Gone Away

by Marjorie Moore

  “I know.” Maimie grimaced. “I think it’s disgusting to be up already, but your early visit has put me all wrong for the day. I just couldn’t keep in bed any longer, and I thought it might be a good opportunity if you’d help me tackle that chest while it’s still comparatively cool.”

  Patricia gathered up her writing materials. “You do seem energetic, and I’m not going to deter you! I’m quite game. I can finish this letter to Dad any time.”

  “Good.” Maimie slithered down from her seat on the desk. “I expect that chest will be in an awful mess. Seymour says it’s full of bills and paper, and admits he hasn’t touched it for years.”

  Patricia deposited her things in her bedroom, then followed Maimie into a small room which she had heard Seymour call his office.

  Her eyes strayed to a small bookshelf packed tightly with reference books, fiction, and catalogues all muddled in hopeless confusion. Scarcely aware of speaking, she found herself giving voice to her thoughts. “Goodness, this place is in a muddle. Don’t you think we might have a go at everything while we’re about it?”

  Maimie too glanced round the room. “I couldn’t tackle it; you know how I hate tidying up. It’s bad enough at home., but here it makes me feel hot even to think of anything approaching work. I wouldn’t do this only I must have somewhere to keep my things; the cupboard in my room is absolutely full and I haven’t unpacked everything yet. I suppose Seymour expects to share my room when we’re married, but one thing’s certain: he won’t be able to. I haven’t space enough as it is.”

  “When I’ve gone it will probably be better to make my room into a dressing room for Seymour; he can keep his things there,” Patricia suggested.

  Maimie shook her head. “It isn’t worth while making changes. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my days in this hopeless bungalow. As soon as we’re married I’m going to persuade Seymour to move. He can’t expect a girl to be satisfied with the primitive arrangements here,” she protested.

  “Maimie.” Patricia hesitated, uncertain of how much she dared to say. “You do love Seymour, don’t you? At least, you haven’t changed your mind, you don’t feel any differently about him ... in spite of ... well, in spite of everything?” she ended lamely.

  “Of course you mean Claud! Now own up, Pat, you do, don’t you?” Maimie insisted. “Yes, in spite of Claud I still intend to marry Seymour. I told you Claud was only an episode; he goes back home next month and won’t be out for another year. I shall be an old married woman by the time we meet again.” She laughed softly. “No more running around with Claud then; I shall have to behave with the circumspection demanded of a married woman.” Her tones became less mocking, and a tiny frown puckered the smooth surface of her brow. “I might have fallen badly for Claud, but I’ve known, because he has made it clear from the beginning, that he’s not the marrying sort. He’s never felt he could stick to any girl for long, and knowing that isn’t conducive to real lovemaking. We understand one another and we both realize that, with Claud’s temperament, nothing will last.” Maimie paused, and Patricia was surprised at the unusual seriousness of her tone. “I believe I could have cared for Claud—yes, even more than for Seymour. He’s so much livelier, and, like me, a bit irresponsible; we’d have matched splendidly. Sometimes I’ve wondered if he didn’t care for me more than he likes to admit, but I’m afraid not. Claud is a complete philanderer. Even I ... well, I think it’s too late to change him.” She turned toward the chest and, removing the top drawer, placed it on the floor and seated herself cross-legged beside it. “We’d better get on with this or Seymour will be back before we’ve finished,” she suggested, with a complete change of subject. “Now, Pat, don’t look so solemn! I’m quite happy. Seymour is a dear, and we’ll be very happy when we’re married I’m sure we shall.”

  “Of course you will.” Patricia was surprised how little enthusiasm she was able to instil into her words. “I can’t help feeling that you don’t love Seymour as whole-heartedly as I’d always imagined a girl should love the man she was about to marry, but do try to make him happy ... do try to care.” There was urgency in her voice. “He’s so sweet to you, and he deserves all you can give him.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll settle down all right. Even if I had changed my mind about Seymour, I’d have had to marry him; you realize that don’t you? I wouldn’t return home now. Imagine it!” She laughed but there was no merriment in her tone. “An ignominious return to Auntie and the awful life she’d lead me again. Nothing doing! No return to Auntie for me until I’m married and free from her wretched authority.”

  Patricia knelt on the floor and contemplated the untidy drawer awaiting their attention. “I think I understand,” she murmured then added in more natural tones, “Well, as you say, we’d better be getting busy. There certainly seems plenty to do,” she said indicating the piles of papers and documents which littered the whole space of the drawer.

  “I’ll get on with this; you’d better start another. Seymour say that any receipts or bills more than a year old can be thrown away all old letters or contracts. He only wants the more recent paper kept, and he’ll go through those himself,” Maimie explained beginning her task.

  Patricia reached up for another drawer and set it on the floe before her. With quick fingers she sorted through the miscellaneous collection of papers while the pile of discarded litter grew higher and higher.

  “Gosh! Isn’t it hot? She turned back to Patricia, who was still kneeling on the floor before a half-emptied drawer. “I can’t think how you always manage to look so cool.”

  “Cool? I’m just dripping.” Patricia passed a hand across her damp forehead. “It’s not only lucky we’re lightly clothed, but, you ask me, it’s jolly lucky we started this job in a cool part of the day.”

  ‘It wasn’t quite so breathless an hour ago, but the sun is fully up now and it looks appallingly hot out.” She opened the shutters and peered out of the window. “Sunshine is lovely, but I imagine I’ll get tired of this endless heat every day for months.”

  “And then rain for more endless days,” Patricia broke in with a laugh. “Anyway, you do know where you are in the tropics, which is more than one does at home.” She broke off and stared at a letter she removed from among a pile of other papers. What was it? Surely she was imagining things ... not seeing aright? With trembling fingers she took the letter from the drawer and stared again. No, she wasn’t wrong ... there, in clear black letters, was her own name! The address? She looked again. No, she didn’t seem to know it; it must all be a mistake ... someone else perhaps? Then, in a flash, she remembered. Of course, the address of the hotel she had stayed in London. In pencilled letters across the corner were those words, so frequently seen, yet surely never of such importance: “Gone away”! Patricia caught her breath; for a moment she felt dazed and uncertain, as if, in that moment, she had gone back and those intervening months had never been. She was conscious of Maimie’s movements as she turned away from the window and crossed the room to rejoin her. With an action utterly beyond her control, Patricia thrust the letter in her dressing gown pocket. Then, afraid to meet Maimie’s eyes, she bent again to her task.

  Patricia was infinitely grateful for Maimie’s silence as they continued with their work. Her mind was far away, and she longed for solitude in which to collect her chaotic thoughts. The letter in her pocket appeared to have assumed enormous proportions; it was as if it must be visible to anyone. What would Maimie think if she knew?

  Patricia heaved a sigh of relief when she realized that their task was complete and she was at liberty to return to her own room, to seek the seclusion she craved, to read the contents of that letter.

  “Any more rubbish?” Maimie regarded the pile of discarded papers. “Well, we’ve made a good clearance. I’ll send the boy along and tell him to make a bonfire.”

  Patricia picked up a few stray papers and added them to the heap; her hand wandered to her pocket and fingered the crackling envelope it containe
d. Should she add it to the pile? She could easily slip it in; Maimie would never see. Perhaps that was the best place for old letters, even if they had never been read? Something held her back; it was as if her fingers refused to obey her commands. She couldn’t consign her letter to that heap, even if she never read it; she preferred to burn it in the privacy of her own room.

  “A good morning’s work, don’t you think so?” Maimie viewed the emptied chest with gratification. “That’ll hold heaps of things. I’ll put my own stuff there later.” She slipped her arm through Patricia’s. “Now for a nice cool bath and change.” She stopped and glanced inquisitively at her friend. “You seem very quiet all of a sudden. Has your headache come back?”

  “Just a bit.” Patricia was grateful for the ready-made excuse. She opened her bedroom door. “I’ll be all right when I’ve cooled off. So long; see you later.” She closed her door and, scarcely aware of her action, turned the key. For a moment she stood irresolute, then sank down gratefully into the armchair. Alone at last! Now she must make up her mind and destroy the letter without further thought. She took it from her pocket and stared again at the inscription. The flap, she noticed, was open, but of course the post office would have done that in order to find the address of the sender. This, then, must be the letter to which Seymour had referred. Strange that he hadn’t destroyed it, although it was pretty obvious that he had entirely forgotten its existence when he had allowed them to clear his papers.

  Patricia twisted the envelope in her fingers. She’d better get a match and burn it at once, yet, even as she came to that decision, she hesitated. Why shouldn’t she read it? It was addressed to her, and probably entirely unimportant. She couldn’t bear the doubt any longer.

  With a deliberate gesture Patricia withdrew the sheet of paper from its envelope and smoothed out the folds. Even then she paused, but only for a moment; then, lifting the paper, she commenced to read. At first she read slowly, but then, as if anxious to know the full contents, scanned through to the end. She still appeared to have failed completely to grasp the meaning of the written words. An overpowering sensation of unreality assailed her as she tried to realize their true sense. “The pain I caused you.” Yes, that was true enough ... but those other lines, what did they mean?

  “Pat darling, forgive me! I can’t get the memory of last night and the pain I caused you out of my mind. I meant to go slowly ... awaken you gradually to my love, explain to you that I wasn’t really engaged. Fate must have been holding me back from any other girl, knowing, as I never knew until two days ago, that there was such a person as you in the world. Darling, do you feel that way too? I shall not phone tomorrow as we arranged, but I’m going to call ... for your answer. I return to the East next month. Will you come with me as my wife? Pat, my precious little stranger, stranger no longer, I can scarcely bear to wait until tomorrow.”

  The paper fluttered from Patricia’s hand and lay unheeded on the floor. There was no longer any doubt in her mind as to the meaning of those words, no longer any misunderstanding. She rested her head on her hands and stared unseeingly before her. Why, oh why had he led her to believe that he was engaged? Patricia closed her eyes, and the heavy fringe of lashes resting on her cheeks was wet with tears. He had managed to forget—men did forget. She hadn’t, and she knew that her efforts of the past days were wasted; it was useless trying to persuade herself that Seymour should no longer fill her mind. He still did, and since the perusal of that letter she realized only too well that a position that was already difficult would now be well-nigh unbearable. She prayed for Maimie’s marriage to be an accomplished fact so that she might hasten to the sanctuary offered to her by Kitty Wane.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Well, how does it look?” Maimie twisted around before her mirror in which the shimmering fold of her wedding dress were reflected.

  Patricia looked up from her crouched position on the floor, where she was busily adjusting the delicate festoons of net that billowed out from Maimie’s headdress and fell to the ground at her feet.

  “It’s lovely. You look simply beautiful!” Patricia sat back on her heels and looked at the glowing figure before her. In her opinion there was no doubt that Maimie exemplified the true fairy tale bride of fiction. The simple lines of satin moulded her slim figure, and the unrelieved white served to enhance her exquisite fairness.

  Maimie turned back anxiously to her reflection in the mirror. “I would have liked a proper train. Aunt Harriet thought it might be unsuitable in the tropics. I still think it would have been nicer, don’t you?” Maimie asked doubtfully.

  “Oh, no. I think your aunt was right; this tulle is almost like a train and looks much cooler. It’s all just perfect,” Patricia asserted sincerely.

  “This neck is too loose; it’s lucky I tried it on.” Maimie pulled impatiently at the soft folds of material draping her shoulders. “Do you think you could do anything to it?” she asked anxiously.

  “Of course, that’s easy.” Patricia stood up and patted the folds into place with deft fingers. “Look, it only wants a stitch. I expect it’s got crushed, being in the box so long. I can soon put that right.”

  Maimie gave a grateful sigh. “Thank goodness! I know I couldn’t do it. You are an angel, Pat. I can’t sew at all. Are you sure it fits everywhere else?” she asked, putting her head critically to one side.

  “Yes,” Patricia assured her through a mouth full of pins; she carefully arranged the folds of material into their rightful position. She stood back after a moment to view her handiwork. “Look, that’s much better, isn’t it?”

  “That’s fine! Heaps better,” Maimie agreed. She pirouetted again, smiling happily. “Pat, darling, think of it, in a week’s time I shall be walking up the aisle! I just can’t believe it. I’ll be Seymour’s wife, and entirely free from restraint for the rest of my life. Really free from Auntie’s perpetual nagging. Oh, Pat, isn’t it wonderful to think of?” she said as she slipped out of the satin sheath of her frock.

  “Yes, it must be.” Patricia picked up the folds of Maimie’s dress and laid the delicate garment carefully across the bed. There was a dull, persistent ache at her heart, and Maimie’s words, so carelessly spoken and so painfully true, jarred every nerve in her body. She couldn’t delude herself any longer into believing that Maimie’s sentiments toward marriage were those of a girl deeply in love. Maimie had practically admitted that and even now, only a week before the wedding, her thoughts were almost entirely directed toward the independence she was gaining. Patricia bent low over the dress as it lay on the bed and smoothed out an imaginary crease; for a moment she didn’t dare turn round. Until she had regained her composure, she feared that her expression might give her away. There was no jealousy in her heart. Since she had read Kay’s letter to her so long after it had been due, she no longer attempted to deny her love for the writer. It was easy enough to renounce her own happiness with resignation, but any doubts about the future of the man she would always love caused her such anguish that she felt her heart would break.

  “What are you doing?” Maimie’s words brought Patricia back to the present. She made an effort to control her features and, forcing a smile, turned again toward her companion.

  “Your dress is so lovely, I couldn’t tear myself away.” She paused, listening. “Wasn’t that the phone?”

  “Yes ... You answer.”

  “I wonder who it can be?” Patricia called back as she hurried into the adjoining room to answer the telephone.

  She picked up the receiver and took the message. “Maimie!” Patricia called. It’s Seymour. He wants to speak to you.”

  While Maimie pulled on a wrap and hurried to the instrument, Patricia returned to the bedroom. It was strange how the mere timbre of Seymour’s voice affected her, while his proximity set her heart beating until she felt she must suffocate.

  “Seymour’s phoned to say he can’t get home tonight.” Maimie’s voice was querulous. “It’s ridiculous. He’s gone out
to that rubber estate up in the hills; he says heavy rains have flooded the roads and he doubts if he’ll get back before morning. He is worried to death about leaving us alone in the bungalow all night. As if that mattered,” she exclaimed with disgust. “I wanted to see that new picture in Singapore. It’s only on this week, and except for tonight we’re booked up every moment until our wedding. It’s absurd to be stuck in all the evening.”

  “I don’t suppose Seymour can help it,” Patricia suggested mildly. “After all, he can’t want to be held up there all night. I believe it’s a godforsaken spot. He was telling me about it this morning.” She slipped her arm through Maimie’s. “Let’s have a quiet evening at home. I’m sure an early night will do us both good; you’ve not been to bed until the early hours almost every night since we arrived.”

  Maimie allowed her friend to lead her to the armchair. “I can’t bear the idea of sitting in this dismal bungalow all evening,” she insisted, leaning against the cushioned back of the chair. “It’s so irritating.” For a moment she paused, as if making a decision. Then, sitting forward, she addressed Patricia again. “I’ll ring Claud. I’m sure he’ll take me. You won’t mind being here alone, will you? We’ll be back quite early.” She jumped up from the chair, and before Patricia could restrain her, Maimie had hurried out of the room to the telephone. Patricia watched her with mixed feelings. Of course she didn’t mind being left—she had been quite truthful in affirming that an early night would be an enjoyable change—but in her heart she prayed that Claud would be busy.

  “He’s calling for me at eight.” Maimie’s voice was almost triumphant as she skipped joyously back into the lounge. “It’s much better than sitting at home. You don’t mind, do you?” she queried again. “I’m sure Seymour wouldn’t object; he can’t want me to sit at home doing nothing if I’ve a chance to go out and enjoy myself.”