There Will Come A Stranger

by Dorothy Rivers

  Harold realized that she had no intention of allowing him to pursue the topic of her money matters. So with as good a grace as he could muster, he let her lead him into talk of local happenings, and of his decision to stand for election to the Borough Council, until Valerie came in, and Vivian felt she could say she wanted to unpack, without the risk of seeming impolite to Harold.

  Harold took her cases upstairs. Lingering behind a moment, Vivian asked Valerie, “Are there any letters for me?”

  “Several. I’ve put them in your room.”

  Vivian followed Harold. Valerie had put flowers in her bedroom—sprays of forsythia whose yellow buds would soon bloom in the indoor warmth, and a clump of primroses that had flowered early in a sheltered corner: she had dug them up and then replanted them in a blue pottery bowl. They gave the room a welcoming air, but for the moment Vivian scarcely noticed them. All her attention was for the pile of letters lying on her dressing table. She was glad when Harold left her, so that she might see who had written to her.

  As soon as she was by herself she pounced upon them, and glanced quickly at the envelopes. One from Pete’s mother, one from her lawyer in New York, two from friends in America, a couple of receipts, and that was all. Vivian put them down unread, and turned to her unpacking, feeling curiously depressed and flat as she began to hang away her suits and dresses. The gay elation of rejoining Valerie, and telling her the exciting news of all that she had done in London, had left her.

  It was ridiculous! she told herself. She had no cause for feeling dismal, since her plans for Valerie were turning out so well. Why, then, should she feel so dreary?

  Trying to analyze the cause of her depression, she discovered that she hadn’t realized how much she had been hoping for a letter from John, until she found that none from him awaited her. Odd, she reflected, that one could have so many friends as she possessed, yet so few who really counted—so few whose loss would mean a blank, if they should leave one’s life for ever!

  Briefly though she had known him, John Ainslie was one of those who counted. It would hurt her, hurt more than she cared to think about, if on his side their friendship meant so little that he was content to let it drop with no attempt to keep in touch with her...

  When she had finished her unpacking she went down to help Valerie, who was dishing up a fricassee of rabbit, accompanied by sweet corn fritters. Valerie looked up eagerly as she came in.

  “Tell me—?” she begged.

  Smiling, Vivian shook her head. “There isn’t time now! We’ll have a session when we’re going to bed!”

  Meanwhile the others had foregathered in the sitting room. Harold told Robert and the two girls of his abortive talk with Vivian.

  “Sounds as though you’d made a hash of it!” said Janet in her usual downright way.

  Monica snapped back at her. “Nothing of the sort! You mightn’t be so keen to criticize if Robert pulled his weight occasionally!”

  Their bickering was interrupted by the arrival of Vivian to say the meal was ready, but while she went ahead of them to the dining-room the others, lingering for a moment, agreed that at any rate there was now no reason for postponing a discussion of the other matter on their minds.

  With this in view, Monica and Janet joined in washing up without a murmur, rather to Valerie’s surprise, but she began to understand their amiability when, after they were all gathered in the sitting-room again, Harold opened fire.

  “Now we’re all here,” he began, “it seems rather a good opportunity for a family pow-wow.”

  Vivian sensed at once that something disagreeable was in the offing, but she said pleasantly, “Pow-wow’ always makes me think of Red Indians, for some unknown reason! What are we to pow-wow about, Hal?”

  “Well—er—so far, you’ve been staying with us as a visitor. But that of course can’t go on indefinitely—”

  “Indeed, no!”

  “—and so one feels the time has come for—er—for everything to return to its normal footing. Up to now we’ve all been giving Valerie a helping hand so that she might enjoy more of your company. But now you’ve been away together for five weeks, that seems unnecessary! So we all feel that from now on Valerie must do her work entirely on her own, as she was doing before you came.” Monica and Janet signified agreement.

  Valerie hated unpleasantness. Her hand shook so that she could scarcely put her needle in the sheet that she was turning sides to middle. It was Vivian who spoke up.

  “But you are all well paid for the work you do, and you have time off, too!” she pointed out. “Valerie toils for you seven days a week for next to nothing—”

  “She has a free home here. The rest of us contribute our share of expenses,” Monica pointed out, hoping that Vivian would take the hint.

  “Anyone who worked for you and lived in would get what you describe as a ‘free home’ and regular time off duty, and at least three times what you pay Valerie!” Vivian reminded her.

  “That’s beside the point,” said Harold. “Valerie is one of the family.”

  “That’s certainly one way of looking at it. So you don’t find the position satisfactory?”

  “Not since you’ve been here—”

  “It worked all right before you came—”

  “Not as it is now—”

  “It was all right when Valerie did it on her own—”

  Vivian said briskly, “Good! I’m glad to hear it, for I’d been afraid that you might miss Valerie badly when she leaves. We’re going to live together in a flat I’ve taken in London, while she has a training to enable her to earn a first-rate salary for far less work than she’s been doing for you for next to nothing. And as you’ve been so dissatisfied, no doubt you’ll be as glad to lose her as she will be to go.”

  Valerie, startled out of her unhappiness, stared wide-eyed at Vivian. So it was all settled! That was what she had been going to tell her when they were alone!

  The others gaped at her, aghast. Harold and Robert, thought of how they hated bringing in the coal and coke on Sundays. Monica and Janet thought of the enormous laundry bills they’d had while Valerie was away. They all thought of her delicious cooking. And they knew that though, if they’d had Valerie to themselves, they could have played upon her feelings and almost certainly persuaded her to change her mind, with Vivian behind her there was no hope of that. Monica burst out furiously:

  “So that’s what you’ve been plotting behind our backs! I always knew you were a trouble-maker from the moment that you came here, Vivian! Valerie will be sorry one day for the way she has behaved! Of all the mean ingratitude—”

  “And as for missing her,” said Janet, “we shall be a great deal better off with someone who will do the work she’s paid for.”

  Vivian rose. “As that is how you feel, the sooner we are gone the better.” Holding out her hand to Valerie, she drew her sister to her feet. “Come! We’ll pack to-night and leave as soon as possible to-morrow.”

  Valerie’s knees shook so that she could hardly walk upstairs, and she was downcast and distressed when they reached her bedroom, but her sister’s cheerful common sense helped her to pull herself together and see the whole affair as Vivian did, though in her heart she felt that she would always have a lurking sense of guilt for having left the family to their own devices.

  “Now listen!” Vivian told her. “At the party after that christening I went to Surrey for, I got talking to the other godmother. It turned out that she’s married to a soldier who’s been at the Ministry of Defence, and he’s just been posted abroad. She’s going with him, so they want to let their flat, furnished. My ears pricked, and I asked for details of the flat, and told her the position, and as it happened she knew just the very thing we’re looking for. Her younger sister did a course a year ago at a well-known domestic science college in Kensington. Took her diploma, and it got her a first-rate job in a woman’s club in Mayfair—good pay, nice girls to work with, charming quarters, plenty of free time. So I spent mo
st of yesterday investigating—saw the domestic science place and interviewed the head and went all over it. I liked it all so much that when they told me there was only one vacancy for next term, I booked it for you right away. Let’s begin packing while we talk. I’ll help you first with yours.”

  They got out Valerie’s cases, and Vivian continued as with deft hands she folded frocks and blouses: “So then I went to see the flat, and it’s exactly what we want—and only a fourpenny bus ride, or whatever the shortest fare is these days, from your domestic science place! And so I took it for a year with option to renew for another year if I should want to. We can’t move in till next week, but we can go to a hotel meanwhile. Pleased?”

  “How could I not be pleased! It’s simply marvellous of you to have got it all fixed up so quickly!” Valerie told her warmly.

  Five weeks ago—four weeks ago—she would have been thrilled beyond expression at this new turn that events had taken. Even now, she was quietly glad. But still the memory of Rory, haunting and bittersweet, cast a shadow between herself and happiness.

  Her last thought as she fell asleep was that there might be a chance—only a remote one, but none the less a chance—that they might meet in London, vast though London was... Yet wouldn’t it be better, since he had so soon forgotten her, that they should meet no more?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Vivian’s lease of the flat would start in a week’s time, so during that time she and Valerie stayed again at the Cranford, filling up what Vivian called “the gaps in our provincial education!” by sightseeing. They visited the Tower, and Kew, and Hampton Court, and various museums and picture galleries, walked in Richmond Park, explored the City and Soho, so the days flew by.

  Valerie was determined that Vivian, who was doing so much for her, should not suspect that she was not completely happy. She forced her lips to wear a cheerful smile, and did her best to feign enjoyment of all their activities, so that Vivian at first concluded that she was getting over her unhappiness regarding Rory. But as time went on, catching her sister unawares with wistful eyes and drooping lips, she knew that she was still unhappy, and was not surprised: Valerie’s feelings had always gone deep. Silently applauding her for her courage, longing to help, she knew that she must give no hint of sympathy or understanding: some things must be endured, some battles fought alone, and this was one of them.

  The time came for them to pack their cases and set out one afternoon to take possession of their new home. The flat was on the third floor in a quiet cul-de-sac off the Brompton Road.

  “A long climb, if the lift goes out of order! But apart from that, it’s pleasant to be high. Airier, and sunnier too,” said Vivian, and Valerie agreed, determined to be pleased with everything that Vivian had arranged.

  Barely had they pressed the bell when the door was opened by Mrs. Coxon, Vivian’s co-godmother, who was leasing it to her, and who had waited there to hand it over personally, together with a great deal of helpful information about tradesmen, dustmen, laundries, and so forth. She was a fair, vivacious woman of about thirty-five, with a friendly manner.

  “You might like to show your sister round the flat,” she said to Vivian, “while I make the tea—I’ve got a kettle on, it’s nearly boiling. I thought it would be nice to have a cup together before I finally depart!”

  Valerie thought the flat was charming. It consisted of a large sunny sitting-room with two big windows, a tiny dining-room whose cherry-coloured chairs and leaf-green table the Coxons themselves had painted, a large bedroom which Valerie insisted must be Vivian’s, and a smaller one, but not too small, that would be hers. Both bedrooms had good built-in hanging cupboards and fitted basins, and between them was a little bathroom painted turquoise. Otherwise the whole flat was painted cream. Mrs. Coxon had arranged flowers to welcome them—daffodils and palm in the sitting-room, a tiny posy of mixed spring flowers on the dining table.

  “Couldn’t be nicer!” Valerie murmured. Vivian murmured back, “I knew you’d like it!”

  They had tea with Mrs. Coxon at a round table drawn up near the fire. As soon as they had finished, she said that she must go, “Though I feel rather awful about leaving you to do the washing up—I still can’t realize it isn’t-my flat any longer! ... Your groceries have come—they’re on the kitchen table. And I got in the milk and bread you wanted. And I shan’t be leaving England till cockcrow on Saturday, so I’ve left my number by the telephone in case there’s anything you want to ask.”

  Sitting by the fire that evening, they discussed how they should divide the housework, for the flat was so small and convenient that they preferred to do it without outside help. Valerie reluctantly agreed that Vivian should do the major share during the week, while she was busy at the domestic science college.

  “But at the week-ends I’ll do all the cooking,” she insisted, “and of course all the time during my holidays. It’s little enough, when you’re doing so much for me! I hate you paying for every single thing for me, although I know you don’t mind ... I do wish I had just a little money of my own! It would make such a difference.”

  “Well, if I have my way, you’re going to!” Vivian told her. “I do realize that it would be far better for you to feel a little independent. Now listen. As you know, Daddy left Hawthorn Lodge and all its contents to be shared equally by you and me and Hal and Robert, and he left directions in his will that if ever any two of us should want to sell, sold it must be, lock, stock and barrel. So I’m going to see a lawyer, with a copy of the will—that is, of course, if you agree—and tell him to get on with it.”

  “But—oh, I don’t know—I should feel so mean, turning them out!”

  “It needn’t come to that. Harold and Robert are very prosperous these days. The business is extremely flourishing. They can well afford to buy your share and mine at valuation. Then if they liked they could divide the house into two flats—or three, if they don’t want to go on keeping house together. It could be done quite easily, without any great expense. Then they could let one furnished and do very well out of it. Alternatively, they might pay us rent for our share of it. You must remember, honey, that Daddy wanted you to have your share of the house and furniture in money, if it ceased to be your home! It’s only right that you should have it!”

  “Well, if you don’t think it would be mean of us—” said Valerie doubtfully.

  “If I thought that, I wouldn’t be suggesting it. Agreed, then?”

  “I suppose so—though I rather wish we’d talked of it direct to Hal and Robert. After all, they are our brothers!”

  “Yes. But in our case it seems to me that one might paraphrase the old rhyme about sons and daughters so that it runs

  ‘My sister’s my sister all the days of her life—My brother’s my brother till he gets him a wife!’

  And anyway it’s always wiser to do business through a lawyer, even with relatives.”

  Valerie said no more, but when next day as they were having lunch Vivian suggested going together in the afternoon to her lawyer, she hesitated, then said, “Would you mind if I don’t come?”

  Vivian was surprised, but said, “Of course not! If you’ll put it down in writing that you want to sell your share there’s no need for both of us to see him. Not at this stage of the proceedings, anyway.”

  “It’s such a lovely day, I thought I’d take some exercise,” Valerie explained.

  “A good idea. It should be lovely in the Park.” But when they parted early in the afternoon, Vivian to take a bus from Knightsbridge to the City, Valerie to take a walk, her footsteps did not turn towards the Park, but in the opposite direction.

  Ever since they had arrived in London she had been obsessed by longing to see Rory. Nothing would have been simpler than to ring him up, saying that she and Vivian had come to live in London, and wouldn’t he look in one evening? But she told herself it would be folly to do any such thing. Rory’s behaviour made it all too clear that though he had enjoyed her company in Switzerland, with
him it was a case of out of sight, out of mind. Probably he was philandering now with Hilary, or even—agonising thought!—engaged to her. And though the wound that he had dealt her showed no sign of healing, hurt as much as ever, heal it must in time—if she would let it. She must make every effort to keep Rory from intruding into her thoughts.

  But on this balmy afternoon of early spring her feelings were too much for all her resolutions. It’s no use, she told herself—I can’t forget him! And If I could see where he lives, just once, then I could imagine something of his life.

  Ebury Street couldn’t be very far away, since they’ were on the same telephone exchange. So, having asked a postman to direct her there, and found that it was within less than a quarter of an hour’s walking distance, she set out in the direction he had told her.

  The air was mild, the sky was blue, people had discarded hurry with their winter coats, everyone seemed to be strolling leisurely instead of bustling. In Cadogan Square the trees were misted with the first faint green, and on the seats there nannies were to be seen knitting and gossiping while their small charges played together, and the tiniest of all slept in their prams.

  Did she imagine it, or could one really smell a faint, elusive scent of rising sap, and sun-warmed earth, and young grass, haunting and disturbing? Oh, how the spring could hurt, when there was winter in one’s heart!

  Arrived at Ebury Street, she soon saw that the number she was looking for, which she had discovered in the telephone directory, was quite near. At this hour Rory would be at business; there was no risk that he might be at home and happen to look out and see her. Slowly she walked past on the opposite side, gazing at the tall, narrow house with the green door and the number painted clear upon its fanlight, wondering which was Rory’s window. Every morning he must come down those three steps on his way to work. Twice daily he must turn the handle of the door.