‘If you have not a better invitation, I hope you will honour me.’
And she would smile at him and answer,
‘Just for once I will cancel my other appointments.’
Those luncheons had been such fun. Meals eaten together at the little cafés down by the harbour, meals at the big prosperous hotels at Nice, picnics when they went high up the mountains and ate with a wonderful vista of the Côte d’Azur lying far below them.
They had laughed and had been happy – happy, Violet thought, until just recently when there had been a tiny cloud on the horizon, a shadow between themselves and the sun of their happiness. Robert had been more grave, his laughter had come less spontaneously from between his lips. But Violet had thought that perhaps this new solemnity was a good thing. She imagined that he was considering asking her the question she longed to hear from his lips, and because it would be unlike him to make a proposal of marriage lightly, he was therefore in anticipation more serious and less light-hearted.
Now she knew that her judgment was at fault. Yet he had seemed so devoted, so desperately in love that she had believed not only what he had told her but what she wanted to believe with her whole heart.
Suddenly Violet heard a bell tinkle. Robert at last! She glanced towards the mirror and saw that already the frightened look had vanished from her face. How silly she was to imagine things! There was doubtless some very reasonable explanation as to why he could not come earlier, but now that he was here all would be well. She must be gay and bright and amusing. Men had no use for dismal women who complained.
She patted her hair into place and gave a last look at her face in the mirror, then slipped across the room to stand in the open window looking on to the balcony. He must not think that she had been anxiously awaiting his arrival. She must appear at ease and indifferent, as if not for a second had she been perturbed or worried by his failure to arrive earlier.
She heard the door of the room open, but she did not turn her head. She heard it close and still she went on looking out to sea, knowing that she made an attractive picture in her leaf-green dress, the sun bringing out the chestnut lights in her well-arranged hair. There was a little cough.
‘Hello, Violet!’ a voice said.
She swung round, the astonishment of her expression almost ludicrous.
‘Eric! What in the world are you doing here?’
The words burst from her lips, she was so surprised. Her husband smiled deprecatingly.
‘Sorry if I startled you, old girl. I came over from Nice.’
‘Nice! Really, Eric, I could not be more astonished if a balloon had dropped down the chimney.’
‘So it appears,’ Eric Featherstone smiled, ‘but I wanted to have a talk with you.’
Violet realised they were both standing with half the width of the room between them.
‘Come and sit down,’ she said, moving towards the sofa.
As she watched him seat himself, she thought he was looking well.
Eric Featherstone had no pretentions to good looks, but he would never be mistaken for anything but what he was, an English gentleman. Six feet two in height, slightly stiff in his bearing, there was something quietly authoritative and reliable about him which made both strangers and animals trust him instinctively. He was nearly fifty and there was hardly a grey hair on his head. He had, too, the healthy weather-beaten complexion of a man who spends most of his life out of doors.
‘What can you be doing at Nice?’ Violet asked when finally they were both seated on the sofa. ‘I thought you hated the South of France.’
‘It isn’t much in my line, as you know,’ Eric replied, ‘but Uncle Harold is dead. He died about three weeks ago.’
‘Not really?’ Violet exclaimed. ‘I must have missed it in The Times. I never can remember to read the Deaths column. Fancy his being dead at last. We always thought he would live to be a hundred.’
‘He died two days after his ninety-first birthday,’ Eric said. ‘I couldn’t be particularly sorry, for the old man had had a good innings.’
‘Sorry’ Violet exclaimed. ‘He was so disagreeable, so mean, that I don’t think anyone could be hypocritical enough to pretend to be sorry. But what has that got to do with your coming to the South of France?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact he has made me his heir,’ Eric Featherstone said apologetically.
‘His heir!’ Violet exclaimed. ‘Oh, Eric, I am glad.’
‘Had to come down and see about the sale of some property he had in Nice,’ Eric explained. ‘I have no desire to keep it, too tricky having to deal with foreign lawyers and all that sort of thing.’
‘Eric, this means you have come into Medway Park,’
‘That’s right! I was always fond of the place, but I never thought it would be mine.’
‘Oh, but I’m simply delighted,’ Violet said. ‘You used to enjoy going there despite the fact that your Uncle Harold was the most disagreeable host it was possible to imagine. And the place was like an ice house even in summer. For goodness’ cake, Eric, put in central heating and some more bathrooms.’
‘I’m seeing to all that,’ Eric said. ‘Ought to have a good season there next year too.’
‘Season?’ Violet queried for a moment, then remembered. ‘Oh, partridges! Yes, of course. There will be splendid duck shooting, too, won’t there? How you will enjoy being a Country Squire! You will get fat and pompous for a certainty.’
‘Not fat,’ Eric retorted. ‘There is too much to do on the Estate. The old man neglected it rather badly, wouldn’t spend any money on fences or keepers. There is a lot to be done.’
‘And you will adore doing it,’ Violet laughed.
She thought of the big rambling mansion in Norfolk with its five thousand acres of shooting and knew that, if anyone had attained his dream of heaven upon earth, Eric had. He loathed London and the five-storeyed house in Park Lane which she had loved. He had hated the Balls, Concerts and Theatres which she had thought an inseparable part of their existence. He lived only for the time when he could get away to shoot, fish or hunt.
He had no conversation except on those three subjects, and any attempt to make him talk of other things was doomed to dismal failure.
Yes, Eric would be happy in Norfolk. The house was nice, Violet thought, or could be provided one spent money on it. The drawing room would have to be refurnished. New curtains and carpets everywhere would make a great deal of difference, and there must be some very valuable pictures mixed up with a lot of junk. Of course she would have to –
Violet drew her thoughts up with a jerk. How ridiculous she was, planning what she would do, when there was no possibility of her ever going there!
She had left Eric for good, as she had told him when she walked out of the house in London. But any woman would find it irresistible not to play with the idea of renovating and redecorating a house like Medway Park.
‘I am so glad of this for your sake,’ Violet said firmly, accentuating the ‘your’.
‘There is another thing I wanted to tell you,’ Eric said, shuffling his feet and looking a little sheepish.
There was something in the expression on his face which made Violet draw in her breath.
‘He wants to marry again,’ she thought and was surprised that the idea was, really distasteful to her. But there was no reason why Eric should not remarry, she told herself. She had told him firmly enough that, if ever he wanted his freedom, she would make no objection and would leave it to him to make all the arrangements that might set them legally free.
‘There is no point in creating a scandal until we have to,’ she said just before she left Park Lane. ‘There is no one I want to marry at the moment and, until I do, I suggest we remain as we are. People will talk, but why should we worry what they say?’
Eric had agreed with her, as he invariably did, but when she considered having a divorce it had always been because she wanted it and not he. Now it seemed that the boot was to be on the other
foot.
‘What is it?’ Violet asked, and surprised herself by the hardness in her voice.
‘It’s about Alwyn,’ Eric said. ‘Alwyn – your brother?’ Violet asked.
‘Yes, Alwyn,’ Eric replied. ‘He has gone off big game shooting in Africa and says he is never coming back. It’s all the fault of that damned wife of his. You remember Vera? She was always the wrong sort of girl for him.’
‘Yes, of course I remember Vera,’ Violet answered. ‘I always thought her stupid and rather common. What has she done to upset Alwyn?’
‘She has run away with an actor,’ Eric explained. ‘A ghastly chap with long hair who spouts Shakespeare. A complete outsider, of course. Vera would not listen to reason, so Alwyn is divorcing her.’
‘I should think it is the best thing he could do, if you ask me,’ Violet remarked.
‘I thought you would say that,’ Eric answered. But unfortunately there are the children to be considered.’
‘I had forgotten them,’ Violet remarked. ‘There are three, aren’t there?’
Two,’ Eric corrected. ‘A boy of seven and a girl of five. I am taking them.’
‘You are what?’ Violet ejaculated, feeling she could not have heard aright.
‘I am taking them,’ Eric said again. ‘They will live with me. Alwyn has made me their legal guardian and all that sort of thing.’
‘Eric, what on earth will you do with two children?’ Violet cried.
‘Like to have them as a matter of fact,’ Eric answered in an offhand manner which hid his embarrassment. I’m going to teach the boy to ride. He’s a plucky little chap. Shouldn’t wonder if he doesn’t turn out to have a really good seat. Later I’ll teach him to shoot. The girl is pretty, too, just like the pictures of my mother. She may be a beauty one day.’
He spoke proudly and Violet stared at him in amazement.
Suddenly, she rose from the sofa and walked to the open window, to stand with her back towards him. This was what Eric had always wanted and had missed in the years they had lived together – a home with children. He had never reproached her, never once voiced his disappointment because she had not given him a child and the Doctors had finally said that it was impossible that she would ever have one.
Violet had taken the verdict lightly. She was not particularly keen on children, but now she knew what this must have meant to Eric and she was sensitive enough to know how bitterly she had failed him.
‘I thought I ought to tell you this myself,’ Eric remarked from the sofa. ‘Didn’t want anyone else to come carrying tales. That is why I came over from Nice. I had better be going now.’
He got to his feet and Violet, turning to look at him, thought how he dwarfed the room, making everything in it seem small and gimcrack.
‘I am glad you have taken the children,’ Violet said quietly.
Eric looked relieved.
‘Pleased to hear you say that,’ he said. ‘I thought you might be angry.’
‘Angry! But of course not!’ Violet said. Besides, if I were, it wouldn’t matter very much, would it?’
Eric looked away from her.
‘I wouldn’t want to do anything that you really disliked,’ he said. ‘I know you don’t care for the country and all that, but if you wanted to come to Medway – well, it’s there.’
‘Eric, what are you trying to say?’ Violet asked, putting out her hand and touching his arm. ‘Why, you ridiculous man, are you suggesting that you would take me back after all this time?’
Eric squared his shoulders.
‘No question of taking you back,’ he said. ‘You’re my wife, aren’t you?’
‘Eric!’ Violet was perilously near to tears. ‘You shouldn’t be like this. Someone might take advantage of you.’
Eric hesitated for a moment and then suddenly he took her hand in his.
‘I’ve never been any good at expressing myself, Violet, as you well know,’ he said, ‘but I’m fond of you and always have been. You were too young to get married, I see that now. I ought to have let you have your head first, but you were so pretty and you seemed to like me a bit.’
‘I did – I did,’ Violet said a little wildly.
‘Well, you’re having your fling now instead of when you were eighteen,’ Eric said gravely. ‘That’s how I look at it. If you ever get tired or bored with it all – well, your room is waiting for you at Medway Park. I shouldn’t worry you much – got too many things to do there.’
The tears were falling unchecked down Violet’s cheeks now. Her fingers tightened on his.
‘Eric, you old stupid,’ she said. ‘You are so absurdly kind, you have made me cry.’
‘Here, I say, I didn’t want to do that,’ Eric said in consternation.
‘I shall remember what you have said,’ Violet went on. ‘I shall think about it, Eric, and if one day I take you at your word, don’t be surprised. I have a feeling that you might be an awfully nice person with whom to grow old.’
She would have bitten back the words as soon as she said them, for she saw the sudden light in Eric’s eyes.
‘Do you mean that?’ he asked, and there was an eagerness in his voice.
In answer Violet shook her head and taking her hand from his arm wiped her eyes.
‘Don’t think about it, Eric, please,’ she said. ‘I was only touched by your generosity and understanding. I must be frank with you. I am in love.’
The light died from Eric’s eyes. Suddenly he looked all his fifty years and more.
‘Robert Stanford?’ he asked.
Violet nodded.
‘People are talking, of course,’ Eric said. ‘Decent chap, Robert, all the same. His father was a friend of mine.’
His words somehow dated both herself and Robert more effectively than if he had compared their ages.
‘I love him!’ Violet said a little defiantly.
‘Has he asked you to marry him?’
Violet was startled at the question.
‘Not exactly!’ she said, ‘but he will.’
‘I should damned well hope so,’ Eric said truculently.
‘Oh, Eric,’ Violet laughed a little weakly, but the sound was not far from tears. ‘You can’t be angry with Robert because he hasn’t proposed marriage to your wife.’
‘Why can’t I?’ Eric said. ‘He has got you talked about, hasn’t he? Coming down here after you, his mother in tears, the flag at Cheveron practically at half mast.’
Violet laughed again.
‘Stop, Eric, stop! You’re being terribly sweet and frightfully funny all at the same time, but you mustn’t mix yourself up in my love affairs – it’s – it’s indecent.’
‘Who says so?’ Eric demanded. ‘Somebody has got to look after you. and hang it all, you are still my wife, aren’t you?’
‘I can’t explain,’ Violet answered. ‘It is all too difficult. Go now, for Robert may be coming at any moment and I don’t want you to meet him when you are like this.’
‘There are quite a lot of things I would like to say to him,’ Eric retorted.
‘But you can’t say them, you can’t,’ Violet replied. ‘He mustn’t be badgered into proposing to me. Besides, I wouldn’t want him to if he were.’
‘What’s that?’ Eric asked. ‘Look here, Violet, you said you were in love with the fellow just now. Well, if you are, he’ll damn’ well marry you or I’ll know the reason why. If you’re not, well it’s a different story.’
I’m not certain! I haven’t made up my mind,’ Violet said quickly, alarmed now by the anger on Eric’s quiet face and the way his hands were clenched. ‘Go back to Nice, Eric, please go. I will write to you at Medway Park and later I may come and see you there.’
‘Is that a promise?’ Eric enquired, only half appeased.
‘Yes, a promise,’ Violet said. ‘Good bye, Eric.’
She raised her face to his and he kissed her on the cheek.
She went with him to the front door of the Villa and watched him w
alk down the steps which led to the road. A carriage was waiting for him, and as it drove off he raised his hat and waved to her. She waved back.
When he had gone, she went up to her bedroom to repair her face, but having reached the dressing table, she sat for a long time doing nothing, just staring at her own reflection in the mirror as if she had never seen herself before.
She must have sat there for nearly twenty minutes before she heard footsteps outside the window, and looking out she saw Robert coming up the garden. Instantly her heart gave a leap of excitement. She forgot the thoughts that had been troubling her, the conflicting emotions that Eric had aroused within her, the feeling of depression which had been upon her since she awoke that morning.
Robert was here, nothing else mattered. She ran from her bedroom down the stairs and opened the front door.
‘Robert, what happened to you?’ she gasped, forgetting all pretence at indifference.
‘Sorry to be late, Violet,’ he said casually. ‘I rode over to Roquebrune, lunched there, and didn’t get back until after two o’clock.’
‘I was half afraid you had had an accident,’ Violet said.
‘I told you never to be nervous about me,’ Robert replied.
He entered the small, square hall, shutting the door behind him, and Violet led the way into the sitting room. He followed her, but to her surprise he did not put his arms round her as he did usually the moment they were alone together. Instead, he walked to the balcony and looked out at the sea.
She watched him, aware that while he had smiled in greeting his eyes were grave.
‘Is anything the matter’ she asked at length.
He turned then, making a little gesture that was half a shrug of the shoulders.
‘Not really.’
‘There is something nevertheless,’ Violet answered.
‘Nothing to make a fuss about,’ Robert said a little testily. ‘I have had a letter from my mother telling me that old Hathaway, the keeper, has died. I have known him since I was a little boy. He has been at Cheveron for fifty years and naturally we shall miss him.’
An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition Page 71