by Anne Weale
“I have none. My parents were killed in a train smash when I was a kid. I was brought up by a bachelor uncle. We never had a great deal in common. He was a barrister and thought journalism a very raffish sort of trade. What about you? Where do you hail from?”
“The north. I haven’t a family either. I often wonder what it’s like to have a host of relatives.”
“From what I’ve seen it can be pretty trying,” Simon, said dryly. “I have a few remote relatives around the place, but the less we see of each other the better.”
“Aren’t you ever lonely?”
It was, she realized, a rather extraordinary question to ask a comparative stranger, and yet somehow she did not feel a stranger to this man.
He took so long to answer that for a moment she was afraid she had embarrassed or annoyed him.
Then he said slowly, “I suppose all human beings are lonely to some degree. I don’t think having a family or a lot of friends has much to do with it. I remember once being at a party with a crowd of people I knew well and liked, and suddenly in the middle of it all I had a strange feeling that nobody was real, that it was all a sham. Maybe I’d had too much to drink. It certainly doesn’t make much sense in words.”
Andrea watched the crimson taillights of the car ahead of them glowing in the darkness.
“Like waking up from a dream and finding yourself in a strange place,” she said softly. “You suddenly realize that all the people around you have lives of their own that will go on when the party is over. But yours has come to a standstill. You wonder why you’re living as you are and where it will end. You know you want something but you can’t tell what it is.”
It was not until she felt Simon looking at her that she knew she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
“I’m terribly sorry. I don’t usually ramble.” Confusion made her stammer slightly.
“Why be sorry? I’m glad to know someone else has felt the same way. There’ve been times when I’ve wondered if I was a crank.”
They had reached the square, and when she pointed out the house he brought the car alongside the curb and switched off the engine. Then he climbed out and came around to the near side to help her.
“I see now why the question of carrying on your career didn’t arise. It must be a full-time job running a place this size,” he said, looking up at the house.
“Can we offer you a nightcap? I expect my husband is still up and I know he’d like to meet you.”
“Thank you, but you must be tired. Perhaps another time.”
“It was kind of you to bring me home. Good night, Mr. Brennan.”
“Good night.”
He took her outstretched hand for a moment, watched her run up the steps and turned away to his car.
Justin was reading in his chair when Andrea opened the library door.
He put the book aside and stood up as she came into the room, but he did not smile at her.
“I’m sorry I’m so late. We were talking and I forgot the time,” she said as he helped her to take off her jacket. She was wearing tapered gray slacks and a dark gray cashmere sweater with a green scarf knotted under the collar.
“I haven’t been in long myself. When Hubbard gave me your message I decided to dine at the club.”
“You didn’t mind my staying for supper, did you?”
“Why should I? Sherry?”
“Please.”
“How is the apartment coming along?”
“It’s almost finished now. Nick brought a friend to supper. Simon Brennan, the Globe correspondent. He drove me home.”
“Interesting fellow, I imagine,” Justin said, handing her a glass of sherry and returning to his chair. “From what I’ve read of his stuff I should say he’s one of the few responsible columnists on the national papers. What did you make of him?”
“I liked him very much. I expected him to be rather opinionated and blasé, but he wasn’t like that at all. Could we have him to dinner one evening? He’s on leave and seems not to have too many friends outside his work.”
“By all means. By the way, have you decided on a wedding present for Jill and young Randell?”
“Yes, I meant to mention it to you this morning. I’ve seen a camphorwood blanket chest that I know Jill would like. Do you think you’d have time to look at it tomorrow?”
“I think I can rely on your judgment,” he said. Andrea bit her lip. She had looked forward to showing him the chest, which was of beautifully carved pale gold teak but not so expensive that it would embarrass Jill and Nick.
Surely he could not be so busy it was impossible to spare half an hour to approve her choice of present? Before and during their engagement he had never been so closely occupied, but now, even when they were together, he seemed to grow more and more reserved and taciturn. It was as if their relationship was no closer than that of fellow guests at a house party, and instead of becoming more frequent, the unexpected moments of harmony that they had shared in Paris no longer happened.
Tonight, coming from the companionable atmosphere in the little apartment, she was doubly aware of the chill formality that pervaded this house. Why, even Simon Brennan, a man she had known for only a few hours, was easier to talk to than Justin.
Unconsciously she gave a deep sigh, and he said, “You sound tired. You’d better go to bed.”
She watched him light a cigarette and lean his dark head against the leather-padded wing to watch the smoke rise in a thin blue trail. What was he thinking? Not of her or of the strange life they led together, of that she felt sure. Sometimes she wondered if he ever thought about her except when she happened to catch his eye and he felt a momentary satisfaction at having secured a wife who fitted into his household as suitably as all the other ornaments.
“Sometimes you treat me as if I were a small child,” she said a shade crossly, stung by his remoteness.
“Do I? How would you like me to treat you?” He did not even look at her.
“Oh.... I don’t know.” She made a restless movement. “Not like a schoolgirl to be sent up to bed because you can’t think of anything else to say.”
This time he did look at her, his eyes narrowed.
“On the contrary,” he said softly, “there are several things I could say, but I doubt if they would interest you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you.”
Andrea lay back in her chair and closed her eyes.
“Do you? Sometimes I’m not so sure that I know myself.”
“You’re in a strange mood tonight. What is it? Are you finding this life less satisfying than you thought it would be?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps it takes time to enjoy a life of leisure. I haven’t got used to it yet.”
“I thought you’d been roped into the good-works brigade.”
“Yes, but committee meetings aren’t very exacting.” She opened her eyes and sat up. “Justin, would you mind if I accepted a modeling commission occasionally? I met Mary Lyall, who trained me, yesterday. She’s looking for models to do a special export show at the Mansion House next month and asked if I was interested. I didn’t think I’d miss working, but I do, and if I only took half a dozen jobs a year it would keep me in touch with the people I used to know.”
Justin crushed out his cigarette. “Yes, I would mind,” he said flatly.
“But why? It wouldn’t interfere with my private life, and everyone knows I used to be a model, so they could hardly raise their eyebrows at this stage.”
“Other people’s reactions don’t particularly concern me.”
“Then why do you object?”
“You say it wouldn’t interfere with your private life. What is the date of this thing at the Mansion House?”
“The sixteenth, I think.”
“Then it would certainly interfere. I’m going to a conference in New York next month and I’ve every intention of taking you with me.”
“Oh! Well, I didn’t know that. But surel
y you plan these things fairly far in advance. I could always cancel a job that clashed with your arrangements.”
“Possibly. But that doesn’t happen to be my main objection. I realize that you must find it difficult to adjust yourself, but apparently you’ve overlooked the way in which most married women occupy themselves.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“You must be singularly unobservant,” he said dryly. “Or were you under the impression that my idiosyncrasies included a dislike of children?”
A tide of color stained her face.
“I’ve never thought about it,” she said huskily.
A sardonic smile touched his mouth. “The idea evidently doesn’t appeal to you,” he said smoothly. “But what a delightful picture it would make for the so-called society magazines. ‘The beautiful Mrs. Templar with her charming children. Mrs. Templar, one of London’s most brilliant hostesses, is a devoted mother.’ Or didn’t you include motherhood in your plans?”
“Oh, stop it!” She jumped up, pale now, her lips trembling. “You seem to revel in taunting me. I know the reason I married you was a mercenary one and that I deserve to be called hard and calculating, but I honestly meant to be a ... a good wife as far as I could, as far as you would let me. At first I thought that it ... that we could be almost as happy as ordinary people. But ever since we came back to London you haven’t given me a chance. There are times when I wish we’d never met.” Her voice quivered and she turned away to hide the hot tears that stung her eyelids.
There was a moment of heavy silence and then Justin said, “I’m sorry. I had no right to say that to you. Andrea, please look at me.”
She tried to keep her face averted but, his hands firm on her shoulders, he turned her around and tipped up her chin.
“Do you really wish we had never met?” he asked gravely.
She bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said distressfully. “I think it would have been better for both of us if we hadn’t.”
“I told you once that we were two of a kind. I still believe that.”
She sighed. “Do you? It doesn’t seem to make all this much easier, does it?”
“Did you imagine it would be easy?” he asked with a tinge of irony.
“No. I suppose not. I just thought it would be different.”
“In what way?”
He had loosened his hold on her shoulders and she moved a little away from him and stood twisting the silver bracelet on her left wrist, one of several nervous mannerisms that she had acquired lately.
“You must know what I mean,” she said in a low voice.
“Unfortunately I am not omniscient as you seem to think.”
He took two cigarettes from the box on the table, lighted them and handed one to her.
“Now suppose you pluck up courage to tell me why ‘all this,’ as you call it, is not what you expected,” he said calmly.
She drew a deep breath.
“The day we were married you said you wouldn’t expect me to counterfeit any false emotions.” Her voice was taut with strain. “You said we needed to know each other better. But how can we ever do that if we go on living like ... like people in a hotel? You’ve given me so much. A beautiful house, servants, a car of my own and more money than I can possibly spend. But I’ve given you nothing. Don’t you see how ... how grasping it makes me feel? I know I’m not a very nice person, but I’m not so utterly callous that I don’t feel guilty at taking everything and giving nothing. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could run your home more efficiently or if you needed ... companionship, someone to talk to. But as things are I’m just ... just a parasite!”
She waited, a choking lump in her throat, for his reaction. He had heard her out in silence and now he studied her intently, his face unreadable.
But the anger that she expected or the cool mockery, with which he had so often devastated her composure, did not come.
“You’re tired and overwrought,” he said in an expressionless voice. “You’d better go to bed; Tomorrow you’ll see things differently.”
Then with a curt “Good night” he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
The following morning, while Andrea was forcing herself to answer a letter from a girl whom she had known at the model school and who was now living in South Africa, Hubbard announced that Mr. Brennan had called to see her.
Wondering what he could want, she asked Hubbard to show him in.
“Good morning. I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” Simon Brennan said as they shook hands.
“Not at all. I was only writing a letter, and as I’m not a good correspondent I welcome any distractions,” she said, managing a smile.
“I came to return this. You left it in the car last night.” He produced a black suede glove from his breast pocket.
“Oh, how careless of me! I’m so sorry,” Andrea said vexedly. “Thank you for bringing it back. I hadn’t even discovered I’d lost it.”
She paused and then, since he seemed in no hurry to go, said, “Would you like some coffee? I usually have some about now.”
“If you’re sure I’m not in the way.”
“Of course not.” She pulled the bell rope by the fireplace. “How long are you on leave?”
“I’m due for a month, but it’s quite probable that something will crop up before then.”
“How do you plan to spend it?”
“There are two or three shows I want to see, and then if the weather holds I’ll get down to the coast and relax.” Hubbard answered the bell and Andrea asked him to bring coffee. She went on talking to Simon, but only part of her mind was taking in what he said and forming appropriate replies. The other part was going over and over the scene with Justin the night before.
Why had he provoked her into making that anguished outburst and then deliberately ignored it? For more than an hour after his terse good-night she had paced the silent library trying vainly to fathom some convincing motive for this seemingly brutal behavior. Was it her fault? Had she been wrong to blurt out her feelings?
When at last she had switched off the lights and crept upstairs she was still no closer to an answer.
This morning she had told Miller that she would like breakfast in bed, and by the time she came downstairs Justin had left the house. After seeing Mrs. Lane about the lunch and the dinner party which they were giving that evening, she had tried to write to Polly Lang in Cape Town but found it hard to concentrate. Even Simon Brennan’s cheerful, company failed to shut out her troubled thoughts.
He stayed for nearly an hour, and it was not until he rose to go that Andrea, remembering and dreading the dinner party, said impulsively, “My husband is a great admirer of yours and I know he would like to meet you. I suppose you couldn’t have dinner with us tonight?”
“That’s very kind of you. I would like to,” he said, smiling down at her with the friendliness she found so warming.
“About half-past seven, then?”
“Fine. Black ties, I take it?” He cast a rather amused glance at the splendid proportions and luxurious furnishings of the room.
“Yes.”
As they crossed the hall, the front door opened and Madeline came in, a miniature poodle on a silver leash frisking around her ankles.
“So here you are. I wondered what had happened to you,” she exclaimed.
Too late, Andrea remembered that she had arranged to meet her sister-in-law at a hat show at the Astor Club at eleven.
“I’m terribly sorry, Madeline. I completely forgot,” she said apologetically. “Oh, this is Mr. Brennan. My sister-in-law, Mrs. Laverick.”
Madeline gave Simon a dazzling smile. “How d’you do. Have I butted in at the wrong moment?” she asked archly.
“I was just leaving.” He turned to Andrea. “Until tonight, then, Mrs. Templar. Thank you for the coffee. Goodbye, Mrs. Laverick.”
When he had gone, Madeline unclipped the poodle’s leash and strolled into the library.
“W
hat an attractive young man,” she said with a sly smile. “I’m not surprised you forgot our date, darling.”
“I’m awfully sorry about it. Was it a good show?”
“Not bad, but not as entertaining as coffee with your Mr. Brennan, I should think. Who is he?”
“A friend of Nick Randell. He came to return a glove I left in his car.”
“How exciting!” Madeline said quizzically. “I hope you’ve made a clean breast of it to Justin, darling.” She drifted over to the Regency mirror and inspected her reflection with the critical care of a woman whose looks are her primary interest. “What did he mean by ‘until tonight’?”
“Only that he’s dining with us. Justin wants to meet him.”
“How broad-minded of him.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
Madeline studied the line of her jaw. She was terrified of losing her looks and spent hours watching herself for the first sign of wrinkles and slackening contours.
“I’m sure Robert wouldn’t be so hospitable. He’s always absurdly jealous if I so much as glance at another man,” she said derisively.
Andrea was not in the mood for Madeline’s innuendos, even if they only meant to tease her.
“Perhaps he has reason to be,” she said shortly.
“Darling! What a perfectly horrid thing to say. You can’t imagine how faithful I am to him. Considering how fat and bald he’s getting, I think it’s really rather noble of me. I wonder why men get so hideous after fifty. I will have to make Robert diet. That tummy he’s getting is too revolting.”
“How can you talk about him like that? You know he’s devoted to you. He’d be terribly hurt if he knew,” Andrea said angrily.
“Oh, I don’t mean it unkindly. Actually I’m quite fond of him, too. At least I don’t have to worry about him having affairs with other women. I daresay he’d like a final fling, but he hasn’t the courage.”