Sarah Morris Remembers

by D. E. Stevenson

  The next lift was filling up so I walked into it, confident that I should find Charles waiting for me on the ground floor. The lift went down and stopped; I was the first to get out, I stood looking this way – and that.

  “Can I help you, miss?” asked a lift-man.

  “I’m looking for a tall gentleman in a grey overcoat.”

  “That way,” said the lift-man, pointing. “He asked me the way to the nearest exit; I said through the ‘Wine and Cigars.’

  I turned and ran. I wasn’t thinking of anything; I wasn’t even wondering why he was here in London; there was only one idea in my head: I must catch Charles.

  When I got to the Wine Department I paused for a few moments and gazed round . . . he wasn’t here! I hurried to the exit, pushed my way through the revolving door and looked up and down the street. It was a side street and empty except for a lady and gentleman standing on the pavement and a taxi disappearing round the corner.

  I said breathlessly, “Oh, please tell me! Did you see a tall man in a grey overcoat?”

  “He took our taxi,” replied the gentleman. “I mean the taxi that brought us here. He said he was in a hurry, so——”

  “I’ve lost him!” I cried.

  The lady and gentleman were gazing at me in astonishment but I was so frantic that I didn’t care. “I’ve lost him!” I repeated. “Oh, what shall I do? He’s a friend. I haven’t seen him for years – he disappeared before the war. I saw him – so I ran after him – and now I’ve lost him! What am I to do?”

  The Commissionaire had come out on to the pavement by this time. He said, “Oh well, you can’t help it, miss. You did your best to catch him – it wasn’t your fault that he got away – the right thing for you to do is to go straight up to the office and report it. I suppose you know what he took?”

  “Know what he took?” I echoed stupidly.

  “You’ve got it wrong,” explained the gentleman. “It isn’t a case of shop-lifting. This young lady recognised a friend whom she hadn’t seen for years . . .”

  “Never mind,” said the lady, taking me by the arm. “It’s too cold to stand here – and you’re dreadfully upset – you must come and sit down quietly until you feel better.”

  We went back into the Wine Department and they brought me a chair. They stood and looked at me and talked. I was so stunned at having seen Charles – and lost him – that I had no idea what they were saying. I sat there like a stone image. Charles had been within my grasp – I could have touched him – but I had let him go! Charles was here, here in London! Why hadn’t he got my address from Fairfield and come to see me?

  I was roused from my bewilderment by the gentleman, who put a small glass into my hand. “Drink it,” he said.

  I drank it. The liquid was as hot as fire and almost choked me but it helped me to pull myself together.

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “It’s very kind. I don’t know why you should bother. It was just – just that I hadn’t seen him for years – or heard of him. I didn’t know what had – had happened to him. We’re friends – that’s why I tried to – to catch him.”

  “Well, you know he’s all right anyhow,” said the lady comfortingly.

  It was true: I knew now that Charles was alive and well but I found little comfort in the knowledge. Charles had seen me – he had recognised me – but he had fled from me. What did it mean?

  “Listen, Ben,” said the lady, turning to her husband. “We must get a taxi and take her home. That’s the best thing to do.”

  I told them that I was not free to go home until six o’clock.

  “That will be all right,” said the Commissionaire. “You’re Miss Morris, aren’t you? This is Mr. and Mrs. Ainger. I know them well. They often come to Barrington’s. If they’re willing to take you home——”

  “Of course we shall take you home!” exclaimed Mrs. Ainger.

  I objected, somewhat feebly, but Mrs. Ainger was one of those small but determined women who sweep all obstacles aside and insist upon getting their own way. Mr. Ainger was aware of this, of course; he pressed something into the Commissionaire’s hand and told him to get Miss Morris’s coat and to report at the office that Miss Morris was unwell and had been taken home by friends.

  “It’s very kind of you,” I said. “If I got a taxi I could go by myself. Why should you bother?”

  “You’re dreadfully upset,” replied Mrs. Ainger. “You aren’t fit to go by yourself. If I let you go by yourself I shouldn’t sleep a wink all night.”

  “Don’t let’s risk it,” said Mr. Ainger, smiling. “We can easily see Miss Morris safely home.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” I repeated.

  Presently the Commissionaire returned with my coat, a taxi was ordered and my new friends took me home.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “But, my dear, it can’t have been Charles,” said father.

  He had said the same words over and over again, sitting beside me on the sofa and holding my hand.

  “I’ve told you, Father. I’ve told you all that happened.”

  “I know, but you must have made a mistake.”

  “It was Charles. It was, really!”

  “People sometimes resemble each other – not often, I admit, but there are such things as ‘doubles’ – and you saw him only for a moment in a crowd.”

  “I saw him twice!”

  “But only for a moment.”

  “It wasn’t only seeing – it was the feeling I had.”

  “You were upset,” said father. “It was natural that you should feel upset at the resemblance.”

  “It wasn’t a ‘resemblance’; it was Charles himself.”

  “You said he looked older, so perhaps——”

  “It’s natural that he should look older!”

  “Listen, Sarah! You had been thinking about Charles. Then you looked up and thought you recognised him.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about him; I was telling the Dane about the film projector.”

  “You often think about Charles, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but not when I’m busy. That’s why it’s so good for me to have the job at Barrington’s.”

  “It was someone like Charles and you thought——”

  “There’s nobody like Charles in the world!” Suddenly I was shaken by sobs, horrible sobs that seemed to come from deep down in my body.

  “There, there, darling,” said father, patting my back. “It’s been a shock to you. Better soon!”

  “You said that when I fell off the swing and broke my arm!” I cried hysterically.

  “Did I? Well, perhaps I did. Your arm was very painful and I wanted to comfort you. It’s a pity we have so few words in which to express our sympathy.” He sighed and added, “If there were anything I could say or do that would be any comfort——”

  “You are!” I exclaimed. “You’re the greatest comfort! Oh, how lucky I am to have you! Go on talking to me.”

  “Sarah, if I’m to go on talking to you I must tell you what’s in my mind. It’s this, my dear; if Charles were alive he would have come back to you.”

  I said desperately, “Father, he isn’t dead. I saw him!”

  “You thought you saw him because he was in your mind. Couldn’t you put him out of your mind? Couldn’t you leave the past behind you and make a new life for yourself?”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you know what I mean. I’ve been hoping for it so much, my dear. Duncan is such a good fellow; he’s kindhearted and dependable and he loves you dearly.”

  “I know, but——”

  “Sarah, you’re wasting your life. You’re fond of Duncan, aren’t you? Why can’t you leave the past behind and think of the future? I’m sure you and Duncan would be happy together.”

  “It wouldn’t be right to marry Duncan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean if Charles wanted me I would go to him . . . even if I were married to someone else.”r />
  “Sarah, what are you saying?”

  “Don’t you understand! I belong to Charles.”

  “Charles won’t come back.”

  “He has come back – I saw him to-day!”

  “If it was Charles – which I very much doubt – why didn’t he speak to you?”

  “I don’t know!” I cried. “I don’t know! That’s what’s so frightful – I don’t know!”

  “I shall make some fresh tea,” said father, rising. “A cup of tea will do us good. Go and wash your face and brush your hair while I boil the kettle.”

  I did as I was told, and we had tea together, but my trouble was too deep, my anguish too real to be alleviated. I went to bed and lay there, tossing and turning restlessly, trying to find some reasonable explanation for what had happened that afternoon. . . .

  Charles had seen me; he had recognised me but instead of speaking to me he had turned away . . . and, now that I had time to think, I realised that his extraordinary behaviour was not just a sudden impulse. Charles was here in London but he had made no attempt to get in touch with me. He had only to go to Fairfield – everyone there knew our address! He had only to write me a letter – our letters were still being forwarded.

  When I thought of all this I realised that it was absolutely hopeless and my bewilderment gave way to despair. I must face the fact that it was all over between Charles and me.

  I looked at the signet ring on my finger . . . I should have to take it off! But it had been there so long that I couldn’t bear to part with it. Later, perhaps, when I got used to the feeling that we didn’t belong to each other any more, I would take it off and put it away . . . but not yet. Charles had loved me dearly – I knew that – so the past still belonged to me and was full of happy memories. Perhaps some day I would be able to stop loving Charles but he was so much a part of my being that it didn’t seem possible. . . .

  There was no sleep for me that night; the hours passed slowly and miserably. When at last the morning came, and I tried to get up, I felt so ill, so sick and giddy, that I could scarcely stand on my feet – and I couldn’t stop shaking – so I was obliged to crawl back to bed.

  Father rang up Barrington’s and explained that I was ill. Duncan was very sympathetic, he said he wasn’t surprised, I had been doing far too much and had been looking very tired; I must take my holiday now, instead of later, and there was no need for me to come back until I was perfectly fit. Cécile knew a girl who could come and help her.

  “So that’s all right, isn’t it?” said father, looking at me anxiously. “You can go to Craignethan. It always does you good to go to Craignethan, doesn’t it?”

  I was too tired to argue with him – and it didn’t seem to matter what happened to me – so it was settled that I was to go to Craignethan when I was well enough to travel.

  Pam came to see me. She sat down beside my bed and took my hand. “Do you want to talk or shall we just sit here quietly?” she asked.

  “I saw him, Pam! Father says it couldn’t have been Charles but it was – really – and he saw me – so it’s all over. I’ve thought – and thought – but there’s only one possible explanation.”

  She looked at me doubtfully.

  “He has met someone else,” I said in a low voice. “He has met someone – he likes – better. Perhaps he’s married.”

  “Yes,” said Pam sadly. “That’s what I thought when your father told me.”

  “There’s no other explanation, is there?”

  “I can’t think of any.”

  “It’s all over, Pam. I’ve got to face it.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Yes, darling, I’m afraid so. It will be terribly hard to bear, but gradually it will become easier, gradually you will be able to think of him——”

  “I shall always love Charles!” I burst out defiantly. My other comforters had both tried to persuade me that I must stop loving Charles. (Father had said, “Forget him, Sarah. Put him out of your mind.” Willy had raved against him furiously . . . which was even harder to bear.)

  Pam’s reaction was different. “Yes, that’s the best way,” said Pam, nodding. “Go on loving Charles and feeling sorry for him.”

  “Feeling sorry for him?” I echoed in surprise.

  “He has lost his way,” she explained. “Poor Charles has taken the wrong turning and missed the road to happiness. I’m terribly sorry for Charles.”

  Her fear was that I might feel resentful. She didn’t say it in so many words but I knew Pam so well that words were unnecessary. It was one of Pam’s tenets that resentment and jealousy are venomous snakes, poisonous to the heart and mind and spirit.

  “It’s all right,” I said, trying to smile. “There are no snakes in my heart. I love Charles too much to be angry with him.”

  We talked some more – and I felt comforted.

  Presently I said, “Now tell me about Gil: have you any news?”

  “I’ll tell you about Gil another day.”

  “No, now!” I exclaimed. “Please tell me! I can see you’ve had good news.”

  She was reluctant to speak of Gil but when I pressed her she told me that she had just received a short letter from him saying that, as there was no more need for the mountain road to freedom, he and “Percy” had shut up shop and were coming home together. Gil would have to report to the Admiralty and explain what he had been doing but he didn’t anticipate serious trouble.

  “Serious trouble?”

  “Technically Gil is a deserter.”

  “But, Pam——”

  “It will be all right,” said Pam. “I’m not worrying.” Then she kissed me and added, “We’ve talked enough. Go to Craignethan soon, darling. That’s the best thing for you.”

  I realised that Pam was right: it would be better to get up and pack my suitcase and go to Craignethan, rather than lie in bed feeling miserable, so I made the effort. Father took me to the station and put me into the train.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  No sooner had the train begun to move than I regretted my decision to leave home. There was father, standing on the platform waving to me – his figure receding farther into the distance every moment! Pam was in London, too – and Pam was the only person who understood! I felt quite frantic. Why, oh why had I consented to go to Craignethan? All I wanted was to hide myself away, to lie in bed in a darkened room. I wasn’t fit to speak to people – not even to the grans! I must get out at the first stop and go straight back to London.

  But that was nonsense, of course! The grans were expecting me and would be disappointed if I didn’t arrive.

  “You’re just being silly,” I told myself firmly. “You, who have always prided yourself on your sanity and common sense, are behaving like a hysterical girl. I’m ashamed of you, Sarah Morris.”

  The journey seemed very long. My head ached, as it always did in the train, I couldn’t read and it tired my eyes to look out of the window. I sat huddled in my corner and bore it as best I could. The hours passed slowly . . . it was not until I had changed into the local train and I saw the bare hills, tawny in their winter coats, and smelt the cold clean air of the uplands that the cloud on my spirits lifted. I began to come alive and to look forward to Craignethan and the dear grans.

  I had asked father not to tell them what had happened to me, but just to say I was tired and was having my holiday sooner than I had expected; I couldn’t have borne their sympathy and it would be easier for me to recover my balance if I had to pretend to be cheerful.

  As usual grandpapa met me at Ryddelton Station and welcomed me warmly. He was getting old now, his face was thinner and more lined, but his shoulders were as straight as ever and there was still a merry twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “Have you been ill, Sarah?” he asked, looking at me in sudden anxiety.

  “Just . . . not very well,” I replied.

  “Did you have lunch in the train?”

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Well, the sooner we get s
ome food inside you the better,” he declared, taking my arm and leading me to the car which was waiting in the yard . . . and suddenly I remembered my first visit to Craignethan; the first time I had seen grandpapa; the first time I had felt that kind old hand gripping my arm! I was a child again and my eyes were blurred with foolish tears.

  As we drove along I asked for grandmama.

  “She’s older, Sarah,” he replied sadly. “We’re both getting old, you know . . . and we miss Dorrie. We used to look forward to her September visits. But we felt a lot better when we heard you were coming. I hope this is not one of your flying visits, it would be delightful if you could stay over Christmas.”

  I said I could. Duncan had told father that I must have “a proper holiday” and not return to work until I was perfectly fit . . . and as a matter of fact I felt that I was needed at Craignethan. I had come when I could but it had been impossible for me to leave home except for an occasional week-end. Now, however, with Cécile and her friend to help me at Barrington’s and Mrs. Raggett coming daily to the flat, I must make a point of visiting Craignethan in September, as mother had done.

  “You mustn’t let it be a burden,” said grandpapa hastily. “We don’t want that, you know. We just want you to come when you need a rest and a little peace and quiet.”

  It was always quiet at Craignethan, but this year, after the hurly burly of Barrington’s Christmas rush, it seemed more quiet than ever. When I went outside the house – and stood and listened – I felt as if I could hear the silence. Although it was now the middle of December there had been no frost and the roses in the garden were still in bloom; in the late evenings the moon rose from behind the hills like a huge luminous ball.