Anna, overjoyed to hear Francis and Caroline laughing, did not trouble to tell herself what a fine fellow she was being, how selfless in her enjoyment of their pleasure. Simpler than Caroline, naturally kind and generous, her happiness was perfectly honest. She only regretted that she could not, as most young women would have done, slip her arm through Francis’ to show that she shared his mirth, and she sighed, but no one heard.
It was the last performance of the evening and the audience were so packed that they could hardly move out, the more especially as the pavement outside was already choked by the crowds pouring out of other places of amusement. Hugh had got a little ahead with Caroline, while Francis and Anna were trying to work their way past a solid group of film fans, any one of whom might have been George, but wasn’t. Suddenly, Francis heard Anna’s voice at his ear saying urgently, “Quick, quick, Francis, we must get out of this.”
Francis, thinking that she felt faint in the stuffy smoky air, took her arm, wedged himself into the film fans, and split their ranks, dragging Anna after him. At the door, he paused to see if she was all right, but she pushed him out into the street in a hurried anxious way, following the other two. Just as they were nearing Hugh and Caroline, Anna said to her escort:
“I saw James. On the other side of the hall as we were coming out. That’s why I couldn’t tell you what it was. But it wasn’t James, it was a nightmare of him.”
Francis stopped and dropped her arm.
“So he is here,” he said, half to himself.
“Of course. I tell you I saw him. Caroline mustn’t know. Let’s all go and get a cab quickly.”
The hurried on and caught the others up. Anna said that she was worn out and hailed a taxi in which they all drove back to Cadogan Square. Francis and Anna were longing to talk to Hugh, who in his turn was very sleepy and wanted to go home.
If Caroline would have gone to bed, it would have been easier, but she wanted to talk about the cinema, and her new found gaiety so infected them that they sat on laughing and talking till nearly twelve, when Wilfred came in, looking impatient and worried.
Caroline then at last said she was tired and must go to bed. As soon as she had gone, Wilfred shut the door behind her.
“I say,” he said, “James has left Paris. I had a note from his little friend.”
“I know,” said Francis. “Anna saw him at the cinema tonight.”
“I’ve been all up and down the Fleet Street bars to get news of him,” said Wilfred, “but no one knows where he is.”
“I’ll get some fellows on him tomorrow,” said Hugh, who had so far been too much surprised to speak.
After this display of manliness, they all had drinks and then looked blankly at one another. Anna, feeling that the moment to disturb their self-satisfaction had not yet come, said nothing.
“Well,” said Hugh, voicing the general feeling, “we are all very clever, but what do we do now?”
There was a silence.
“I can only see one thing,” said Wilfred, “and that is to tell the parents. I don’t want Old Intellect to have a fit, nor the Female Parent, and that’s what they will have if James suddenly turns up looking like an uncooked sausage, which was what he was like when I saw him in Paris.”
“And who is to tell them?” asked Francis.
After another silence, Wilfred said, “Anna.”
“What a courageous lot we are,” said Hugh rather bitterly. “And will Anna tell Caroline too?”
“We are all putting quite enough on Anna,” said Francis decisively, “I will tell Caroline myself.”
Anna, who by all the rules should have been deeply touched by Francis’ thoughtfulness, felt instead a small pang of jealousy that Caroline was to be removed from her watchful care. But knowing that men do so really do what they think best, however mistakenly and with whatever unfortunate results, she only said thank you, and suggested that they should get it all over as soon as possible. She would find a suitable moment, though unsuitable would be a better word, to let her parents know that the prodigal had returned. As Francis was giving Caroline lunch on the following day he could, she said, indulge his fancy of breaking the news to her himself.
“One thing I’m sure of,” she said. “James is sure to turn up somewhere soon to ask for money. Father gives him five hundred a year, but he has never yet lived on his income. We all know that he took everything he could get from Caroline before he left her. I don’t think you’ll have to wait very long for news.”
Just then the click of a latch-key was heard and George entered, his soft felt hat pulled rakishly forward and sideways over his brow, his coat collar well turned up, a muffler around his neck, and giving a curious impression of having rather a dirty face.
“Well, boys, how’s things?” he remarked in a ventriloquial voice, speaking out of one side of his mouth.
“Rotten,” said Hugh. “What have you got on your mouth, George? Hurt yourself?”
George looked with steel-glinting eyes at his questioner, and his mouth set like a trap. At least this was what he meant.
Wilfred laughed unpleasantly.
“What has he got on his mouth? You may well ask,” he said scornfully. “He thinks it’s a moustache. He’s being William Powell, silly young ass.”
George-William Danvers-Powell bestowed a glance of tolerant amusement upon his elder brother. Did he worry his head about youngsters? Aw, beat it, you make him tired.
“When you talk about mustaches,” he said, speaking with his whole mouth to be better understood, “you don’t mention the King-Moustache. Dear little Hitler’s penny moustache stuck on upside down with glue. Oh, boy, you make me laff.”
“At any rate Hitler can grow a mustache, which seems to be more than you can,” said Wilfred. “Just a dirty black smudge.”
“Better than a dirty brown shirt,” said George, unwinding himself from the muffler and taking off his hat and coat.
This conversation, conducted at lightning speed, had paralyzed the audience, but Anna took up her usual role of peacemaker.
“Leave the shirts alone for a minute, George,” she said. “Wilfred is rather worried and so are we all. James is back in London.”
“Well,” said George, “who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? Good old James. Time he came back. He’s had a poor deal and it’s up to us to give him a good time.”
It now became lamentably clear that George, as some of his friends had already suspected, was slightly exhilarated. Wilfred, forgetting his own wrongs, took George’s arm and shook him.
“Listen,” he said. “If you don’t take your shoes off and go straight up to bed as quietly as you can, you know what will happen. The Female Parent will haul you into the Spider’s Den,” for so had Wilfred and George irreverently named their mother’s bedroom, “and you’ll have to tell her exactly how you have been spending your evening.”
The horror of this thought appeared to have a sobering effect on George, who thanked Wilfred for the timely warning and began to take his shoes off.
“He’ll be out of the house before the others are up,” said Wilfred pointing to his brother, “and besides I don’t suppose he’ll remember a thing. No, George, give me your shoes. If you carry them up yourself you’re bound to drop them and there you’ll be. You remember what happened last time. And mind you don’t repeat a word of what you have heard this evening.”
George relinquished the shoes and tiptoed upstairs. The others listened anxiously till the noise of a slamming door was heard, and then dispersed.
*
In justice to George Danvers, it must be said that he was but rarely exhilarated. A small salary, combined with a naturally abstemious temperament, does not lead to alcoholic excess. But on this particular night there had been good reason. He and a band of devoted film fans had been attending what is known as a World Premiere of an English film about Lord Byron. George and his friends had followed it all with deep attention and then adjourned to a cheap drinking club, of wh
ich, one of them was a member. Here, George had discussed at great length the theory of film aesthetic with his host, who said that he himself always found films rather an anodyne than an anesthetic and then began to cry. After this, George had wisely come home, but the combined effects of romance, beer and intellectual discussion had so muddled his mind that the events of the evening were not very clear. He awoke next morning alert and refreshed, and with a vivid remembrance that old James was coming back and how glad the parents would be.
He and Wilfred usually breakfasted at a quarter-past eight so that they could get to work in time, while the rest of the family drifted down or had breakfast in bed as they felt disposed. On this morning George, who was rather late, found Wilfred already gone. Just as he was finishing a hurried breakfast, Mrs. Danvers came in.
“Were you late last night, darling?” said his mother.
“About the usual.”
“I heard you all talking downstairs,” said Mrs. Danvers in a voice carefully denuded of any shade of reproach.
“We were talking about James,” said George pushing his chair back. “Goodbye, Mother, I must be off.”
“Stop a moment, darling. What about James? No trouble, I hope.”
“Good Lord, no. He’s not exactly on the waterwagon, they say, but he’s all right. You trust James, Mother.”
“What about James?” inquired Mr. Danvers appearing in the doorway just as George was trying to get out.
“He’s here, sir, all right, but I don’t know where,” said George. “They were all talking about him last night. Well, I must be off, sir. Afraid I’m a bit late as it is.”
“Stay here and sit down,” said his father. George to his own astonishment and annoyance immediately obeyed.
“What is all this about James, Cecil?” implored Mrs. Danvers.
“I don’t know, my dear, but I propose to find out. George, what is this story about James?”
“Well, sir, I don’t really know,” said George, who was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. “The others know, you’d better ask them. Ask Anna,” he added as his sister came into the room.
“Anna,” said her father looking appealingly at her, “what is George saying about James?”
“Look here, Anna,” said the aggrieved George, “what’s all the mystery? I come in last night, perhaps a shade squiffy but that was the fault of the beer, and find you all talking about James being here, and then you make me take my shoes off and hustle me upstairs, and now Father and Mother come down on me like a ton of bricks.”
Anna saw her parents’ anxious faces. Willingly could she have boxed her young brother’s ears.
“I think, Father,” she said, “George had better go off to work. He is late already and he doesn’t know what he is talking about. Go along, George.”
George, at most times very ready to resent female domination, was only too thankful to be released and slipped sulkily out, shutting the door behind him, while Anna continued:
“Sit down darlings and I’ll give you some more coffee. And don’t be upset. Last night at the cinema I did see James, but Hugh and Francis and I didn’t want to tell you so late at night. I said I would tell you about it today. Then George came in and we told him, and asked him to say nothing till I could see you, but he was a bit excited and I expect he forgot. I am so sorry.”
“Then you have only known of James’ arrival since last night?” said her father.
Anna was thankful to be able to say “yes” with truth.
“We must have James here,” said Mrs. Danvers. “He will need looking after if he has come all the way from South Africa. We haven’t a spare room now, but I could put Wilfred and George together, or, Anna, you and Caroline—”
She stopped and repeated “Caroline” in a frightened voice.
“Yes; Caroline,” said her husband. “How much we see of James must depend to some degree upon her feelings. Anna, does Caroline know?”
“Do I know what?” said Caroline, who to complete the nightmare came into the room at the moment. No one answered. She looked from face to face, her uneasiness growing in their silence.
“Has anything happened?” she asked. “Not Francis or Hugh?”
“Sit down, darling, here’s your coffee,” said Anna. “What has happened is that James is back in London. Not very surprising and nothing to worry about really, because you are with us.”
“But,” said Caroline, looking at her father-and mother-in-law and speaking slowly “you will want to have James here. And you ought to. I must go.”
“My dear child,” said Mr. Danvers, “you know we love James, but you are as dear as a daughter to us, and you mustn’t think of going. We must see our son, but your peace and privacy shall be scrupulously respected.”
“Where is he?” asked Caroline, speaking to the room at large.
Mr. Danvers looked at Anna.
“No one knows,” she said. “But Hugh was going to try to find out through his newspaper friends. If he knows anything he’ll ring up. Or Francis may know by lunch time and be able to tell you, Caroline. You are lunching with him, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so. Why didn’t you tell me about James before, Anna?”
“I didn’t see him till last night,” said Anna, speaking the bare truth. “Then after you had gone to bed we talked about him and I said I would tell Father and Mother. Francis said he wanted to tell you himself at lunch. I wanted to tell you but he asked me not to.”
“How very obliging and meddling of Francis,” said Caroline. “But we can discuss that at lunch. Do you mind if I don’t finish my breakfast? Please don’t worry about me, Mother and Father. If James wants to come here I can go to friends. Besides one must want to see one’s own child. Oh, heavens, I wanted to see mine, and it must be far worse when you have a child and lose him. Now he is back you must have him again. Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive her for, poor child,” said Mr. Danvers when the door had closed behind his daughter-in-law. “No, Evelyn, don’t go after her, she won’t be able to bear anyone just now. I only hope that Francis will be able to help her.”
“William Beaton comes to town today,” said Anna. “He will know all there is to know, because of Hugh and Julia. He will be the greatest help. He is such a good friend and makes one feel so safe. I will ring up their hotel.”
“Yes, do,” said her father. “There is no one I would rather have to consult than Beaton. I wish I could make him decide to come into the business. He won’t give me a definite answer yet. Yes, Anna, find out if he and Julia can come and see us today.”
“Darling Father,” said Anna, rubbing her cheek on his head.
“Well, well, everything has to be left to time,” he said, getting up. “James and the business and Caroline and the whole world. I must go to the office now.”
The rest of Anna’s morning was spent in comforting her mother and trying to persuade her that it was not necessary to move all the beds in the house on the off chance of James coming for the night, and that George, whose unlucky use of the word squiffy had really frightened his mother, was not following in James’ footsteps. In restraining her mothers tearful excitement, her time was fully occupied. She went up once to Caroline’s room, but the door was locked and Caroline’s voice said: “I love you, darling, but please go away.”
Chapter X
Francis Moves Again
Caroline spent her morning partly in abject panic, partly in telling herself not to be a fool. Hundreds of women divorced their husbands or men their wives, and met them again without the faintest embarrassment. Yet there was a difference between a divorce which took place because one or other had fallen in love elsewhere, and a divorce which was bound up with days and nights of terror. She knew husbands and wives who had divorced or been divorced and yet still cared for the creature to whom they gave freedom to bind itself again: though time or a happier union often destroyed that tenuous emotional form of romance. But there must be some kind of court
esy, of consideration, a gentlemanliness of behavior on both sides. Where the man was possessed by the beast, divorce was simply a human being striking out wildly and savagely in self defense. As this passed, the anger engendered by fear might die, might give way to compassion, but the old fear could never be killed. So long as there was a chance of meeting James, so long her fear would live, beyond reasoning, beyond common sense. Knowing James to be in South Africa, she had forgotten her fear. Now it came back through every nerve, vague, overpowering. She looked as deeply as she dared into her own heart, and there she saw all her own weakness, and did not feel proud of what she saw.
Finally, she decided to walk as far as the restaurant where she was to lunch with Francis, hoping to calm herself, but as she walked her eyes were nervously searching and yet avoiding the faces of passers by. More than once, she felt sick with fright when a man with a walk or a way of holding his head that reminded her of James crossed her path. She invented imaginary meetings at which, by a well directed look or a politely scornful word she annihilated James, knowing well all the time that she would be tongue-tied and terrified by the sight of him. So hard did she invent and imagine that she lost her way in Soho, a feat now, alas, only possible to those laboring under extreme mental distraction, and arrived a few minute late to find Francis established on a red plush seat in a corner. She slipped in beside him. Francis thought that his cousin seemed abstracted, but he accepted all her moods gratefully, accompanied as they were by her adored self. The lunch was quickly ordered. Francis asked Caroline what she would drink.
O, These Men, These Men! Page 14