Isobel had come in while they were having supper, and, in spite of many digressions on the difficulties of bringing up Deborah, she had contrived to exchange a good deal of family news and comment with Michael.
Patricia was exceedingly thankful for this, since it gave her an opportunity of gathering useful information without asking direct questions. She learned from the conversation that Isobel was not a widow, but the wife of a captain in the Merchant Service, and that, in the usual way, she lived just outside Edinburgh. On hearing of her aunt’s illness, however, she had immediately come to London to be of any help she could.
Almost as soon as they had finished their meal, Patricia had pleaded weariness and gone upstairs to bed. And, after a tactfully lengthy interval, Michael had followed.
She rather suspected that he was a good deal exercised in case she might be very unhappy over this part of the arrangement. But, once she had shown signs of taking the situation calmly, he seemed prepared to do the same. He had fallen asleep almost immediately—or so she had judged from his regular breathing.
Now she was wondering if she might venture to put on the light over her bed. She knew she would not sleep for some time, and she would have liked to examine some of the books on the table beside her bed.
Surely if he slept so soundly, she might risk it.
Patricia put out her hand and switched on the shaded light.
But almost immediately he rolled over on his side and roused up, looking tousled and oddly boyish.
‘Did you want something?’ He was more awake now, and absently pushed back his dark hair into something like order.
‘I was only going to read. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘Read?’ He looked astonished. ‘Whatever for?’
‘I can’t sleep.’
‘Oh—I’m sorry. Does it disturb you very much having someone else in the room?’
‘No, no, it’s not that,’ she assured him. ‘I often don’t sleep at all well.’
He sat up and reached for his dressing-gown.
‘I’ll fetch you some hot milk. That might make you sleep.’
‘No, don’t be absurd. There isn’t the least need.’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘But I don’t like hot milk.’
‘Don’t you?’ He regarded her thoughtfully again. ‘What would you like, then?’
‘Nothing. Really. It’s quite unnecessary for you to spoil your good night’s rest on my behalf.’
‘You’re doing a lot more than that for me,’ he retorted unexpectedly, as he tied the cord of his dressing-gown with an air of decision. ‘I think I know what you’d like.’
And before she could make any further protests, he went out of the room.
He was gone quite a long while. And when he returned he was carrying a tray with two soup bowls on it.
‘Have you decided that you too need a cure for sleeplessness?’ she asked, eyeing the second bowl as she sat up.
‘No. I thought it would be sociable, that’s all.’
She laughed, and accepted her bowl with curiosity and pleasure.
Somehow, in his dressing-gown, leaning back against the end of her bed, he was not nearly such a disconcerting person as she had thought.
‘Michael—’ She looked rather fixedly into the bottom of the bowl.
‘Yes?’
‘I think I want to apologise to you.’
‘For what?’ The smile deepened a little, but as she was not looking at him she didn’t see that.
‘For what I said about your wife. It was rude and stupid, I suppose.’
‘It was,’ he agreed.
She looked up quickly—a little indignantly—and then met his amused eyes.
‘But I shouldn’t like to say,’ he added reflectively, ‘that I wasn’t rude and stupid to you once or twice yesterday. It wasn’t an easy day, Patricia, for either of us.’
‘No, that’s true. Does that mean—that I’m forgiven?’
He inclined his head—still amused, she saw.
‘If you wish it said in so many words—yes.’
‘Hm. That’s good. I’ll remember another time that I don’t know her and you do. And that you’re very fond of her. You are, aren’t you?’
‘Very,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Finished?’
‘Um-hm.’ She handed over the empty bowl, and he put them both on a side table.
‘Michael—would you hate to tell me any more about it? Don’t think I’m being inquisitive, and don’t say anything if you really don’t want to, but I feel terribly unsure of myself when I talk to your mother or to Isobel. They seem to know so much more about me than I do myself.’
He smiled faintly and sat down again on the end of her bed.
‘They don’t really know much, Patricia.’
‘Well, then, they’re all the more likely to question me. They are sure to want to know more, and I can’t just launch out into whatever seems to me an interesting account of myself. I’m certain to trip up somewhere.’
‘I suppose so,’ he agreed reflectively.
‘Since you haven’t told them much—or haven’t told your mother at any rate—I take it that what there is to tell would not be very—acceptable, shall we say?’
He frowned.
‘My mother wouldn’t have cared about the circumstances in which we met.’ He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘Patricia, will you try not to judge her harshly if I tell you how things really were?’
‘Of course.’
‘No, not “of course” at all. You’re rather intolerant where your own sex are concerned, I think.’
‘Am I?’ Patricia was genuinely surprised. And then realised that he based his view simply and solely on the fact that she could not see eye to eye with him about the other Patricia. She felt amusedly impatient for a moment, and then found that she was rather touched by his loyalty to the woman who had served him very badly. ‘I’ll try to be sympathetic and understanding,’ she promised.
He smiled slightly again.
‘Well, one thing you won’t find difficult to be sympathetic about is that she, like you, was getting very near the end of her resources when I met her.’
Patricia forbore to ask what she was doing in Paris, in that case, and waited for the rest of the story.
‘Apparently all her hopes were centred on a rich and eccentric uncle, who was expected to leave all his money to his pretty niece. When the time came, however, he left her fifty pounds, and all the rest went to charity.’
‘So that Patricia was left with fifty pounds and no prospects?’
‘Exactly. She decided—and I’m afraid this is the bit you will disapprove of—to blow the lot in one final fling before she settled down to being a mannequin or a shopgirl, or whatever she would have to be. When I met her she was trying—pathetically, I think—to drain the last drop from her very short draught of pleasure.’
‘Trying to find a rich husband to save her bacon for her is much more like it,’ thought Patricia cynically. But she hastily rejected the thought as unworthy.
Aloud she said:
‘You mustn’t think I disapprove. I can understand anyone doing that.’ Which was true. ‘I think I probably shouldn’t do it myself, but I wouldn’t criticise anyone for spending their own money the way they like best.’
‘That’s how I feel about it,’ agreed Michael—who probably had never had to think twice about money in any case, thought Patricia.
After a moment she said:
‘How long did you know her before you married her?’
‘A month.’
‘Oh, dear!’
‘There was no need to hang about over a long engagement,’ he retorted impatiently. ‘And anyway, she was in no position to do that.’
‘I see. And which are the circumstances you think your mother would disapprove of?’
He looked slightly restive.
‘As I told you, Mother is—is quite charmingly worldly. But, in some wa
ys, she is rather cynical too. You see, all her youth was spent in the atmosphere of the continental theatre. It’s a bit disillusioning.’
‘It must be,’ Patricia agreed.
‘And she would almost certainly regard Pat as—well, as something of an adventuress.’
Patricia thought of his mother saying, ‘I am a good judge of women.’ That made it rather difficult to think of anything to say, and she murmured, ‘I see,’ not very convincingly.
Apparently he didn’t think it much of a comment, because, with a sudden little gust of anger, he exclaimed:
‘And that’s what you think her too, I suppose. I was a fool to tell you!’
‘No, Michael, that isn’t true.’ Leaning forward, she put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m not going to pretend that I could possibly judge without meeting her myself. I’m trying to see the whole thing as you see it, that’s all.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He thrust his hand through his hair, making it very untidy again. ‘I’m being ridiculous and unreasonable, I know. But,’ he added with rather tragic simplicity, ‘I’m so terribly worried.’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry,’ Patricia said. ‘I wish could be more comforting. It’s terrible to be right away from someone you love, and not to know what’s happening or what they’re thinking or hoping or regretting.’
He raised his head and looked at her curiously.
‘You speak as though you really know. Is there—anyone?’
‘Oh—not anything as definite or as tragic as this.’ She laughed sadly. ‘It’s just that—yes, there was someone. But after my father lost all his money—well, it was over. That’s all.’
‘But if he turned you down because you hadn’t money after all he’s not worth worrying about, Patricia.’ He was very earnest about that, as though he really wished to console her.
‘Oh, he didn’t turn me down. I suppose, if anything, I turned him down. There was nothing definite about it—perhaps I was silly and had imagined more than there was. But in any case—you see, his family lost a good deal because of my father, and that made me feel much worse than our losing everything. I just faded out as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. I didn’t want them to be generous or—or to have him sorry or feel responsible about me.’
‘I think that’s overdoing things.’ Michael sounded unexpectedly emphatic. ‘Suppose he wanted desperately to keep in touch with you and didn’t care a damn about the money?’
‘There is such a thing as pride,’ Patricia pointed out with a dry little smile.
And at that moment four o’clock struck downstairs.
‘Look here, you must get some sleep.’ He stood up, looking extremely grave and concerned. ‘I’ve kept you awake, rather than helped you to sleep.’
‘No, I think I shall sleep now. It must be your bouillon.’
She lay down and reached lazily for the bedclothes, to draw up over her. A good deal to her amusement, he covered her up with an air of some care. Then he put out her light for her, before he got into bed once more.
She thought he said, ‘Good-night, Patricia,’ again. But she was not quite sure because she was suddenly deliciously and overwhelmingly sleepy.
When Patricia woke later he was evidently already up and dressed. Glancing at the little bedside clock, she saw it was already half-past eight and, as she had forgotten to ask last night what the breakfast arrangements were in the house, she bathed and dressed as quickly as possible and went downstairs.
Michael looked up from The Times and said:
‘Good morning, Patricia. I thought I wouldn’t wake you when you had such a poor night.’
The only other occupant of the room was Deborah, who looked at Patricia and said at once:
‘Why doesn’t he kiss you?’
‘Perhaps he’s already kissed me upstairs,’ Patricia replied with praiseworthy promptness.
‘But he said you were asleep. It doesn’t count when you’re asleep.’
‘You mind your own business, young woman,’ Michael said with decision, and picked up his paper again.
‘I know who you are now,’ she said, as the maid brought in breakfast. ‘You’re my Aunt Patricia.’
‘Yes. Quite right,’ agreed Patricia, somewhat surprised to find herself suddenly a fully-fledged aunt.
Michael finally put aside his paper and came to the table.
‘Isobel asked us not to wait. She had to do some telephoning and may be some time.’
‘Very well.’ Patricia turned her attention to Deborah, who immediately announced:
‘I shan’t eat my brekfuss to-day.’
‘All right, dear,’ Patricia said equably, and began to pour out the coffee.
Deborah fingered a spoon doubtfully.
‘I’m not going to eat my cereal and I’m not going to eat my egg,’ she amplified her statement.
‘No, I know. You’ve told us already.’ Patricia handed Michael his coffee and began on her own breakfast.
‘Do you have to go to the bank to-day, Michael?’
‘Yes. I want to get down there as soon as possible and see how things have gone while I was away. I’ve been away a good while, you see, and—’
‘Yes, dear, I know.’ Patricia smiled in a way that was intended to remind him that she knew at least as well as he did how long they had both been away.
‘Eh? Oh yes, of course.’
‘Well, to-morrow I shan’t eat my brekfuss,’ burst out Deborah, and began on her cereal with stormy appetite.
Michael gave her a surprised glance, and then suddenly grinned at Patricia in comprehension.
‘Michael’s really very nice and boyish when he does that,’ Patricia thought.
And then Isobel came in.
She monopolised the conversation for the next ten minutes, running on in her inconsequential way and saying nothing of real importance, and yet supplying Patricia with a. valuable background of the people and situations that made up her new life.
Presently, however, Deborah made herself heard again.
‘Do you think Uncle Michael loves Aunt Patricia?’ she asked her mother with dreadful bluntness.
‘Darling, of course!’ Isobel spoke with such shocked conviction that Patricia could not help wondering if Michael were as amused as she was. ‘What a funny thing to ask!’
‘Well, he didn’t kiss her when she came in to brekfuss.’
‘Well, well, I expect he’s kissed her lots of other times,’ Isobel insisted cheerfully.
‘Has he?’ Deborah peered round her mother at Patricia.
‘Certainly,’ lied Patricia with admirable calm.
And then Susan came in, to tell them that Mrs. Harnby had had a good night, and seemed a little stronger that morning.
‘I’ve finished my brekfuss. I’m going with Susan,’ Deborah said, and scrambled down from her seat.
Susan accepted this intimation with resignation, but Patricia had the impression that she too had a sneaking liking for the child.
Michael got up, pushing back his chair. Then he paused a little awkwardly beside Patricia. For a moment she wondered why, and then realised that Deborah’s words had sunk in.
With admirable composure she said, ‘Good-bye, darling,’ and held up her face to be kissed.
There was the slightest hesitation. Then he bent down, and his lips met hers—very firmly.
When Michael had gone, Isobel seemed quite prepared to indulge in a friendly half-hour’s gossip. It was nice of her, Patricia thought, but it was also a disturbing attention she could willingly have dispensed with.
‘I suppose you and Michael won’t start looking round for a place of your own until—well, until Aunt Leni is better?’ Isobel said, taking an optimistic view of things.
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Patricia wondered in some alarm whether she and Michael would be driven into house-hunting before they were finished. ‘Our plans are really very vague at present.’
‘Yes. Though I expect you worked things out in theory while yo
u were on your honeymoon trip. Before Aunt Leni’s illness upset everything, I mean.’
‘More or less,’ Patricia was forced to admit.
‘Are you going to have a flat or a house?’
‘Oh, a—a house, I think.’
‘Um—hm. One can do so much more with a house.’ Isobel became thoughtful and domesticated. ‘It’s more fun to furnish for one thing. You can spread yourself more, if you know what I mean. I always think shopping for a house is such fun,’ she went on. ‘Even more fun than shopping for oneself. And anyway, I suppose you got your trousseau in Paris, and probably picked up all sorts of nice extras on your honeymoon.’
Patricia mentally reviewed the contents of her one suitcase, and felt a chill creep down her spine.
‘Well, to tell the truth, there wasn’t time to buy much of a trousseau,’ she explained with inspiration. ‘And then we found it so convenient travelling without much luggage that I decided to wait until we were back in London before I started buying much.’
‘I suppose Michael’s wedding present was a great stand-by in the earlier part of your journey?’
‘Yes. Oh—most certainly.’
(What on earth had Michael given her for her wedding present? A fur coat, most likely. But one couldn’t risk any positive statement. It might have been a fur cape—or just furs. Or even a fitted dressing-case, come to that.)
‘You must let me see it later,’ Isobel babbled on affably. ‘From what Aunt Leni said, it must be lovely.’
‘Yes, of course. But it—I haven’t got it with me, you know. It’s coming on with the rest of the luggage.’ Patricia felt as though she had just recovered her balance on a tight-rope. ‘We just grabbed a couple of suitcases, and came on by car as fast as we could. I expect the other things will go into store for a while.’
‘Oh, don’t you think that’s risky, Patricia? I always think it’s terribly risky to store furs. Especially at this time of year.’
(‘Well, anyway, it was something furry,’ thought Patricia.)
Aloud she said:
‘Um—I daresay you’re right. We did everything in such a hurry, of course, that I hadn’t thought out things like that. But—yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ she added with decision. And then, feeling that she had surely done all that was necessary so far as dangerous conversation was concerned, she stood up.
Accompanied by His Wife Page 5