by Bess Norton
She came around and unlocked the side door for me and smiled. “My dear girl—do come in.”
She pushed a pile of lists off a chair, which she pulled out for me. I sank down on it. “You’re working late,” I said fatuously.
“I always do.” She settled down at her desk again. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what to do.” I leaned forward and looked at her hard, as though somewhere on her plump, lined face I might read the answer. “I don’t know what to do.”
She picked up her inside telephone and asked someone to send us some tea. I lit a cigarette and walked about the room, wondering where to begin. And then, when the night porter had been and gone and we had steaming cups in front of us, I tried to explain.
She never said a word, bless her, until I had finished. And then, leaning over to refill my cup, she nodded. “It’s difficult, I see that.”
“What would you do, Homey? What would you do? How do I know which is right? To marry for this—this spark? Or to be sensible?”
“I don’t attach much importance to sparks myself,” she said slowly. “They can blow out, pouf, just like that. On the other hand you may go ahead without it and live to regret it.”
“I know.” I thought of Simon and of the unbearable excitement of his nearness; and then I remembered what he had done to me during his illness. I thought of Alan, too, who had never hurt me, and saw how lacking he was in Simon’s kind of ability to stir me.
But Sister Gregory wasn’t going to make up my mind for me. She said, “I once hovered between two men, Dair. I didn’t know whether to follow my heart or my head. And while I dithered I lost them both—one was killed in France, and the other married my best friend. So I came back to my job.” She looked up. “Have you come back to your job?”
“I don’t know.” Then I saw Simon’s headlights, lighting up the tall side of the building as his car turned in from the road. It couldn’t be anyone else, because the car moved slowly over to his old corner by the dispensary windows. “I must go,” I said. “He’s come for me.”
“Then he must love you very much.” She opened the door and stood back for me to hurry past her. ‘“Don’t say ‘no’ to love,” she said softly. “It’s always food for regret afterward.” She touched my shoulder gently as I left her, and her face was crumpled with her own memories.
There was only one place he would look for me, I know. I ran lightly down the long flagged path to the night nurses’ garden and waited there on the stone bench under the bank of delphiniums, shining pale and carved in the bleaching moonlight, petrified in the thick summer air. The edge of the bench was gritty under my fingers, and I was beyond trembling as I waited for him.
He came at last, as I had known he would, and sat down beside me with one arm across my shoulders. “Lanna,” he said. “Lanna, come back to me.”
I pulled nervously at Alan’s ring, tight on my finger, and it gleamed jade in the theatrical light for the first time. Because it refused to leave my finger I twisted it around to hide the opal. I shook my head. “I’m engaged to Alan.”
“Alan understands. He told me to tell you to consider yourself free. He says the whole thing was based on a false premise—he was very generous about it.”
“I see.” So Alan was not prepared to put up any fight now that it had come to a showdown. I felt bitterly humiliated. “Then, the engagement is off?”
Simon nodded. “As my own will be, when Marion gets my letter in the morning. She knows I wasn’t myself. And she isn’t under any illusions about it being a love match, Lanna. She wouldn’t want it any other way.” He sighed heavily. “Lanna, may I ask you once more? Will you marry me?”
I don’t know how long he went on kissing me, but when he pushed me a little away from him and I could breathe freely, it was all over. There was no decision left to make.
I would have liked to go back to Sister Gregory and tell her and say goodbye to her, but her light was out. While Simon unlocked the car I stood looking up at the rows of lights in the wards, breathing in the old Allanby smell and loving it.
I put my hand on his knee and settled down in my seat, leaning against him, as I waited for familiar places to rush up to us out of the night. I knew I would never relax until we were safely back at Retby and we had said and done all the things we had to do and made it a tidy situation again. I forgot completely about the Metropolitan, and it had to be driven to Retby, later, by a man from a nearby all-night garage.
The house was dark when we arrived, and very still. Simon and I stood close together on the landing outside the master bedroom.
He held me in his arms again. “I love you,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I know.” I lifted my mouth to his. “I love you, too.” I wanted to say that I hadn’t been sure that love was enough; that I had to know that it was stronger than security before I let it take all my weight; that it was not love that had decided me but his readiness to throw everything else Overboard. Only that would have sounded trivial, as we stood there on the dark landing, with the long moonbeam crossing the door behind his bent head.
I left him there and went to my room. A note sat on the dressing table, from Alan.
Lanna—We must begin all over again, now that Simon is himself again. It never was fair to you. You must decide quite freely what you want to do. I have no claim on you. I only want your happiness, you know that. That’s all I have ever wanted—Alan.
I had been right. He was putting up no fight at all. I was horribly disappointed in him; but it made things much easier, I realized. There was no longer any conflict in my mind. I had no choice to make now that he had released me. And because the conflict was over, I felt a little flat, a little disappointed. I had always been a fighter—and there was nothing left to fight.
A little later, when I was brushing my hair, Simon tapped at my door. I suppose I had been expecting it, for I went to open the door. He stood there laughing down at me as I pulled my dressing gown around me and knotted the sash. Then he reached out for me. “Let me come in, Lanna,” he begged.
stiffened in his arms. “No. Go to bed, Simon. You must be very tired. That long drive, and—”
“You said you loved me.” He put his mouth down on my neck, pushing back the silk to kiss my bare shoulder. “I want you, can’t you see? I’m not a machine, Lanna.” He began to tremble against me, and his fingertips dug into my shoulders.
A moment later, when Alan came quietly along the dark landing, I was fighting Simon off with all my strength. Too late, he let me go, and turned to nod at Alan. “Goodnight, old man.” In confusion I turned back to my room, but not before I had heard the ice in Alan’s voice and seen the stricken look in his eyes. All he said was, “Goodnight, Simon. Good night, Lanna,” as he passed. But it was enough. It told me all I wanted to know—that he loved me and that he hated seeing me with Simon, behaving like any shipboard flirt. And I knew, in that moment, that I had lost him.
When Johnson put my breakfast in front of me Alan had been gone on a call for an hour or more, and Simon was still dressing. I played with the bacon and scrambled egg for a few minutes, and then I went to use the telephone in the hall. Mr. Bartleby was not in his office, his secretary said, but she was glad I had phoned because he wanted to see me—about the house. He had an idea to put before me.
“Good,” I said. “I have one to put before him, too. I’ll come along about half past ten, if that will be convenient.”
She said it would. She would keep half an hour free for us, but at 11 he had to be in court, so would I please be punctual.
In fact, I was a little early. I kept out of Simon’s way until it was time for him to take surgery, and then I slipped out.
I explained the position to Mr. Bartleby. “Do we have to wait for probate,” I asked him, “before we can go ahead with the alterations?”
He pursed his lips. “I’ll give the matter some thought,” he promised. “Strictly, yes. But as Dr. Pullar is an
executor we may get around the difficulties with his permission. I suppose there’s no likelihood of your marriage arrangements being canceled or—”
“None whatever,” I said firmly.
“I see. Well, it’s an excellent idea to turn the house into flats, I must say. The only thing is I had an offer to make to you, on behalf of the council.”
I frowned. “An offer? You mean they want to buy the house?” I couldn’t imagine what use the town council would have for such a place in the middle of a residential area and miles from their offices. “But why?”
“They want a suitable property to convert into an old people’s home. Something rather different from the usual run. Separate flatlets, you see, and a communal dining room and kitchen for those who find cooking a little difficult.”
“I see. I’m sorry, I couldn’t consider that. They must have other properties in view, surely?”
“Not quite such suitable ones,” he said. “The woods is a great attraction, of course. Somewhere for the old people to walk in safety from traffic. And it’s been quite well maintained, for property of that age.”
“I’m sure they’ll find something else.”
He looked up over his glasses. “They’re offering 7,500,” he mentioned. “And they might go higher.”
I stood up. “I’ll bear it in mind, Mr. Bartleby. In the meantime, will you think what can be done without conversion?”
He said he would. He would get in touch with me again. And of course he would need to discuss it with Dr. Pullar. “Is he quite well now?”
“He’s much more himself,” I assured him. “I shall tell him I’ve seen you.”
I had an opportunity of telling him earlier than I had expected. His car was outside the drugstore as I passed, and I pulled in behind it to wait for him.
He came straight over when he saw me. “You went out early! Where’ve you been? Shopping?”
I told him about Mrs. Tarsh’s will. And then I added, “He says the council would pay more than 7,000 for it.”
He stared. “Is this true? But Bartleby never told me! And I agreed to be an executor...”
He calculated for a moment. “Didn’t it strike you that 7,000 would more than buy back Retby from the estate?”
Some wilful spirit made me retort that if Midge didn’t want us to have Retby, I would scorn to buy it back. “I’d rather have Mrs. Tarsh’s house,” I said. “At least she wanted me to have it—or wanted us to have it. We shouldn’t be there on sufferance.”
His eyebrows went up. “Are we quarreling, Lanna?”
“No, of course not.” I was sorry then. “But you do see what I mean?”
“Yes, I see. I think you’re being a little quixotic about it, though. You like Retby, don’t you?”
I thought of the long landing, and Alan’s face as he passed my door. Of the wide lawn, and Alan’s broad back as he stood there swinging a gold club. Of the driveway where I had kissed him to pique Dallas. And I knew I could never live there happily with Simon, with Alan’s reproachful ghost in every room. I swallowed. “Yes. But there are more possibilities at Mrs. Tarsh’s, aren’t there?” I switched on the engine. “I must go, or there’ll be no lunch today.”
I left him standing there and headed for the grocer’s.
In the narrow shortcut through the station drive I met Green’s car, head on. I stopped and got out. “I’ve been wanting to see you,” I told her. “Simon said—”
Her face was pale and tired, but her eyes flashed as hard as glass. “I suppose you knew he’d written to me?”
“He said so.” I nodded. “I don’t know what he said.”
“I suppose it’s what I might have expected.” She was breathing heavily. “I might have known you’d want to hold him to it, when Alan dropped you.”
I frowned. “When Alan dropped me! What on earth are you talking about? It was I who—Alan didn’t—”
“No? As I see it, that’s how it is! Simon feels he can’t back out; that he’s compromised. Well, you’re welcome to him, Lanna. I hope you’ll be very happy.” She pulled her wheel over to snake past the Metropolitan, and I saw that Simon’s emerald was no longer on her left hand.
“But, Green...” I began. It was no use; she was on her way. That made two friends I had lost.
Just before Simon was due for lunch, I was hit by the worst migraine of my experience. As I crawled up to my room, I could hardly see, fighting back the waves of sick pain. Johnson said, “I’ll see to the doctors, Miss. What can I bring you?”
“Nothing. Yes—ask one of them for something. Ergotamine, perhaps—” I stumbled into the room and onto the bed, and closed my eyes.
Through the nausea and dizziness and the piercing pain, I felt someone laying a cold compress on my forehead, and then tucking a hot water bottle behind the nape of my neck. I was beyond opening my eyes or even speaking. It was Simon, I imagined. Later, as the pain began to ease itself to a little distance, just beyond my shoulder, the same hands lifted my head and slipped a cool pillow on top of the one I had and then renewed the cool compress. This time I managed to open my eyes.
Alan said, “Better?”
I could only stare up at him. Then I said, “Where’s Simon?”
“Downstairs. On the phone.” Evading my eyes, he straightened the corner of the pillow. “Talking to Bartleby about the other house, I gather.”
I closed my eyes again and tried not to notice that he left his hand nearly touching my cheek. “The council wanted it,” I mentioned feebly.
“Yes. He’s letting them have it for 8,000, believe.” He took his hand away at last. “A good price.”
“He’s letting them have it?” I tried to concentrate. “But he can’t Alan. I’ve arranged to—”
He began to smooth out the lines my frown was making with his forefinger. “Maybe I had it wrong. Don’t worry about it now.”
“You won’t leave us yet, will you?”
He hesitated for a moment. And then he said, “As long as you want me to stay I’ll stay.” He stood up away from me, then, and I heard him walk to the door. “Try to sleep, Lanna.” He shut the door softly behind him.
He must have made a mistake, I decided. Evidently the council had increased the offer, and Mr. Bartleby had rung to tell Simon. But Simon couldn’t complete the deal without me, even if he had wanted to. The house was mine, wasn’t it? Muddled, I drifted into sleep.
It was nearly dark when I awoke, and there was a cold cup of tea standing on the bedside table. Only Johnson was downstairs, polishing silver. “I said I’d listen to the phone, Miss,” he explained. “So that you needn’t be disturbed. Nurse Green rang up a few minutes ago, and she’s coming over.”
‘To see Dr. Pullar?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no, Miss. To see you, she said.”
When Green arrived she sat down opposite me, with the silver between us, and began idly fiddling with a dessert spoon to cover her sudden shyness. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I oughtn’t to have said what I did. I was still feeling a bit stung...”
I reached across the table and touched the back of her hand. “I feel dreadful about it all, too. It was a long time before I knew what was right... I never wanted to mess things up for you, you know that.”
She laughed shortly. “We’re all so full of good intentions,” she murmured. “And when I think that but for Mrs. Tarsh—the scheming old creature—Simon would never have changed his mind—”
“How do you mean?” I looked across at her curiously. “What difference did Mrs. Tarsh make?”
‘The house, of course,” she said. “If she hadn’t left you hers, to replace this.”
I thought back, remembering Simon’s face when I told him. “But he didn’t know about the house,” I said. “Not until after he had asked me to marry him!”
Green stopped playing with the spoon and her fingers were quite still. “Is that what you thought? Of course he knew. He mentioned it in his letter to me.” She lifted her head
. “Did you—did you really think he was prepared to sacrifice everything to marry you? That’s rather funny!”
“But he couldn’t have known! Mr. Bartleby didn’t tell him, because I asked him not to bother him! And—”
“Alan told him.”
“Alan? But why?”
She put the spoon aside and reached for the next one. “If you know Alan at all, you know how—how fair he is. Obviously he thought Simon ought to know.”
“He told him before Simon fetched me from Allanby?”
She nodded. “Of course. How else would he have known when he wrote to me? Oh, Lanna—don’t let’s fool ourselves. I’d have married Simon gladly. I told you so a long time ago, remember? But I don’t have any illusions about him. He’s as mercenary as the next man.”
“I can’t believe it.” Again I remembered Simon’s expression when I told him. “He ... it was news to him, I thought.”
“Simon is delightfully plausible when he likes. It’s an extension of his bedside manner. It doesn’t prevent me from liking him. Most men have faults; you have to accept them.”
“But not Simon,” I said. “He isn’t like that! He isn’t like that at all, Green.”
“No? Aren’t they all? Oh, grow up, Lanna. I defy you to find me any man who hasn’t an eye to the main chance, however nice he may be. They have to be that way—they have to run businesses, and make decisions—even if they’re doctors. I don’t know why you think doctors have a monopoly of altruism. Simon in particular.”
“I don’t think that at all,” I told her hotly. “They’re men. All I’m saying is that Simon isn’t like that.”
Green looked at me squarely. “I don’t think you know anything about how Simon ticks. I don’t think any of us does. Not since this head trouble. Don’t you see—his personality is altered, however much you may tell yourself it isn’t. And who knows to what extent? I don’t. And I’m pretty sure you don’t.”
I was beginning to be very much afraid that she was right. All the same, I only said, “Even if it has, it makes no difference. It oughtn’t to, I mean. We take them for better or worse, don’t we? And if it turns out to be worse, it’s part of the bargain.”