate remedy.*'
"Tm sorry it appears in that light to you."
"I wasn't thinking of my point of view. I was thinking how you 'd hate it, * * she said slowly.
"Why are you so sure that I'd hate it?*' He looked at her curiously.
"Well, no one—least of all yourself—has ever thought of you as the marrying kind. You'd be bound to feel caught, and then you*d get fed up and bored and resentful."
He smiled faintly, perhaps at this effort to explain him to himself.
"My dear, I don't think we've got this thing quite straight between us," he said. "To begin with, this is not a romantic, till-death-do-us-part kind of proposal. I am suggesting that I should marry because it seems that only as your husband can I look after you in the way I want—and, mdeed, intend—to do. Later on, when you're quite all right again, or when there is some life of your own that you want to follow, we can arrange a quiet divorce. If you want me to say so categorically, neither the marriage nor the divorce
need be anything more than a matter of form. They simply constitute a means by which I can provide for you during your temporary need, without your losing your reputation m the process. Is that quite clear?**
Thea nodded, with her eyes very large and serious and dark blue.
"If there is any permanent injury to your hand, no doubt there will be some sort of compensation paid to you when the case is settled,'* he went on, as though he thought business details might somehow give an air of reasonableness to an otherwise fantastic arrangement. *'That will probably help you to make a start in whatever else you decide you want to do. And in addition, of course, I should be able to give you any financial assistance I liked, in the character of husband or ex-husband or whatever you like to call it. No one could see anything wrong in that. **
"No.**
The monosyllabic reply seemed such a small comment on all he had said, and the silence that followed it was so long, that at last he prompted her.
"Well, Thea?** He spoke rather gently. "What do you think?**
"I think,** she said slowly, with a very small and rueful smile, "that you must be bitterly regretting ever having come to the station to meet me that day. **
For a moment he looked completely taken aback by her answer. Then he laughed—so heartily that it relieved the tension that had existed before. Andf suddenly he leaned forward and very gently framed her pale little face in his hands.
"Listen, sweetheart—I don't regret it in the least. Will you marry me?'*
"Oh, Lin—*' Her mouth quivered suddenly, and she put her injured arm around his neck and kissed him. "You are so kind—so ridiculously, incredibly kind. Do you really want me to say yes to this extraordinary proposal?'*
"I do. In fact, I absolutely refuse to take no."
"Then in that case it's no good my saying it, is it?" She smiled at him. "I'll marry you, Lin, on the strict understanding that—"
"—When you wish to get away you have only to say so."
"Yes, all right. But what I was going to say was that you,
too, are free to end the arrangement whenever it suits you. It's not—not binding on you in any way that a real marriage would be. It's simply an arrangement to cover your fantastic generosity to me, and if there were any other way—" She stopped suddenly and looked at him. *'Oh, Lin, there is."
The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell Page 52