by Averil Ives
“Whoever heard of a bride without any flowers?” Miss Menzies had wanted to know, as she fastened the spray to the front of Felicity’s suit with her be-ringed fingers—they were literally encrusted with rings because a wedding was to take place. She wore a mauve silk dress, and a hat with many swathings of mauve chiffon and an outside bunch of deeply purple grapes. When she went downstairs into the hall, with Felicity following behind, her brother blinked at her a little and said he wasn’t sure which was the bride, and he didn’t want to give away the wrong woman.
Then, as Felicity stood, looking slender and self-conscious, at the foot of the lovely carved oak staircase, James Menzies went up to her and took her hand and patted it—she wondered whether he noticed that it was cold as ice although it was such a beautifully warm Caribbean morning—and smiled at her. It was a warm smile, a heartening smile, and she wondered how much he suspected, and whether in his heart he was pitying her. Anyone who listened to Cassandra would no doubt want to pity her.
“When this is all over I get the usual reward of the fellow who gives the bride away, don’t I?” he asked. He touched her smooth cheek, gently, with his fingers. “You look enchanting, my dear,” he whispered, “and if I were only twenty years younger I’d snatch that kiss here and now!...”
Then he took her hand and drew it through his arm, and led her into the big main lounge, where Florence and Moses had wrought a transformation with masses of flowers that they, too, had got out of the gardener.
Usually the room looked lovely, but today it looked like a bower. There were waxen blooms that gave forth a heavy, almost an overpowering perfume, slender sprays of exquisite pink and yellow and some roses that appeared to be dripping blood—or fire—on to the satiny surface of a side table. A more solid table had a bowl of white roses on it, and behind this the little grey-clad missionary already sat. He leapt up and warmly grasped the hand of the girl he was to turn into a wife.
Her fuchsia-pink velvet ribbons streamed behind her on to her slim shoulders, and her dark curls bobbed beneath the little white hat. Her eyes looked rather more tawny than dark—a little like the sherry that waited in crystal decanters on an enormous silver tray—and only her hands remained cold as ice as her bridegroom came to stand beside her.
He was wearing a white silk suit, and the tie of a well-known English public school. She had not known before that he had attended an English school—but, then, she knew hardly anything at all about him. Her lack of knowledge of him appalled her as she stood there at his side, and she could feel rather than see his eyes resting on her.
At least they would be deep blue, like the gentians that grew, she understood, near the summit of a mountain and never at its feet. This morning they might be a little darker than usual, because he would probably be thinking all sorts of secret thoughts that would affect their color, but she hadn’t the courage to find out. She simply dared not lift her own eyes and look into them, and it was not until he took her hand, that instinctively her feathery eyelashes fluttered upwards, and her eyes met his.
Something fluttered in her throat, and she held her breath. Paul’s eyes were smiling into hers in a way she had never imagined, although when she looked again it had gone. It was just as if the sunlight had gone in over the sea and left it dark, and while the darkness remained Paul slipped the ring that fitted so beautifully on to her finger. Then the missionary congratulated them, because they were man and wife.
Mr. and Mrs. Paul Halloran!
Miss Menzies simply swooped on Felicity and kissed her on both cheeks, and James Ferguson Menzies seized the opportunity to salute her just as thoroughly. Cassandra seemed to hold back for a moment, and then pressed the coolest of lips to Felicity's, by this time, slightly flushed cheek. Mervyn Manners grasped her hand and held it so strongly for a moment that he actually hurt. His eyes said things to her that she understood perfectly, although the others would not have done so. He was trying to impress upon her the need to forget what he had said to her the night before, and to go forward now as if a new page had been turned, and to see to it that the writing on that page was legible only to herself. The sort of writing she would enjoy reading one day.
But Felicity thought wistfully that only Fate covered the pages of each individual’s existence. There was little she could do about even a fresh, new page.
Harry Whitelaw also gripped her hand, and wished her all the happiness in the world. It was his own suggestion that she should move into a bungalow on the estate for the next few weeks, and although Felicity had not expected Paul to agree to this—she could hardly see the necessity for it herself—he had done so.
Harry had a glass of champagne, and then departed to get on with his usual daily tasks. The others had a kind of light buffet meal, and then took their departure also. Paul and Felicity watched them go, standing side by side on the veranda while they piled into Mr. Menzies’s new car, and a few items of luggage that hadn’t already been sent round to the other side of the island were stowed away in the boot.
Michael and Moses saw to the disposition of the luggage, and Miss Menzies sat beside her brother at the wheel. Cassandra reclined languidly on the back seat with Mervyn.
Cassandra was wearing a new suit of Devonshire-cream colored silk, and a wide, shady hat. She looked more like a bride about to set off on a honeymoon than Felicity, with her small white hat discarded, and the gardenias pinned to the lapel of her linen jacket beginning to wilt a little in the heat.
Cassandra for some reason had helped herself to the scarlet roses in the big bowl in the lounge, and they were lying in her lap as they drove off. She sent a most peculiar smile upwards at Felicity as the car began to move, and the same smile swivelled round to Paul’s face, accompanied by a slight wave of the hand.
Miss Menzies’s purple grapes dipped and plunged dizzily on the side of her hat as she waved her hand more vigorously.
“Don’t forget, child,” she had called out to Felicity when she was settled in her seat, “we won’t be very far away if you need us! You mustn’t hesitate to let us know if anything goes wrong.”
“Are you expecting something to go wrong?” Paul asked quietly, as he watched the car glide away from the front of his house. “And do you anticipate requiring some assistance from Miss Menzies before very long?”
“Of course not,” Felicity answered, but her voice was a mere thread of sound, as if the events of the morning had used up all her strength. She was conscious of a panic-stricken desire to run down the steps of the veranda and plunge rather desperately after the departing car that contained at least two real friends, and one well-wisher—as she knew Mervyn Manners was. Even Cassandra was a link with a safe and sure past that she would have liked to clutch hold of just then.
The panic rose in a wave and threatened to envelop her. She was conscious of a kind of cold horror because she had done something that couldn’t be undone, and she was left here with a stranger who had become her husband. He was a handsome, blue-eyed stranger with set lips, and there was no longer any of that strange magnetism flowing between them that had caused her to rush to help him in the first few minutes of their meeting. Although he was her husband he hadn’t kissed her yet, not even for appearances on the side of her cheek after they were pronounced man and wife.
Then she remembered that she had said she didn’t wish him to kiss her.
“If I here you, I’d go up to my room and have a rest,” he said, as soon as there was no longer even any sound of the car.
“Yes, I—I think I will,” she answered, stumbling a little as she turned to move back into the house.
Her husband’s house ... Her own home now! Her only home...
He caught at her elbow and steadied her.
“Those heels of yours are ridiculously high,” he remarked coolly, glancing down at them. “I’ve never understood why women like to walk about on stilt-like heels.”
“No?” she said. She felt she could only talk in monosyllables.
Br
uno appeared, looking rather absurd with a huge satin bow attached to his collar. It had been fixed by Miss Menzies, after she had raked through all her things for a length of ribbon impressive enough for the purpose. Paul bent and removed it, and patted Bruno’s magnificent neck as if in apology.
“Miss Menzies means well,” he said, “but she is not a very astute woman. In fact, I would say she can be very stupid at times.”
Felicity felt actual tears prick the backs of her eyes.
“She is very kind,” was all she could say.
Paul glanced at her, and then at the disordered buffet, which Michael and Moses hadn’t yet started to clear away.
“Would you like something to drink before you go upstairs?” he asked. “I don’t think you touched your champagne.” Her glass was where she had left it, still practically full, standing beside a plate on which an untouched chicken sandwich also reposed. “Shall I ring for some tea, or something of that sort for you? I know you’re not very keen on false alcoholic stimulus!”
His tone was very dry, and although she would have loved some tea—in fact, it was the one thing that might have removed that frightening dryness from her throat, and given her back a little courage—she knew she couldn’t endure to sit and drink it, there, with him, just then.
“No, thank you, I—I think I’ll go straight upstairs,” she said.
He nodded as if he approved.
He called the dog out of her path as she made for the door, and although she and Bruno had become fast friends during the past three weeks, she was not surprised to see the animal meekly desert her side and go back to his master. After all, Paul was his master, and she was only a very new mistress. A blind man and his dog are very close—and it wasn’t so very long since Paul was blind!
But the fact that the dog deserted her so easily seemed to go through her heart like a knife. She had no real place in this house, and she never would have. She was alone ... Paul wasn’t alone because he had the dog, and his devoted Michael, and in any case he was where he belonged.
She was an intruder who had only know the place three weeks!
But as she went out at the door she had the distinct impression that her husband was helping himself to a stiff whisky and soda. It was most unusual for him to touch spirits in the middle of the day.
Florence was waiting for her in her room as if she had been expecting her. She helped her out of the linen suit and put her to bed between the cool sheets as if she had been a child. All the time her tongue ran away with her, like a relieved hen clucking over something that had been an active source of annoyance: about unexpected guests who arrived and turned the place into a shambles and then went away and left so much litter behind them that it was no easy task tidying up after them.
“That Miss Wood,” Florence kept repeating, “that Miss Wood is one I do not wish to see again—ever! I said to Moses, ‘What if the Master had married her!’ ” and her eyes rolled in a horrifying fashion. “What if he had married her!’ ”
Felicity couldn’t help smiling a little.
“Would you have minded so much?”
Florence stood with her arms akimbo.
“Florence do this, Florence do that!...” she mimicked, copying Cassandra’s high, thin voice very cleverly. “Would anyone wish for such a mistress? But you,” and she put the wilting gardenias into a vase of water, adding an aspirin to help them revive, “you are the sort of little Missus that will be good for Mr. Halloran. Mr. Halloran very generous to Moses and me.” She explained that they had been given a fresh suite of rooms over the garage, where apparently they could be very comfortable. “Mr. Halloran also want to know whether you’d like to move into the big bedroom?” And she looked at Felicity as if attempting to read her mind with her huge, lamp-like eyes.
Felicity stared down at the gardenias.
“No, thank you, Florence. I think I’d rather remain where I am,” she said.
Florence nodded as if comprehending.
“When Master takes you away—perhaps for a little honeymoon later on?” And her white teeth gleamed—“Moses and me redecorate big bedroom, and when you come back you find big surprise! Everywhere all clean and nice, and perhaps new curtains and things. Just now curtains and carpet not very nice, and Mr. Halloran will buy new ones. You speak to Mr. Halloran about buying new curtains and carpet?” The anxiety on her face convinced Felicity that she wouldn’t be happy until she had seen the big bedroom completely equipped. But as for herself it was like a reprieve to know that, according to Florence’s views, it wasn’t really fit for habitation by a bride.
“We’ll see,” she said.
Florence beamed.
“You ask Mr. Halloran, and Mr. Halloran say yes. Not possible he say anything but yes, huh?” And this time her eyes danced.
Felicity fell asleep as soon as Florence had left the room, and it was only when she woke up that she realized that that was probably because she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. But she could hardly say she felt refreshed. She felt as if there was a load laid on her spirits.
After a shower she felt more like herself. By the time she had slipped into her pale mauve evening-dress, and discovered that a couple of the gardenias had revived marvellously and that she could wear them tucked into the front of her dress, she even began to experience a sensation like hope at her heart.
She was too young to feel utterly downcast and frightened for long, and too sensible to delude herself. She had married a man when he asked her to do so because she was in love with him ... She had known him for only three weeks, but she knew she would never love any other man, and whether he loved her or not—whether he would ever want her as a man wants a wife who is dear to him!—she had been granted the privilege of living near him, sharing his life, his interests, on an island that had enchanted her from the moment she set eyes on it.
What more could she want? What more could she reasonably ask, knowing all that she did know about the disaster that had come to the man she loved two years before? He had lost something precious to him—more precious even than his sight, which had since been restored to him!—and if her love was big enough, and genuine enough, she ought to be able to make it up to him, in some small degree, for all that he had lost. Surely she could school herself to be content with just a little...?”
She was ready and willing to be content with very little when she went down to dinner—her first dinner alone with her husband in her own house—but when she came face to face with Paul after being separated from him for several hours the realization struck home to her that the little she was to receive was to be infinitesimal. Even his voice was like a slap in the face, his distant manner a rebuff for something she hadn’t done. She bewilderedly asked herself what she had done to be treated like this on the very night of her wedding?
The dinner was a very special one, and she knew that Moses had put himself out in order to win praise and delight the newly married pair. He received the praise, because it was conveyed to him by Michael, who reported his master’s few words of appreciation; but if the newly married pair were delighted they didn’t look it. Felicity felt as if the food would choke her, and Paul appeared to have no sort of appetite that could put hers to shame.
They talked, above the centre piece of flowers, about things that had happened during the day—the little missionary’s refusal to remain and have lunch because he was anxious to get back to his own little house and his books: Miss Menzies’s enthusiasm for the island; and James Menzies’s plans for his new house. In time, Paul said, in a voice that seemed to be coming straight off some arid waste, they probably would have an airfield on the island, and other facilities as well. At present the nearest doctor was to be located only on the nearest island, but a fast motor-launch could bring him without any trouble. They would have the launch—in fact; it was already ordered—and they could have another car, as well. If Felicity drove she might like to have her own car, although the island roads were bad, and apart from visiting
the Menzies there wasn’t much purpose that another car could serve.
“If you want to go shopping you must go across to Kingston,” Paul said. “And if you want a change—a real change—then you can always fly home to England. I wouldn’t expect you to spend the whole twelve months of the year here.”
“And what would I do in England?” Felicity asked, her eyes suddenly intent as she watched him across the table. Michael had served them with coffee in the dining room. Now they were alone, and no longer need keep up any sort of a pretence for the benefit of the servants.
Paul lifted his eyes and looked straight back into hers.
“I suppose you have friends?” he said. “You might care to visit them from time to time.”
“I haven’t very many friends.”
“No?” He looked downwards into the green brilliance of a liqueur. It was Chartreuse. Felicity had refused a similar accompaniment to her coffee. “No young men like Mervyn Manners, who are wondering when you are going to return home?”
She rose, as if the atmosphere of the room suddenly stifled her, and he followed her more leisurely as she walked on to the veranda. He drew forward a chair for her, but she clung to the veranda rail. It was then that he said: “I expect you’d like to go to bed?” And suggested that she might also like to breakfast in bed.
Within a very short while after that she was upstairs in her room. And she had locked the door!
She undressed with cold, shaking, humiliated fingers, and went to bed. She was glad she had told Florence not to wait up for her. In bed she lay watching the moonlight on her balcony, and listening to that eternal surge of the surf, and the rustling of the palm leaves that tapped against the glass of her window. By degrees the sounds, and the glitter of moonlight, must have hypnotized her and sent her off to sleep, deathly miserable though she was.