At that moment Deborah came back into the room.
‘Can we go out now?’ she demanded. ‘I want to go in the Park an’ see the ducks.’
‘Yes, darling. Mummy’s just coming.’ Isobel got up too, obedient to her tyrant’s behest. ‘Shall we ask Aunty Patricia to come too? Wouldn’t that be nice?’
‘No,’ Deborah said coldly. ‘It wouldn’t.’
‘Oh, but I’m sure you’d like Aunty Patricia to come,’ Isobel insisted with misplaced optimism.
‘No, I shouldn’t.’
‘I can’t come, anyway,’ Patricia explained, feeling unequal to any more conversation and questioning. ‘I have some letters to write.’
She remembered, just too late, that she was supposed to be a sensationally bad correspondent. But fortunately Isobel was too deeply engaged in the struggle with Deborah’s manners to notice any little inconsistency.
Ten minutes after they had gone the telephone bell rang, and the quiet-voiced maid came to tell Patricia she was wanted.
‘For me?’ Patricia looked unnaturally startled, before she remembered that of course it could not possibly be anyone who knew her in her own identity.
‘Yes, madam. It’s Mr. Harnby.’
‘Oh—of course.’
Feeling rather foolish, Patricia went to take the message.
‘Hello, Patricia. Is that you?’
‘Yes. Is anything wrong?’
‘Wrong? No. What should be wrong?’
‘Oh—nothing. I just wondered why you had rung.’
‘I thought you might like to meet me for lunch.’
‘Oh, Michael, how nice of you!’ She was genuinely pleased at the attention.
‘Well, I thought it might be less awkward than having to exchange conversation with Isobel all lunch-time.’
‘Yes—of course.’ It didn’t sound quite so gratifying put that way. ‘Where shall I meet you?’
‘Is there anywhere special you would like to go?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I’ll leave it to you.’
‘The Savoy, then. I’ll meet you in the foyer about one. Is that all right?’
‘Yes, of course. Oh, and—Michael?’
‘Yes?’
She lowered her voice.
‘Michael, what did you give me for a wedding present?’
‘Oh—’ He laughed suddenly, and she thought again what a very pleasant laugh he had when he was genuinely amused. ‘A fur coat, Patricia. A very fine mink, as a matter of fact. Why?’
‘Only that Isobel is dying to see it, and I’m terrified she’ll ask me to describe it at least, next time we’re talking about clothes.’
‘I see.’ He still sounded amused, but he was thoughtful too now. ‘We’d better get you one, Patricia.’
‘Better—what?’
‘Get you a fur coat.’
‘Oh, but—’ She had to stop suddenly because Susan was coming downstairs. ‘Very well. I’ll meet you at the Savoy at one.’
‘Good.’ Michael rang off, and Patricia turned to speak to Susan.
‘I’ll be out to lunch, Susan. I’m meeting Michael.’
‘All right.’ Susan nodded.
‘Could I see Mrs. Harnby now?’ To her surprise, Patricia found she said that from a real desire to see her supposed mother-in-law, in spite of all the risks.
But Susan shook her head.
‘No. Better wait until the afternoon. The doctor likes her to take things easily in the mornings until after he has been.’
Patricia agreed to the arrangement at once. And presently, since there was little else for her to do, she went out into the sunshine, deciding to go shop-gazing, and glean some ideas on furnishing, in preparation for Isobel’s next series of questions.
It was odd, somehow, this idea of furnishing in imagination a house that would never be hers. And she could spend practically what she liked too! A husband who took one to lunch at the Savoy and casually offered one a second mink coat would hardly be likely to turn mean over an extra twenty guineas on the dining-room carpet.
Things would hardly have been on that lavish scale if she had married Phil Magerton, of course. They would have been very comfortable financially, but—Oh, well, in any case, it was ridiculous to let one’s imagination run riot over that business. It was all over long ago. There was no point in furnishing a house, even in imagination, for that dream.
And presently Patricia left her shop-gazing, and because, even in the midst of plenty, she still had only two pounds four shillings and eleven pence halfpenny of her own, she took a bus down to the Savoy.
CHAPTER IV
He was already there when she arrived—standing by the travel bureau, rather absently studying a lavishly illustrated brochure.
‘Hello, Michael.’
‘Oh, hello.’
He turned quickly, putting the brochure back on the counter as he did so, with a faintly disconcerted air.
‘Have I kept you waiting?’
‘No, you’re wonderfully punctual. Would you like a cocktail?—or sherry?’
‘Sherry, please.’
How pleasant it was to indulge in these expensive, unnecessary things once more!
Poor boy I she thought, as they crossed the lounge. He’d been looking at photographs of places where he had been with the other Patricia, of course. It was hard to remember sometimes how bitterly, wretchedly worried he must be about her.
Over their sherry he mentioned the fur coat again.
‘I think we had better go and buy it this afternoon,’ he said.
‘But, Michael—’ she was a good deal distressed—‘you can’t go buying me expensive presents like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘It isn’t necessary—really. I told Isobel we had left most of our luggage to be sent on later—made up some vague story about storing most of it.’
‘Whereupon Isobel informed you that your coat would have moth in it, long before you were ready to wear it again?’
Patricia laughed.
‘How did you know? She did say something like that.’
‘Oh, Isobel always says something like that. Well, did she persuade you to take the coat out of storage?’
‘I said I would, some time soon.’
‘Then we must produce a coat, my dear.’ It was the first time he had used such a term to her, and although it sounded very strange to Patricia’s ears, he seemed not even to have noticed that he had used it.
‘But, Michael, we might at least wait a few days and—and see what happens.’
‘No.’ He was suddenly peculiarly obstinate about it. ‘I should like you to have the coat anyway.’
She opened her eyes rather wide.
‘Do you mind telling me why?’
He smiled and shrugged.
‘As an expression of my appreciation of what you are doing for me, if you like.’
‘It seems a rather costly expression of appreciation,’ Patricia said practically.
‘Unseasonable, if you like, but not too expensive, considering all you are doing. Shall we go in and have lunch now?’
Any further protest seemed out of place, and Patricia accompanied him into the grill room without commenting on his estimate of her services.
When they had chosen their lunch—or rather, when he had, because Patricia preferred to leave that to him—he leaned back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully.
‘At the risk of arousing further protest, I think I must point out that there is one other thing which you must have.’
‘And that is?’
‘Some sort of ring, Patricia. You need not have a wedding ring, if you have any—sentimental or superstitious feeling against that. We can pretend you are modern enough to prefer not to wear one. But it is inconceivable that I should not have given you any sort of ring when we—well, when we became engaged.’
‘I suppose it is.’ She looked troubled again. Then, recollecting that jewellery at least could be returned, she said, ‘Well, one ca
n usually realise on jewellery fairly well, I suppose.’
‘Realise?’
‘I mean, you could sell a ring again, when—when it was all over.’
‘My dear girl, whatever ring or fur coat or anything else buy you will become your own property absolutely. You can regard them as—shall we say?—matrimonial perquisites.’
‘You must be rather frighteningly rich, Michael,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘No, not frighteningly so. But sufficiently wealthy to be reasonably generous to someone who is doing a great deal for me.’
‘Do you know?’—she still regarded him thoughtfully—‘I thought yesterday that you were a rather forbidding and difficult person. To-day you, seem quite different.’
‘I was a good deal worried yesterday,’
‘And not to-day?’
‘Not so much to-day, Patricia. And somehow I forget the worry from time to time in your company.’ And then—hardly pausing as he changed the subject—’ You made something of a hit with Mother, you know.’
‘I’m glad. I like her immensely.’
‘I thought you must. She said something that—well, I don’t know whether to be more pleased or worried about it.’ He frowned.
‘What did she say?’
‘That she had no idea it was so easy to love a daughter-in-law, particularly when one had dreaded the meeting,’
‘Oh, Michael! She said that?’ Patricia flushed with pleasure. ‘How sweet of her. I—I wish you’d tell her—I felt the same.’
After lunch he motored her to a famous store, where even the request for a fur coat on a June day seemed to make no unusual demands on their celebrated efficiency.
‘Of course we don’t carry a very varied, stock at this time of year,’ explained the svelte young woman who attended to them. Nevertheless, she seemed able to present a sufficiently bewildering selection.
To Patricia’s surprise, she discovered that Michael had very definite—and extremely well-informed—tastes where these matters were concerned. He unerringly chose the coat which, suited her best. It was a beautifully worked, expensive-looking thing, silkily supple and of a softly smoky shade of brown.
‘Yes, it’s lovely. The perfect coat for you, Patricia. Don’t you think so?’
‘I simply love it. I only feel that—somehow—it’s an imposition to let you buy it.’
‘Nonsense, my dear. Every man likes to buy his wife a fur coat, even if—’
‘Patricia! My dear girl, where on earth have you sprung from? I was beginning to give up hope of finding you.’
For a second Patricia felt powerless to turn and face the man who had addressed her. And when she did, she spoke his name just a moment before she looked at him. ‘Why—Phil! What are you doing here?’
‘The same as you, I suppose. Buying furs. But, in my case, it’s a silver fox for an aunt from whom I have expectations.’ And Philip Magerton laughed down at her in that gay, careless, altogether charming way she remembered so well.
Characteristically, he hardly seemed to notice her companion. It was she who interested him, and his bright, laughing eyes appeared to see only her.
She turned to make the introductions, realising, as she did so, that there was one way and one way only to introduce him:
‘This is my husband, Phil. Michael Harnby.’
The grey eyes stopped smiling, and, just for a moment, even Philip Magerton’s composure faltered.
‘Your— But I had no idea you were married!’
‘No. It was rather a sudden affair—and very quiet.’
‘Well—congratulations, Harnby. You’re a very lucky man, if I may say so.’
The two shook hands with admirably concealed dislike.
‘I think so,’ Michael agreed, a little more curtly than the occasion warranted.
‘So that was why no one seemed to know where you were?’ Philip had turned again to Patricia. ‘I looked for you in all the old places, but no one even had news of you.’
‘No. We—we’ve been abroad most of the time since we were married. We came home only yesterday.’
‘I—see. Where are you staying just now?’
‘With Michael’s mother.’ Reluctantly she gave the address, and he noted it down carefully. Until that moment she had been wondering if she had been a fool to introduce Michael as her husband. But he was sure to have asked where he could find her again, of course. There was nothing to do but go on with the farce.
She explained very earnestly about Mrs. Harnby’s illness, and hoped he would take that as sufficient reason for their not asking him to the house.
Apparently he did, because he said:
‘I hope you’ll both have dinner with me one night when you’re free.’
They both said that would be delightful.
And then he moved away, to buy his fox fur for the important aunt, and Michael and Patricia completed the purchase of the mink coat.
It was all over in a few minutes. The whole encounter could not have taken more than ten minutes, she supposed. But in that time any possibility of Phil regarding her—well, with renewed interest—had completely disappeared.
As they came out of the shop Michael said:
‘Damned unfortunate, I take it?’
‘Damned unfortunate,’ Patricia agreed.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It can’t be helped. These beastly coincidences do happen sometimes, I suppose.’
‘I suppose so.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, it isn’t for always, Patricia.’ He was very anxious to reassure her, she could see. ‘You’ll be able to explain to him later.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I shall be able to explain to him later.’
No need to worry Michael by pointing out the singular awkwardness of explaining to a man who means much to you that you have been playing the role of wife to another man.
‘If it’s—terribly important, you can tell him now,’ Michael said suddenly. He was looking straight ahead as she spoke, and carefully avoided, her eyes.
‘Michael—no! It would never do to start telling one set of people one story and one another.’
‘It would only be one person.’
‘It wouldn’t stop at one person, once we started,’ she pointed out shrewdly. ‘We must stick to our story.’
‘As you like.’ He shrugged with an air of some indifference, and she thought he was faintly ashamed of having been weak enough to offer to sacrifice common sense to sentiment.
‘It was nice of you to suggest it, though, Michael,’ she said softly.
He gave her a troubled, rather kindly glance.
‘I suppose he is the man who—’
‘Yes. But there was nothing much in it, you know. I mean—he may not have been in the least serious. It hadn’t reached that stage.’
‘I hope he wasn’t serious,’ Michael stated deliberately.
‘You—Michael! What on earth do you mean by that?’
‘I don’t like the fellow.’
‘It isn’t really necessary that you should,’ she pointed out sharply.
‘No? Doesn’t a husband expect to have some interest in the choice of his wife’s friends?’
‘In the circumstances—no,’ Patricia said, a little surprised to find that he could bring himself to refer to her as his wife, even in joke.
‘Very well.’ He dismissed the subject then with a smile. ‘Now about this fur coat—I suppose the best thing would be for me to take it back with me to my office, and we can produce it “from store” in a day or two, at the right moment.’
‘Have you anywhere to keep it there?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said carelessly.
‘I mean—anywhere safe,’ Patricia explained anxiously. ‘I should be heartbroken now if anything’ happened to it.’
‘Would you?’ He smiled. ‘I’ll see that it’s safe, Patricia. I’m glad you like it so much.’
‘I simply love it,’ she assured him. And she thought he contrived to look singularly pleased,
considering that he must be recollecting a much more important occasion when he had bought a fur coat before.
She parted from him after that, and went back to the house near Birdcage Walk.
As she came in, the telephone was ringing, and she automatically picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?—It’s all right, Julia,’ she said the next moment to the maid who had come into the hall, for she had recognised the voice immediately.
Julia withdrew again, and Patricia went on:
‘Phil, what on earth is it? I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’
‘Didn’t you?’ Are you quite sure you didn’t expect to hear from me.at the earliest possible moment?’
‘Well—’ She laughed a little nervously. ‘I’m very glad to hear from you, of course. What is it?’
‘That I simply must see you for a long talk, Patricia. I’m absolutely staggered about this marriage of yours, for one thing. I want to hear all about it. I want to know a dozen things about you. Can’t you meet me for tea this afternoon?—Just you yourself, of course.’ Evidently he had less than no interest in the new husband.
‘There isn’t really a great deal to talk over,’ she said slowly—and then thought how extremely fatuous that must sound. ‘Oh, well, Phil, I’ll come. I’d like to. It’s such a long time since we had any sort of talk, and of course you want to hear all about Michael.’
The brief pause showed that Phil had no wish whatever to hear all about Michael. But his eager, ‘Good!’ which followed almost immediately, expressed all his relief and pleasure in the thought of seeing her.
‘Barbellion’s?—Four o’clock?’
‘Yes, that will do beautifully. Four o’clock.’
‘Thank you, Patricia,’ he said earnestly, and then she rang off.
‘Are you going out to tea? And who is “Phil”? inquired Deborah’s voice behind her.
Patricia swung round.
‘Yes, I’m going out to tea.’
‘Could I come too?’
‘No, Deborah, I’m afraid not.’
Deborah looked, annoyed.
‘Is Phil another lady?’
‘You ask too many questions,’ Patricia patted Deborah’s round cheek rather hard. Then she realised immediately that she had done the wrong thing. Her evasion had merely fixed the name in the child’s head. But it was too late to do anything about it now.
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