‘Oh—I’m sorry.’ She was amused and saw no reason why she should hide the fact. ‘Was that very indiscreet?’
‘Not at all,’ he said rather stiffly. Then, as though unable to help it, he added with a frown:
‘How odd! Both of us complete strangers, both of us in a nasty jam—exchanging stories of our most private affairs somewhere on the road.’
‘I shouldn’t say “exchanging” exactly,’ murmured Patricia.
‘No, I know. But, as a matter of fact—’
‘You do feel rather like telling me?’
He nodded.
‘I suppose it’s something to do with Patricia,’ she said shrewdly. ‘The other Patricia, I mean.’
‘What made you think that, I wonder?’
‘The fact that my rather ordinary name seemed to come like a clap of thunder to you. It didn’t take any blaze of intelligence to tell that your thoughts had been full of Patricia, and that to be faced by her name from quite a different quarter seemed disproportionately astounding.’
He didn’t smile. He said baldly:
‘My thoughts were full of Patricia. She has just left me.’
‘You mean—gone off with someone else?’
‘Just that.’
‘Oh, I’m—terribly sorry. Does it—I mean, are you very fond of her?’
‘She’s one of the two people I care about in the world.’
‘Is it possible that it’s a sort of mad impulse which she’ll get over?’ Patricia hardly knew what to offer by way of consolation. ‘Was she that kind of person?’
He considered that with a frown.
‘I suppose one might call her impulsive. But there are times’—he spoke reluctantly, as though he were addressing himself rather than Patricia—‘there are times when she shows a streak of cool calculation. I’ve been wondering just how much was impulse and how much—not, when she decided to do this.’
Patricia was silent. She thought she didn’t much like the sound of her namesake, but he would hardly be interested in that, of course.
After a moment’s thought, she said:
‘You spoke of two people who were—important. Have you a child too?’
‘Oh no. No, we’d been married only about six months. We had been on a world tour. It was on the way home—someone on board. She went off at Marseilles and—just didn’t come back. Sent me a note— explaining.’
‘That was rather a beastly way of doing things,’ Patricia said, meaning to be sympathetic. But he evidently resented the criticism at once.
‘She probably thought it was the best way. She couldn’t bear anything like an emotional scene. I daresay she thought it would hurt both of us less, if it was done quickly and—and irrevocably like that.’
Patricia didn’t answer that. Of course, if he found some comfort in regarding his vanished wife as a sensitive plant it was not for her to undeceive him!
‘Did you make any attempt to follow her—have some sort of show-down?’ she asked presently.
‘I couldn’t. We had just sailed again when the note was brought to me. I had supposed she was somewhere else on board. But she had really simply slipped away.’
With—’
‘Yes.’
‘And they may be anywhere on the Continent?’
‘Anywhere,’ he agreed curtly.
‘Do you mean to make some attempt to trace her, or do you feel—’ Patricia paused, thinking that perhaps they were stretching the theory of frank discussion between strangers just a little too far.
But apparently the thought had not struck him, because he simply said abruptly:
‘I can’t. At least, not for the moment. That’s the second part of the problem.’
‘Oh, there’s another part to it?’
‘Yes. In fact, this is the real problem, I suppose. The other is just—a disaster,’ he said in that same rather expressionless tone he had used when he had first explained that his wife had left him. ‘I must explain that I landed only this morning. I’m on my way up to London, to my mother’s house. I had a radio telegram on board to say that she was very ill. More than that. She—isn’t expected to live very long.’
‘Oh, I am sorry!’ Patricia would have liked to put a sympathetic hand on his arm, but felt he might very likely resent it.
‘There is nothing very sudden about it,’ he explained after a moment. ‘Her heart has been in a very bad state for some years now. One always imagines one is prepared for these things, but’—he frowned—‘of course one isn’t. I’m very fond of her,’ he added in that curt way he seemed to reserve, for all the more important statements.
‘Of course. And it’s terribly hard having both these things happen at the same time.’
He nodded, but went on almost at once, as though he had made up his mind to tell his story, and had no intention of being side-tracked by sympathy.
‘She had never seen Pat—my wife. She only knew about her, and most of her happiness was due to the fact that she thought—I was happy. She hasn’t had a very enjoyable life, my mother, and she had no reason to think of married life as a picnic. It gave her infinite pleasure to feel sure that—everything was all right for me. And now—’ He stopped and frowned.
‘You mean it will be a terrible blow for her—to know what has happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘But need she know the circumstances?’
‘No, of course not. I loathe the idea of lying to her, but I shall have to think of some reason for Pat not being there. It’s the best I can do. But it can’t be anything but an overwhelming disappointment. You see, we married very suddenly, and went off at once on this world trip. I have always felt guilty that my mother didn’t see her then, and I know she thought every day of the time when I should bring my wife home. It is no figure of speech to say she was living for this meeting.’
‘And now there is no wife to produce?’
‘Exactly. Now there’s no wife to produce.’
There was silence for a moment. Then he said grimly, ‘Don’t run away with the idea that she is one of those dreadful old ladies of fiction—all lavender and illusions. She is nothing of the sort. But it isn’t only the fragile people who need a little consideration. She’s a woman of great personality—strong personality, I suppose—and she would consider it an insult to be called “sweet”. But my father wasn’t exactly a good husband, and I feel she has had enough trials in her life without being faced with supreme disappointment at the end of it.’
‘Yes, I see. She’s never seen your wife at all?’
‘No.’ Then, after a long pause, ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Nothing, I was just thinking.’
He turned his head and stared at her for a moment, slowing down the car as he did so almost to a walking pace.
I wonder,’ he said very deliberately, ‘if you were thinking the same as I was.’
She didn’t answer that, and presently he went on, still in that deliberate way:
‘Isn’t it almost incredible that I was speeding along the road, wondering how in God’s name I was to manage without someone called Patricia, and suddenly—’
‘Someone called Patricia more or less chucks herself under your wheels?’
He smiled grimly.
‘The description will do as well as any,’ he agreed.
There was another silence. And then, as though answering a spoken plea, Patricia said:
‘It’s too fantastic, you know. We could never carry it off.’
‘Are you so sure?’ Abruptly he drew the car to a standstill at the side of the road, and turned in his seat to face her.
Patricia smiled and gave a deprecating little shrug.
‘I don’t imagine that an elaborate deception ever really works—outside the covers of a book, do you?’
‘But it need not be so elaborate.’
‘You are asking me to impersonate your wife, aren’t you?’ she said bluntly.
‘Of course.’
‘And you d
on’t call that an elaborate deception? To try, on the strength of a few hours’ acquaintance, to impersonate the one person in the world who probably knows you best!’
He made no answer to that. Only sat there frowning, as though he were making up his mind with difficulty and certainly didn’t intend that any feeble protests should put him off.
‘Listen. Things are too urgent for delicate dealing. I’m a rich man, and I would willingly make this a much more profitable business for you than any nursery-governessing.’
‘Oh, but you don’t need to! I wasn’t thinking of that.’
‘No? Then that was very foolish of you,’ he told her curtly. ‘I need your help and you need my money. It would be a business deal between us.’
She smiled slightly.
‘Hadn’t we better discuss whether it’s a practical possibility first?’
‘But it is!’ He seemed impatient of opposition, now that he had made up his mind to the idea. ‘It is really rather astonishingly simple. My mother has always lived very quietly since my father’s death. She has a companion who has been with her for years, and, apart from her, there is no one else in the house but a maid, and—since she became really ill—a trained nurse. You understand that whatever arrangement we make is not likely to have to last more—more than a few days.’
‘Yes, I understand. I’m so sorry about that part, but, of course, if we were going to do anything so mad, it would be essential that we didn’t have to keep it up long.’
‘Exactly. There is not the slightest reason for either of us to see the nurse or the maid again once—once it is over.’
‘Which leaves only the companion.’
‘Yes. She is utterly devoted to my mother. I didn’t explain—my mother was a dancer in her youth—quite a famous dancer, and Susan was her dresser. She stayed with my mother after her marriage, and I am sure that her world still revolves round her.’
‘Do you—do you propose that we should take her into our confidence?’ Patricia wondered why she was discussing this fantastic thing as though they could really carry it out. It was ridiculous, of course. Only—
‘Not unless it were necessary. It certainly would not be necessary until—afterwards. And, even if we had to, it would not be a disastrous matter. Susan believes that anything which is for my mother’s good is right.’
‘And—the doctor?’ Patricia was still clinging to the last links with a sensible, understandable life, and she felt she simply had to raise all the difficulties there were.
‘He need not present any problem either. Even if you have to meet him—which is not specially likely—you are never at all likely to see him again. I have not lived at home for some years and the doctor is not a close personal acquaintance of mine. I don’t see that he really complicates things further.’
‘I see.’
She was silent after that, telling herself that she had practically nothing to lose, even if she did take on this extraordinary task.
Besides, though she hardly knew why, she wanted to help him. He had not been specially agreeable to her—in fact, once or twice he had been remarkably curt—but there was something about him which she liked very much.
He was not exactly handsome, but there was something very attractive about his dark, serious face. The mouth was a trifle too wide, but it was a good, strong mouth, and the extra width probably denoted a certain amount of generosity, thought Patricia. His singularly well-set eyes were dark and fine and—she smiled a little to herself at the word which instinctively came to her mind—they were truthful.
‘Well?’ he cut in impatiently, perhaps because he thought he had been kept waiting long enough for his answer. ‘What do you say to the idea?’
Patricia looked straight at him and smiled.
‘That it’s mad—but not too mad. And I’ll take it.’
CHAPTER II
As Patricia took her momentous decision, she experienced the not unpleasant sensation of cutting loose from everything familiar and ordinary in life. It was frightening, of course, but oddly stimulating. At least this was an adventure beside which the career of a nursery-governess seemed revoltingly dull.
As for her companion, he merely said, ‘Thank God,’ with genuine fervour, and started the car again.
She was amused at the economy of comment, though touched to see that he had actually gone a little pale under that dark tan of his. He must, after all, be a man of strong feelings, she decided, in spite of his rather unsympathetic manner.
At least—was unsympathetic the word? She studied him more closely. After all, if she were going to masquerade as his wife, it would be necessary to have a very clear idea of him—both as a personality and as he might appear to someone who had known him and loved him for some time.
‘Yes?’ he said inquiringly at that moment, and she saw, from the slight, dry smile, that he was well aware of her scrutiny, even though he was not looking at her.
‘Oh—I’m making a careful study of you, so as to get the impression well fixed in my mind.’
‘So? I have my impression of you very clear already,’ he said unexpectedly.
‘Am I like the—the other Patricia?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Well, isn’t that going to make things rather awkward?’
‘Oh, I see what you mean. Superficially you are sufficiently alike. She also has dark hair and blue eyes. The likeness stops short there.’ And he gave her a glance which implied that the difference was to Patricia’s disadvantage.
‘Well, poor dear, I suppose that’s natural,’ she thought tolerantly. ‘He’s evidently wrapped up in my erring namesake, even if she has administered a frightful blow to his pride and affections.’
Aloud she said:
‘I take it that your mother has never seen a photograph of her?’
‘No, never. Pat didn’t like being photographed. She said—quite truly—that she never looked her best in photographs. I have—described her, of course—’that came out rather stiffly, as though the memory of ecstatic letters was very painful—‘but I think the broad outlines of the description will fit you.’
Patricia nodded.
‘You call her “Pat.” Do you have to call me that too?’
‘Do you dislike it?’
‘I prefer my own version.’
He gave her a thoughtful glance.
‘Very well. In any case, I shouldn’t want to call anyone else—’
He stopped.
‘Quite,’ Patricia agreed, with sympathy. Then suddenly she began to laugh.
He glanced at her in surprise—not very pleased surprise, she thought.
‘Was there anything funny in that?’
‘Oh no!’ She was shocked to think she might have hurt or offended him on the vexed question of his wife. ‘No, it wasn’t that at all. It’s just—do you realise that I haven’t the faintest idea what the rest of my name is?’
‘Oh—’ He smiled slightly. ‘How absurd. It’s Harnby. My name is Michael Harnby.’
‘Michael? It’s nice.’
He looked surprised again, and rather as though it were immaterial whether she found his name nice or nasty.
After quite a long silence—and when it became obvious that he did not intend to become any more communicative on his own account—she spoke again, a little diffidently.
‘I don’t want to seem unduly curious, but don’t you think you had better tell me whatever I might reasonably know about the family into which I’ve married?’
‘Oh—yes, I suppose I had.’ He digested that unpalatable truth with difficulty, she saw.
‘I explained about my mother,’ he began—slowly, as though he really were trying to give her a picture of ‘events and personalities. ‘She was Leni Maelson, the dancer. You might not have heard of her. She was the generation before your time, of course, and anyway most of her best work was done in Vienna. It was there my father met her. They married after a few weeks, and she spent a large part of her life regrettin
g it.’
‘They don’t seem a very lucky family in the choice of their life-partners,’ thought Patricia. Aloud she said:
‘You don’t seem to have liked your father much,’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘What was he?’
‘A banker. Partner in a big private banking firm. Not at all the harsh and steely magnate of popular fancy.’ He smiled grimly. ‘People in real life are hardly ever as popular fancy paints them, of course. By all the rules, it was my mother who ought to have had the shifting morals. She hadn’t. She was almost passionately respectable. He was all charm and unreliability.’
‘Socially speaking, I presume?’
‘Of course. In business he must have been absolutely reliable. He could never have held his position otherwise.’ He spoke as though his father were an unlikeable acquaintance in whom he had only the faintest interest. ‘He certainly never made the mistake of mixing business with pleasure.’
‘But there was rather a lot of—pleasure?’
‘Exactly.’
‘He has been dead some years?’
‘Yes. He died six years ago—when I was twenty-five.’
‘The first detail he has disclosed about himself,’ thought Patricia.
‘My work took me abroad a good deal. We have certain connections with foreign countries through the bank. Characteristically, my mother insisted that I should have my own flat in town. She had a horror of becoming the adored and adoring mother of an only son.’ He smiled slightly, and this time the smile was not at all dry. It was surprisingly warm and affectionate, and transformed his grave face. ‘She insisted that the atmosphere of a home run for an invalid widow was all wrong for a young man—and she had her own way, as always,’ he added reflectively.
‘She sounds very shrewd, your mother.’
‘She is,’ he said, ‘most charmingly worldly.’
‘And would have detested her daughter-in-law, if I’m not much mistaken,’ thought Patricia with sudden inspiration.
Accompanied by His Wife Page 2