The Other Miss Donne

by Jane Arbor

  Carey told him. His face dark with anger, he said, ‘So she threatened you as well as Denise? Threatened Denise through you? Heavens, what a devious, scheming crone the woman is?’

  ‘You haven’t always thought so. Michael says—’

  ‘There you are again—making five out of the two-and-two of hearsay!’ he accused. ‘All right—I don’t deny Gerda is a decorative crone; a surefire turner of other men’s heads, if ever I escorted one, though she achieves so much of what she is by sheer purse-pride that it palls. However, I find your jealousy of my not entirely blameless past a pretty healthy sign, my Carey. I must say it shows an interest I hardly dared hoped for an hour ago!’

  ‘An—interest? Oh, Randal—!’ As she went into the crush of his arms again and clung to him, she watched the mischief in his eyes turn to tenderness, to desire, and then for a long time they were involved, lost; lost to their world, aware only of each other and of the rapture of the promises which their eager lips and hands and little wordless love-murmurs exchanged.

  When the flame of their need died a little, there was peace to follow it; a peace of knowing that a touch, a word, a look could light the fire anew, but also a peace of the everyday in which it was not at all odd to be talking again of ordinary things, at ease with each other as perhaps never before.

  Carey said, ‘Now that Gerda is leaving, will you be taking Absalom Seid back?’

  ‘It’s already laid on. He’s due to return next week.’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad!’

  Then it was Randal’s turn. Lacing his fingers companionably in hers, he said, ‘Mea culpa. I was wrong. I should have known that Denise, for all her new-found poise, wasn’t a match for a smooth citizen like Calvin; that she might well burn her own fingers, not his. I had no right to be so tolerant of her affair. But if the experience has taught her to appreciate Michael a bit more, that’ll be something gained.’

  ‘But is she going to value Michael any more for it?’ Carey doubted. ‘Yet?’

  ‘By contrast, why not? When he gets back, we’ll—’

  ‘No, Randal, please!’

  ‘No—what?’ He looked his surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m not sure, and I could be wrong. But I beg you, let them work it out for themselves; don’t manage it for them. We’ve both done too much of that already for people. In fact, you’ve said yourself that we’re both compulsive meddlers, and it’s got to stop. I’m sure Michael must be allowed to win Denise under his own steam, not ours, and I’ve an idea he might, in time. But it may take time. Patience too, but he has loads of that.’

  Randal grumbled, ‘He’s such a diffident, humble chap. Supposing he won’t or can’t budge, for want of a shove in the right direction?’

  ‘Then that’ll be too bad, but we must give him the chance. Promise?’ Carey begged.

  He kissed her lightly. ‘At Madam’s wish, horses will be duly held. Agreement signed—’

  In the little silence which followed they were both listening to the music to be caught in snatches of beat and rhythm from the ballroom. Carey said, ‘We’re neglecting the guests.’

  ‘You’re thinking of all the things they could be up to while we’ve been busy with our own affairs for once? Would you like to go back?’

  ‘Shall we? Oh, but—’ She touched her hair, her face. ‘What—what must I look like?’

  Randal tilted her chin. ‘Radiantly mussed. Unmistakably well kissed. So don’t try to kid anyone we’ve been in conference, for not a soul is going to believe you.’

  Carey laughed happily and they went hand-in-hand to the door where Randal halted to ask, ‘You took Rosalie’s call? What was all the urgency?’

  ‘Oh, she and Martin are going to have a baby in the spring.’

  ‘So?’ Randal grimaced. ‘Well, at least I can’t be accused of engineering that. Which kind do they want?’

  ‘A boy or a girl? Rosalie didn’t say. I gather the idea is so novel that the baby is still “it”. But she seemed to find it hilarious that you will be its uncle and I shall be its aunt, without there being any other links between us.’

  ‘H’m, that’s all she knows,’ Randal hinted darkly, then paused. ‘Which is odd too—’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Other people’s view of oneself. For instance, of you and me. I can look at you and see a face that’s grown dearer every day, and a body I’m going to worship and a spirit I admire. And you see me—however you do see me and still manage to love me. And for us it’s all magical and electric and exciting, whereas to that new baby you’ll merely appear as an aunt and I an uncle. What’s more, do you realise how our more distant descendants are likely to dismiss us, say, a hundred years hence? “Oh, that lot?” they’ll say. “The Quests and the Donnes? Well, they were just two brothers who married two sisters, that’s all.” There the four of us will be sitting, smiles fixed, in somebody’s family album—just so many oddballs in preposterous clothes, about whom no one could care less. A bit of a daunting thought, that. Do you mind it, my Carey?’

  ‘Mind? About being only someone’s dim relative a hundred years on, while I’ve got you and our Now? What do you think?’ she said, and lifted her mouth to his for a last kiss before they went out together to meet the rest of their evening.