Harriet was still sitting on the window-seat and had just got out her writing-pad; she was wondering how she would begin her letter to Marcus — whether it would hurt him less if she wrote in a light, teasing vein or quite seriously and firmly — when she heard the click of the front gate and saw Robert coming up the path.
He waved when he saw her and Harriet signalled to him to come straight in. She stood up and waited for him.
“Is everybody out?” he asked, looking round the room.
“Yes,” said Harriet. “Everybody except me.”
“Good,” said Robert, nodding. “I wanted to see you alone.”
“Sit down, Robert. Have a cigarette,” she said. She was annoyed to find her hands were trembling; they were so shaky that she could not risk trying to light a match so she handed him the box.
“Thank you,” he said, taking it.
There was a little silence while he lighted the cigarette and shook out the match. Then he leaned forward.
“We’re friends, aren’t we, Harriet?” said Robert, smiling confidingly. “We’re real honest-to-goodness friends. I’ve always felt that from the very first moment I saw you — at the Wares’ party — do you remember? We decided we could have carried out the perfect crime together. You do remember, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course, Robert.”
“So now I’m going to ask you something.” He hesitated for a moment or two but Harriet did not speak. “I want your advice,” he added.
“My advice!”
“It’s about Caroline, of course. I’m desperately fond of Caroline — you knew that, didn’t you? I believe you knew I was in love with Caroline before I knew it myself.”
Robert paused and looked at her but she did not answer.
“Some time ago,” continued Robert, turning his head and looking out of the window, “about two months ago I thought there was quite a lot of hope. I didn’t want to rush her, of course, but I was sure she was fond of me. There was one day especially … and then gradually she seemed to withdraw. She was still there but I couldn’t get near her; she became unapproachable. Of course she was busy — I knew that — and she was worried about Leda. At first I put it down to that and I decided to wait patiently. But I found things were becoming worse instead of better … and I could never get her alone — never, for a single moment — that was odd, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Harriet. “Yes, it seems — odd.”
“She avoided me. I’m sure of it. What do you think it could be?”
Harriet thought of several things it could be but principally of two things: either Caroline didn’t like him at all, or else — or else liked him too much.
“What do you think it could be?” repeated Robert “Could I have done something to offend her? You don’t know of anything, I suppose? I mean Caroline hasn’t said anything to you?”
“Caroline and I are tremendous friends but we have — reticences,” said Harriet in a strained voice.
He sighed. “I was hoping you might know,” he said hopelessly. “I thought perhaps you could advise me what to do; whether it’s any good to stay on and try to win her round, or whether I should go away and try to forget about her.”
“Whether you should go away?”
“What’s the use of staying?”
Harriet got up. She couldn’t sit there any longer … she couldn’t face him.
“Why don’t you ask her, Robert?” Harriet said.
“I did ask her — yesterday afternoon. It was the first time I had seen her alone for weeks. I asked her if I had done anything to hurt her. She said no, nothing … but somehow I had a feeling that it wasn’t quite true. Then I asked her to marry me. I suppose it was foolish to ask her then, but one thing led to another and I — I asked her.”
“What did she say?”
“She seemed absolutely amazed. She said it was a mistake and that I didn’t mean it. She said she liked me immensely but she had made up her mind not to marry again because there was so much to do.”
“Because there was so much to do!” echoed Harriet in amazement. It was the most extraordinary reason for refusing an offer of matrimony that Harriet had ever heard.
“That’s what she said,” nodded Robert.
“What else did she say?”
“Nothing much — except that she would like me as a brother.”
“She said that!” exclaimed Harriet.
“It’s the sort of thing a woman says when she wants to let you down lightly,” said Robert with a rueful smile.
Harriet disagreed with him. She did not think Caroline had said it to let him down lightly. Caroline had too much sense. It was the sort of absurd request made by early Victorian heroines to their disappointed swains. “Be a brother to me!” It was a downright silly thing to say … unless, of course, you meant it literally …
There was quite a long silence while Harriet thought about this, and about other things … about the way Caroline had avoided Robert and her strange behaviour last night and the odd things she had said … one tries to do something and then it all goes wrong … I’m rather silly, but I do love you, Harrie.
Robert had got up, he was standing looking out of the window. He was waiting for Harriet to speak.
“Ask her again,” said Harriet at last.
“Ask her again!” exclaimed Robert “I can’t do that. She was absolutely definite.”
“Ask her.”
“No — honestly. She left no loop-hole at all.”
“Robert, you must ask her again.”
“I can’t!” he cried. “I asked her and she said no. I promised I wouldn’t bother her any more. I might try again later, perhaps, but —”
“Ask her to-day.”
“Harriet, listen —”
“Go after her now,” said Harriet urgently. “She’s gone up to the gravel-pit. Go after her and find her and say, ‘Caroline, please marry me. I can’t do without you.’ Tell her all you’ve told me — everything. Then, if she still says no …” Harriet paused.
“What then?” asked Robert with dawning hope.
“Then say, ‘Harriet told me to go on asking you until you say yes.’”
“But, Harriet, why —”
“That’s all,” said Harriet firmly.
He rose and went without further ado — somehow he had acquired the habit of doing what Harriet told him.
Harriet called to him as he ran down the path, “Robert, tell her I’m looking after the pie!”
Robert waved his hand and ran on. The gate slammed behind him. Harriet stood quite still and listened to the sound of his footsteps until she could hear them no longer. Her eyes were blurred with tears.
“Idiot!” she said, blinking them away. “What are you whimpering for! You know perfectly well you’ll adore playing Miranda to American audiences — it’ll be a whole lot of fun.”
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Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1) Page 23