‘I don’t feel pale,’ Alison assured her, more amused than annoyed.
‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Yes, thank you. Very good.’
‘And now you’re going to settle down in London, instead of going to South America? It’s really rather unfortunate.’
Alison forbore to ask why.
‘What are you going to have-a house or a flat?’ was her aunt’s next question.
‘A flat, I think. We’re going to look at some places to-morrow.’
‘Well, I suppose you know your own mind best, but I must say I always think in a flat you’re so much on top of each other. There’s no chance of getting away.’
Alison didn’t know quite what to say in answer to this novel idea of married life. She supposed her aunt would have been surprised if she had firmly stated that she had no special wish to ‘get away’ from Julian.
‘Where are you now? In an hotel, I suppose?’
‘No. In Julian’s old flat.’
‘But that’s only a tiny place, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but it’s very nice.’ For some reason or other, Alison felt angrily on the defensive.
‘I thought there wasn’t much more than a bedroom and a sitting-room.’
‘There isn’t.’
‘How very extraordinary,’ said Aunt Lydia, and stared at her niece with hard, uncompromising violet eyes. ‘Well, I suppose most men are the same when it comes to the point. Almost any girl will do.’
To her extreme annoyance, Alison felt herself go hot all over. For a wild moment she wanted to accuse Aunt Lydia to her face of being a coarse-minded cynic. But, of course, it was quite, quite impossible, and would not, in any case, have been the least good to anybody if she had.
Instead, she asked in a slightly breathless voice how her uncle was.
‘Quite all right, I think. Very busy, I suppose, since I see scarcely anything of him.’
‘And the twins?’
‘They’re back at school, of course.’
Evidently they passed from Aunt Lydia ’s notice and interest entirely as soon as they were out of sight.
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then, with an effort that made her clench her hands, Alison said, ‘Is-is Rosalie still at home?’
‘Oh, yes. She’s out at the moment-fortunately. She isn’t feeling very pleased with you just now, naturally.’
‘Isn’t that rather unfair?’ Alison said in a low voice.
‘Well, my dear, no girl likes to see the man she wants taken by another girl. Especially when there is a little bit of trickery about it.’
‘Aunt Lydia, I won’t have that!’ The colour flamed up in Alison’s face. ‘There was no trickery whatever about it. You know there wasn’t. It’s wicked and mean to say there was.’
Aunt Lydia remained perfectly cool, and smiled in a way which, Alison knew, meant that some particularly illogical statement of the case was coming.
‘I don’t expect you want to face the fact,’ she said with exasperating tolerance, ‘but no one can deny that you took advantage of an ordinary lovers’-tiff, if you like-to snatch at Julian. We all know it was Rosalie he wanted-’ and, I have no doubt, still does.’
‘No!’ Alison gasped that out quickly.
‘Well, my dear, you can take it from me that the Julian type doesn’t change so quickly. He is the most complete example of the one-woman man that I know, and I can’t say I’ve ever seen him give any indication that you were the one woman.’
Alison was wordless.
‘You have only yourself to thank for things being as they are, Alison,’ her aunt said. And then: ‘I suppose you did the proposing?’ she shot at her niece suddenly.
‘I-I-’
‘Well, I see you did. Mind, speaking impersonally,’ said Aunt Lydia, who was incapable of doing so, ‘I don’t exactly blame you. Nobody was likely to ask you, and you had a priceless opportunity of catching an excellent match on the rebound. Only you mustn’t expect Rosalie to feel affectionate about it.’
‘It wasn’t like that-oh, it wasn’t!’ Alison cried desperately, ‘You seem to forget that Rosalie had jilted him. Why shouldn’t he marry me instead?’
‘Because, my dear, he didn’t care a brass farthing about you,’ her aunt said calmly. ‘You know and I know that, given a few days, the whole thing would have blown over.’
‘That isn’t true.’ Alison was white, and she had to press her hand against her throat to keep back thee sobs. ‘Rosalie never loved him. She never wanted to go to Buenos Aires with him.’
‘That was the obstacle, I admit,’ Aunt Lydia said. ‘But it was the only obstacle. And the proof that you appreciated that as well as anyone lies in the fact that you took such precautions to keep quiet about the change of plans until it was too late to do anything.’
‘I didn’t, I didn’t!’ Alison was crying wildly by now. ‘I never thought about it at all. Besides, why should I stand aside for Rosalie at the last minute like that?’
‘Because it isn’t you Julian wants. It’s Rosalie,’ repeated Aunt Lydia drily.
‘No, no, no!’ Alison knew she had been driven from her defences by unfair and illogical arguments, and yet there seemed nothing left now but the futile, reiterated denial that he loved Rosalie.
‘Well, I don’t know that making a scene is going to help anyone now,’ Aunt Lydia remarked with admirable coolness. ‘You had better stop crying, Alison. I think I heard someone come in a moment ago, and it’s probably Rosalie.’
‘Oh, how awful,’ gasped Alison, at this final humiliation. With a tremendous effort, she choked back her sobs, and went over to the window, where she stood staring out and trying hastily to dry her eyes.
She heard the door open, and then Rosalie’s surprised, not very pleased, ‘Hello, Alison.’
There was nothing else for it. She turned to face her cousin.
‘Why, you’ve been crying,’ Rosalie said with uncharitable frankness.
Alison said nothing. There was nothing to say.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I think Alison is a little sorry about some things,’ Aunt Lydia said mildly.
‘I’m not!’ her niece exclaimed furiously.
‘Well then, shall we say-a little disappointed about some things?’ her aunt amended obligingly.
Rosalie gave an unpleasant little laugh.
‘Why? Didn’t the honeymoon come up to expectations?’ she said spitefully. ‘How extraordinary. I’ve always found that Julian makes love charmingly.’
Alison thought suddenly that she would choke if she-stayed a moment longer. She knew it was unpardonable, ridiculous, to say nothing at all. There must be a way of finishing this scene with some semblance of decency, some way of tucking in the ragged ends. But she couldn’t think of any.
She picked up her gloves without a word. She didn’t even speak to her aunt, and blindly she almost pushed past Rosalie and out of the room It was all just like some nightmare. There was no more shape or meaning to the scene than that.
And then she was out in the street once more, the cold air on her face-and the tears too, so that she was ashamed to go where people might see her, and wandered instead among the quiet squares, not knowing at all where she was going.
Then, when it was beginning to grow dark, she went home. She was quite calm by then-only a little pale and sad-eyed. She must never tell Julian a word about that terrible scene with Aunt Lydia and Rosalie. She could scarcely even bear to think of it herself. It was the kind of scene one must just try to forget.
Only, of course, one never did forget anything like that.
In the end, Julian and she did very little actual househunting; It seemed that Julian was friendly with a famous interior decorator, who knew ‘just the place’ for them. He also appeared to know exactly how Alison should wish to have her home.
Not that anyone tried to overrule her, or to ignore her wishes, but as Alison watched the beautiful luxury flat taking shape in the h
ands of experts, she felt that this would never be her home to her.
They knew so much better than she did what was best and right, and she couldn’t pretend that the result was anything but beautiful Only, sometimes she caught herself wondering guiltily if it was perhaps more exciting and real when you couldn’t afford to pay experts, but just had to muddle and contrive on your own. At least it was your own place then-with all its endearing faults and virtues.
It would have mattered so much, of course if Julian and she had been an ordinary young couple in love. But what was the good of pretending that colour-schemes and furniture were of mutual, romantic interest to them when their marriage was only ‘a business arrangement’?
Julian never emphasised the situation, but his kindly, detached, ‘you-have-everything-as-you-like-it’ attitude inevitably made Alison feel that, to him, their flat would merely be a place in which one lived, because one had to live somewhere.
So long as it was convenient, comfortable, and moderately attractive, it had no further significance for him.
And why should it? Alison, who was inexorably honest with herself, faced the fact squarely. There was no single reason in the world why he should be expected to feel anything else.
He took her out in the evenings a good deal-to theatres, to dinners, to concerts. But they always went by themselves or else in a small party which included only his personal friends, such as Simon and Jennifer. Evidently it was his intention to keep entirely aloof from Rosalie and whatever danger she might represent.
Then one evening he took her to a big dance, a semi-public affair, given at one of the principal hotels. Alison had been looking forward to it all the week, for she loved dancing, and, as this was being given in connection with Julian’s office, there was no likelihood whatever of Rosalie’s being there.
She wore one of her loveliest trousseau frocks-a leaf-green affair cut on Grecian lines, which made her look almost tall; and with it went little silver sandals, cut away to show the extremely pretty arch of her foot.
Even without Julian’s approving smile, she knew she was looking her best, and insensibly her spirits rose again, as they had not since that terrible afternoon at her aunt’s house.
As she came into the ballroom with Julian, she felt a happy little flutter of excitement. They would probably have most of the evening together, because there wouldn’t be very many people there whom they knew specially well, Simon and Jennifer, most probably-but they didn’t matter.
There was Simon now, dancing. And with him-Alison’s heart gave a nasty jar, as she caught a second’s glimpse of his partner before they were lost in the crowd again.
It couldn’t be! It couldn’t possibly- The people parted once more, and she saw that it was. The. totally unexpected had happened: Rosalie was here.
Alison glanced round for some sign of Aunt Lydia or of Rosalie’s fiancé. She could not see either. There was no explanation of Rosalie’s presence. She was just there, like some figure in a bad dream.
And then, from the sudden rigidity of Julian’s arm, she knew that he too had seen her.
It was all to begin again, then, this miserable, futile struggle. Just for a moment Alison felt it wasn’t any good- she couldn’t do it.
But of course she had to. She must stand by Julian, even if, in a sense, he scarcely wanted her to do so.
After a while she glanced up timidly at him, and, at the grim, hurt set of his mouth, her heart quailed.
‘Julian,’ she said quietly, ‘would you rather we went home?’
‘No, of course not.’ His voice was curt and almost harsh, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’
It was the first time he had spoken really unkindly to her, and Alison felt her throat contract. She hadn’t meant to intrude on his most private thoughts, but his withdrawn, resentful air suggested that she had.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a low voice. But at that he gave an impatient little exclamation, which seemed to suggest that she couldn’t let well alone and, suddenly very frightened, she relapsed into silence.
A moment later, Simon saw them, and, at the end of the dance, he came over, smiling and imperturbable as ever, to greet them. Rosalie, of course, came with him, to give a cool nod of recognition at her cousin, and a smile of unusual sweetness and gentleness at Julian.
Alison watched her helplessly, feeling dull and childish and unattractive, as she almost always did in Rosalie’s presence.
‘Dare I assume that Julian will spare you for a little while to come and dance with me?’ Simon asked her. He seemed quite unaware of any tension, and it didn’t appear to dawn on him that this move would inevitably leave Julian and Rosalie together.
She went with him. There was nothing else to do, though really she felt as though she were being pulled in two, for her heart went with Julian as, politely and calmly, he drew Rosalie on to the dancing-floor.
At random she answered Simon’s lazy, amusing comments. And afterwards, when he wanted to take her to have champagne, she tried to make an excuse to get away. But it wasn’t easy. He overruled her with careless firmness, and took her to one of the small completely secluded alcoves, where he left her for a moment while he went to fetch their drinks.
Alison buried her face in her hands. Not that she was anywhere near tears. It was just that she felt so frighteningly helpless and inexperienced. The situation was completely out of hand.
In her last glance round the room before she had come here with Simon, she had been unable to see any sign of Julian and Rosalie. Was he being forced into a tête-à-tête, too-something far more difficult and dangerous than anything she need expect with Simon?
She dropped her hands quickly as she heard Simon’s step, and when he came in she was looking quite composed once more.
He handed her her glass, and sat down at the other end of the settee, almost facing her. For a moment he looked at her over his glass with those strange dark eyes of his that gave away no secrets.
‘To your-eventual happiness, Alison,’ he said, and drank.
Alison had her lips against the rim of her glass before she realised the full implication of that. A little unsteadily she set it down.
‘Why do you say that, Simon? What makes you think I’m not happy now?’
‘Dear child, how can you be?’ His actual tone was light, but somehow she didn’t think it was a light matter to him.
‘I still don’t know what you mean.’ Alison felt the utmost reluctance to continue the conversation, but she could not refuse to take up that remark.
He shrugged slightly, and again he gave that odd little smile.
‘At the moment you imagine you are in love with a man who wants another woman. It’s not a happy situation for any girl,’ he said.
‘Aren’t you-making-some rather unpardonable remarks?’ Alison spoke a little jerkily, but with a certain youthful dignity.
Simon put down his glass then and, leaning forward, looked at her with deadly seriousness.
‘You needn’t pretend with me, Alison,’ he said slowly. ‘I know Julian, and Rosalie, and-yes, you also-too well for me not to understand the situation.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alison said in an obstinate whisper, though she knew, of course, that it was ridiculous to go on repeating that.
‘Oh, yes, you do.’ He spoke quite gently and, putting out his hand, he lightly took her by her wrist The touch of his fingers on her arm was almost imperceptible, and yet for some reason she felt vaguely frightened. ‘Even now you can scarcely keep your thoughts on what I’m saying, because you’re wondering frightenedly what she is saying to him.’
Alison gave him a quick, scared look, and then dropped her eyes.
‘You know as well as I do that Rosalie was always an obsession with him,’ Simon went on quietly. ‘She is physically attractive to him in a way no other woman could ever be.’
Alison winced angrily, but could think of nothing to stop him. She could only wonder bewilderedly why Simon sho
uld think it necessary to say all this to her.
‘Just to see her is enough to unnerve him,’ he told her. ‘You noticed it, too, to-night.’
‘Oh, why did she have to be here?’ Alison broke in bitterly. ‘I thought we should be safe with people from Julian’s office. I don’t know even now how she could have come.’
‘I brought her.’.
‘You, Simon! But how could you, if you-you understand as much as you say? How could you do anything so cruel?’
‘Perhaps I thought it would be the best thing in the end.’ Simon never took his eyes from her face, and for a moment hers met his in bewilderment.
‘You mean you thought it best that Julian should get used to seeing her as soon as possible?’
Simon smiled and shook his head.
‘Oh, no. I’m afraid my motives were not so unselfish. If I wanted to be trite, Alison dear, I might remind you that all’s fair in love and war.’
‘But’-Alison frowned-’you don’t mean that your sympathies are with Rosalie?’
Simon gave a little shout of laughter.
‘Good God, no! Won’t you understand, you darling little fool? It’s not Rosalie or Julian I’m interested in. Let them make a success of it or a hash of it together. I don’t care. Only let them do whatever they’re going to do quickly, so that you won’t go on eating your heart out for someone who can’t appreciate you.’
‘I think you must be mad.’ Alison tried to get to her feet. But he held her back, and with a sudden, quick movement he had her lying in his arms.
‘Of course I’m mad. Every man’s mad when he’s as much in love as I am. What are Rosalie or Julian or any of them to me? It’s you-you-you. Do you understand now? I’ve never cared a farthing for any woman before, but I wanted you the first time I saw you.’
‘Don’t!’ Alison struggled terrifiedly. It’s you who won’t understand. It’s Julian I love.’
‘Julian!’ Simon’s voice was almost a whisper, but burning with contempt. ‘Julian!-who pats you on the head, treats you like a child, and, I suppose, sleeps on the sofa because there’s only one bedroom in his flat. That’s all the use Julian has for you-while all the time you were made for this.’
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