House of Mirrors

by Yvonne Whittal

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Stacy announced adamantly. “You’re staying here with us, and nowhere else.”

  “Stacy, be sensible,” Liz groaned.

  “Angus and I would love you to stay. We want you to think of this as your home.”

  Liz swallowed down the lump in her throat. The tears came so easily these days, and she cried much too often for her own good. “You’re both absolute darlings, cut I shall have to find a place of my own soon.”

  “You could at least stay here until your divorce has been finalized.” Liz flinched inwardly, but Stacy obviously had no intention of stepping off this painful subject. “Speaking of the divorce,” she said, “shouldn’t you have heard from a lawyer or something ages ago?”

  Liz shrugged with elaborate carelessness. “I have no idea how long these things take.”

  “Well, I would have thought that after almost three months you would have heard something, even if it’s some sort of notification that divorce proceedings are in progress.”

  “I suppose I’ll hear soon enough,” Liz brushed aside her remark distastefully.

  “Liz… about Grant…”

  “I don’t want to discuss him,” Liz said sharply, her cup rattling in the saucer as a sign of her agitation when she placed it in the tray and rose to her feet.

  “Do you hate him that much?”

  Liz turned away and stared out into the sunlit garden without actually seeing anything. How did she feel about Grant? Did she hate him? She ought to despise him for the way he had treated her, and yet… she couldn’t! She missed him. At night, when she went to bed, her arms felt empty, and she yearned for his warmth, his voice, his touch, and the hopeless longing would bring on the now familiar tears before she eventually went to sleep.

  “I don’t hate him,” Liz sighed, biting down hard on her quivering lip to steady it. “I tried to, but I can’t.”

  “Then why won’t you discuss him?”

  “It hurts,” Liz croaked, swinging round to face her sister. “Dammit, Stacy, it still hurts!”

  All the agony and despair of her hopeless love was mirrored in her eyes, and in the trembling of her generous mouth. Stacy saw it, and she went at once to Liz’s aide.

  “Oh, my dear, I wish there was something I could do for you,” she said, putting her arms around Liz.

  “There’s nothing anyone can do,” Liz whispered unsteadily, making a desperate attempt to pull herself together. “I shall simply have to learn to live with it, that’s all.”

  How does one learn to live with heartache? Liz wondered afterwards. How does one learn to cope with a longing that cannot be assuaged? Would there ever come a time when a day would pass without thinking of Grant, or a night without dreaming of him? If only she could look forward to the future instead of looking back into the past, but everything that was of importance to her lay in the past. There was no future for her without Grant. There had never been anyone else; it had always been Grant, and no one else could ever take his place.

  Two weeks later Stacy came into Liz’s room to wake her from her afternoon nap with the news that she had a visitor. “There’s a Mr. Townsend downstairs who wants to speak to you,” Stacy said.

  “Townsend?” Liz sat up abruptly and brushed her hair out of her eyes with hands that shook. “Joe Townsend?”

  “That’s the name he gave me, yes.”

  “Tell him I don’t want to see him,” Liz snapped, swinging her legs off the bed and feeling a little sick inside. “If there’s anything I have to sign, then he can leave the papers here, and I’ll post them on to him.”

  “He never mentioned anything about a divorce, Liz,” Stacy assured her. “The only thing he said was that he had something of importance to discuss with you.”

  “Such as?” Liz demanded cynically.

  “He wouldn’t say. He simply said to tell you it’s a private matter, and of extreme urgency.”

  Grant! There was something the matter with Grant! What else could it be? She was being ridiculous! Why would Joe come to her instead of Myra? Liz could not deny that she was curious, and more than just a little anxious.

  “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute,” she changed her mind abruptly, and when she was alone again she found that her insides were shaking almost uncontrollably.

  News of Grant would be like manna from heaven, she admitted to herself when she brushed her hair and troubled up her make-up, and her hands were still shaking a little when she smoothed down her skirt and checked her appearance in the mirror. She had lost weight, and the shadows beneath her eyes gave her a haunted, unfamiliar look, but in every other way she had matured. Her face was the face of a woman who had known passion and sorrow. The defiance of youth had departed to leave her totally unassuming; she expected nothing and dare not hope for anything.

  She went downstairs, and hoped that she looked calmer than she felt at that moment. It felt looked calmer than she felt at that moment. It felt like years instead of months ago that Joe had taken her to dinner to warn her of Myra’s arrival in Johannesburg. So much had happened since then, and so many futile tears had been shed.

  Joe came towards her when she entered the living-room, and her hands were gripped so tightly that her fingers ached.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he smiled down into her grave face, but the next instant his expression sobered. “I was sorry to hear about the child you lost.”

  “I suppose Stacy told you,” she remarked stiffly.

  Joe hesitated briefly, then he released her hands and said sternly, “Sit down, Liz. What I have to discuss with you concerns Grant.”

  “I don’t particularly want to discuss him,” Liz protested stubbornly when they sat facing each other in Stacy’s homely living-room.

  “All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say. If you don’t want to discuss him, then that’s fine with me, but at least listen to what I have to say,” Joe insisted with a note of urgency in his voice, and Liz found herself relenting against her will.

  “Very well,” she sighed, “I’m listening.”

  “Grant is not himself. He’s restless and he’s drinking heavily,” Joe informed her without further dallying, and Liz did not quite succeed in hiding the shocked expression that flitted across her face. “It started soon after you left, but since then it’s become steadily worse. His work has always been the most important thing in his life, but he’s hardly ever in his consulting-rooms these days, and he’s seldom at the hospital.” Joe leaned towards her, his green eyes filled with concern. “Grant has referred nearly all his patient to Alan Bishop, and I fear to think what might happen if he continues behave in this manner.”

  Liz stared fixedly at her hand in her lap, and tried the information to Joe was passing on to her. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Talk to him, Liz. Try to reason with him, and make him see sense.”

  Her face hardened, and her back went rigid. “You’re knocking on the wrong door, Joe. It’s Myra you should be approaching, not me. She’s the one who would have the most influence over him now.”

  “Myra?” he frowned. “What has Myra got to do with this?”

  “You should know, Joe. Grant has surely approached you about seeking a divorce, hasn’t he?

  “What divorce?” he demanded at once. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t pretend with me, Joe,” Liz sighed irritably, getting to her feet and walking across to the window to stare out into the garden with its colourful display of spring flowers. There were signs of new life wherever she looked, but in her heart it would always be winter, she thought bitterly, and without turning she said: “You know as well as I do that I left Grant so that he could be free to consider marriage to Myra.”

  “My dear girl, I know nothing of the kind,” Joe denied emphatically, joining her in front of the window, and turning her to face him. “Myra returned helter-skelter to Paris almost three months ago, and Grant has certainly never mentioned anythi
ng to me about a divorce.”

  Liz felt her heart lurch violently and, expelling the air slowly from her lungs, she said in a husky whisper, “I don’t think I understand.”

  “That makes two of us,” Joe admitted, pushing his fingers through his thick mop of reddish-brown hair. “Perhaps if I told you everything as I know it then we might both be able to make some sense out of this entire business.”

  “Perhaps that would be a good idea,” she replied faintly, returning to her chair when it felt as though her legs would no longer take her weight.

  “Acting on information I received from Alan Bishop, I went to see Grant a few evenings ago and found him…” Joe paused and smiled wryly as he seated himself opposite Liz, “well, I won’t say in what condition I found him, but with a lot of persuasion I finally managed to get him to talk. He was rather incoherent and distraught, but he mentioned something about sending you away, and that he blamed himself entirely for your miscarriage. I presumed, naturally, that you’d packed up and left him in a fit of temper after a serious disagreement, or something of a sort.”

  Liz was pale and shaky. “I never told him I was going to have a baby, so how did he know that I’d lost it?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Joe replied. “What I do know is that guilt is practically driving Grant up the wall, and that’s what’s keeping him away from you.”

  None of this quite made sense, and she cautiously adopted a sceptical attitude towards the information Joe had given her. “What do you want me to do? Go and pat feel guilty about me in future?”

  “He loves you, Liz.”

  His words fell like worthless seeds on dry, untilled soil, and she said in a brittle voice, “He’s never loved me, and he never will. He wanted me, that’s all, and I was useful to him when he had needed someone to lean on, but it’s Myra he loves. It’s always been Myra.”

  “Not any more, it isn’t,” Joe persisted, and Liz did not have the energy nor the inclination to argue with him.

  “Did Grant tell you where to find me?”

  “No,” Joe shook his head. “I asked him for your address, but he wouldn’t give it to me, and told me to keep my nose out of his affairs. Later I recalled that he’d once mentioned the fact that your brother-in-law owned a service station here in Pietersburg, and I telephoned almost every one of them before Angus MacLeod finally gave me the answer I was looking for.” He leaned towards her again, his eyes intent upon her pale, pinched face. “Liz, you’ve got to help Grant.”

  “What makes you think he’ll accept help from me?”

  “He needs you, Liz, I’m almost sure of that, but he’s too proud and too damn stubborn to admit it,” Joe growled. “I gather he knows he’s treated you badly, and he’s convinced that you hate him for it as much as he hates himself.”

  “I did hate him for a while, but I don’t any more.” Liz stared down at the carpet and forcibly suppressed that flicker of hope that was struggling to the surface of her being. “Why should you think that he loves me?”

  “Why else would he be falling apart the way he is?”

  Falling apart? Grant? Because of her? Impossible! “It could be that he’s pining for Myra.”

  “I doubt it,” Joe snorted disparaging. “But even if that was so, could you sit back and let him destroy himself in this way?”

  Liz gestured helplessly with her hands. “What do you suggest I should do?”

  “Go and see him, that’s all I ask.”

  Liz recoiled from the idea. The house of mirrors was the last place on earth she would choose for a confrontation with Grant. There were too many unhappy memories there, and too many reminders that she would be stepping once again into Myra’s domain.

  “I have a better idea.” A crazy, stupid, mixed-up idea, she could have added. “Do you think you could persuade him to come and spend a week or two on his farm?”

  “I might be able to do that.” Joe eyed her thoughtfully. “What have you got in mind?”

  “I haven’t quite decided yet, but if you let me know when to expect him, then I might just be there when he arrives.” If that was not asking for trouble, then she wondered what was.

  “You don’t want me to tell him this? You want to surprise him?” Joe asked, his familiar grin twisting his mouth and sparkling in his green eyes.

  “The element of surprise occasionally has the desired effect,” she told him, his infectious grin succeeding in lifting the corners of her mouth. “Did you come all this way merely to talk to me about Grant?”

  Joe shrugged as if the distance did not matter. “I couldn’t very well discuss this delicate situation with you on the telephone, could I?”

  “Are you staying the night?”

  “I’ve booked myself into the hotel, and I’m leaving again first thing in the morning.”

  “You must stay and have dinner with us this evening.”

  “Well, I …”

  “Please, Joe,” she begged. “It would make me very happy if you accepted.”

  Joe relented, and the evening passed quite pleasantly. Angus and Stacy accepted him as a friend of Liz’s, and Joe’s interest in cars gave Angus the opportunity to discuss the subject he enjoyed most.

  Later that evening, when Liz walked out with Joe to his car, he said: “I’ll let you know as soon as I have definite information.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want me?” she demanded anxiously.

  “Then I hope you’ll let me become one of your regular visitors,” Joe replied promptly, and Liz stared up at him in the darkness, not quite sure whether he was joking or not. His fingers brushed lightly against her cheek. “Most men don’t realise the value of what they’ve got until they come close to losing it. Hang on to that thought, Liz.”

  He was driving away before she could think of a suitable reply, and once again that forlorn little hope reared its head, but she thrust it from her angrily.

  Angus was still stretched out in his favourite chair and Stacy was clearing away the coffee cups when Liz entered the living-room. Something had niggled away at the back of Liz’s mind all evening, and now she knew what it was.

  “Stacy, did you tell Grant about my miscarriage?”

  Stacy looked up sharply, but it was Angus who spoke. “You’d better tell her, love,” he said. “You can’t hide the truth forever.”

  There was a spark of anger in Liz’s eyes when she faced her sister. “You telephoned him after I’d asked you explicitly not to?”

  “It was quite the opposite, I promise you,” Stacy contradicted quietly. “Grant rang here the morning after you’d lost the- the baby. I was so choked up about everything that I’m afraid I let him have it.”

  Liz felt a coldness shifting up into her cheeks. “You told him everything?”

  “Everything,” Stacy nodded, her cheeks stained with guilt.

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing,” Stacy spread out her hands expressively. “He was quiet for such a long time that I thought he’d passed out, or something, then he asked if he could come and see you. I told him no, he’d done enough harm, and that you’d been quite adamant about never wanting to see him again.”

  Liz sat down on the arm of the chair behind her and stared down at her hands for a moment before she looked up curiously and asked, “Did he say anything about Myra?”

  Stacy shook her head. “He never mentioned her. Why?”

  “I believe Myra returned to Paris soon after I left Grant.”

  “He never said a word,” Stacy assured her. “Do you think—”

  “I don’t think anything,” Liz interrupted hastily. “Not yet, anyway.”

  She would not dare to hope too much at this stage while everything was still so bewildering. Myra had been so determined to get Grant, but she had walked out on him again the moment he was hers for the taking. What am I supposed to make of that? Liz wondered confusedly.

  “You haven’t told Liz everything”, Angus’ voice interrupted
her turbulent thoughts, and Liz glanced enquiringly at Stacy.

  “Grant telephoned again about a month ago. He asked if I thought you’d see him, and I told him I didn’t think so.” Stacy looked distressed and vaguely guilty. “What else could I tell him, Liz? You refused to discuss him at the time, and you’d forbidden the mention of his name.”

  “I’m not accusing you, Stacy,” Liz said calmly. “You did exactly what I’d asked you to do.”

  “The reason I didn’t tell you about it is because I was afraid it would upset you,” Stacy explained, looking as though a great weight had rolled off her shoulders, then she eyed Liz curiously. “What did Mr. Townsend have to discuss with you?”

  It would be no use hiding the truth from them, since they would know sooner or later, Liz decided, and neither would it be fair to keep them in the dark, so she related, almost verbatim, her entire conversation with Joe Townsend that afternoon. It took her several minutes, but they listened to her without interrupting.

  “I suppose you think me crazy,” she groaned eventually when they simply stared at her without commenting. “God knows, I should let him rot in hell, but I- I can’t. I’ll never forgive myself if I turned my back on him when he needed help desperately.”

  It was so quiet in the living-room when she stopped speaking that one could have heard a pin drop, then Stacy said incredulously, “You still love him? After everything he’s done to you, you still love him?”

  “I’ll always love that stubborn, selfish, sometimes arrogant man. Heaven only knows why I love him, but he’s always been the only man for me,” Liz confessed in an anguished voice and, getting to her feet, she fled upstairs to her room.

  What she had said was the unvarnished truth. She loved Grant, and she would always love him. That was the reason she was contemplating this mad, crazy, impossible scheme…but what if it worked? What if Joe had been right in thinking that Grant loved her after all?

  “Forget it! He feels guilty, that’s all,” her mind warned with harsh cynicism, but her heart was beating out a rhythm of new hope, and she sighed into the silent darkness of her room, “Grant, oh, Grant, please don’t let me down this time!”