by Unknown
‘Nothing to thank me for,’ said Arthur. ‘He meant no harm.
High spirits, that’s all.’
‘Thanks all the same. It’s good to know the age of chivalry is still alive and kicking.’ She stood on tiptoe, slipped her hand behind his neck, gently pulled his head down, and kissed him on the cheek.
He blushed. ‘I expect your husband’s waiting for you.’ A slight pause. ‘What makes you so sure I’m married?’ ‘I thought I heard you say . . . ’
‘An excuse to escape from that young man.’
His spirits rose and instantly sank. ‘But of course you must have . . . ’
‘What must I have?’
‘A date. I’m sure you have a date.’
Margot lowered her eyes demurely. ‘I did come with someone.’ Observing Arthur’s dejection, she quickly added, ‘A relative. A close relative. Not really what you’d call a date. Anyway, he has disappeared.’
‘In that case,’ said Arthur, hopeful again, ‘I might just be the luckiest man in the world. May I – um . . . ?’
‘Yes?’ she said encouragingly. ‘May I be your escort tonight?’
It was such a deliciously old-fashioned way of putting it. And he was cute, quite irresistibly cute. For one thing, such an exceptionally handsome young man would normally be a touch conceited, arrogant even; not this one. There was no hint of posturing, no effort to impress or beguile. On the contrary, he appeared to be not only entirely unaffected but also completely at ease with himself and the world. Moreover despite his unassuming manner, he stood out from the crowd, and not just because he looked like a Greek god. She had noticed how the other students treated him with respect; he had spoken quietly but they had listened.
‘I’d be delighted,’ she said gravely. ‘Margot Lotte.’ She held out her hand.
He clasped it as gently as if it were a new-born puppy. ‘Arthur Hughes,’ he said.
She nodded. For a moment Arthur was puzzled by that nod. It occurred to him to ask if she had heard his name before, but then the thought was gone. For the next hour he hardly stopped talking. Never had he felt so relaxed in a girl’s company. He told her about his childhood and about life in Ponterlally, he talked a great deal about Merlin, again a name that seemed to mean something to Margot, though when he asked her if she knew him, she shook her head. To his own surprise, he spoke of being adopted, something none of his friends knew.
Most of the students and their guests had drifted towards the lower quadrangle by now, and the gardens were almost deserted. They strolled around aimlessly, not knowing or caring where they were going, so involved were they with each other. After a time their fingers touched, and soon they were walking hand in hand. Every now and then Arthur would look down at the lovely woman at his side and marvel. How could his life have changed so dramatically in so short a time? His heart surged with happiness.
They sat on a bench under a May tree, its white blossoms so densely packed, so fat and flawless, that they were surely at the very peak of perfection. What could be more beautiful, thought Arthur. If only those blossoms would stay just as they were now. ‘I shall never forget this moment,’ said Margot quietly. ‘I shall put it in a cupboard and lock it up. And when I’m old and grey, I’ll take it out and look at it, and everyone will know poor gran is dreaming her favourite dream again.’
She had read his mind and he was happy, but also a little afraid. Did love come so quickly, and if it did, would it last? As if to confirm the ephemeral nature of things, the sky darkened and there was a crack of thunder. Without warning the rain came, a heavy spring shower, warm and dense. For a time they were protected by the overhanging blossoms, but soon they were beaten from the tree and the petals scattered on the grass. There was nothing now to protect them from the rain, and if they stayed where they were they would be soaked to the skin.
‘Let’s make a run for it,’ said Arthur. He looked at his watch. It was after nine o’clock. The ball had started over an hour ago. ‘Time to dance.’
For a second she leaned against him, then quickly moved away, as if embarrassed by her own daring. ‘Would you mind very much if we didn’t. Not just yet, I mean. Later.’
‘Whatever you say. What would you like to do?’
‘I’d love to find somewhere to dry off and freshen up. After that we can dance as much as you like.’
He thrust the intruding thought from his mind; he had a room in college. Any suggestion in that direction, though made in all innocence, might well be misinterpreted. He was wondering what to propose when suddenly she jumped up and ran into the full force of the driving rain. To his amazement she began to turn the most perfect cartwheels on the lawn, exposing white pants and shapely legs.
‘Come on, let’s see you do it!’ ‘No chance!’
‘Spoilsport! Try!’
He attempted a cartwheel, and fell on his back roaring with laughter. Margot stood over him, hands on hips, legs wide apart. ‘What fun!’ she cried. Holding out her hand, she pulled him to his feet, and then suddenly to her. Caressing the back of his neck, straining her body to his, she kissed him passionately. Abruptly she pulled away from him, and throwing her arms wide, declaimed at the top of her voice:
‘“There was a roaring in the wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods; But now the sun is rising calm and bright.”’
‘Arthur,’ she said, ‘do you love me just a little?’ Eyes shut, she lifted her face to the heavens and let the rain stream down from her forehead to her chin. He tried to tell her how his heart was bursting, and that no one in the history of the world had ever loved as much as he did, but the words would not come, and he stood there, spellbound, gazing at this entrancing girl, with her wet hair embracing her cheeks, her rain-soaked ball-gown clinging to her slim body, and her beautiful face shining in the last rays of the setting sun.
For as if in miraculous response to the poem’s message, the clouds parted and the rain stopped. He reached out to her but she was off again, whirling about the lawn, prancing and leaping like some woodland nymph. Whoever this girl was, she was not of this world. Suddenly she stumbled and fell awkwardly, lying with eyes closed and bosom heaving. He knelt beside her, fearing for a moment that something terrible had happened. Gently he touched her face, and as he did so she growled and sharp white teeth closed firmly on his fingers. From beneath long lashes her brown eyes regarded him with the most mischievously seductive expression. ‘Well, do you? Because if you say you don’t, I shall eat you up and spit you out.’
‘You know I do.’ ‘Then say so.’
‘I love you,’ he said earnestly, bending his head to hers. When he opened his eyes again, she was looking up at him and smiling. Had she been watching him while he kissed her?
Pushing him away, she sat up. ‘I’m absolutely drenched.’ Once more the forbidden thought nudged his brain.
‘Do you live in college?’ ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then why don’t you take me back to your room so I can dry off and do my hair and make-up and stuff, and then we can go and dance.’
He was enormously relieved that it was she who had suggested it. Having met this lovely girl only a couple of hours before, and being a chivalrous young man with rather old– fashioned views about such matters, he could not help but feel responsible for protecting her reputation. Taking her arm he somehow managed to wind a circuitous route back to his staircase without being spotted. His satisfaction at the success of his tactics was somewhat diminished by the fact that Margot seemed entirely unconcerned whether she was seen or not.
His digs were onthe first floor, overlooking a small quadrangle at the front and an ancient cemetery at the rear of the college. It consisted of a small bedsit with an adjoining bathroom. The largest piece of furniture in the room was a bed, a fact that clearly embarrassed him. Margot peered through the leaded glass windows at the cemetery. Arthur stood behind her. ‘Does it worry you?’
‘Not really. Death only happens to other people, doesn’t it?’ Desp
ite her brave words, she shivered.
‘You’re cold. What am I thinking of?’
Shepherding her to the bathroom with a bundle of towels, he shut the door behind her. Whilst she was presumably drying off her dress on the towel rail, and repairing the rain damage to her hair and make-up, he stripped down to his underpants, put on a dressing gown and lit the gas fire. He calculated that Margot would be at least five, probably ten or fifteen minutes. He would give his clothes a few minutes to dry, then put them on again.
Sitting in an armchair he looked at his watch. It was unusual for him to be so precise but there was too much at stake to take any risks. Whether his clothes were dry or not, he would be dressed when Margot opened that door. Forty seconds, fifty, a minute. And ten, twenty, forty, and fifty. Two minutes. And ten, twenty . . . A combination of the heat of the gas fire, the excitement of the evening, and the regular counting of seconds, made him drowsy. His head began to nod.
When he woke he was in bed with Margot.
‘I swear I never meant this to happen,’ he said, biting his lip at the banality of the words.
‘Didn’t you, darling?’ Once, twice, three times she kissed him on the mouth, long, thoughtful kisses. ‘I did.’
Arthur flushed, feeling stupid.
She traced the outline of his face with her finger. ‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen,’ he admitted self-consciously. He was almost too shy to ask her the same question. ‘And you?’ he asked after a while.
She shuddered. ‘Twenty-five. An old lady.’ ‘Grandma.’ He kissed her.
Her tongue savoured his chest with long, lingering licks.
He glanced at his watch. ‘Oh no,’ he groaned, ‘it’s three o’clock. You’ve missed the dance.’
‘I haven’t missed a thing,’ said Margot.
In the morning he found himself on the floor. Margot was asleep in the bed. Her beauty pummelled his heart. He dressed, made some coffee, and gently woke her. But it was not coffee she wanted. An hour later she took her first sip.
‘It must be stone cold. I’ll make some more.’
‘It’s fine.’ She was looking at him in an oddly searching way, as if she were seeing him for the first time.
‘I never saw such deep blue eyes. They are quite wonderful.’ He was embarrassed.
‘You really are a very handsome young man, Arthur,’ she said admiringly. ‘You obviously have excellent genes.’
‘I never knew my real parents.’ ‘I know.’
Once again her reaction puzzled him. ‘How do you know?’ ‘I – I suppose because you said you were adopted. I just assumed you hadn’t met your real parents.’
He drove her to the train station in good time for the ten o’clock to London. ‘Let’s sit in the coffee bar,’ he suggested. He had so much to say to her, so little time to say it.
‘If you want.’ She gave a half smile as he led her to the farthest, darkest, corner table.
‘We can talk here,’ he said, looking round to be sure no one was listening. ‘It’s more private.’
‘Why does it have to be private?’
He found it an odd question. ‘Oh, you know.’ She shrugged. ‘As you wish.’
It was the first time he had ever been in love. Everything had happened so quickly, it was hard to take in. And now she was leaving him. ‘When can I see you again?’
She held his hands in hers and stroked them. ‘What beautiful hands. So strong, so fine.’
‘When, Margot?’ he persisted.
It was as if she had not heard the question. ‘I shall never forget you.’
‘I won’t give you the chance to.’
She eased her hands away from his. ‘You mustn’t say that.’ He was hurt and confused. ‘Why not?’
‘Please don’t make it difficult for me, Arthur.’ ‘I don’t understand,’ he stammered.
‘I can’t see you again,’ she said, avoiding his eyes. ‘Not ever.
Not in that way.’
‘But we’re in love, aren’t we?’ He took her hand and pressed it passionately to his lips. ‘I couldn’t – not see you again. I never want to be with anyone else. I thought you felt the same way. Last night . . . you told me . . . you said you loved me.’
‘Did I?’ She said it as though she had forgotten. ‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t see you again.’
He was desperate. ‘That’s not true. It can’t be.’ She started to get up. ‘I shall miss my train.’ ‘Don’t go.’ He reached out to her. ‘Stay with me.’
Her eyes were suddenly cold. ‘You are being tiresome, Arthur,’ she said disdainfully. ‘I thought you had more sense. You’ll be telling me next that I’m treating you like a one night stand.’
‘Don’t mock me,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I’m serious.’ She pulled a face. ‘Are you, darling? How boring.’
He shook his head ruefully. ‘I apologise. I’m making a fool of myself.’
Her expression softened. ‘You could never do that.’
‘At least tell me why.’
She thought for a moment. ‘You’ll be shocked.’ ‘Try me.’
She grasped the back of her chair and stood looking down at him for a long time. ‘I’m married,’ she said finally.
The blood drained from Arthur’s face, the scar on his cheek burned. ‘It isn’t true.’
‘I’m afraid it is.’ Poor boy, how she had hurt him, her Greek god, her handsome prince. She went to him, took his face in both her hands and gazed into his eyes so intently that she might have been looking into his soul. ‘Don’t you understand?’ she said fiercely, ‘it wasn’t my fault, or yours either. Life makes us do bad things and then it makes us suffer for them. It was fate. There was nothing we could do about it. It was meant to happen.’
From somewhere he heard himself asking, ‘Do I know you?’
‘Who knows anyone?’ She bent and kissed him softly on the lips. ‘Good-bye.’
He looked up at her hanging over him in her ball dress like a beautiful white canopy. ‘I’ll see you off,’ he said, trying to delay the dreadful moment.
‘No.’
His heart was breaking. ‘Must you go?’
‘Dear Arthur,’ she murmured, and walked quickly away.
Lennox was standing at the barrier looking worried and exhausted. When he saw Margot his eyes lit up. With relief came anger, and he began to shout at her.
‘What d-do you th-think you are p-playing at, woman, d-disappearing all night! Where the hell have you b-been?
I’ve b-been out of m-my m-mind with worry.’
‘And who can blame you, my poor darling?’ said Margot, soothingly, as if she were indulging a wayward child. ‘You must be starving. I know I am. We’re going to spoil ourselves and have a lovely breakfast on the train, a huge English breakfast with all the trimmings.’
Taking his arm, she skipped along beside him up the platform. ‘Now you must tell me everything, I insist you do. Were you really out of your mind with worry, my sweetheart? Are you very angry with me? Is my great big strong husband going to spank his naughty Margot? Has she been wicked, then? Of course she has! But when you’ve heard all my trials and tribulations, you’ll forgive me, I just know you will, my sweety lamb. Poor darling Lennox,’ she cooed, ‘I’ll tell you all about it on the train. Now you’re never going to believe what happened to me . . .
Twenty One
2013
She was with him every hour of every day. During the last two weeks of term he sat every morning under the May tree, bare of blossoms now, and heard her voice calling him across the college lawns. At night he felt her soft flesh against his, and lay shivering in ecstasy as she caressed him with her predatory little tongue, whispering the same lies she had whispered that night in the darkness of his room: ‘I love you, Arthur. I’ll never leave you.’
Now, with hindsight, he realised that he had all too willingly deceived himself. How naïve he had been to think a woman as sophisticated and experienced as Margot could ever h
ave fallen for a callow undergraduate. Yet if he had been foolish and presumptuous, he had been harshly punished for it. He told himself that he was not the first man to suffer such humiliating rejection, and no doubt would not be the last. That however was small consolation. It hurt. It hurt all the more because he had fallen in love, and because the coup de grace had been administered with such callous, and, he suspected, practised efficiency.
There was something else . . . a question that nibbled away at his subconscious mind, finally to rise to the surface. Was their meeting pure chance? Or was there something more to it? Her words kept coming back to him. There was nothing we could do about it. It was meant to happen. What could Margot have intended by them?
For all his pain, he dreamed of her, and contrary to all logic and common sense, still yearned for her. He understood only too well that he was indulging in a kind of romantic self- deception, and that it hardly mattered that the woman he had gone to bed with was not the real Margot. For the real Margot was not the woman he loved; he was in love with the woman she pretended to be. But whoever Margot was, he never expected to see or hear from her again. In the summer vacation, however, to his surprise, he received a letter forwarded to him by his college. Before he opened it, and although he had never seen her handwriting, he knew it was from her. How his heart raced! How his hands trembled as he tore open the envelope!
Dearest Arthur,
I bet you didn’t expect to hear from me again! I’ve been thinking lots about you, wondering how you are and whether you have forgiven me. I do hope so.
I have something important to tell you. Can you meet me at the Café Royal in Regent Street next Thursday at four o’clock?
Margot.
He was half an hour early, and as the minutes passed grew more and more nervous. What was the important thing she had to tell him? That she loved him after all? Could that be it? Had she left her husband? His heart thumped in his throat. Suddenly there she was, walking across the room towards him, smiling. How beautiful she was! He jumped up, feeling the old passion stirring in his blood. If she felt any embarrassment at seeing him again, she certainly did not show it. Instead she threw her arms round him and gave him a big hug, stepped back and studied him. ‘As handsome as I remembered. And oh, those beautiful blue eyes! They give me goose-pimples! How wonderful to see you, darling.’