“That you; John? Rory speaking! Rory Wilson ... Could you give me Valerie’s address? I had it but I lost it, like a fool ... Hadn’t got yours, so I couldn’t ask you if you knew hers, but by an incredible bit of luck the cousin I live with ran across her at some dance—says she and Vivian were staying with you—”
John knew nothing of what had happened between Valerie and Rory, save that Valerie had seemed disinclined to talk of him when John had mentioned him. Rory’s frantic S.O.S. came as a complete surprise to him. But he was careful to let no surprise sound in his voice as he gave Rory the address and asked him for his own, saying that he would be in London before long, and they must meet then.
He had told him Valerie’s telephone number, too, and for a moment Rory had thought of ringing up immediately. But the telephone was too impersonal. He’d got to see her face to face, at once ... Oh, Lord—why must every traffic light in London switch to red just as they were coming up to it?
The taxi turned at last into the quiet cul-de-sac. Rory thrust a note into the driver’s hand, in far too great a hurry to wait for the change due to him, charged up the steps, plunged through the door, and found himself in a narrow hall, facing a lift. Flat five was on the top floor, according to a notice on the wall. Stepping in, he pressed the appropriate button, and was borne aloft.
Now for the first time it occurred to him that Valerie might be out. He simply couldn’t stand it if she were! He wouldn’t go away, though. He would wait outside her door till she came back, till midnight if need be, or longer...
The lift stopped. Rory stepped out on the landing by the door of flat five, and pressed the bell.
Valerie had been alone all afternoon, for Vivian had gone with friends to see a film, and had not yet returned. Valerie had been asked to go too, but had made some excuse; she had not felt inclined for going out.
Solitary inactivity was unendurable these days to Valerie, .for if she were idle her thoughts invariably strayed to Rory and the might-have-been. So this afternoon, left to her own devices, she had done some washing, pressed a suit of Vivian’s, made a cake, prepared a soufflé for their supper. Then, tired out, she put a match to the fire that was still necessary of an evening, and sat beside it, drinking a belated cup of tea.
She was exhausted mentally as well as physically. It was a constant strain to smile when she was feeling miserable, to appear cheerful when her heart was heavy, but she had been doing it valiantly day after day: she couldn’t bear that even Vivian should suspect the true state of affairs. Besides, one couldn’t go about depressing other people by being dreary!
But now, as she sat there alone beside the fire, her courage was at a lower ebb than ever before. For weeks a heavy weight of tears .had lain, unshed, behind her eyes, and now they suddenly brimmed up and overflowed. Fiercely she adjured herself, “Oh, don’t be such a soppy fool!” blinked back the tears, and blew her nose, but unavailingly. The struggle was too much for her. Shaken by sobs, she slid on to the floor, and laying her arm upon her chair buried her face in it, and at last abandoned herself to her grief.
Thankfully she remembered that Vivian would not be back for some time, since she was going on from the cinema to a cocktail party. By the time that she returned cold water and a powder puff would have obliterated some of the traces of her weeping, and she could attribute those remaining to a headache.
How long she had been weeping she had no idea, when to her horror she heard the ringing of the bell. It was too late for a tradesman to be delivering—some friend must have called, with the intention of dropping in to have a chat!
Distraught, she sprang up and through swollen lids looked at her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. Tear-stained face, red eyes and pink-tipped nose—she couldn’t, simply couldn’t face a visitor in this state! There was only one thing to be done. If she stayed perfectly quiet, whoever was waiting on the outside landing would in time conclude that there was no one in the flat, and go away.
Tensely she stood there listening. Presently the bell rang again, shrilling a long, imperious summons. Still she did not move.
Out on the landing, Rory grew more desperate with every passing moment. They were out. They must be, for if he could hear the bell so clearly out here, it must be audible in every corner, of the flat. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was half past six. If they had gone out for the afternoon they would most likely be returning soon. Unless, of course, they had been shopping, and had then gone on to see a film or have a meal with friends. If that were so, it might be long enough before they turned up!
Without a thought of dinner, he decided he would wait here all night if he had to.
When the bell did not ring a third time, Valerie relaxed, concluding that the visitor was gone, although she had not heard the clang of the lift door, as one usually did. Perhaps whoever it was had for some reason walked downstairs. At any rate, she thought, the episode had made her pull herself together! Now she would be able to repair the ravages of her tears in good time before Vivian returned.
First, though, she would put the room in order. Straightening the rug and beating up the flattened cushion of her chair, she took the tea tray and went with it to the kitchen, meaning to wash up before she sought first aid for her betraying face.
Rory, leaning against the wall beside the outer door, sprang to alertness. Surely he had heard a sound of movement in the flat? Dropping on one knee, he pushed in the flap of the letterbox, and listened. There could be no doubt about it now—he heard the sound of running water, and a clink of china. Why, then, had his ringing been unanswered?
All kinds of wild ideas flashed through his mind. Could John have telephoned and told her of his sudden demand for her address, so that she was half expecting him? Did her ignoring of his ringing mean that she refused to see him? How monstrously unreasonable! after all, what more could he have done than write to her an explanation and apology for what had happened?
His suspense boiled into anger. Pressing his finger on the bell, he kept it there, telling himself furiously that if the door was still shut by the time that he had counted fifty, he would break it down!
Startled and dismayed by the renewed shrilling of the bell, Valerie put down the cup that she was drying, and wondered what to do, since evidently the unwelcome visitor had not departed after all. When it continued ringing, urgent and peremptory, she decided it could be no visitor who was pressing it so perseveringly: it must be Vivian, and she must have left her key behind.
Valerie rushed to her bedroom, splashed cold water on her face, dabbed it with powder, touched her mouth with lipstick, ran a comb swiftly through her hair, and anxiously inspected the result. Still it was very obvious that she had been crying. She must keep her back to the light and hope that Vivian would be unobservant—poor Vivian, ringing still!
Rushing to the door, she flung it wide. “Sorry to keep you waiting, darling!” she apologized, as she drew back behind it so as to keep well in its shadow.
There was the briefest pause. Then someone entered. But it wasn’t Vivian—it was—but it couldn’t be—!
She couldn’t bear that he should see her woebegone and tear-stained. As she dropped her head, her fair hair fell to curtain her, and her hands flew up to hide her face.
Rory took one startled look at her, then closed the door behind him, shutting them in together. He took her in his arms, gripping her as though he never meant to let her go again. His coat was rough beneath her cheek. She felt the hardness of his shoulder, heard the pounding of his heart.
“My darling—oh, my sweetest, littlest love!” said Rory, with his lips against her hair.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On a Friday afternoon in mid-May, Valerie was packing a suitcase. Soon after five o’clock Rory would be coming to fetch her; they were going to spend the week-end in Devon, at his home.
It would be no alarming ordeal, for she had already met his parents. Rory had telephoned to them, late on that evening of delirious happiness when
they had been reunited, to tell them he was going to be married, and two days later they had come to London to meet their future daughter-in-law. Theirs had been no critical inspection. They had made it obvious from the beginning that they were delighted with her, and both she and Vivian had felt at home with them at once.
Rory’s mother was a charming woman of fifty, tall and vivacious, wearing well-cut tweeds. His father, about ten years older, was a quiet man of burly build, with grey hair and a fresh complexion and a friendly twinkle in his eye. They both seemed to be absorbed in country interests; their garden and their poultry and their dogs, the W.I., the Rural District Council, and the like. Valerie had gathered that they had been troubled over Rory’s lack of home life, feeling that his bachelor existence in London was a dreary business. They were obviously very pleased that he was going to settle down—and still more pleased when Vivian invited them to dinner at the flat, and they discovered that it had been Valerie herself who cooked the admirable meal, beginning with fish cooked in the oven with a delicious mushroom sauce, continuing with fricassee of chicken and ending with a cheese soufflé, crisp on top, foam-light within, and perfect coffee. Later, while Valerie and Rory did the washing up with a great deal of laughter, his parents had told Vivian that they could have no better proof that Rory’s wife would be as capable as she was attractive. And it does round off everything quite perfectly, Valerie reflected, to know they like me, and are pleased about it all!
Vivian came in. “How are you getting on? Can I do anything to help?”
“Not a thing, thank you! I’ve practically finished. I tell you what, though—if you’ll put the kettle on, we might have tea. Rory can’t possibly get here for at least another hour.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for him?”
“No—he wants me to be ready to start right away, as soon as he gets here. And he never has tea, anyway, except sometimes at the week-end!”
They sat companionably by a small table Vivian had drawn up near the window, so that they might be in the sun. Out on the window-ledge a fat grey pigeon cooed and strutted, waiting for the crumbs that often were forthcoming about this time of day. The distant roaring of the traffic in fee Brompton Road was like the soothing murmur of the summer sea, and made a peaceful background for their talk, which was, as usual, chiefly of the wedding that would take place on the first of June—a fortnight from to-morrow.
“I do wish you were coming with us! Rory’s parents would have loved to have you!” Valerie said presently. The one fly in the ointment of her bliss was her concern for Vivian.
Everything had been arranged so that her own future held as great a promise of happiness as any future can, in this uncertain world. The wedding would be very quiet; only relations and a few special friends, including John and Susan and of course Harry, had been invited. Afterwards, they would all come back here to drink good wishes to the bride and bridegroom, and cut the cake. Still later, she and Rory would go off together for the week-end, to a quiet country inn beside the sea, in Essex; they had decided to defer the chief part of their honeymoon, since Rory’s annual holiday and the money they could spend on it were limited, until Christmas, so that they might go again to Switzerland. Already Rory had written to Madame Jourdier, asking her to book a room for them at the Casque d’Or.
The first months of their married life would be spent here in the flat. Vivian, saying that after Valerie’s wedding she would have no more need of it, had handed over the lease to them, with the agreement of the owner. This would give them time to look round for a house; they hoped to find one in the neighbourhood of Kew or Richmond. Rory’s parents were in due course going to give them furniture that had been in store since they had left a larger house two years ago, and surplus silver. Vivian was giving them linen, and blankets, and a cheque for carpets. So all seemed to be plain sailing, in addition to the overwhelming, unbelievable ecstasy of being beloved and loving...
But what of Vivian? Hesitantly Valerie asked the question that had been troubling her for days.
“Vivian, I’ve been wondering, and so has Rory, where you will go, and what you’ll do, after the wedding? I hate to think of you, all by yourself! Have you been making any plans?”
Vivian smiled at her. “Is that why you’ve been looking so pensive?’ It’s very sweet of you, and Rory too, to bother about me when you have all your own affairs to cope with! Honestly, you need not worry about me, darling! I may look up some old friends. Or I might travel a bit. I’m used to fending for myself, you know!”
“I know you are. It’s just that—oh, you’ve been so sweet to me, and done so much for me, and I feel awful about upsetting all the plans we’d made!”
“You haven’t!” Vivian assured her. “This is exactly what I would have planned, if it had been in my hands!”
“Truly?”
“Truly. It’s been lovely for me, having you with me since I came back from America. But I’ve been hoping all along that you’d very soon be making a life for yourself, instead of sharing mine. So for goodness gracious sake, stop feeling guilty about me, honey! I couldn’t possibly be more delighted than I am about you and Rory!”
Valerie was reassured. They talked for a few minutes of other things, and then the bell rang, and she ran with a light heart to welcome Rory. Last night when she went to let him in she had found him wearing an enormous pair of spectacles and a false moustache, and he had greeted her as Mrs. MacTavish, and said that he had come to see her twins, as most unfortunately his partner, Dr. Sniffy, had been taken ill with an attack of glumps. Smiling to herself at the ridiculous memory, she wondered whether he would perpetrate some other imbecility to-day.
This time he addressed her in a mincing, high-pitched voice of exaggerated refinement, his utterance somewhat impeded by an outsize set of false teeth he had made out of a piece of orange peel.
“Good afternoon! This is the residence of Mrs. Howe, is not it?”
Valerie took a deep breath, and made a good recovery. “Yes! Mrs. Howe lives here. You’re late!” she said severely, “she’s been expecting you for the last hour!” Then, turning away from him, she called “Vivian! The piano tuner has come at last!”
On which the “piano tuner” pounced upon her, swept her up, and dumped her squealing and protesting on the sofa, gnashing his orange-peel teeth and squinting horribly until she begged for mercy.
Having chatted for a few moments with Vivian, and assured her that they wished that she were coming with them, they bade her an affectionate farewell. Rory took Valerie’s suitcase and they departed. The lift was waiting still, but Rory, having shut the door of the flat behind them, pulled her back as she was going to enter it, and turned her so that she was facing him, holding her by the shoulders.
“Love me?” he whispered.
“No—I’ve got tired of you since yesterday!” she began, but couldn’t keep it up. “Oh, darling—darling—darling! Sometimes I just can’t believe all this is really true!” she breathed. Rory bent his head. His arms slid round her, and she tilted up her laughing mouth to meet his lips.
Vivian, watching from the window, presently saw them cross the pavement to the car. She smiled down at their smiling upturned faces as they raised their hands in final farewell, and waved back at them. Then she watched them driving off together into the sunlit afternoon.
The room seemed very quiet, very empty, as she turned to take away the tea tray. After the first of June, her life was going to be empty, too. Preoccupied with Valerie’s affairs, she had not fully realized just how empty it would be, until this afternoon, when Valerie’s concern for her had brought it home to her.
Rory and Valerie would always welcome her, always be glad to see her. But she must be careful not to take advantage of that welcome, not to intrude too often on their life together; careful that Valerie should never feel it was a duty to include her solitary sister in their doings; careful not to give unsought advice out of her own experience. It was because of this necessity not to play too
great a part in Valerie’s new life that she had refused Mrs. Wilson’s invitation to go with them for the week-end. “Two’s company, three’s none.” Far better to begin as they were going on.
Shrinking from the prospect of her future loneliness, she tried to dwell instead on all that must be done during the coming fortnight.
Valerie had gratefully accepted, as Vivian’s present, her share of Hawthorn Lodge. Rory had good prospects of advancement in his firm; one day, if all went well, they should be comfortably off, but to begin with they would be far from opulent, and to have the whole rent for the house, instead of half, as now, would be a very useful addition to their income. On Monday morning she would see her lawyer, and arrange to have it settled legally.
She must see about a cake, too, and the other refreshments after the wedding, and do some other shopping. She and Valerie had had a tussle over the question of a trousseau. Valerie had declared that as Vivian had given her a complete new outfit such a little time ago, she had no need of anything now, except for one or two small odds and ends that she would buy herself. Vivian had pointed out that if their parents had been alive they would have given her a trousseau—it was the right of every bride! As they were not, it was her sister’s right, and pleasure too, to take their place. Finally they had compromised. Valerie had agreed to accept a wedding dress and going away outfit. They had gone to Debenham’s to choose materials, and decided on the styles, and early next week Valerie would have her first fittings. And on her wedding day, Vivian decided, I’ll give her a cheque, and tell her it’s to supplement her wardrobe later on. She can’t refuse it from me, on her wedding morning! ... And tomorrow I’ll go out and buy some very special undies for her—she can’t refused those either, once they’re bought and paid for. And I don’t believe she’ll want to, when she sees them...
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