Let love abide

by Norrey Ford

  "Then you're a fool," he told her bluntly. He glanced at his watch. "What time is this boy-friend of Caro's coming? I suppose I ought to change in his honour."

  "You look very nice as you are."

  "Thank you. May I quote that if criticised?" "Caro won't notice you. She's too much in love. You—don't mind about it, do you?"

  "Bless you, no. Why should I? Caro's led a sheltered life, nearly always with older people. It's rather a relief to feel she's fallen in love with a man old enough to take care of her, yet young enough to be romantic. Our only fear is that she might conceive notions of sacrificing herself to Father. She has

  shown signs of that occasionally. To prevent it he'd lean over backwards to see her married and in a home of her own."

  "I'm glad. It would hurt her so much if any hitch occurred."

  At that moment Mrs. Fraser looked in. "The gentleman has come, Mr. Paul. Miss Caro is showing him round the garden. Are ye not going to change into something respectable?"

  "I'm respectable as I am, ye tiresome old Scot. Miss March says so. Keep your eyes off my knees."

  Mrs. Fraser cocked her head haughtily. "I was only keeking to see were they clean, Mr. Paul. Will I take tea into the drawing-room now? It's no use expecting sense out of Miss Caro."

  "Certainly take it in. Coming, Sally?"

  He held out a hand, but Sally said shyly, "As this is an important family meeting, I think I'd better join you later. I am somewhat of an interloper."

  "Rubbish! Come along. I feel in my bones we shall see and hear far too much of the amazing Jeff before we reach the wedding day. How do you feel?"

  "Wobbly, after my lazy time in bed."

  He offered her an arm, and she was thankful for its support.

  The big drawing-room of Lawnside was flooded with sunlight, which lay on the silk-textured white wallpaper and glanced in the cherished walnut furniture. Flowers were massed in silver bowls, and there were white skin rugs on the fine parquet floor. Tea was laid on a low table by the window, and Paul's father had drawn his wheelchair up beside it. He turned to welcome Sally with a kind smile.

  "Delightful to see you up, Miss March. I hope our tea-party won't be too much for your first day. Paul, bring up Miss March's chair close to mine. You young people have monopolised our visitor up to now."

  Paul placed a chair by the older man, and Sally was about to sit down when Caro appeared at the

  long open window, a radiant little figure in a soft

  dress of green wild silk; with her dark hair and

  brilliant eyes she looked like a spirit of the woods.

  "Daddy—Paul--" She was proud, shy and elated at the same time. "This is Jeff."

  Sally's mouth was dry. She stared at the man beside Caro with dilated eyes, the blood ringing in her ears. A voice inside her brain shouted no! no! but her lips were too stiff to utter a sound. At a distance she heard Caro say, "And you must meet Sally March. Sally, may I present Jeff Shand?"

  Jeff bowed and smiled. His eyes, when they met hers, were the eyes of a perfect stranger.

  "How do you do?" said Max smoothly.

  Jeff was—Max!

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVERYONE was staring at her—waiting for her to speak. Even Max was looking at her, with his light, confident smile, his hand held out. The pause seemed endless, as if they had all fallen asleep where they stood and could not wake for a hundred years.

  At last she said, "How do you do?" quietly, and her hand lay in Max's for a moment. To her relief, no one seemed to have noticed anything.

  Max murmured compliments on the garden to his host, asked Paul a question about the tennis court. Sally was forgotten, and could sit back unnoticed.

  What could she do? Should she, in fact, do anything? Clearly she could not warn Caro against Max, because she could only say, "I was in love with this man." He had never declared himself in love with her, and had, in fact, dropped her when a question of his being engaged to "a girl on Roman Drive" had arisen. Every man of Max's age had a girl or two in his past.

  Now, as she saw him with Caro, so young, fresh, unspoiled; saw him beside Paul, whom she admired; Sally was convinced Max was up to no good. All Simon's expressed doubts rose in her mind.

  She could go to Paul in private and tell him this was the man she had loved. How humiliating that would be! She would only expose herself as the rejected, the unwanted. And—horrors—she had less than an hour ago declared she loved him deeply. Or at least she'd allowed Paul to believe that was what she meant.

  There was the name, of course. Why Jeff—when his name was Max? And he had pretended not to know her. Surely those were two small points indicating that Max was playing a double game. She must tell Paul about that, at least. She could say he was a business acquaintance of Simon's.

  Or would it be better to follow Max's lead and say nothing? That would be more dignified. "So," Paul had said to her once, "one keeps one's dignity and can start again." It isn't, she thought miserably, as if I knew any dishonourable fact about Max. I'm just a discarded girl from the past. It must have been a shock to him, too, finding me here.

  Max seemed completely at ease and sure of himself. He talked easily and well, obviously making a good impression. It was plain that both Paul and his father found their visitor a pleasant and sensible young man.

  "Miss March looks ill," said Max sharply, and immediately she was the centre of attention.

  Caro jumped up. "It's her first afternoon up after 'flu. She must feel awfully shaky. Sally, my pet, shall I take you upstairs?"

  Sally agreed thankfully, and allowed herself to be helped upstairs by a repentant Caro. "I am so sorry, Sally. I was so excited—I forgot what a strain all this would be for you."

  "I'll be all right," Sally assured her. "If I could rest a short time . . ." She was determined not to undress. By hook or crook she had to see Max before he left. He must satisfy her on two counts. Why he was now Jeff instead of Max? And why he had pretended not to know her?

  She sat in the pretty room which in a few days had become so dear and familiar—and her thoughts were dark indeed. She had no proof that Max was other than an honourable suitor for Caro, but—now she had cast off the blinkers of her infatuation for him—all her instincts shouted a warning. Yet her hands were tied. If she succeeded in turning Paul and his father against the man, Caro would never forgive her. But if she let Caro dance blindly into a disastrous marriage, Paul would never forgive her; indeed, she would never forgive herself.

  She could not sit still, but paced the room, murmuring What shall I do? What shall I do?

  Coming to the window once more, she saw Caro. Max and Paul going off together in the direction of the tennis court. The girl's slight figure skipped happily between the two men, who were so different in build. In ten years, she saw now, Max would be fat.

  If they stayed next door for a game, or to watch Paul play, they would be gone some time. That gave her an idea.

  She hurried downstairs and tapped shyly on the door of Mr. Winn's study. He greeted her with a smile. "Ah, Miss March! Come to keep the old crock company? That's kind of you. I find the excitement of my daughter's first beau a bit too much for me."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I wanted a word with you, but perhaps I'd better wait."

  "Not at all, my dear. Come and sit down. Do you smoke?"

  "No, thank you." She took a high-backed chair, wishing ardently that she had not so quickly obeyed the impulse to confide in this quiet, sensible man. She took time to collect her thoughts, but he was in no hurry. He lit his pipe with the same leisurely movements her own father used. The familiar little routine gave her confidence.

  "I hope you won't mind if I say I came to you because my own father wasn't available. I have a problem which normally I should have taken to him."

  "My dear child, I am honoured."

  "Please don't be too kind. It makes it more difficult for me. Mr. Paul has taught me to look for facts, and I am afraid I haven't many."


  "I often tell Paul he is too obsessed with facts. Go ahead."

  She clasped her hands tightly one within the other. Her voice was a tone higher than usual. "A while ago, Mr. Winn, I was taken out and about by a man with whom I fell violently in love. It seems to me now that it was infatuation, no more. After a

  few weeks he didn't take me out any more. Later I heard he was likely to become engaged to—someone else."

  "Did he treat you badly—let you down?"

  "Oh, no! Nothing like that. It was just—over. Suddenly." She frowned, trying to concentrate. "No, that's not right. He dropped me by degrees, only I was too infatuated to admit it. I shut my eyes to obvious signals. Later, I met him again—as a suitor to a girl of whom I'm terribly fond."

  "And the question is what shall you do?"

  "Yes. That is precisely the problem. You see—"

  "You can't do anything, can you, if you lost him and the other girl won him? Was he conducting these two affairs at the same time?"

  "I don't think so. But you don't "

  "Then only one honourable course is open to you. Back out. Don't spoil your friend's romance and possibly rob her of her happiness."

  "But to back out is just what I'd like to do. If it were as simple as that I wouldn't have to ask. You see, when—when my friend introduced us, he pretended not to know me."

  He studied her a long minute. "Does that offend you very much?"

  "I'm not sure. I don't think so. I thought it rather deceitful."

  "It was, in a way. But look at it from his point of view. He is suddenly confronted with an entirely innocent bit of his past. He must consider your feelings and his girl's. Will it help if he says Ah! my old friend Sally March! Will Sally be pleased? Will Mary Jane be pleased? Or will she say Oh really, darling? Where did you and Sally meet? and so forth. By keeping silent he gives you a chance to decide whether or not your friend is to be told. He gives you—and himself—a clean start."

  "You make it sound very honourable indeed, Mr. Winn." Sally could not keep a shade of sarcasm out of her voice.

  "When you are my age, Sally, and have heard as many of other people's troubles as I have, you will realise that the young have a remarkable passion for punishing themselves by telling the whole truth. There are many times when it is kinder and wiser to keep silent. "What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve over' is a saying somewhat despised by your generation. Some day you will recognise its mercy and truth. Keeping silent on this matter may be hard, but it is a kind service you can do for your friend."

  "Then you advise me to say nothing?"

  "If you have told me the whole truth—if there was nothing dishonourable on either side in your association. "Which"—he raised a thin hand to check Sally's vehement protest—"I am perfectly satisfied about. You strike me as being a thoroughly nice girl, my dear, and if you take my advice you'll lock this affair up in an iron box and drop it in the river."

  "There is one more thing, which seems important. The man was using another name."

  "What? How like a woman to keep the only vital evidence to the last! You mean you knew him as Tom Jones and he suddenly bobbed up as Jack Green?"

  "Not quite. He hadn't altered his surname. He was always spoken of as—as Tom. It wasn't till we actually met that his surname was mentioned, and I realised 'Tom' was the man I'd always known aser—Jack."

  "I was always Frank to my mother and my wife; to anyone else I was Harry. It may not signify much. Sally—you'll allow me to say Sally, won't you?—why have you told me all this today?" His light blue, penetrating eyes were fixed on her, and she recognised, with a quick stir of fear, the change in his voice, from that of a kindly friend to what she'd learned to know as a "witness-box" voice. Like Paul, he would not be content with less than a truthful answer.

  "I've been in bed up to now," she parried.

  "True. But it is an odd coincidence that today you have met a man about to be engaged to a friend. You say you would have asked your father had he been available—but they tell me you are being taken home tomorrow. Why couldn't you wait?"

  She swallowed nervously. Then she lifted her head and looked him steadily in the face. "Yes, it is Jeff. I knew him as Max."

  "Thank you for telling me, Sally. I take it you were telling the truth when you said he owed you nothing? He did not promise to marry you or—or anything?"

  She summoned a smile, feeling the enormous relief of unloading a responsibility on to older shoulders. "Especially not 'or anything.' He behaved quite honourably. No one likes being cast off, though I suppose it happens to a good many girls. I don't want him back—please don't imagine that. It's just that I have an uneasy feeling, hard to put into words."

  He smiled pleasantly. "And now you've unburdened yourself, eh? How wise you were to come to me! Some girls would have spilled all the beans to Caro and spoiled her happy day. To set your mind at rest, Jeff Shand has had a long talk with me. He told me all about his business and his private affairs. I'm no fool, you know, where my little girl is concerned. The motor firm with which Shand is connected has an excellent reputation, and his bank balance is entirely satisfactory." His lips twitched with something like amusement. "Don't look so woebegone!"

  "You make me feel I've been fussing about a mare's nest." She had been wondering whether to tell him of Simon's troubles, but in view of his assurance she thought better of it. No use flogging a dead horse.

  "I think you have been wise to come to me. I do realise the situation is a difficult one for you. But you see, that's how we grow and develop character, by

  facing nasty facts and mastering them. This experience could have eaten you up like a canker if you'd been foolish enough to let it, but you have decided to face it bravely, I can see that."

  "If he loves Caro, and you are satisfied, that's all I want to know. I shan't let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, feed on my damask cheek and so forth."

  "A girl who knows her Shakespeare," he smiled. "We must have a good talk about him one day. I am so glad you and Caro have become friends. She is in some ways a lonely child and too much with older people. You see how it is with me. I'm a cripple, Sally, and she has no mother. For years I've fought any idea of her sacrificing her life to look after me. I want her love but I won't take her youth, her chance of romance and marriage." He leaned back in his chair, and Sally thought he looked utterly spent. "The day my Caro is married I shall be relieved of a great anxiety. There will be someone to take my place, to protect her, guard and guide her as I have not been able to do, because of—this!" He slapped the arms of his wheelchair angrily, and for a moment Sally saw the truth behind the quiet, patient facade her host presented to his family and friends. He was not patient, not resigned; he had achieved that appearance only by long self-discipline.

  She said softly, "You love her very much, don't you?"

  His jaw set squarely, emphasising his resemblance to Paul. "I'd want to kill any person who stood between Caro and her happiness."

  There seemed no point in saying more. She had done her best. If Caro's father was satisfied, there seemed no more to be said or done. He looked exhausted, so she excused herself, intending to slip back to her room unnoticed.

  She wished she did not feel so uneasy about Caro's happiness. Max seemed so far from her

  father's idea of "someone to protect her, to guard and guide."

  Sally crossed the wide hall, which was tiled in big black and white squares. The white front door stood open, framing a brilliant picture of flowering shrubs and clipped grass which shone in the sunlight like bright enamel. As she hesitated, tempted to go out for a short stroll in the sun, three figures appeared in the picture. Caro, Max and Paul, talking and laughing. Jeff, she corrected herself. I must think of him as Jeff. She knew she ought to hurry upstairs, but she lingered, watching. Brother and sister looked so vital, so fresh, they matched the bright day. But even at this distance, Max—Jefflooked pasty and unwholesome in the sun. His place was under artificial lig
hts, in restaurants and theatres—not in a garden at mid-afternoon. How blind the other two must be—couldn't they see? She smiled at her own impatience. Until recently she had been just as blind.

  Their smooth advance was checked by the arrival of the three family dogs, which came tearing across the grass in a flurry of tails and ears and joyous tongues, barking and leaping.

  "Rascals!" Caro shouted above the din. "You know you're not allowed on the grass at the front of the house. Down, children. Down!"

  Max was afraid! The others were too fully occupied to notice, but Sally, from a distance, could see the whole picture. Paul grabbed the big Dalmatian, and shouted, "Go ahead indoors, Jeff. I'll see to them. Their paws ruin the grass if they go wild on it. Take Jeff in, Caro. Three people only make them more excited."

  Max needed no second invitation, but made for the house. Caro was following, but her spaniel Tessa entangled itself in her feet, and she turned back to help Paul. So Max came into the house alone.

  "The dogs won't hurt you," said Sally contemptuously.

  Max blinked, half-blind after the sunlight. "Hallo, Sally. I didn't see you at first. Now, tell me, what on earth are you doing here? You could have knocked me down with a feather "

  She asked stonily, "Why did you pretend not to know me?"

  "The instinct of self-preservation, naturally. Come off it—you did the same."

  "I followed your lead because I saw you wanted it played that way. I still want to know why." "Because I hate making explanations."

  "Then perhaps you won't want to explain why you were Max to me and are now Jeff to Caro?"

  He came close to her as she stood at the foot of the broad oak staircase. "All right, don't shout all over the place. Jeff is my name, and so is Max. J. M. Shand—didn't you notice? The difference is," he added brutally, "I intend to marry Caro. Max is my name to outsiders, like you and your brother."

  She whispered intensely, "I think you are the most hateful beast I ever met."

  Unexpectedly he seized her arm above the elbow and twisted her round into his arms. "But you're still pretty enough to kiss, darling. Come on—a nice fat kiss for old times' sake."