Nobody Asked Me

by Mary Burchell

  ‘Well, that’s a very charitable point of view. But I certainly think we had better make do with almost any sort of place we can find. Petrol’s getting low and-Aren’t those some lights ahead there on the left?’

  Alison peered through the rain-streaked window.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  Three minutes later they were running up the one street of a dreary little hamlet. It consisted of about a dozen houses, one shop, and a tiny inn.

  ‘This looks like our quarters for to-night.’ Julian drew up and looked distastefully at the place. ‘What do you think of it? Shall we drive on and chance hitting something better?’

  ‘No, I think we’d better try this,’ said Alison. And, climbing stiffly out of the car, they both went in.

  A woman came forward, with a surprised and not specially friendly air; and Julian explained that they wanted quarters for the night.

  She didn’t seem enthusiastic, and, glancing at Alison’s coat, she said, ‘I don’t know that I’ve got anything that’d suit you. I’ve only one room anyway.’ Then, suddenly fixing her eyes gloomily on the few tell-tale pieces of confetti that had shaken from Alison’s coat, she added, ‘Though perhaps that don’t matter.’

  The laborious train of thought was so obvious that Alison had a hysterical, though hastily suppressed, desire to laugh. Perhaps Julian had too, because he bit his lip sharply, and then said, ‘Well, how far are we from a town?’

  The woman didn’t seem very good at guessing distances. She murmured something about ‘eight or ten miles, or perhaps twelve.’ And then added, ‘But that’s by the straight road, and that’s flooded. You’d have to go round.’

  ‘Is there anywhere in the village where I can get petrol?’ Julian asked patiently.

  ‘Only here, and we’re run out,’ said the woman dispiritedly.

  ‘I think we’ll have to stay here, Julian,’ Alison said quietly.

  ‘Do you mind very much?’ He looked troubled.

  Alison smiled reassuringly. ‘No. We’ll manage.’

  He didn’t say anything, but he gave her an odd glance as he went out to fetch the cases and put away the car. Perhaps, of course, he was wondering how Rosalie would have reacted in similar circumstances.

  ‘You just been married to-day?’ the woman asked Alison as she led her up the stairs.

  ‘Y-yes,’ Alison admitted.

  ‘Ah!’ There was a wealth of meaning in the word, but, as Alison couldn’t decide what meaning, it didn’t help much. ‘I’ve buried three,’ was the startling addition to that.

  Alison didn’t know quite what she was expected to make of this cheerful opening, so she just said politely-and rather fatuously, she felt-’Have you really?’

  The woman nodded, and led the way into a fairly large, chilly room. But at least it looked clean, and the white ‘honeycomb’ quilts on the two iron bedsteads were spotless.

  She seemed pleased when Alison declared it would do very well; and a moment later Julian came in with a couple of suitcases.

  ‘If you come down right away, you can have a hot supper,’ the woman remarked, and withdrew.

  ‘What-a cheerful-spot,’ observed Julian, setting down the cases and studying a steel engraving entitled ‘The Young Martyr,’ wherein a very pretty girl appeared to be thoroughly enjoying being drowned slowly.

  ‘Well, it’s clean-’ Alison began.

  ‘Alison, you’re an angel,’ he interrupted her. ‘Any other girl would raise hell at starting her honeymoon like this. Now come on and let’s see about this hot supper, or else I shall be making you emotional speeches of thanks, like a popular actor on a last night.’

  Alison laughed a good deal, and came down with him to the really excellent meal which had been set for them by a good fire.

  She supposed she ought to be feeling thoroughly embarrassed and nervous, but she felt neither. And, when supper was over, she said quite naturally. ‘I think I’ll go up right away. We’d better both get to bed soon if we want to start again fairly early to-morrow.’

  This time it was he who didn’t do it quite so well. He nodded with elaborate casualness, however, and said, ‘All right. I shan’t be long.’

  Upstairs in the cold bedroom again, Alison undressed rapidly, washing sketchily in the icy water supplied, and climbed into one of the unexpectedly comfortable beds.

  When Julian came up half an hour later, she didn’t answer his knock. It would probably be less embarrassing for both of them if she pretended to be asleep.

  He seemed to think so too, because she heard him moving about with exaggerated care so as not to wake her.

  ‘Poor darling!’ she thought. ‘Perhaps it’s even worse for him than for me.’

  Or was it? Could anything really be worse than sharing a room with the man you loved, and having him behave like a courteous stranger?

  She tried to remember one or two little incidents which had happened that day. The time he had spoken of himself quite naturally as her husband. The time he had called her ‘an angel’. She tried to gather courage from them-but it was hard.

  She lay there for a long time, dozing fitfully. Then suddenly she woke to full consciousness. The storm had completely passed, and a clear, rain-washed moon was riding high in the sky and pouring its cold fight into the room.

  Turning on her side, she could see Julian quite clearly. He was asleep, his dark hair inclined to fall forward over his forehead. But he evidently slept uneasily, and he had tossed off half the bed-clothes.

  ‘He’ll catch cold,’ Alison thought, with a sort of possessive tenderness that was very sweet, and she slipped quietly out of bed.

  Very carefully and gently she put the clothes round him again. He sighed impatiently, but he didn’t move, and she thought how weary and unrested he looked.

  She longed suddenly to kiss him. It didn’t seem very fair to do it without his knowing. But he had said she could yesterday-before Simon had interrupted.

  She bent quickly and kissed him.

  He did move then.

  ‘Rosalie,’ he said, half questioningly. Then he turned his cheek against the pillow like a contented child, and she saw that the look of strain had gone.

  Alison stood there motionless for a long time, until she became aware of the iciness of the floor against her bare feet.

  She crept back to bed, and lay for a while watching the moonlight slowly travelling over Julian. Then presently she pulled the bed-clothes over her head, so that he shouldn’t hear her crying.

  CHAPTER VII

  WHEN Alison woke next morning, Julian was evidently already up and dressed, for she was alone.

  She looked round a little bewilderedly, slowly taking in the scene once more: the cold sunlight showing up the threads in the worn carpet, the picture of the cheerful young martyr smiling with the same fixed air of enjoyment, the brand-new suitcase labelled ‘Mrs. J. Tyndrum’, the unfamiliar masculine things on the narrow dressing-table, the tumbled bed where her husband had slept last night and dreamt of another girl.

  Alison bit her lip. They were all like things in a stage drama. And she herself, she supposed, was the heroine of the drama.

  She didn’t feel much like a heroine. Heroines were supposed to be courageous, and she didn’t feel courageous a bit. All she wanted to do was to press her face into the pillow and forget that the problem of living existed.

  But one couldn’t get out of it that way, of course, and presently she got up and dressed and went downstairs.

  ‘Your husband’s out at the back there, talking to my boy Sam,’ the woman told her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Alison said, not very thoughtfully, and she went out through the open doorway into the big yard. She wondered if she would ever get quite used to hearing Julian called ‘your husband.’

  He was standing talking to a countrified young man who, presumably, was ‘Sam’. Julian was laughing a little at something that was being said, and Alison thought wistfully th
at he was really terribly handsome like that, with his head thrown back and those curiously light grey eyes of his narrowed against the sunlight.

  Then he saw her, and immediately he held out his hand, with a smile which made her feel less isolated.

  Alison came to his side, and he introduced her to Sam, who touched his cap.

  ‘Honeymoonin’, aren’t you?’ he said with an indulgent grin.

  ‘Yes, we are-honeymooning,’ agreed Julian calmly, and -perhaps as supporting evidence-he transferred his arm to Alison’s waist and drew her a little against him.

  It made her feel happy and hurt all at once, and she remained perfectly silent while Sam and Julian talked a few minutes longer about farming in general.

  ‘If you like to go and have a look round, sir, you’re very welcome,’ Sam said. ‘I can’t come myself just now, but you go through that gate there. Breakfast’ll not be ready for. another ten minutes, I dare say.’

  Julian thanked him and turned away with his arm still round Alison.

  ‘I think Sam’s nice,’ remarked Alison as they came out at the side of a field which stretched away in rain-soaked greenness to a row of bare trees, standing like skeletons against the November sky.

  Julian looked amused. ‘Is that his name? How do you know?’

  ‘His mother told me.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, he seems a very good sort.’

  Presently he said, ‘You’re not catching cold in this thin thing, are you?’ And he gently felt the sleeve of her suit.

  "Oh, no.’ It was nice to have him concerned about her. ‘Did you sleep well, Julian?’ That came out a little shyly.

  ‘Extraordinarily well, thank you.’ He spoke rather as though the fact surprised him. ‘And you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Alison said quickly, not liking to think of how she had lain awake, and what had happened.

  ‘I thought so. You were already asleep when I came up, weren’t you?’

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he said again, ‘Weren’t you?’

  ‘N-not quite.’

  ‘Not?’ He stopped, and turned her gently towards him. Alison blushed then, and at that he laughed softly.

  ‘Little Alison, I think you are the kindest and most tactful person I know.’ And he bent his head and kissed her with extraordinary sweetness.

  ‘Julian!’ It was so entirely unexpected that she couldn’t even kiss him back again, and, to her dismay, she felt the tears come into her eyes.

  ‘Why, my dear, what is it?’ he was slightly amused still, she knew, but there was a sort of half-startled tenderness too.

  ‘Nothing,’ she managed to get out.

  ‘But there is something. What is it? Don’t you like me to kiss you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s only-’ Her voice dropped suddenly to a whisper. ‘It-it’s the first time you’ve ever done it, and- and-’ Her voice quivered into silence.

  He remained perfectly still while she was speaking. Then he quietly finished her sentence for her.

  ‘-and with you it’s an actual need to have someone kind and affectionate, even if it’s only your official husband. Is that it?’

  ‘S-something like that,’ stammered Alison, tightening her hand nervously on his.

  The next moment she was drawn right into his arms, and he was kissing her, first on her cheeks and then on her mouth.

  ‘Oh, Julian,’ she said again, and she gave him a long, sweet kiss in answer.

  ‘Does the bruise hurt less now?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ whispered Alison very shyly.

  He didn’t say any more after that, and presently they went back to the house for breakfast.

  Alison enjoyed her breakfast. She enjoyed everything to do with this cold, bright November morning. It was a strange world, an exciting world-almost a beautiful world, even if she were on her honeymoon with a man who wanted another girl.

  After breakfast, it seemed that fresh supplies of petrol had arrived, and they were free to go on their way.

  ‘I’m quite sorry to leave here,’ Alison said as she watched Julian put their cases into the car once more. She felt absurdly that no place would ever be so dear or exciting again.

  Julian smiled and said, ‘Yes. It hasn’t been bad, after all.’ But he didn’t, of course, suggest anything so silly as their staying.

  They drove nearly all day, and at night they stopped at one of the big luxury resorts on the Devonshire coast.

  Julian seemed very anxious that she should have everything possible to make up for the spartan-like simplicity of the first day of their honeymoon; and, without consulting her, he engaged a spacious luxury suite at the best hotel.

  Alison made no comment about it, but as she lay awake in her big, well-sprung bed that night, she thought wistfully of the cold, bare room she had shared with him the night before. And she thought she would willingly have exchanged the luxury here for the quiet, even sound of Julian’s breathing-even if he were dreaming of Rosalie.

  ‘I put through a call to Simon last night,’ Julian told her at breakfast next morning. ‘He sent you his love.’

  ‘Did he?’ Alison knew it was all quite lightly meant, and that Julian himself attached no significance to it, but, for some reason, it displeased her.

  ‘He had heard from Buenos Aires.’ Julian spoke without much expression.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Her own small annoyance was forgotten in concern for him.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be any chance of our going out there, Alison,’ he said with rather elaborate indifference.

  ‘Oh, Julian, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Never mind.’ He set his mouth. ‘It’s no good kicking against the inevitable.’ But she saw that his eyes looked tired, and she guessed he had lain awake last night, thinking -of what?

  Of Rosalie, she supposed. Waking or sleeping, he thought of Rosalie. And now they were to live in the same place, to meet her everywhere.

  Alison felt suddenly that it wasn’t much good fighting any more. Fate or chance, or whatever it was, had her beaten.

  They didn’t stay long in any one place, usually arriving late in the evening and leaving in good time the next morning. And everywhere Julian was the perfection of kindness and courtesy to her.

  But it was the same kindness and courtesy he might have used towards his mother or a younger sister-anyone, in fact, for whom he felt a dutiful responsibility. There was none of the tender, passionate attention, the eager interest, that a man would give to the woman he loved.

  On the last day of their short holiday he said to her:

  ‘We shall have to start house-hunting as soon as we get back, Alison. I’m afraid my bachelor flat will be very cramped quarters for us, but perhaps we can manage for a week or two. You can have my room, of course.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alison said, but, as a matter of fact, she was bitterly hurt at his way of putting it.

  Julian’s flat was small, but unexpectedly charming and luxurious. It was a service flat, so that there was nothing whatever for Alison to do. And, as she watched him on the first evening, immersed in his accumulation of correspondence, she had the odd feeling again that she had no place at all in his life. He seemed absolutely detached. The picture was complete without her.

  She drew a quiet sigh, and then, after a moment longer, she plucked up courage to break the silence.

  ‘Julian.’

  ‘Um?’

  ‘We won’t have a service flat for our actual home, will we?’

  ‘No? Why not?’ He still spoke absently, his attention half on his correspondence.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing for me to do.’

  He looked up then, rather amused.

  ‘What’s the matter? Do you feel it your duty to turn yourself into a domestic slave?’

  ‘No. Only-I want to do some things.’

  ‘What things?’ he said obtusely.

  ‘Things for-for you.’ Her voice quivered.

  ‘Alison-’ He got up suddenly and
came over and picked her right up in his arms. ‘What absurd, sweet things you say to me. I never met anyone before who wanted to "do things" for me.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ she whispered, and for a moment she felt she had a place in his life.

  He carried her back to where he had been sitting and drew her down on to his knee.

  ‘You can open some of my letters for me, if you like.’

  It was ridiculous, of course, and made her feel more like a child than ever, but somehow it was very sweet, too.

  ‘He’ll give me a blue pencil to play with in a minute,’ she thought.

  And then she felt him put his cheek down against the top of her head, and she didn’t much care what he did after that.

  ‘Here’s an invitation from the Fortescues to go to a dance of theirs next Thursday,’ she said presently. ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘No? It’s evidently going to be a big affair. I should dunk it might be rather nice.’

  ‘Might it?’

  She looked up. ‘Why don’t you want to go, Julian?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ He was smiling faintly, but he continued to stare absently at the letter in his hand.

  And then she remembered. The Fortescues were great friends of Rosalie’s. She was bound to be there.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alison whispered, and reached up to kiss his cheek softly.

  He turned his head then and gave her a quick, hard kiss on her mouth.

  He didn’t say a word, but she had the exquisite conviction that, in some queer way, they were fighting danger together.

  The next afternoon, when Julian was at his office, she went to see Aunt Lydia. Not that she was specially anxious to see her aunt, or, indeed, to go anywhere near the house at all, since the twins would be back at school and her uncle most certainly away or at his office. But Aunt Lydia was bound to expect a visit soon, so she might as well get it over. And perhaps, if she herself went fairly often, it would give Julian a chance to stay away without much comment.

  ‘Dear me, Alison, you’re looking rather pale. I don’t know that mink is quite the right colour for you,’ was Aunt Lydia ’s characteristic greeting.