To Dream Again

by To Dream Again (retail) (epub)

  ‘Tomorrow! She’s on the River Dart, having her engines overhauled before the run to Dinard. We’ll drive over there in the morning.’

  They found the Tango easily enough, moored to a jetty and looking trim in the crisp autumn sunshine. To Mercy’s relief the yacht was smaller than she had expected; she had feared something large and ostentatious, in the style of the Cleopatra. Instead, the Tango proved to be a single-funnelled vessel, with neat lines and a raked bow.

  They explored her from bow to stern, with Peter extolling the virtues of every feature and fitting. Only the engine-room, still occupied by workmen, was omitted. Mercy was conscious of having to quell her enthusiasm which was mounting to match his.

  ‘Where shall we go in her?’ asked Peter later as, windblown and happy, they drove away from the shipyard.

  ‘Isn’t it getting a little late in the year for a voyage?’

  ‘Not for the Tango. She’s up to bad weather. Boyer’s taken her out in all conditions. How about the South of France? Or Portugal?’

  ‘I don’t know! I can’t choose!’ laughed Mercy.

  ‘Let’s make our minds up after I’ve done this Dinard run. I’ll know better how she handles then. We’ll go somewhere nice, though, just the two of us!’ Peter slid one arm about her, kissing her cheek and almost entangling himself in her veil.

  ‘Perhaps we should complete this journey first,’ smiled Mercy. ‘With you driving one-handed travelling in this car is more dangerous than any transatlantic crossing.’

  In the days which followed Peter was very busy with preparations for his trip, poring over charts with Colonel Boyer, and spending hours down at the Yacht Club discussing the intricacies of running a steam yacht with other owners.

  ‘I can see we’ll have to go on a long cruise. It’s the only way I’ll ever get to see you,’ Mercy protested.

  ‘Are you feeling neglected? Poor love! It’s just until I get the hang of Tango, I promise you. I’ll tell you what! I’ll bring you something really pretty from Dinard, shall I?’

  ‘Just bring yourself,’ she assured him. ‘You’re all I want.’

  * * *

  It was a rainy day when he finally did set sail, accompanied by Colonel Boyer and a couple of other friends. Mercy wandered about the house, unable to settle. Finally she went upstairs to fetch a book.

  The door to Peter’s dressing-room was open so she glanced in. It was neat and well-ordered except for a piece of paper on the floor. Mercy went to pick it up. As she did so she could not help noticing that it was a bill from a local jeweller for a diamond pendant in the shape of a letter M, complete with gold chain. The price made her wince at first, then she smiled. So this was the ‘pretty thing’ that Peter had promised her. To make sure he did not forget he had bought it before he sailed. Well, she was quite content to go along with his little deception.

  It was barely seven o’clock next evening when Charlotte called. She and Mercy had agreed to go to a concert together.

  ‘There, we’ve just to collect George and Tilly,’ she said, as the Rolls Royce purred its way up the hill.

  ‘I hadn’t realized the Hewsons were coming.’

  ‘George is going to give us the benefit of his manly protection.’

  ‘I hope poor George appreciates the honour,’ chuckled Mercy.

  ‘He will do, never fear, or I’ll have a sharp word to say.’

  True to Charlotte’s prediction George Hewson seemed delighted to find himself escorting three ladies. Tilly, however, appeared oddly reticent.

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t realized… If only I’d known… Oh dear…’ she twittered.

  Charlotte gave a snort of exasperation and said, ‘Do get into the car, Tilly, for pity’s sake!’

  At Charlotte’s imperious tone Tilly gave a whimper and obediently climbed into the car, where she proceeded to sit huddled in her seat, her velvet wrap pulled tightly about her. From time to time she shot Mercy nervous baleful glances, and Mercy wondered what imagined slight or drama was bothering Tilly Hewson now. She really was an extraordinarily silly woman.

  The Pavilion gleamed palely in the street lights, contrasting sharply with the profound darkness of the harbour beyond. Its pale walls and curving domes gave the sea front an almost oriental air.

  After the concert Tilly seemed to recover her spirits, and as they stood up to leave she took in the elegant interior of the Pavilion with one excited wave of her gloved hand. ‘Doesn’t this place thrill you? Oh, the joy of having a smart venue for concerts and plays at last. How did we manage in the old days?’ Her gesturing dislodged her wrap, allowing Mercy to see for the first time that she was wearing a pendant. It was in the shape of the letter M, picked out in diamonds, and suspended from a slender golden chain. Then Tilly caught her eye, and immediately covered the pendant with her hand, as if desperate to hide it from view.

  The sudden guilty gesture drew Mercy’s attention. Why should Tilly care whether she saw the pendant or not? It took several minutes for the significance of it to sink in. A letter M picked out in diamonds! That had been the description on the jeweller’s receipt she had picked up in Peter’s dressing-room, the ‘pretty thing’ she had thought was hers. Puzzled, she stared at Tilly. The other woman gazed back, a curious expression that was part nervousness, part triumph in her eyes. Mercy knew then that the pendant had never been intended for her. The M had been for Matilda. Peter had bought it for Tilly Hewson! Mercy stood very still. Everything about her seemed to recede.

  No! she thought. No, this can’t be happening again! He promised! Peter promised! The words swirled like a maelstrom inside her head, causing her to sway perilously.

  ‘Mercy! Are you all right?’ Suddenly Charlotte had taken charge of her, and made her sit down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mercy weakly. ‘I – I just felt rather odd.’

  ‘You’re tired!’ Charlotte had no doubts on the subject. ‘I said you were looking peaky. Come along, we’ll get you home immediately.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Mercy. Then more quietly she repeated, ‘No, don’t spoil things on my account. I’ve recovered now. It was just a momentary thing. It has passed.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. It was nothing important!’ As she spoke the words Mercy’s eyes settled on Tilly. The hostility of her gaze drove all triumph from the other woman’s expression and Tilly stepped back, shocked.

  ‘A momentary thing or not, you must take my arm,’ insisted George kindly.

  Does he know? wondered Mercy. My husband and his wife are having an affair! Does he know? She thought not. He was too calm, too devoted in the way he looked at Tilly.

  For Mercy to remain equally calm during supper required a superhuman effort. Only pride and a grim determination not to betray one iota of weakness beforeHewson woman kept her going. Her performance must have been superb for it was Tilly who excited their hostess’s concern.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Tilly?’ demanded Charlotte. ‘You’ve not said two words together all during supper.’

  ‘I’m… I’m just a little tired,’ Tilly murmured.

  ‘Not you too! There must be something going round.’ Fortunately Charlotte was quite satisfied with her diagnosis and did not probe any further.

  The seemingly interminable supper party came to an end eventually, allowing Mercy to go home. Her iron control held until Stafford had helped her to undress and tidy away every last item of clothing. Only when the door closed behind the maid did Mercy allow herself to give way to the pent-up tears which had been gathering all evening.

  The unthinkable had happened. Peter had been unfaithful again, and she felt as if her world had come to an end. She thought back to the terrible days after the Marie-Jeanne affair, the way she had slowly and painfully struggled to pick up the threads of her relationship with Peter once more. It had cost her much in effort, in pride, and in determination. She had achieved it because she loved him and had wanted to believe in him. He had sworn it would never hap
pen again. But it had! It had!

  The next two weeks were a torment. Sometimes she longed for Peter to be home, so that she could fling her accusations at him and have things out in the open. At other times she was glad he was still away, for she felt the sight of him was more than she could bear. It was an agony, trying to maintain an outward everyday composure serene enough to deceive the sharp eyes of her mother-in-law. Somehow she managed it, only to spend her nights tossing restlessly, hour after hour.

  ‘You are looking decidedly wan,’ remarked Agnes one. ‘If you will make a martyr of yourself to your children, can you wonder you look worn out?’

  Day slipped painfully into day, while in her head anger fought with pain, indecision with resentment, doubt with distress.

  Then one morning Rogers entered her sitting-room and announced, if you please, Mrs Peter, the Tango has been sighted. She’s just off Thatcher Rock.’

  The butler’s words only emphasized her indecision. What was she to do? Confront Peter immediately? Try to ignore the whole affair – as he had once told her was the normal way to behave – or should she walk out and leave him? She had to make a decision and make it quickly.

  Then all at once it was too late. The car was pulling up at the front door, Peter’s light brisk steps were echoing across the marble floor, and his voice, bright with laughter was calling, ‘Where is every one? Have I no wife, no children, no mother? I’m home!’

  It was extraordinary! He looked and sounded exactly as usual. His features bore a healthy tan, thanks to the wind and weather, and he brought with him something of the fresh outdoors. Apart from that he was unchanged. Mercy looked down at him from the stairs, still unsure what to do. Then the hall became a scene of hectic activity as servants scurried back and forth bringing in Peter’s luggage.

  Before she could make up her mind Peter saw her. Striding up the stairs, he enfolded her in his arms.

  ‘Oh I’ve missed you,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘I’ve missed you terribly. I must have been mad to go away for two whole weeks.’

  Mercy knew she should not believe him. She knew she should push him away and cry ‘Liar!’ Yet the moment his arms were about her, and she felt him close to her again, something in her responded to him despite her pain. It was weakness, she knew, and she despised herself for it, but, for the moment, she was glad to have him back again.

  ‘Rogers has served tea in the drawing-room.’ Agnes’s voice cut in, full of disapproval at such a public display of emotion.

  ‘Very well, Mother. I’ll go and wash my hands like a good boy,’ replied Peter cheerily. ‘And while we have tea I’ll tell you all about my adventures. The Tango was superb, behaved like a perfect lady the whole time, even when we hit some very dirty weather. She’s the best investment I’ve ever made.’

  Mercy listened to him as he enthused about the yacht and about his trip. This was not the time. The recriminations would have to come later, when they were alone.

  She found it unexpectedly difficult to broach the subject. The evening wore on without her finding a suitable moment to accuse him. It was getting late. Once they had gone to bed and he had taken her in his arms again to make love to her she knew the chance would be gone for ever. And she wanted desperately to accuse him! She wanted him to know the pain and humiliation he had caused her.

  ‘I promised to bring you something from Dinard, didn’t I?’

  Peter’s words returned her to reality with a jolt. She looked at the elegantly wrapped parcel that he placed on the bed.

  ‘Go on, open it. It’s not going to explode,’ he encouraged her.

  Mercy continued to regard it with misgiving. Then, conscious of Peter’s eager gaze, she began to unwrap it. Slowly she removed the paper to reveal a dressing-case. It was of blue leather, trimmed with silver. Inside, the fitted bottles of cut glass and silver gleamed against the lining of blue watered silk. It was a beautiful gift, and an expensive one.

  ‘You don’t like it?’ Peter sounded surprised and hurt. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because of the expression on your face.’

  ‘It’s a lovely dressing case.’

  ‘Then what’s wrong?’

  Mercy took a long slow breath.

  ‘It wasn’t what I was expecting,’ she said. ‘Expecting? What do you mean?’

  Again Mercy paused.

  ‘I thought my present would be a diamond pendant in the shape of a letter M. I saw the bill from the jeweller’s. I found it on the floor. I thought it was for me. M for Mercy. I’d forgotten that M stands for Matilda too.’ She braced herself for his denial, for his remorse, for his apologies. None came.

  ‘You have been going through my papers!’ At the accusation in his voice she looked up to see that he was glaring at her, white with indignation.

  ‘I did not!’ she retorted. ‘I picked it up off the floor. I couldn’t help seeing —’

  ‘You couldn’t help seeing— ? Oh really, Mercy, I’m surprised at you! That was a despicable thing to have done. You must have known it was a private matter. I expected better of you than that.’

  ‘You expected—’ Mercy’s voice choked in disbelief. ‘You have been unfaithful, you have betrayed and humiliated me, and all that bothers you is that I read one of your bills? I can’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s more than that, and you know it. You have broken my trust in you. No man likes his wife reading his correspondence behind his back. And I tell you straight, I won’t tolerate it!’

  ‘You won’t tolerate it? My God! Are you denying that you’ve been unfaithful, and with Tilly Hewson, of all people?’

  ‘Of course I am. It was only a mild flirtation.’

  ‘A mild flirtation? So you weren’t lovers?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake don’t be so dramatic! Tilly and I had a bit of fun together, nothing more. You’ve been off-colour of late, ever since William was born, so I sought a little amusement elsewhere. It never was serious, and it’s over and done with now.’

  ‘Never serious! Yet you bought her a very expensive pendant!’

  ‘Of course I did. It was a token gesture to a friend, that’s all. It is nothing to concern you.’

  ‘It does concern me,’ Mercy exclaimed. ‘I hate the idea of you going with another woman. It hurts me. It humiliates me.’

  ‘It shouldn’t. It doesn’t affect our marriage in any way. I’ve told you that before!’ He took a step towards her, but Mercy swung sharply away.

  ‘You’ve also told me before that you would never do such a thing again. Remember? When we were in Brittany?’

  ‘I broke my word, and I’m sorry, but really you expect too much. You are being completely unreasonable.’ For Mercy the conversation was assuming a nightmarish quality. She could not believe what she was hearing.

  ‘Suddenly this mess has become my fault!’ she cried. ‘Can you deny it? If you hadn’t gone prying among my things none of this would have come to light.’

  ‘So, because I found you out I am to blame? There’s something very wrong with your logic!’

  ‘Or is there something very wrong with our marriage?’ Their voices had been rising to an angry crescendo. Now, at Peter’s bitter statement, a deep silence fell between them.

  ‘There seems little point in continuing this conversation,’ he said, beginning to make for his dressing-room. ‘But what are we do to?’ Mercy cried.

  ‘Do?’ he seemed puzzled by the question. ‘I suppose we’ll do what other people do in the same circumstances – be polite in public and try to keep out of each other’s way as much as possible.’ With that he closed the dressing room door behind him, leaving Mercy alone and devastated.

  She could not believe he meant it, that the rift in their marriage was too great to heal. But as day followed day with Peter being icily polite on the few occasions when their paths crossed, Mercy’s distress hardened into resentment and anger. Never before had she been so conscious of the difference in their standards. The division yawned like a
chasm. Back at Fernicombe Cottages morality had had a pretty tough fight against poverty, ignorance and deprivation, but at least standards there had been based on the essentials of life – relationships and the need to survive. No one would have set a trivial act like reading a private piece of paper above loyalty between husband and wife. This rupture had not been her fault and she refused to be made to feel guilty. Seeing Peter apparently so calm and unaffected, going to the Yacht Club and his other rendezvous just as usual, added fuel to her burning indignation. She knew she had to get away, if only for a few days. She reached for the telephone.

  ‘Charlotte,’ she said. ‘Is your invitation to come to Somerset still open?’

  There was a slight pause at the other end of the line.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Charlotte. ‘So you’ve come to your senses at last, eh?’ And there was a note of satisfaction in her voice.

  Chapter Nine

  As the Rolls Royce purred its way through the lush Somerset countryside Mercy wished she had not come.

  ‘It is only a country house party you know, not an invitation to an execution,’ remarked Charlotte, observing Mercy’s glum face.

  ‘I know, and it’s awful of me to be such a misery,’ said Mercy ruefully. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been anywhere without Peter before, and I won’t know anyone—’

  ‘You’ll know me, which is more than enough to be going on with,’ said Charlotte. ‘And its high time you branched out on your own more.’

  ‘Maybe, but I still feel uneasy. I mean, what will your other guests think of sitting at table with an ex-laundress?’

  ‘So that’s what’s bothering you, eh?’

  ‘Yes, partly.’

  ‘If they don’t like it they are at liberty to leave. Just be yourself. You aren’t to spend the next few days feeling inferior, do you hear?’

  ‘I didn’t say I felt inferior. I’m merely being realistic. Some people hold peculiar views on the subject and I don’t want to cause you any embarrassment.’