by Jane Arbor
Liz cut across the wild threat. “Who’ll be sorry?” she asked.
“Who? They will. Roger, of course. And maman.”
“You can’t mean to say this. But you have rather asked for it, you know. And whatever you feel you have against Roger, you can’t possibly blame Mrs. Carlyon—”
“Can’t blame maman? Can’t blame her? That’s funny. That’s really rich!”
This time Beth’s forced laugh was on the edge of hysteria and Liz thought it best to give in.
“All right,” she said. “Will you come over, or shall we meet at the club?”
“Not at the club. Maman is out, and she may go there. At the Miramar in an hour. Will you be there?”
“Yes,” said Liz, and hung up.
The Miramar was a small cafe in the old town quarter, where they were unlikely to meet anyone they knew. When Liz arrived, Beth was already there, drinking the black coffee she had ordered for them both.
Liz was quite shocked at her appearance. She had not been crying, but she had powdered carelessly and her piquant little face looked drawn and almost ugly. Liz drew out a chair and offered cigarettes. “Now, what is it?” she asked. “No, perhaps you ought to know first that Roger told me, while we were marooned last night, that there wasn’t anything serious between you and him.”
Beth’s lip curled. “Oh, did he? How gratifying for you! And how very chivalrous of him!”
Liz said patiently, “He didn’t volunteer it. Something I said assumed you were practically engaged, and he simply denied it.”
“And of course you told him I believed it?”
“No, I didn’t. I let him think it was just gossip that was going around. He really doesn’t think you believe it yourself. And from what he said, he’s awfully fond of you, Beth.”
“Thanks for nothing. Fond of me, indeed! You mean he found me useful, and didn’t care that I was getting fond of him, when all the time it was maman he wanted.”
For Liz the gaudy little room they had to themselves seemed to spin and darken about her. She saw her wrist tremble as she laid down her half-smoked cigarette and echoed, “It was—Beth, you don’t know what you’re saying!”
“Ah, but I do. And you don’t like it much either, do you? You want him yourself, and it can’t be any easier to lose him to maman than to me. Harder, perhaps. Because you liked her, didn’t you? Much better than you ever liked me. And you can’t have thought she would ever do this to you, any more than I thought she would do it to me!”
Later Liz realized that that must have been Beth’s moment of triumph. She had been purposely oblique on the telephone because she had needed the mean satisfaction of witnessing her enemy’s dismay. At all costs, Liz determined, she would not betray any more than Beth knew already. So, forcing her tone to firmness, she said, “Even if I believed you, where should I come into it? You are the only person who knows I care for Roger, and I’m grateful to you for keeping it to yourself. Because I—I know there’s never been a hope for me in that direction, and even if I thought there was, I still shouldn’t like Mrs. Carlyon less than I do.”
“Well, you’d better make up your mind to believe it, because I’ve proof it’s true. And if it weren’t for the mean way they’ve gone about it, why shouldn’t it be? They’re both about the same age, and, thanks to my illness, they’ve been able to see a lot of each other. Pretending all the while they were just friends!”
“No, I won’t have that. Mrs. Carlyon is much too fond of you to deceive you over a long period, and she couldn’t do anything underhand if she tried,” declared Liz loyally. But she remembered that, last night, her hopes had read quite a different meaning into things Roger had said that might prove her wrong. “The woman I marry” could have meant Janine...
She went on, “I just don’t believe it’s been going on for long. What reason could there be for keeping it from you if it had? It must have—have flared suddenly for them.”
Beth scowled. “What reason? Why, because they must have known how I felt about Roger!”
“Well, Roger didn’t for one,” Liz told her none too kindly. “He said he knew you were rather dependent on him, that’s all.”
“You did have a cozy get-together on the subject of me, didn’t you? All right—so it flared! And I suppose they’re not holding out on me now, either? What about their dining together the night before last, as you know they did? And what about the fact that, as soon as he got back from your little jaunt this morning, Roger rang maman, and they’re going out together again tonight?”
“They are?”
“And that isn’t all. You know I spent the other evening with you? Well, I was home long before they were, and I’d already been to sleep when they did arrive. So I didn’t see them come in. But Roger’s car was outside for ages after that, and I know he was making love to maman on the veranda.”
“How do you know? Were you listening at doors?”
“Aren’t you clever?” sneered Beth. “I didn’t need to. My room is partly over the veranda. I can’t see down on to it, and I can’t hear what anyone is saying. But I know if there are voices talking, and that night Roger and maman were talking almost in whispers, and laughing together, and in between there were long silences when—”
“Need the man have been Roger?”
“Of course it was Roger! D’you think I can’t recognize his car? Maman wouldn’t have gone out with him and come home with another man. Besides, there just aren’t any other men she has ever looked at in Tasghala.”
Liz mused, “But this happened the night before last. Didn’t you want to tell me about it yesterday?” (If only Beth knew the vain hopes it would have saved her, if she had heard the story before last night!)
“Of course I did. The rest of that night was agony. But I thought maman was sure to explain it all away the next day. In fact, I meant to make her. I wouldn’t ask her, and by the time I realized she wasn’t going to tell me anything and I decided to call you, you had already gone out into the desert with Roger. I did call you as soon as I knew you were back.”
Yes, and too late, thought Liz bitterly. Aloud she asked, “And Mrs. Carlyon hasn’t confided in you yet?”
“Not a word. I’m being rather cold with her myself. I simply can’t help it. Look at this morning—just barely telling me about you and Roger before she said she would be going out again tonight and did I think I could amuse myself! ‘Amuse myself’ indeed!”
On a wild, desperate hope, Liz said, “I don’t believe it. There must be some other explanation—”
“What explanation? You tell me. Besides, you didn’t see maman yesterday. She was very quiet, but sort of radiant and starry-eyed. She seemed to be listening to something nice going on in her head, and she didn’t notice at all that I was being, distant with her. She has never ignored my feelings like that before. And to think I believed that by now I should b-be engaged to Roger myself!”
At the tremor in Beth’s voice, Liz had to pity her. “Well, for the first time it looks as if we’re in the same boat, Beth. But please make it easy for Mrs. Carlyon to tell you about it. If it’s true, you’ve simply got to take it, and if it isn’t, look at the jealousy you’ll have saved yourself!”
“And I still don’t get Roger!” Beth retorted with renewed venom. “If they do go out tonight without explaining anything, I said I’d make them sorry, and I will. You’ll see!”
“Beth!” Liz caught at her wrist as she stood up. But she wrenched free and stalked out into the glaring sunlight, and Liz let her go alone.
All day Liz took a kind of savage pleasure in tearing her dreams of last night to shreds, and painfully making another pattern of them.
Remembering every word and action of Roger’s, which she had secretly treasured, she could turn almost all of them inside out and find they referred, not to her, not to some shadowy love in Roger’s future, but to Janine. To courageous, gentle Janine, of whom only someone as mean-minded as Beth could possibly be jealous ... Thinking o
f her without bitterness, Liz had an idea that Janine, on her side, would not grudge her a couple of meaningless kisses. Roger’s possession of the ahal stone was the only thing which would not fit anywhere into the new pattern. But probably even that had been offered to him as a curio by the Tuareg, and, once he’d put it into the trunk of his car, he’d promptly forgotten it.
So the mill of her thoughts ground on, and when Chris rang up in the evening she grasped eagerly at the chance to talk to someone who knew nothing of her private disaster, and so couldn’t pity her, either genuinely or waspishly as Beth could. In fact, as she took up the receiver, she half expected the call to be from Beth, wanting more sympathy. At the sound of Chris’s voice instead, she put all her relief into her welcome to him.
Chris said sharply, “Why, what’s the matter, Liz?”
She drew a steadying breath. “Nothing. Why?”
“Only that you sounded as if I’d dashed up to a blazing fifth floor to rescue you! And do you know, Jenny or no Jenny, earning your approval still does wonderful things to my ego!”
They laughed together, and then Chris said, “Well, this is it, Liz. I’m leaving for England the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, Chris—! I’m so very glad. Oh dear, am I, though? I’m going to miss you terribly.”
“That makes two of us! I’m going to miss you, too. But if you really mean that, not to worry. I’ve a feeling now . that I’ll be back, plus Jenny.”
“I do hope so. What about Jenny? Does she want to come?”
“From her letters, wild dromedaries wouldn’t keep her away, as soon as I’m ready to bring her.”
“What about her mother?”
“She has gone into residence at an exclusive bridge club and is taking it up in a big way. Jenny says it has mellowed her. She has forgiven Jenny magnanimously for throwing herself away on me after all, and when mamma takes time out from playing grand slams and things, they’re on the best of terms.”
“Happy ending, in fact?”
“Happy ending, one hopes,” echoed Chris. “It may be the line, but do you know your voice still sounds odd—sort of brittle and forced?”
“It must be the line.” Liz changed the subject. “The day after tomorrow! That’s awfully short notice. We’ll have to have the party tomorrow night. You won’t mind if it’s a bit ‘scratch’?”
“Not a bit. ‘Scratch’ parties are often the nicest. But I wanted to talk to you about that, Liz. Would you mind a lot if I gave the party instead of you?”
“But you can’t! It’s to be our ‘bon voyage' to you!”
“I know it was to be. But why shouldn’t I wish myself a good journey! I need to because—don’t tell a soul—I can manage to feel airsick even before my luggage is weighed! Seriously, though, I’ve a rather special reason for wanting to give the party myself. So may I?”
“It would have to be a very special reason to make me agree. Can’t you tell me what it is?”
There was a fragment of pause. “Say it’s a kind of two-pronged gesture on my part. Of gratitude to you all, and of faith that I’m going to see again, or know the reason why. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course,” Liz assured him warmly. “But Chris—”
“It’s all right.” Uncannily he anticipated her demur that he couldn’t manage the arrangements. “If you must know, I’ve already jumped the gun a bit. I’ve called people to ask them along, and the Simons are going to lay on a couple of rooms at the hotel, buffet bar and all. Dr. Fremyet will bring me—I especially wanted him, and all you have to do, honey, is to doll up and come along with your father at about half-past seven. Okay?”
“Okay. Lovely.” Though she kept it to herself, Liz had realized that it solved her own difficulty—of inviting Janine and Beth when Roger had already refused to come. Curiosity made her ask Chris, “I suppose you’ll have the Carlyons and—Roger Yate?”
“Uh-huh. The lot. In fact, I’ve already seen Yate, and he’s coming.”
“He is?”
“Yes. He looked in on me this morning and we had quite a chat. Heavens, Liz, that reminds me! I haven’t asked you anything about that setup last night. Yate said you took the whole thing in your stride and he gave you full marks. But—”
Liz laughed awkwardly. “Yes, well—there was a bit of a Robinson Crusoe flavor to it, and I suppose anyone could rise to that sort of occasion once in a lifetime. Anyway, we weren’t really lost—only waiting to be rescued.”
As she went on to recount the details of the adventure she found that decrying it, levelling it to the prosaic, helped to blot out the memory of the highlights that she had been foolish enough to treasure. But before they hung up she could not resist saying, “Chris—you know everyone has always believed it was a case between Roger Yate and Beth? Have you ever wondered whether we’ve all been wrong and it’s not Beth at all but—Janine Carlyon?”
Another fragmentary pause. Liz held her breath before Chris said, “As a matter of fact, I know we’ve been wrong. Yate himself disillusioned me this morning. Said you had told him the grapevine story last night and he had denied it.”
“And he is in love with Janine?”
“He didn’t say so. Among other things, he wanted to know how far the rumor about Beth had gone. But he’d hardly confide in me about Janine. He doesn’t know me all that well.”
“But do you believe he is in love with her?” Liz pressed.
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh—” Chris sounded so sure that Liz almost took heart. But suddenly her memory was groping for something. When it came...
“But, Chris, don’t you remember saying once that Janine was wasted as a widow? You went on, ‘Sometimes I’ve wondered...’ But you stopped there and wouldn’t go on. Were you thinking of Roger Yate then?”
Chris laughed. “I certainly wasn’t. If you must know, I was doing a bit of matchmaking on no facts at all. For—guess who? For your father!”
“For dada!”
“Sorry, Liz. I was only trying to tie up a few ends for the older generation! I mean, Janine Carlyon ought to marry again.”
“But dada won’t,” said Liz, out of her quiet conviction that there had been one woman, and one only, for Andrew.
“No. Besides, as soon as I’d begun to say the daft thing, I saw that it would be near criminal to wish Beth on you as a stepsister. That’s why I said ‘Forget it.’ Aren’t you glad I didn’t put the horrid idea into your head?”
“I suppose I am, though I’d have known you were wrong. Dada wouldn’t keep a thing like that from me. But just now, when I remembered your saying it, I wondered if you knew then what Beth knows now. And you were right about her that day, saying she could be a merciless enemy. When she told me about Roger and Janine this morning, she was like a cornered animal with sheer jealousy of Janine. It was rather horrible.”
“And what does she know now, or think she knows?” asked Chris.
“Oh, she knows—” And Liz recounted Beth’s story of the two rendezvous and the love scene of the small hours. She finished, “You see, what Beth resents most is the thought of being used as a kind of pawn by Janine.”
“And do you imagine, knowing Janine and how she loves Beth, that she would do such a thing?”
“No. And I told Beth so. I said the other two must have discovered quite suddenly that they were in love—”
“They’re in love, on that evidence,” Chris cut in. “But I thought you and Beth didn’t hit it off too well. How come she ran to you for sympathy?”
Because she knew the story could hurt me! Aloud Liz said, “I think she was desperate to tell someone.”
“And she chose you? Well, well—poor Beth!” said Chris.
Liz considered that. Then she asked, “Don’t you mean poor Janine? Because I don’t think, from her threats this morning, that Beth will stop at much in order to get her revenge.”
Chris said, “I don’t mean poor Janine. I mean just what I said—poor Beth!” And with a short
chuckle he hung up.
Slightly puzzled, but relieved that she’d betrayed nothing she did not want Chris to know, Liz went to tell Andrew of the change of plan for the party.
She said, “I’m really quite glad, because apparently Roger Yate has accepted Chris’s invitation. But when I told him last night that I’d planned a party as a send-off for Chris, he was quite explosive about refusing. I couldn’t think why.”
“Didn’t you ask him why?”
“Well, he had already questioned whether Chris would welcome anything of the sort. And I’d defended it by saying I couldn’t see why, just because Chris had lost his sight, he shouldn’t enjoy a party all the same. After all, I thought that was the right way to deal with any disability—to behave as if it didn’t exist.”
“But Yate didn’t agree?”
“I don’t know. When I asked him if he thought the party was in bad taste, he said he considered it was a haywire idea and to count him out. We didn’t discuss it anymore.”
“Hmm. Odd,” commented Andrew. “I can’t imagine that any doctor would question the taste of treating Chris just like anyone else. But maybe ‘haywire’ is your clue. For instance, Yate may think it’s a bit eccentric of you to want to give a party to wish Chris all speed into the arms of another girl. Remember, he was with me that night when Chris was kissing you in no mean fashion. Or looked as if he was, shall we say? If you’ve never told Yate that you and Chris are merely friends—”
“But I have! Or as good as—I told him last night I know all about Chris’s Jenny Adrian, and he knows I helped to persuade Chris to go back! If I were in love with Chris, would I have done that?”
“Wouldn’t you, Liz—if it meant the saving of his sight? For that, wouldn’t you have risked his choosing between you and his Jenny when he got to England? You know, I think you would.”
“Well—yes, I think I would.”
“That’s the girl of character that I hoped I had for a daughter! But you see Yate’s point? He may have thought, as I did for a while, that Chris had made his switch back to Jenny a bit suddenly and shabbily, as far as you were concerned.”