‘Gideon, I must thank you—’
‘Must you? There is no need.’
‘But there is—and I am sure you are wet through. I only hope you will not take cold.’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ he said, his faint air of surprise indicating that the Chards did not take cold so easily, if at all. But in fact he looked extremely chilled and I was full of concern for him.
‘Well—do have some more brandy, just the same.’
‘Thank you. I will. Grace—there is something I must tell you.’
‘Yes?’
But as I waited dry-mouthed, preparing myself to face some new injury—my heart not for a moment abating its giddy, quite painful thumping—he said nothing, set down his glass, picked it up again, refilled it but did not drink, the movements, so very unusual in him, of a man who could not bring himself to speak his mind.
‘I knew this would be difficult, but really—indeed it is very hard, Grace, very awkward—’
And looking at him keenly, almost with disbelief, I said, ‘Gideon—I do believe that you are nervous.’
‘I believe I am—very nervous.’
‘Lord—what have you done?’
‘I have put myself in a damnably difficult situation—and a very delicate one. I have only myself to blame.’
‘Is it very serious?’
‘I fear so. I have staked, perhaps not everything, but a very great deal, on one card, which is not at all my habit. And the truth is I hardly know which way to turn.’
But he had turned to me.
‘How can I help you, Gideon?’
‘Are you sure you want to help me?’
‘For goodness sake! Of course I am. It involves money, I suppose?’
‘Money is concerned in it—yes.’
‘And since you do things on such a grand scale, I suppose it must be a great deal more than I have available. I shall have to try and raise the difference from my father.’
He picked up his glass again and drank the spirit straight down this time, his head turned away from me so that I could see only his heavy Chard profile and could not read his expression.
‘Grace—have I understood aright? Have you just offered me what amounts to everything you have and as much as you can borrow?’
So I had. And what was astonishing about that? It had seemed the most natural thing in the world.
‘Well, I shall not go hungry, you know. And I have the very greatest confidence in your ability to pay me back.’
‘And if I do not?’
‘Then you will have a very good reason. And I shall still not go hungry.’
‘My dear—that is not a businesslike answer. One does not accept these “good reasons” for the non-payment of a debt in business.’
‘No. But had it been a simple matter of business you would have gone to Mr. Rawnsley’s bank.’
‘Quite so. And you have not yet asked me why.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘I think I am afraid to tell you.’
‘Gideon—tell me. Nothing could be so bad as that, and if it is, we shall just have to look harder for a solution. If it is failure, and you are afraid of failure, then I can understand, because so am I. And if you have been unscrupulous, then at least I shall not be surprised about it.’
‘And if I have cheated?’
‘Yes. You may have cheated. But I do not think you have done anything mean.’
He swung round towards the fire, remained a moment with his back to me, and then turned to face me again.
‘Very well. I am entirely in your hands, Grace. I have made Liam Adair an offer—a very substantial offer—for his half of the Star. He would be glad to accept it but will not proceed—and neither will I—unless we have your full agreement. Now then—you may pronounce my sentence.’
I felt so many things, so acutely, all of them crowding me and filling me, each separate feeling clamouring to be heard above the others, that I was—most uncharacteristically—speechless, could do nothing but stare at him, almost deafened now by my thunderous heartbeat, and by so many other things inside me which seemed to be stirring, rising to the surface, preparing to take flight. I was about to lose my head, I knew it, to be deliriously happy or to agonize with despair, to do something huge, something stupendous, some magnificent, gigantic thing which would alter the whole course of my existence, and I needed just a moment more of that breathless quiet before it came.
‘Adair really wants my offer, Grace,’ he repeated belligerently, striding forward and putting hard hands on my shoulders. ‘I did nothing to force him or intimidate him. In fact I behaved so well I amazed him—and me. He wants to go off and find himself another Gower Street somewhere—he says you know that.’
‘Yes.’
‘He says you practically run the place without him now anyway.’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘Then come out of your trance, for God’s sake, and listen. You said you were ready to share your life with me. If I buy into the Star, then I can share it. Grace—I know nothing about running a newspaper and care even less. I haven’t the very slightest intention of interfering in what you print or don’t print, whose battles you fight, what you condemn—all that is entirely up to you. All I want is a link between us that people—ordinary people—can understand, something to salvage my pride, I suppose, and satisfy the conventions, because I am a conventional man most of the time, and it would be easier for me this way. Rawnsley and Mandelbaum and Goldsmith would assume I was supporting you— indulging your whim—instead of your father. And why should you refuse me a harmless compromise when the people you care about would know different—and when there’s always a chance that, given time, I might be able to accept it and admit it? I understood you, Grace, when you talked about two people who loved each other living together in harmony but retaining their separate identities. I understood all right, but I could see no way to make it work. It needed a link, a key—something else, something I couldn’t name, to bind us, however loosely together. I have it now. It’s not ideal but I can see the way to make it work. Grace, for God’s sake, don’t just stare at me. Say something, if only to damn me to hell—’
‘Yes, Gideon.’
‘Grace. Everything I said to you that day at Tarn Edge is still true. I would prefer you to give all this up and devote yourself to me if I thought there was a chance of it. You may call me jealous, insecure—anything you like—but if I could choose, then I’d choose that—by God, I would!’
‘Yes, Gideon.’
‘And everything you said is still valid too. It won’t always be easy. I’ll try, Grace. That’s the progress I’ve made—I’m willing to try and I shall expect you to try damned hard too. And if you say “yes Gideon” to me once again I may take it very much amiss. Do we have a bargain?’
‘How clever you are, Gideon!’
‘Yes. But do we have a bargain?’
‘In fact you are quite brilliant.’
‘I won’t deny it.’
‘Don’t ever deny it, for I mean to tell everybody. You have absolutely overwhelmed me.’
‘Ah yes—and for how long? Let me tell you this, Grace Barforth. You have talked a great deal about clever women and how only a strong man is able to cope with one. Very well, I am a strong man and I will readily admit you to be a clever woman. Let us see, shall we, just how you will cope with me?’
‘Let us see how we cope with each other—shall we?’
Bemused and tremulous, I put my arms around him, so unaccustomed to this pure joy that it easily took control of me, my whole being luxuriating in it like a sudden burst of sunshine, my spirit altogether triumphant, desiring only to sing his praises, my fear all gone, so that for the first time in my life I was truly at liberty.
‘You will take me as your partner then, Grace?’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘And your lover?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And your husband, in due season?’
; ‘Yes. I will even say please to that.’
‘And will you trust me?’
‘I will.’
‘And obey me?’
‘Whenever it seems right to me—which may be rather more often than you suppose. Will you obey me?’
‘Ah well—it is a little early, I think, for that. Should it ever seem right to me, then I will give it my consideration.’
‘I suppose that is something.’
‘It is a very great deal.’
‘But you will trust me, will you not?’
‘That I will. And should I ever be facing bankruptcy, as I led you to believe a few moments ago, then I shall know exactly who to turn to.’
‘Gideon—how did you know I would come home tonight? You had waited a long time at the station and you were not at all surprised to see me. Yet it would have been more natural—surely—considering the weather, to have stayed in Scarborough. How did you know?’
He lifted me just an inch or two from the ground and we sat down together on the sofa, cosily installed before my good fire, our arms about each other, my heart almost bursting now with the release of that other side of myself which I had so carefully encased in ice.
‘How did I know? Because, my darling, I knew you would have “commitments” tomorrow, and that no matter what the weather or the inconvenience you would wish to be at your desk by eight o’clock—as I shall be at mine.’
‘Gideon—I think that is probably the most beautiful thing you have ever said to me.’
‘Ah yes—except that I have flattered you a little too much, of course, since I am usually at my desk by seven.’
‘How convenient! I can take you to Low Cross in my carriage, can I not, and have plenty of time to go on from there to Sheepgate—in the morning.’
He had indeed found a way for us, not an easy one, but what did that matter to us when we both knew that difficulties existed to be surmounted, problems to be solved, mountains to be climbed and then, when one reached their summits, not to be abandoned but cultivated, guarded, nourished. And we would do all these things together, two very individual people who loved each other. It was the only direction in which either of us could go. It was our beginning.
Copyright
First published in 1982 by Macdonald
This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world
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Copyright © Brenda Jagger 1982
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The Sleeping Sword Page 57