Sal took off her hat and gloves and made herself a cup of tea; then she washed up and put everything back where she had found it. She had decided to go and see Mrs. Pike tomorrow morning; there was just a chance she might see Roddy tonight. She had sent Roddy a wire telling him she would be here, but there had been no time to get his answer. She sat down on the window seat and waited (she had left the door ajar, for the bell was out of order, and she was afraid Roddy might come while she was busy and go away again). It was very quiet in this little back lane—incredibly quiet—in the distance you could hear the roar of traffic, the voice of London, but you could easily imagine it was the voice of the sea. Sal sat there, imagining it. Now and then you heard somebody shouting, or a sudden grinding of brakes. The lane was empty save for an occasional passerby (an errand boy with a basket; an old woman, ragged and dirty, shuffling past; a lean ginger cat nosing among some garbage in the gutter); it was so narrow that Sal had to press her forehead against the window pane to see the street at all…she had to crane her neck to see the sky.
The sky had been so blue, but now clouds were gathering; there was a growl of thunder in the distance and presently it began to rain. Big drops fell upon the windowsill, making splashes in the dust. Roddy wasn’t coming—that was certain. It was too wet, or perhaps he hadn’t gotten the wire, or he might be busy at the course and unable to get away. She was almost glad he wasn’t coming. She would have a quiet evening, alone with a book. She peered out…was that Roddy? No, it was a man with a barrow of coal. Life is queer, thought Sal; here I am waiting for Roddy, and two months ago I didn’t know him. Two months ago I thought my life would go on forever just the same, and now everything has changed. Two months ago I thought nothing would ever happen and now this has happened. She sighed; it was horrible waiting, not knowing whether he would come; not knowing, really, whether she wanted him to come. She wished she had not sent him the wire and told him she would be here. She had been buoyed up with excitement, but the excitement was all ebbing away. She felt sick. She was aware that her cheeks must be deathly pale…nice for Roddy to arrive and find her looking like a ghost!
Sal ran into Addie’s room and gazed into the mirror…yes, a ghost! She found some rouge in one of the drawers and dabbed it on. Was that better? No… (Heavens, I look awful! thought Sal. I look like a tart. I look—awful.) She seized some cotton wool and rubbed it all off. Her cheeks were burning now, they were even pinker than before…powder was the answer.
Sal was powdering her cheeks when she heard footsteps in the lane (firm footsteps, quite different from the patter of the errand boy and the shuffling tread of the dirty old woman). She ran back to the sitting room and pressed her face against the window…yes, it was Roddy! He came along the lane looking at each door, looking at the numbers; he stopped just below the window. Sal could see only the top of his head now, only his beret. She had meant to run down and meet him at the door but her heart was beating so violently that she couldn’t move…she waited…a few moments later he came in.
He was just the same; brown, tough, wiry, very sure of himself. “Well, here I am,” he said, smiling at her.
She rose as he came forward and he put his hands under her elbows and looked at her.
“Afraid?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Why?”
“Because…”
“To be afraid gives people an advantage over you, Sal.”
“I can’t help it.”
“But you can trust me—always,” said Roddy, and he kissed her gently.
It was all right. She loved him dearly, completely…and he loved her. It was all right.
“Darling,” said Roddy. (They were sitting together on the window seat.) “Darling, I haven’t seen you for a year.”
“A week,” said Sal, smiling.
“A year,” declared Roddy. “As a matter of fact, I’ve known lots of years pass quicker. Have we really got to wait three more weeks—years, I mean—before we can be properly engaged?”
“That’s what Father said, and you agreed.”
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” said Roddy, with a sigh. He took out a little box and opened it and took out a ring. “Try it on,” he said.
“Oh, Roddy!” exclaimed Sal. “It’s far too good!”
“You like it?”
“Oh, Roddy!”
He slipped it onto her finger and they both looked at it. He had chosen a large dark blue sapphire set in platinum—a beautiful ring. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, it’s right. I knew it was your ring the moment I saw it. The sapphire matches your eyes.”
Sal took it off, regretfully.
“Keep it on, please,” said Roddy. “Please, Sal, just for tonight. I’m going to take you out to dinner, and I do want you to wear it.”
She hesitated…but how could she refuse? “Well, just for tonight,” she said. “And, Roddy, I do love it.”
“Now,” said Roddy, when they had finished discussing the ring. “Now tell me about everything. How is Liz?”
“Very well indeed,” replied Sal. “She congratulated me, and said she hoped we would be very happy. She sent you her love.”
“There!” exclaimed Roddy. “What did I tell you! She doesn’t care a pin for me—except as a friend. I knew it all the time. All that fuss for nothing!”
“I know,” agreed Sal. “I was very silly about it.” She had made up her mind to say this, and it had come out quite naturally, she thought. Roddy must never know Liz cared for him; the least she could do for Liz was to keep her secret. Now she had that off her chest she went on to tell Roddy about all that had happened since he left Chevis Green, and it really was rather amazing how much had happened in a week. William had guessed that they were engaged (said Sal), though how he had managed it nobody knew. He had told Liz, and Liz—not knowing it was supposed to be a dead secret—had met Miss Bodkin and told her, and Miss Bodkin had met Mrs. Chevis-Cobbe and told her, and Mrs. Chevis-Cobbe had rushed up to the Vicarage to congratulate Sal, and had assured her that marriage was absolutely marvelous (having been married for exactly two months, she was, of course, an authority on the subject). Meantime, Miss Bodkin had careered wildly all over the village, spreading the news far and wide.
“Good,” said Roddy. “Splendid! Good old Miss Bodkin!”
“Father was annoyed, but he couldn’t say much. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, you see.”
“Nobody’s fault,” agreed Roddy cheerfully. “Go on, Sal. What else happened?”
“Aunt Rona left on Tuesday,” said Sal, smiling at the recollection. “She left with great ceremony, kissing us all and shaking hands with Father. I believe she would have kissed Father if he had given her half a chance. She thanked us all for our kindness and said she had enjoyed herself immensely and she gave me quite a lot of instructions and hints about how I was to do the flowers. After she’d gone, Joan and I went upstairs to take the sheets off the bed, and there on the dressing table was…What do you think?”
“Her false teeth,” suggested Roddy.
“Oh, Roddy, you are naughty. Of course it wasn’t her false teeth (as a matter of fact, I believe her teeth are all real), it was half a crown. She had left it there for Joan.”
“Stingy old b-brute,” said Roddy.
“Joan took it up and looked at it. Then she opened the window and threw it out…into the pond!”
“No!”
“Yes, she did. I didn’t blame her, either. Aunt Rona was beastly to Joan.”
It was now seven o’clock, time to go out and have a spot of dinner, Roddy thought. It had stopped raining and the sun was shining again so Sal fetched her new hat and put it on, and asked Roddy how he liked it.
“I do and I don’t,” said Roddy thoughtfully. “I mean you look simply marvelous and exactly right to come out to dinner at the Savoy, but to tell you the truth I like you
better in your old clothes; I like that blue overall you were wearing the day I saw you in the kitchen.”
“It’s a pity I didn’t bring it,” said Sal, arranging the hat most carefully in front of the mirror and giving it the slightest bit more of a tilt over her right eyebrow. “If I’d known you liked it so much I could easily have brought it. I’m sure it would have caused quite a sensation if I’d worn it to go to dinner at the Savoy.”
“Cheek,” said Roddy, and he tucked his hand through her arm and they went downstairs together.
***
They went downstairs arm in arm and as they went, Sal said to herself, I’m happy. I’m enjoying every single moment. It’s fun. It was fun being with Roddy and walking by his side through the London streets—not arm in arm, of course—and seeing all the soldiers saluting and Roddy returning the salutes. Roddy knew his way about. The traffic had no terrors for him and no terrors for Sal either, with Roddy’s hand at her elbow. And, when at last they reached the crowded restaurant and Roddy asked for the table he had engaged, it was fun to see the air of confidence with which he spoke to the somewhat alarming head waiter, and the instant service that confidence evoked. When they had decided what to eat, Sal looked around, and that was fun, too. What a lot of people, what chatter, what laughter, what brightness and movement there was!
Sal leaned across the table, and said, “Roddy, I’m happy.”
“Oh, Sal, I’ve never been so happy in all my life,” said Roddy earnestly. “You’re the most marvelous person in the world. I adore you.”
The waiter, who had just brought their soup, was a good deal younger than the waiter at the Apollo and Boot and seemed more human. He looked sympathetic and interested and Sal had a horrible suspicion that he had heard Roddy’s words. She sat back in her chair and tried to look bored and blasé, but she couldn’t manage it for long. This dinner reminded Sal of the lunch at the Apollo and Boot: in some ways it was the same, and in other ways different. It was like in so much as they were here together, talking earnestly, and being interrupted every few minutes by the arrival of food. It was unlike because the surroundings were so different; because Sal had no wish to escape from Roddy, but every wish to remain in his company as long as she could; because she knew she was looking her best, with a new hat on her head and a new engagement ring on her finger, and because she was feeling on top of the world. Sal was about to communicate these interesting reflections to her companion when he leaned forward and said, “Where’s the basket? I rather liked that basket. Will you give it to me for a wedding present?”
“You don’t need it,” she told him.
He saw the implication at once. “Shan’t I ever need it?” he inquired.
“Never,” said Sal confidently.
His eyes said all sorts of things. His voice said, “Everybody is looking at you; everybody is thinking what a frightfully lucky fellow I am. Oh, Sal, it was dear of you to come up to town and see me.”
“I didn’t,” replied Sal, dimpling at him. “I came up to see Mrs. Pike. You’re just a sideshow.”
“Who the dickens is Mrs. Pike?” asked Roddy in amazement.
Sal told him about Bertie and the Elements, and was delighted to find he shared her views on the subject. He was so interested and asked so many questions that she produced Mrs. Pike’s letter from her handbag and showed it to him.
He read it carefully. “It’s a horrible, selfish letter,” he declared. “She’s a nasty woman. You mustn’t go and see her, Sal.”
“I came up to London on purpose to see her,” Sal pointed out.
“I know, but you mustn’t go.”
“She can’t eat me.”
“She could be very unpleasant. I can’t bear to think of her being unpleasant to you.”
“I’m not exactly looking forward to it—”
“Well, then,” said Roddy earnestly. “You don’t want to go and I don’t want you to go. That settles it.”
“Oh, no, it doesn’t.”
“I say you’re not to go.”
“But I must go,” said Sal, smiling.
Roddy was surprised. He had found Sal so amenable, he had found her not exactly soft, but certainly very gentle. He had made up his mind that she needed someone to look after her, and, of course, he was the person to do it.
“Nonsense,” said Roddy. “You aren’t going. That’s all.”
She smiled obdurately.
“I shall be very angry if you go,” declared Roddy.
“That will be a pity,” she replied.
He looked at her. She sat there smiling, defying his wishes, so soft and gentle and pretty—and so damned obstinate. “It’s your chin,” said Roddy suddenly. “I never really noticed your chin before.”
Sal laughed.
“Little wretch!” exclaimed Roddy. “I’m going to have trouble with you—bags of trouble.”
“If you want a doormat—”
“I want you,” declared Roddy, suddenly grave. “Just you—always.”
They danced a little, and then they went and sat in a corner of the lounge because Roddy wanted to talk.
“Sal,” said Roddy. “We’ve got to think about the future. I shall be here at this course for another month, and then I shall get twenty-eight days’ leave; after that it’s Burma. Not just at once, perhaps, but any time. The twenty-eight days is embarkation leave, of course.”
“Burma!” exclaimed Sal in horror.
“I thought you realized I should have to go sooner or later.”
“Yes—but—”
“You wouldn’t like a fellow who stayed safely at home and let other fellows go and fight for him, would you?”
Sal was sure she would like Roddy just as much if he stayed at home, so she said nothing.
“You know,” continued Roddy. “If it weren’t for you I should be glad about it. I mean I’m pretty sick of training. It isn’t much use training unless you’re going to fight. Burma is the obvious destination for me, because I know the east. We’ll be in Malaya before very long, and I could be useful there. And another thing: I can speak Japanese fairly decently. So you see…”
Sal saw, but was not convinced.
“Couldn’t we be married soon?” asked Roddy anxiously.
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait?” said Sal in a low voice. “I mean it can’t go on much longer—the war with Japan. Father wants us to wait.”
“The Japs are queer devils. I don’t see them giving in,” replied Roddy thoughtfully. “They’ll go on fighting long after they’re beaten—at least that’s my opinion. It’s about time I had a crack at the Japs.”
“Oh, Roddy!” said Sal. Suddenly, from being gorgeously happy, Sal had fallen into misery. Life—the whole living world—seemed to her insane and war the maddest part of the insanity. And Roddy shared this madness; he was looking forward to having “a crack at the Japs.”
“Couldn’t we be married soon?” asked Roddy again. “It would mean an awful lot to me. You see, I’ve never had anybody belonging to me—never since I can remember. I’ve always been on my own. It’s difficult for you to understand that, I know.”
It was difficult. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be absolutely alone, to have nobody at all who really cared what happened to you, to have no home to go back to when you wanted comfort and quietness. And because she loved him so truly she began to understand a little of what it meant to be Roddy. He seemed self-sufficient and master of his fate—the circumstances of his life had made him so—but beneath that outside crust he was just a little boy, needing love and sympathy. She was aware that other women had given him love (he had told her so), but they had not given him all she could give him, not friendship and understanding and the companionship of shared thoughts. She must give him all this and give it now. She wanted to.
Roddy had been silent, watching her face. I
t was very expressive. He said, “You’re everything I’ve always wanted, Sal. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Sal. “Yes…and I want to marry you soon.”
“Sal!” cried Roddy. “Oh, darling—but what will your father say?”
“Father will understand,” she declared. She must make Father understand. It might not be easy, of course.
“How soon?” inquired Roddy eagerly. “I mean there isn’t much time, is there? But of course you’ll have to ask Mr. Grace. Will you ask him the moment you get home, and ring me up? How soon do you think it could possibly be?”
“In a fortnight,” said Sal, smiling at him. “A fortnight from today. Will that do?”
“Will it do,” repeated Roddy in amazement. “A fortnight today! But what about Mr. Grace? He said we weren’t to be engaged for another three weeks, so—”
The Four Graces Page 17