Caroline Ventnor was Ariane’s own special friend. And, as she sat with her parents in the cosy intimacy of the big car, Ariane gazed out at the first snowflakes of the season and thought:
“Anyway, everything will seem much more ordinary and safe when I have Caroline to talk to.”
She smiled at the thought, and at that her father leant forward and patted her arm.
“Going to enjoy yourself, Ariane?”
“Oh yes, Daddy.” Ariane turned her head to smile brilliantly at him. And then, all at once, a lump came into her throat, because suddenly it seemed that her father was no longer a refuge and an infallible parent. He had become a dear but very heavy responsibility.
It was a disturbing thought, and it was enough to keep her very serious during the rest of the short drive.
There were already a good many people there, and Ariane found herself the centre of greetings and requests for dances at once. It was difficult to see if any stranger were there yet, and as Ariane danced away with one of the comfortably familiar young men she had known all her life, she could not suppress the cowardly hope that perhaps the crisis might be postponed by the non-appearance of the Muldane person.
“In any case,” she reminded herself rather sharply, “he mayn’t take the slightest bit of notice of you.”
But the unhappy fact was that it would be her business to see that he did. And there was something so sordid and scheming in that, something so utterly different from any thought that had ever been hers, that Ariane hated herself for a moment.
It was about an hour later that she slipped upstairs to see that the famous white dress and the picturesque hair-dressing were both still looking as they should. And after a very reassuring glimpse of herself in the mirror, she was on her way down again, when, half-way down the stairs, she stopped abruptly.
In the hall below—almost immediately beneath her as she leaned slightly over the banisters—were Dick Ventnor and, unmistakably, The Muldane.
Strangers were too much of a novelty in their rather restricted set for there to be any doubt about it, although the description given to her mother of “quite a nice boy” was entirely wrong, she decided at a glance. To begin with, he was certainly not a boy, and, equally certainly, “nice” was not the adjective for him.
Good-looking he decidedly was, in a dark, uncompromising, rather haughty way. More than usually tall, very erect, and with his head set on his broad shoulders in a way that suggested an almost unconscious arrogance.
There was a very slight, dry smile about his too-firm mouth as he listened to the protest that Dick was making.
“You can’t want to spend the whole evening glued to a bridge table. Besides, you’re upsetting all the old biddies by outclassing them at the first hand. Come along and dance.”
“I don’t much care for dancing.” His voice was deep and as uncompromising as his looks, but somehow extraordinarily pleasant.
“But you simply must come and meet some of the others. We’ve got some darned pretty girls in this town, you know.” Dick, who fell in love with a different one every week, was obviously very much in earnest.
“Thanks. But the girls in a cliquey town like this are always the same.”
“Are they?” thought Ariane indignantly. “Are they, indeed? I hope Dick puts you in your place.”
But unfortunately Dick was young enough to fall into the trap of asking the leading question:
“What do you mean by that exactly?”
“Oh, trotted out by anxious mammas to find a husband just a shade more quickly than all the other girls. One yellow-haired little darling, got up to look like the Dying Swan, was arriving about the same time as I was. I know the kind a mile away.”
Until that moment Ariane had really been trying to reserve judgment coolly, but at this outrageous description of herself, fury suddenly blotted out any thoughts of policy.
She leaned from the banisters and addressed the two below.
“And it may interest you to know,” she remarked sweetly, “that another type clearly recognizable a mile away is the pompous, conceited ass.”
Both men glanced up quickly, and for a moment she saw amusement struggle with annoyance in the dark eyes which looked back at her. Then, before either of them could say a word, Ariane swept down the rest of the stairs, across the hall and into the ballroom, her cheeks scarlet and her head held high.
Well, that was that!
She had never been quite so rude to anyone in her life before, yet, in some inexplicable way, she had half enjoyed it.
But there was another side to it too, of course, she remembered the next moment. Any hopes poor darling Mother had cherished about the significance of this evening were utterly and irretrievably ruined.
It couldn’t be helped. Anyone would have done the same, Ariane assured herself. But, as a matter of fact, reaction was beginning to set in, and she could not disguise from herself that there were undoubtedly other, and more dignified, ways in which she might have dealt with the situation.
Instead of helping towards a better understanding with the Muldanes, she had most definitely made the position worse.
“Enjoying yourself, darling?” Her mother paused for a moment beside her, to smile at her affectionately. But behind that smile, Ariane saw quite clearly now, there was an anxious shadow that never entirely left her eyes.
“Yes—very much, thank you, Mother,” Ariane said hastily.
But that was not at all true, for the sense of guilty remorse which overwhelmed her was very heavy. If only she could have put the clock back and reconstructed that scene on different lines! But it was too late now.
It was difficult, after that, to make carefree conversation with her partners, and only by a real effort of will did she continue to look happy and untroubled.
“I’ll be quite glad when it’s over,” Ariane thought. And at that moment Lady Ventnor came up to her and said:
“Come over and be introduced to Mr. Muldane, my dear. He would like to meet you.”
If it had been humanly possible to say a flat “no” to anything suggested by Lady Ventnor, Ariane would have said it then. But it was not at all possible. All she could do was to follow the erect figure of her hostess in wordless horror, quite unable to raise her eyes from the ground.
“Mr. Frank Muldane, Ariane. Mr. Muldane, this is Miss Dobson.”
The stereotyped words sounded almost sinister to Ariane at that moment, but it was no good shirking the issue any longer. With slightly heightened colour, she raised her eyes—to find a complete stranger bowing in front of her.
The first astonishment and relief were so overpowering that Ariane almost staggered.
The disagreeable creature in the hall was not Frank Muldane then! On the contrary, this unassuming, nice-looking young man was. It was like a social miracle. She had been dramatically presented with a second chance.
Ariane tried to collect her thoughts.
He was saying something about her dancing this dance with him. In rather a subdued little voice, she agreed. He put his arm round her, they slid into the stream of dancers, and they had gone at least half-way round the room before she had collected her thoughts sufficiently to look at him again.
Frank Muldane too was dark—but very differently so. There was nothing of the slightly gloomy, dark-toned arrogance of the man in the hall. His smooth black hair and unexpectedly long-lashed grey eyes, his clear-cut features and strong, admirably even teeth, all went to make a picture that was reassuring rather than overwhelming. And Ariane drew a deeper sigh of relief than she realized.
“Well?”
She became aware of the fact that he was looking down at her with an expression of amused admiration.
“I beg your pardon.” Ariane coloured slightly.
“Do I pass the inspection satisfactorily?” he wanted to know, a little teasingly.
Ariane’s flush deepened.
“I’m terribly sorry. I was staring rather, wasn’t I? You must ple
ase forgive me. I’m not usually so bad-mannered.”
“It wasn’t bad manners,” Frank Muldane assured her with a smile. “It was an effort to size up an awkward situation, I think.”
Ariane was slightly taken aback.
“I wonder what you mean by that, exactly?”
“Well, I suppose your father’s daughter and my father’s son couldn’t expect to be entirely at ease on a first meeting,” he said, with a frankness that was engaging.
Ariane considered that.
“I suppose you’re right,” she admitted.
“Only I hope—”
“Yes, so do I.”
She laughed a little at the interruption.
“What do you hope?” she wanted to know.
“The same as you.”
“You’re fencing,” Ariane accused him. “Anyway, I was only going to say that I hoped the—the constraint wouldn’t last.”
“And I was hoping the same thing,” he assured her shamelessly. “Except that I went further, and hoped it wouldn’t interrupt a very delightful friendship.”
“You can’t interrupt something until it has begun,” Ariane pointed out gravely.
“That’s a direct challenge,” he told her. “But I accept it. The friendship has begun.”
“Oh, but—”
“Do you want to dance any more?” he interrupted firmly. “Or shall we go somewhere where we can talk, and I can convince you that we are friends already?”
“As you like,” Ariane said with a laugh, and together they crossed the hall from the crowded ballroom to one of the smaller rooms beyond.
“Look, won’t you sit down here, and I’ll get you something to drink.” He arranged some cushions for her in the corner of a deep settee, and seemed very genuinely concerned about her comfort.
“Thank you. That’s nice.”
She smiled at him with sudden warmth. Not so much because he was Frank Muldane, but because the man she had seen with Dick Ventnor was not.
“I won’t be three minutes,” he promised.
And, indeed, he was very little more. But, even so, Ariane had time to lean back, close her eyes, and savour the delicious relief of the moment. The wretched incident with the man who didn’t matter had really only served to make her introduction to Frank Muldane a relief instead of an ordeal.
Perhaps it was just as well that it had happened!
“Here you are.” He was back again beside her. “I hope you like queer mixtures, because I just grabbed one of everything in sight, flanked it with two glasses of champagne, and brought the lot along.”
Ariane sat up with a smile as he brought over a small table, set down his oddly assorted selection of food, and then seated himself opposite her, to look at her with a good deal of satisfaction.
“It looks interesting, anyway,” she said, surveying the meal.
“It is,” he assured her. “Everything is interesting tonight.”
“Meaning—”She looked very faintly aloof for a moment.
“Meaning exactly what I say.” He smiled at her with such open admiration that it slightly confused her. Perhaps that was what made her speak more dryly than she should have.
“I believe your family is noted for its speedy methods, Mr. Muldane.”
“And yours for its elegance and beauty, Miss Dobson. I recognize both in you tonight, and you mustn’t be cross with me for doing so.”
He spoke so gently that she was disarmed at once.
“I’m sorry—” She looked up quickly and flushed. “I was being-catty, I think.”
“Were you?” he said. “I thought you were sweet.”
She didn’t know quite what to say to that, because the boyish, bantering note had gone out of his voice, and to have him say such a thing with that serious sweetness on half an hour’s acquaintance was somehow very sobering.
It was extraordinary, she thought, but, almost of itself, the conversation was moving along the lines she had shamefacedly laid down as “good policy” when she had thought over poor Mother’s unhappy suggestion.
“You’re very serious. Don’t you like me to speak so frankly?” He was looking at her with that very disarming smile again.
“I—” Ariane stopped.
“I know. I’m really being rather impossible,” he suggested. “We have that reputation as a family too, you know. Besides the bit about the speed of our methods, I mean.” And he coloured a little, although he laughed.
“Oh no,” Ariane began. Then she remembered just how Mother really regarded them. How, indeed, she herself had regarded them until now.
“I think perhaps that ‘impossible’ is a silly word to apply to anyone,” she said slowly. “I must prefer my little sister’s outlook. She’s always saying that anything is possible, and I suppose, on that assumption, that anyone is possible too.”
They both laughed and he said:
“Is your sister really little?”
“Well—twelve.”
“How jolly for you.”
“Do you think so?” Ariane smiled. “So do I. Julie’s a pet and very amusing.”
“We haven’t any girls in our family, you know,” he told her. “Just three boys. It’s very dull.”
“Is it? I suppose some people would say ‘just two girls’ was very dull too,” Ariane said thoughtfully.
“Oh no, that’s different.” Frank spoke so positively that Ariane laughed and didn’t dispute the point.
“I like him,” she thought. And the feeling had nothing to do with the desirability—almost the necessity—of liking him. It was spontaneous and absolutely sincere.
“But you didn’t tell me why you were looking so serious,” he reminded her at that moment.
“Oh—must I?” Ariane smiled slightly then.
“No, of course not, but I hope you will, all the same.”
And suddenly she longed for a little wholesome frankness, for an escape from this most unfamiliar feeling of hedging and deceit.
“Well then, I will tell you.” She coloured slightly. “I knew you were coming tonight, and all about the difficulty of—of my being Daddy’s daughter and your being your father’s son, as you put it. And I thought—I thought it might be good policy if I made it my business to get on with you, instead of prolonging a business feud.”
Ariane hesitated. She was not sure that this garbled version of the truth made her feel any less conscience-stricken after all. But his “Yes?” was very gentle and encouraging.
And then she drew a deep sigh. “Then you turned out to be so nice that I found myself getting on with you, anyway, and I was wishing I hadn’t had that mean idea first about doing it because it was good policy.”
“My dear, how sweetly generous and frank of you!” he exclaimed. And she saw that he was quite deeply moved.
“Anyway, I’m glad I’ve told you,” Ariane said with a quick sigh. And the sigh was just a little because the really important part of the scheming, of course, could never be confessed. In fact, even then she had to force herself to remember it, and to say as casually as possible:
“Won’t you come and meet my mother now? She is here tonight and I should like you to know her.”
It was extraordinary how his expression changed from a carefree smile to a quick look of restraint and withdrawal. But, oddly enough, it touched her much more than it annoyed her, and she rather wanted to pat his arm reassuringly when he said a little sulkily:
“I don’t expect she would want to meet me.”
“Certainly she would.” Ariane spoke with determination. “She always likes to know my friends.”
“I say, that’s charming of you.” The slight sulkiness gave way to sudden amusement. “Then I have proved my case about our friendship, haven’t I?”
“Oh Ariane looked slightly taken aback. Then she laughed and held out her hand. “I think I must concede you that.”
He took her hand with sudden seriousness.
“Thank you. I’ll value it, you know. And now le
t’s go and find your mother.”
As they went out of the room, Ariane thought, with a little unwonted grimness:
“It’s quite true, of course. Mother will be very glad to meet him—in the circumstances.”
Not that anything in Mrs. Dobson’s manner gave the faintest hint that this introduction was pathetically significant to her. Frank Muldane was apparently just one of Ariane’s nice young men friends, and, as such, was entitled to Mrs. Dobson’s courteous approval.
And Frank’s engaging eagerness to please and his deferential manner were, Ariane could see, making a genuinely good impression on her mother. She ought to have felt pleased and relieved that things were starting so well, of course. But she felt nothing of the sort. Instead, she was telling herself bitterly:
“I’m a cheap little sham. A scheming, husband-hunting little fraud. Oh, how I hate myself.”
She turned away with a sudden lump in her throat.
And as she did so, she met the cool gaze of the man who had been talking to Dick in the hall. His stare of amused, scornful interest was like a blow in the face. She knew, as though he had said it aloud, that he was thinking:
“So that’s the poor fish who is being led up for mamma’s inspection.”
And it was true!
That was the humiliating, searing thought. It was true.
“Is something the matter?” Frank bent his head to smile at her a little anxiously. “You’re looking almost grim.”
She wished she could have answered lightly and banteringly, but she couldn’t. Instead, she said:
“Do you see that tall, dark man who has just come in with Dick Ventnor?—the one standing by the door.”
“Yes. What about him?” Frank looked puzzled and slightly amused.
“Well, that’s why I’m looking grim,” Ariane said with a most unusual little spurt of temper. “He’s the most ill-mannered, conceited, insufferable person you can possibly imagine.”
But Not For Me Page 2