“But I’m terribly fond of Gareth. I couldn’t bear for him to be unhappy. I’ve told you, I’ll even give up Chit if it would persuade you—”
“But do you realise what you are asking me to do? I care for Gareth more than I’ve ever cared for anyone—more than I ever thought I could care. Do you think I’m going to give him up just because you have an idea that someone else would be better for him?”
“No, not because I have an idea. I thought I might be able to make you see for yourself that it would be better. If you loved him the way you say you do, you would see.”
Ursula swung forward suddenly so that her elbows rested on her knees, her cynical attitude gone. “But I do love him, Sara. Don’t misunderstand about that. He’s a whole new world to me, a whole new possibility of existence. Something I never hoped for. I’m not just playing with him. He matters to me tremendously.”
“Yes,” Sara said slowly, after scanning her, “I think you do love him. But not enough to give him up.”
Ursula sat back again, and there was a little silence.
“You’ve never given up anything in your life, have you?” Sara said.
“Only fats and carbohydrates.”
“And you’ve never listened to anyone’s advice, have you?”
“Oh, yes—but never acted on it that I can remember.”
“I don’t know how to appeal to you!” Sara cried, desperately. “I don’t know what matters to you. I thought that if I offered to give up Chit, that would—that would—”
“But I don’t want you to give up Chit! I think you will be just as good for Chit as you think I shall be bad for Gareth. As a bribe that was no good. As a guarantee of good faith it was rather more valuable.”
“What can I say? Won’t you believe that I know best this once? It matters so terribly.”
Her voice shook and she reached for a handkerchief. “I wouldn’t have dreamed of corning here and making a scene if it hadn’t been so terribly important.” She wiped her eyes hastily and surreptitiously. “I’m sorry to be such a fool, but it took such a lot of courage to come, and it all seems no use.”
“You know,” Ursula said, “considering the way you’ve pitched into me this morning, it’s amazing how I like you.”
“Like me!” Sara said drearily. “What’s the good of your liking me if I can’t persuade you—if I can’t make you see—” She twisted round abruptly in her chair and began to cry silently into her handkerchief, utterly unnerved.
Ursula watched her for a moment or two with a curious pity when she rose and crossed to the cocktail cabinet.
“I think you had better have a cocktail after all,” she said.
As she mixed the cocktail she saw in front of her, as one sees, after staring at a bright thing, its image in front of one wherever one looks, that untidy scribble of Stüwe’s. And somehow that sheet of paper was no longer a charm but an accusation. In her heart was a horrible feeling, half guilt, half terror. How much of what that girl said was true? She was hanging on to him, wasn’t she? No! what nonsense! She could give him a whole world of happiness and success. She could make his very dreams come true. But—some day she would no longer love him (Robert Deane’s grand-daughter had always faced facts) and when that incredible, inevitable moment came, what—as that girl said—would happen? Would this incipient guilty feeling have grown so large that it would shout at her? Would she really have destroyed him with her love like some melodramatic Circe? But she would have given him a career! With her position and her money he could—She saw Stüwe’s note again. Gareth didn’t need her influence and her money. She was making that an excuse. Now that Stüwe knew about him Gareth could rise by himself. She had given him that, but could she in the future ever do anything so vital for him again? Gareth’s future was with Stüwe. And that being so, her only excuse for banging on to him was that—But surely that was justification enough. Oh, surely, surely, that was justification enough! But—if she was to be justified she must bring something; not just grab. Was what she could bring of as much worth as that Molly girl—damn her soul—could give him? Was it? Why did she feel guilty? She had gone out of her way to meet him, certainly, but she wasn’t a cradle-snatcher. Gareth was only two years younger than she was, wasn’t he? And they loved each other. A spasm of impatience shook her. What was she worrying about? What was the matter with her that she should be examining her conscience like a penitent! Why should she, Ursula Deane, who had the princes of the world at her feet, fret over the possible hurt of a little fiddler? But the fiddler was Gareth—Gareth. And if any harm came to Gareth through her—Oh, God, what a muddle one got into when one fell in love!
She brought the cocktail over to Sara, and stood over her for a moment, compassionately. “Don’t cry, Sara. It is I who should be crying.”
“You! Why?”
“Because in my heart of hearts I’m afraid you’re right.”
“What! Are you—? Do you—?”
“Here! Drink this.”
“But do you mean—?”
“Be quiet, and drink this.”
“I don’t much like cocktails.”
“Doctor’s orders.”
Sara blew her nose vigorously and took the cocktail.
“Go on, drink it.”
“Is it all right?” Sara asked, doubtfully, “I’ve got to go back to Brook Street, you know.”
“Oh, it’s quite a mild one.”
Sara sipped it gingerly, her stained eyes searching Ursula’s face with a pathetic hope.
“Were you ever scared stiff?” Ursula asked.
“Yes, often.”
“So scared that your inside was a jelly?”
“Yes, I know the feeling.”
“That’s what I am now.”
“You! Afraid! What of?”
“That I’m going to do the right thing. Such an unheard-of thing to do!”
“You’ll never regret it if you do, never!” Sara said passionately.
“Oh, yes, I shall. That’s what’s so awful about doing the right thing. It hurts like hell at the time, and ever afterwards you think what a fool you were. You have one moment’s clear vision, and it leads you up the garden.”
“But you have the consolation of knowing that you did the decent thing!”
“The martyr’s crown? It isn’t a headgear I ever aspired to.”
“Wouldn’t even the knowledge that Gareth was happy, and that you’d done that for him, make you—”
“Gareth happy!” Ursula burst out. “But we were going to be so happy together! Why did you come and spoil it all with doubts and jeremiads?”
“I came because I couldn’t help it. I hated coming. Hated it.”
“I wonder if Gareth would do as much for you as you were prepared to do for him?” Ursula said, her anger gone.
“Oh, no. But then, men don’t.”
“You’re not much of a modern woman, are you?”
“I would have been with Chit, but somehow Gareth is more like my son than my brother.”
“Why do you say ‘would have been’ about Chit?” Ursula said sharply.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking,” Sara said confused.
“You’re not going to leave Chit in the lurch, are you?”
“I don’t know...Oh, I don’t know! It’s all such a mess.”
“I don’t see much mess about it, except for me. The idea is that I freeze Gareth off, you marry Chit, I continue my rackety career, and everyone is happy. Quite simple.”
“It sounds so brutal when you put it like that.”
“It is brutal.”
“Then you won’t do it?”
“Oh, yes, I think I shall. I might as well try a halo on for once. But don’t imagine it is going to make any difference to your contract with Chit. I have a brother, too. I may not feel like a mother to him, but I quite like the creature.”
“But you know, you’ll hate me after this. And—oh, the situation would be awful impossible.”
“You’ll have to get used to impossible situations in this family. You’ve created this one, anyhow, so you’ll have to put up with it. Is that understood?”
“You know,” Sara said, with an hysterical catch in her throat, “when I came in here I was going to promise to give up Chit, and now you’re asking me to promise that I won’t!”
“And do you?”
“It’s going to be all right about Gareth, isn’t it?” Sara asked hesitating.
“All right for Gareth, you mean. Yes.”
“Then I promise. You can hate me as much as you like.”
“I probably shan’t as much as that,” Ursula said, dryly. “But look here, Sara, I can’t do it all of a sudden. That’s more than even a first-class martyr should be asked to do, and I’m the merest amateur. I must have time. Do you think you can keep the paragon Molly from getting herself engaged to anyone else for the next three weeks or so?”
“You’re a darling to do it when you feel like that about it,” Sara said, her gratitude overcoming her.
“Yes, aren’t I? I hope Gareth is worth it.”
“I know now why Gareth fell in love with you. It wasn’t just because you’re beautiful. You’re—different.”
“Thank you. I expect gratitude is affecting your retina, though.”
“I never dared to hope that I’d be able to persuade you, and I thought I’d be off my head with joy if I did. But I just feel—miserable at the mess.”
“Well, as a nation we take our pleasures sadly.”
“I wish you didn’t have to hate me like that. But I’ve earned it.”
“I’ve told you, I rather like you. But at the moment I hate the whole world, and you’re unfortunately included.”
“Then I’ll go. But I wish there was something big that I could do for you in return.”
“You can make Bobby a good wife, and keep him up to the collar.”
“That won’t be difficult. I’d like to do something that—”
There was a knock at the door, and in answer to Ursula’s invitation Daphne Conyers-Munford appeared. Ursula had a spasm of relief that Sara was standing with her back to the light, so that her face was in shadow.
“Hullo, darling,” Daphne said. “Busy?”
“Not too busy to listen to the latest scandal.”
“Darling, I wish I was sure you meant that nicely!”
“Have you met Chit’s fiancée?”
“Yes, we met at that party of Ursula’s, didn’t we?” Daphne said, shaking hands. “Let me see, your name’s—don’t tell me!—Rachel.”
“No, Sara.”
“I knew it was something Biblical. Something nicely Biblical, I mean. Not Sapphira, or anything like that.”
“Well, I must get back to the workroom with these patterns, I suppose,” Sara said, anxious to get away.
“Sara’s making a suit for me. She’s just bullied me into taking the stuff I like least.”
“Congratulations, darling. No one in history has ever done that to Ursula before. Do you make clothes, then? I wish you’d have a look at my nile green frock and tell me why I look like a radish in it! I paid Jane Barr twenty-five guineas for it—at least, I owe Jane that for it—and I hate the thing.”
Sara said that she would be delighted, and took her leave. As she said good-bye to Ursula, she said: “I don’t think you’ll ever regret your decision. Good-bye and thank you.”
“I hope you’re right. Don’t forget to tell Madame that I want the suit by the end of the week.”
“I won’t. And it will be the loveliest thing you ever wore.”
“That will be a great consolation,” Ursula said, and Sara, hastily powdering her nose on the landing before facing Coggins, ached for her. It must be dreadful not to be able to have a good howl on the rare occasions when one wanted to and needed one. Ursula would have to be polite to the Mumford girl now until the Munford girl moved on somewhere. And then there would probably be someone else. It wasn’t much good having money if you couldn’t cry in peace when you wanted to.
Chapter XVIII
“Is the affair settled, then?” Daphne asked, when the door had shut behind Sara.
“Oh, yes; she’s going to marry Chit.”
“You don’t seem to be particularly distressed.”
“I’m not. He might have married Betty Crawley.”
“And what would have been wrong with that? She belongs to the crowd, anyhow.”
“Yes, and she is as promiscuous as a cat. I don’t want Bobby to be a cuckold as soon as he’s a groom. That girl’s decent, and Chit’s decent. There’s more Deane than Delaunay in him. They’ll make a good couple—happy and clean-living.”
“Darling, you say the queerest things these days!”
“I expect I’m due for a change of air. I’ve been nearly two months in the one place.”
“Well, I don’t see why your needing a change of air should make you deliberately cruel. You leave that thing open,” she indicated the cocktail cabinet “and never as much as say have one.”
“I never knew you waited to be asked.”
“Perhaps I’m reforming too.”
“Too?”
“Yes, aren’t you reforming?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Well, all this preoccupation with the more noble attributes of the human soul—”
“Oh, that’s just natural curiosity about other people’s belongings.”
“Darling, you really are—! I don’t mind a rake—thank you, darling—but a morbid rake is really—!” She made a face at her cocktail. “It’s a horribly mild one, darling. I can hardly taste it.”
“I made it for Sara.”
Daphne sighed. “And coming along the street I was hoping for a Gunner’s Joy.”
“I was afraid you hadn’t come to see me for love!”
There was a tap at the door and Chitterne put his head in. “I say, Ursula, what was the name of the stuff the Sidgwick woman was wearing the other night? Oh, hullo, Daphne.”
“Hullo, darling. I’ve hardly seen you since you blossomed into a Press baron. D’you know, since you’ve been a gossip person you’ve never once mentioned me on your page.”
“You shouldn’t be so unmentionable.”
“Darling, nothing’s unmentionable nowadays. In print, anyhow. You mightn’t get a licence to perform me, but there’s nothing to hinder your printing me.”
“Well, I might give you a word one of these days. What would you like it to be about? Your dresses, your debts, or your devotés?”
“You can say that Cochran has asked me to be the Elaine in his Maid of Astolat.”
“I say! Has he?”
“No, but it might put the idea into his head. I’m just the type, and I could do with some money.”
“I’ll say you’re the best little gold-digger in Britain. I say, Ursula, what was that stuff called, white stuff that looked as if she had spilt the champagne down it?”
“I think Lucile calls it peau de lys.”
“How do you spell it?” Chit asked, taking out his notebook. “I wish they had taught me French at Harrow.”
“Why are you giving the Sidgwick woman a par?” Daphne asked. “She’s of no importance to anyone.”
“No, but she gave the paper some information a week or two ago, and this is a sort of quid pro quo. That’s journalism.”
“Do you like it, darling?”
“Once you get used to the rules it’s fascinating.”
“Rules?”
“Yes, once you don’t expect the rules to be the same as cricket. I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed anything so much. And I’m a success, mark you. I’ve only been ticked off twice in the past week. Everyone is ticked off once a day on principle.”
Daphne snorted. “That’s merely because you’re a lord, darling. You needn’t apportion yourself any credit for that.”
“Being a lord in our office is a liability not an asse
t. I’m engaged in living it down. Excelsior, and all that. Thanks awfully, Ursula. I don’t know what my budding career would be without you. Further application will be made in due course. ’Voir.”
“If I can’t have quality could I have quantity?” Daphne said, holding out her empty glass.
“He seems very pleased with himself. Perfectly ridiculous, of course, doing a man out of a job so that he can save his highly problematical soul. I forgot to congratulate him, by the way, but it will keep. What is Sara’s other name?”
“Ellis.”
“Ellis! No relation of your present follower, I suppose?”
“She’s Gareth’s sister.”
“No! My dear! How—complicating!”
“I don’t see why.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Rather cramps one’s style to have holy matrimony sitting heavily at one’s right hand, I should think.”
“But Gareth and I—” Ursula began, and remembered. “Oh, shut up, Daphne!”
“Talking of holy matrimony, Clive proposed to me yesterday.”
“And what did you say?”
“Mentally I said: ‘Good Lord deliver us’. Actually, I said the modern equivalent of ‘This is so sudden, George!’ Whereupon Clive said (she mimicked Clive’s heavy manner): It is a serious matter, Daphne. I don’t want to hurry you’.”
“Poor Clive.”
“Poor Clive? Poor me, you mean!”
“Are you going to marry him, then?”
“Well, Jane Barr was simply beastly about that bill. I’ll have to do something.”
“Couldn’t you cut down expenses?” Ursula said; while her mind said: “Don’t imagine that you can cover it up by talking about footling things; you’re going to get rid of Gareth, you’re going to choke him off!”
“That would be drastic, but not so drastic as marrying Clive.”
“My dear, I can’t. I’ve tried that often. I never save a half-crown but I celebrate the occasion by spending it. Clive is the only solution. It will be such a relief to be able to gold-dig legitimately.”
“You’ll have to blast it out of Clive.”
“Yes, he is a little tight. But with the blessing of the church I think I can manage it. Besides, he is besotted about me—as far as anything like the Nelson Column can be besotted.”
The Expensive Halo Page 17