by Anne Weale
Joanna nodded and they drew apart. But, catching Vanessa's eye, she saw that her cousin had observed the brief exchange and was watching her with unmistakable enmity. So she's on her mother's side, Joanna thought unhappily. Three are for me, and three against me. At least, I suppose Charles is against me—or he would be if he didn't want to make Mrs. Carlyon happy. Oh well, it could be worse.
As Charles had forecast, Mrs. Carlyon retired early and asked Joanna to visit her when she was in bed.
"My dear, I couldn't help noticing your slightest hesitation when Neal asked about your meeting with Charles." she said, when they were alone. "Please don't feel that, in coming here, you are under an obligation to tell me anything which you would prefer to remain private. You owe me nothing, child: but I can never repair the harm I have done you."
"But you've done me no harm, Grandmother," Joanna protested.
"Oh yes, dear child, a great wrong," Mrs. Carlyon said sadly. "I should never have allowed your grandfather to overrule me. I should have been stronger. Perhaps if I tell you what began it, you fill find it easier to forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive," Joanna said gently. "It wasn't your fault that Grandfather disliked my father. And he was your husband. Naturally, your first loyalty was to him."
A strange sad smile twisted the old lady's mouth. "No; that was why John was such a hard man," she said quietly. "You see, my first loyalty was to someone else—someone he never knew." And then, slowly and painfully, she told Joanna of the bitter and needless jealousy which had marred the lives of three generations.
"You may find it hard to believe, but I was thought very pretty as a girl," she began with a wry smile. "My hair was golden then, and I used to put slices of cucumber on my face to improve my complexion. We had no cosmetics with which to enhance Nature in those days—or at least such things were never used by respectable women. So, .because the plain girls had so few means of improving themselves, a naturally pretty face was a much greater asset than it is today. You have to remember that there were no film stars to set a standard of beauty. I imagine that, had I been born fifty years later, no one would have given me a second glance. But, as things were then, I was something of a belle—and very vain and frivolous into the bargain."
She paused for a moment, and Joanna pressed her hand and said gently, "I'm sure you were lovely, Grandmother —and not a bit vain."
Mrs. Carlyon shook her head regretfully. "I had a great many beaux," she went on, "and one of them was your randfather. He was ten years older than I, and I thought im rather pompous and dull—although I was secretly (lattered by his attentions. Because our families encouraged the match and because he was the most eligible of my admirers, I accepted his proposal. I'm afraid I was rather mercenary. I liked the idea of being a married woman with my own establishment and a carriage and a staff of servants. I dreamed of playing hostess and holding elegant 'at homes' and soirees. The responsibilities of marriage never occurred to me."
She fell silent for a time, and Joanna saw her lips compress with remembered pain.
"Within a month of the announcement of our engagement, I met David Lovell," the old lady continued. "All at once I saw how foolish I had been to promise myself to John. For a while I tried to suppress my feelings for David, but each time we met I fell more deeply in love with him —and I knew that he loved me too. Then, after several weeks of trying to hide what had happened to me, we met at a ball. I knew it was wrong, but I went for a stroll in the garden with him. I was wearing a white satin dress with garlands of pale green gauze on the skirt and white camellias in my hair. The garden was bathed in moonlight and the musicians were playing a waltz. As we walked towards the shadow of an arbor, I knew I ought to make some excuse to go back—but I didn't. If only I had."
Her voice quivered and she pressed a handkerchief to her lips for a moment.
"Please, Grandmother—don't go on if it distresses you," Joanna said anxiously.
Mrs. Carlyon sniffed and braced her frail shoulders. "No, no—I want to tell you," she insisted. "It's silly of me to be so sentimental about it." Then, quickly dabbing her eyes and tucking the handkerchief away, she went on in a firmer tone, "Once David had declared his feelings, I knew I could never put up the pretence any longer. I told John the truth. I was not particularly surprised when he took it quite calmly, as I assumed that his affection for me was no deeper than mine for him, and I thought he would soon find someone else. My parents were very angry with me and might have refused to countenance an engagement to David, but the first world war was imminent and overshadowed all minor catastrophies." She reached out a hand and touched Joanna's cheek, her face softening with affection.
"I was lucky to be young before the world went mad," she said softly. "Our youthful troubles seem very trivial compared with the shadows that have fallen on your young lives. However, I don't want to bore you with my ramblings. I must keep to the point. Just pour me a little water, will you, dear?"
Joanna did so, and watched the veined old hand raise the cut glass tumbler. Looking at the stiff fingers, and withered skin, she had a sudden sharp awareness of the transience of youth, of how quickly the years flew by. So few years, so little time in which to grasp all the richness and variety life had to offer. Had she been wasting that time? Had ambition and the subconscious craving for security made her blind to the other things?
A little afraid of thoughts that were too introspective, she was relieved when her grandmother began to speak again. Although she had come to the saddest part of her story, Mrs. Carlyon did not falter as she described the first terrible months of that first "great" war, and the personal agony of mind which it had brought to her. For David Lovell had been among the first casualties, while John Carlyon had come through four long years of bloodshed with one minor wound and a brilliant record of gallantry.
Since no one can grieve forever, by the time the Armistice came Mary Carylon no longer wept for her lost love. But the war years had changed her from a charming social butterfly into a more thoughtful and understanding young woman. In 1920, John Carlyon proposed to her for the second time and, with a new appreciation of his worth, she accepted.
Within weeks of their marriage, Mary found that it was not only liking and respect which she felt for him. And if this second love was quieter and less romantic than her brief idyll with David, it was no less precious. Grateful for another chance of happiness, she never guessed that John was secretly tormented by thoughts of the past. Only gradually did it dawn on her that her husband's strange moods of coldness and withdrawal were prompted by a deep-rooted and seemingly incurable jealousy of the boy who had so briefly supplanted him. The violence of this jealousy was to mar their whole life together.
As their first child, Nina, grew up, Mary was troubled by the obsessive quality of her father's devotion to her. Nina had always been his favorite, but while indulging her every whim he seemed to resent her friendships with other young people—particularly young men. Mary was afraid that when Nina fell in love, her father's jealousy would find a new focus.
The crisis, when it came, was even worse than she had feared. Nina returned from a visit to friends in London with an attentive escort. As soon as they stepped out of the taxi it was obvious that they were wildly in love. What was even worse, she was already wearing an engagement ring.
Perhaps if Michael Allen had been a sober-minded young businessman, John Carlyon might eventually have accepted him. But Michael was not only an impecunious artist, but thirty-one to Nina's seventeen. As soon as he learned of the engagement, John Carlyon flew into a towering rage and ordered his prospective son-in-law out of the house. Michael left—and the next day Nina followed him. A fortnight later she wrote her mother from Paris. She was married—although it probably wasn't legal, she added unconcernedly—and deliriously happy. She felt sure Daddy would soon get over his anger and then they would come and see them. Perhaps by that time she would be having a baby. Paris was heaven. Michael was an angel to her.
When Mary nerved herself to show the letter to John, she braced herself for another outburst. With an icy calm that was even more terrifying than his fury, he read the letter and tore it into pieces. Nina's portrait was taken down, all her possessions destroyed. It was as though she had never existed. And, as if Nina's default had killed all that was good in him, Mary had to watch her husband growing daily more harsh and cold. He broke her heart, but she never ceased to love him.
When, at last, the tired old voice lapsed into silence, Joanna's eyes were bright with tears.
"Don't cry, child," Mrs. Carlyon said gently. "It's no use regretting what is past. We can never retrieve our mistakes—only learn from them." She raised a hand and touched the girl's cheek. "She wrote to me, you know," she said with a smile. "Your grandfather never knew, but I had several letters from her. And then, one day, there was a letter from Michael, and that was the last I heard until after your grandfather's death. Poor child, how terrible for you to be left so alone in the world. If only we could have found you sooner."
"It wasn't really so terrible, Grandmother," Joanna said reassuringly. "You needn't have worried about me. I managed."
And omitting as much as she could of the darker side, she told her grandmother most of what had happened in the years since her father's death. Rather surprisingly, Mrs. Carlyon was not at all shocked to learn how she earned her living and saw no reason why the other members of the family should not be told.
"There's nothing at all disreputable about working in a cabaret, dear," she said reasonably. "I'm delighted to hear that you've been so successful. You must give us a private performance one evening. I'm sure the children will be most excited when they learn you're quite a famous person."
"Not yet, but I hope to be one day," Joanna said, laughing. "You know, it seems——— "
She broke off as the door opened and her aunt came in.
"It's getting late, Mother. Time you were asleep," Mrs. Durrant said, bringing a glass of hot milk to the bedside. "Too much talking tires her," she added to Joanna.
"Oh, yes… well, I'll say goodnight, then, Grandmother," Joanna said hurriedly. "I'm sorry if I've stayed too long."
"Nonsense, my dear, of course you haven't," Mrs. Carlyon assured her. "Monica likes to pamper me, but I'm a great deal hardier than she thinks. However, I expect you're tired. Now that we've had our little talk I feel we really know each other. Goodnight, dear. Sweet dreams."
"Goodnight, Grandmother." Joanna bent to kiss the old lady's cheek, and then, with a murmured goodnight to her aunt, she left the room.
She was woken up next morning by the drone of a motor mower below her window, and, blinking at the clock, she saw with dismay that it was past ten. Scrambling out of bed, she snatched up her housecoat and was tying the sash when there was a tap at the door and the maid entered.
"Oh, you're up, miss. I just looked in to see if you'd woken yet. I'll bring your tray up straight away," she said pleasantly.
"Oh, no, please! I'll come downstairs. I'd no idea it was so late," Joanna said apologetically.
"That's all right, miss. Madam left instructions that you weren't to be disturbed until you woke. Your tray's all ready. It's no trouble."
"Are you sure?" Joanna asked diffidently. "I don't want to be a nuisance. You see, I usually work late at night and I shall need an alarm clock.
The woman assured her again that it was no trouble and presently she returned with a tray and set it on a table by the window.
"I hope you can eat grapefruit, miss. If not, just leave it. I'll get to know your preferences by and by," she said, in a friendly tone. "There's bacon and eggs under the cover."
Joanna looked at the tray which was laden with toast and marmalade and fresh fruit.
"I usually have coffee and a roll. This will last me all day," she said, smiling. "Thank you very much… Alice, isn't it?"
"Yes, miss. Alice Burrows. Madam said I was to tell you that she and Miss Vanessa have gone shopping. They won't be back till lunch. Mrs. Carlyon's in the morning- room, reading the papers."
"Oh, thank you. Well, I'll try to eat this enormous breakfast, and then I'll dress and go down to Grandmother," Joanna said with a smile.
It was nearly eleven when she carried the tray downstairs and found her way to the kitchen. Alice was not about, so she left it on the dresser and returned to the hall, wondering which door led into the morning-room. As she hesitated, a car drew up to the house and a moment later Charles came in.
"Good morning," he said. "Where are the others?"
Joanna told him. He was wearing a grey linen shirt and whipcord slacks, and the casual, rather shabby garments made him look younger and a little less autocratic.
"Aren't you back at work today?" she asked, surprised.
"I looked in earlier, but I'm not back officially until next week," he said casually. "Morning, Alice. Any coffee going?"
The maid, coming out of the drawing-room, stopped. "Yes, Mr. Charles. Shall I bring it into the morning- room? Mrs. Carlyon will be having her chocolate in a moment."
"Yes, please." Charles turned to Joanna. "This way," he said, slipping a hand under her elbow.
It was the briefest and most casual of gestures, but for the few seconds that his cool dry fingers touched her arm, she experienced a most curious sensation—like a current running through her.
Mrs. Carlyon was deep in the Daily Telegraph and it was some seconds before she became aware of them.
"Good morning, dear. Good morning, Charles. Are you lunching with us?" she enquired.
"If I may," he said with a smile. "I thought Vanessa might like a game of tennis this afternoon. I gather it hasn't rained lately, so the court should be reasonably sound."
"I'm sure she'll be delighted. She was trying to persuade Neal to play with her the other evening, but he wanted to go out," Mrs. Carlyon said. "How did you sleep, Joanna?"
"Much too well. I was horrified when I found how late it was," Joanna said. "Does Cathy come home for lunch, or does she have it at school?"
"At school," her grandmother said. "You know, Charles, I'm rather worried about Cathy. Monica says there's nothing the matter with her, but she's been very moody lately, not a bit like her normal self. I wonder if she's got into some scrape. I wish you'd try and find out. She's so fond of you that she might feel encouraged to confide something she wouldn't admit to her mother."
"All right. I'll have a chat with her," he agreed. "I dare say it's nothing serious. She's probably in love with the butcher's boy or something like that."
"Not the butcher's boy. He's a most unprepossessing youth," Mrs. Carlyon said, chuckling. "But it might well be the new dentist. I'm told he's very good-looking and she's been having several fillings done lately."
At this point Alice came in with the coffee and a cup of chocolate for her employer.
"It was ever so good of you to bring your tray down, Miss Joanna," she said. "Will you be here to lunch, Mr. Charles?"
"Yes, please, Alice. By the way, is the boiler running properly now?"
"Yes it's been going a treat since you had the men to look at it. The fridge don't seem too good, though. It keeps making a funny noise, a kind of clanking. I don't know what's come over it," Alice said perplexedly.
"I'll come and have a look," Charles said, getting up.
When he had left the room, Mrs. Carlyon said, "I don't know how we should manage without Charles. He's such a capable boy. He looks after everything for us, and is a tower of strength in any emergency."
"I should think he would be," Joanna said carefully. "Are his parents dead?"
"Yes, his father was killed in the war and his mother died when he was quite a child. Your grandfather took him into the factory when he left the Navy and now, of course, he's chairman of the board and takes a very active part in the management."
"Isn't he rather young for such a position?" Joanna suggested.
"Exceptionally young," her grandmother agreed. "But then he
's exceptionally able."
"Grandmother, I wonder if I could make a telephone call to Paris some time today," Joanna asked presently. "My agent will want to know where I am, and there wasn't time to give him this address before I left. I could write, but I'd rather like to speak to him. Naturally, I'll pay you whatever it costs."
"Of course you may telephone him, dear. Why not book the call now, in case there is some delay. As soon as Charles comes back he can show you the study. There is an extension on the desk and you can speak in private. But tell me, if you were singing in a cabaret, how is it that you were able to come home with Charles immediately?"
Joanna explained that her contract had run out and that the Cordiale always closed down for six weeks in the summer while the decor was changed.
"There are very few tourists in Paris in August, you see .It's generally too hot and dusty for comfortable sightseeing," she added. "If Charles hadn't arrived on the scene, I was planning to have a quiet holiday in Brittany."
"I see. And what are your plans for————?" her grandmother began. But before she could finish the question, Charles came back and she postponed her enquiry to ask him to show Joanna the study. "She wants to telephone a friend in Paris," she explained to him.
"I doubt if you'll get through straight away," Charles remarked, when they were in a small book-lined room at the back of the house. He rattled up the slats of some old- fashioned wooden blinds which had been filtering the sunlight. "Incidentally, how did the boy friend react when you told him you were shooting off to England?"
Joanna sat down in the heavy swivel chair behind the writing-desk and reached for the telephone receiver. "The boy friend?" she repeated blankly. There had been so much to occupy her mind in the past forty-eight hours that, for the moment, she had completely forgotten Yve's existence.
Charles leaned against the corner of the desk, hands in pockets, his expression faintly sardonic.