The door opened as Elise went up the path, and there was Tommy standing in the doorway, her face very white and strained and her eyes larger and greener than usual.
“I was just coming to see you,” Tommy said.
“I wish I’d known,” declared Elise, sinking into a chair. “It would have saved me a good deal of trouble.” Now that she was here, face to face with Tommy, all her carefully prepared sentences vanished from her mind. She did not know how to begin to tell Tommy what she had to tell her. She could not meet Tommy’s eyes.
“Go on,” said Tommy. “Tell me. You’ve come to tell me something horrible, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” said Elise. “Yes, I’m afraid so, Tommy.”
“Go on,” said Tommy again.
“Angela,” said Elise in a breathless sort of voice. “Angela and—and Midge.”
There was a little silence and then Tommy said: “Yes . . . I—I think I knew all the time . . . but I pretended to myself that I didn’t.”
“Oh, Tommy—” said Elise, holding out her hand.
Tommy did not take the hand—perhaps she did not see it—her own two hands were clasped tightly together. She said in a hard voice: “Tell me everything, please.”
“I don’t know very much—”
“Guy knows.”
“Not very much, really.”
“They fought—Guy and Midge,” said Tommy slowly. “Yes, that’s what happened. They fought over Angela—she would like that.”
“They didn’t really,” said Elise quickly. “Not in the way you mean. Guy hasn’t any use for Angela.”
Tommy laughed—it wasn’t a very pleasant sound. She said: “That’s another thing I tried to make myself believe . . . that Guy and Angela . . . and I almost succeeded. It’s funny how you can deceive yourself. Have you ever tried to deceive yourself, Elise?”
Elise did not answer. She hesitated for a moment, and then she said: “It’s awfully hard to bear. I know it must be. In a way it’s harder for you than if he had been killed.”
“No,” said Tommy quickly. “Oh, no, you don’t understand. He’s still here—in this world, I mean. There’s still hope. I just feel as if he were very ill—as if it were a sort of illness—”
“But Tommy—”
“An illness,” said Tommy again. “Of course it may be a long illness, but some day he will recover. I’m sure of that.”
“You can’t mean—”
“I suppose you think I haven’t any pride. I haven’t really—not where Midge is concerned. I mean, I love Midge so much—I want him—”
“Tommy, dear—”
“He’s different from other people,” continued Tommy in a strained sort of voice. “He—-you can’t judge him by the same standards. He’s very like his mother. You haven’t seen his mother, have you? She’s a Creole . . . she’s very beautiful . . . I understood Midge better after I had seen her. I know Midge so well—other people don’t understand him. You have to—to make allowances . . .” Her voice broke off suddenly, and she hid her face. “I can’t go on living without him,” she whispered.
“Oh, Tommy—poor darling!” cried Elise. She rose and put her arm round Tommy’s shoulders.
“I knew,” Tommy whispered. “I knew all along . . . ever since that first night at the hotel . . . but I wouldn’t let myself see. I hid my head like an ostrich and pretended everything was all right . . . I’m such a fool over Midge . . . I love him so . . . I can’t be sensible with Midge.”
Elise patted her shoulder and said nothing. It was better to say nothing than to say the wrong thing. Elise did not understand. (How could you go on loving a man when he treated you like that? How could you go on wanting him when he did not want you?) Elise could not understand, so she kept her mouth shut.
“What am I to do?” said Tommy at last.
“You must go home to your mother,” said Elise. “That’s the best thing—it’s the only thing to do.”
“But Midge—what will happen to him? He has to be back on Saturday. . . . Oh, I suppose he can’t come back, can he?”
Elise did not try to answer this. She was aware that Colonel Thynne was on his way to London. What would he do? What arrangements would he make? “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” said Elise vaguely. “Meantime you must go to Aberdeen.”
“No,” said Tommy. “No, I can’t go and stay with mother.”
“Of course you can. Ned will take you over to Rithie and see you into the train. It’s much the best plan.”
“I can’t go to mother,” declared Tommy. “I just simply can’t. Mother wouldn’t understand. She would be angry and upset; she would say—dreadful things about him, I know she would.”
Elise thought this not unlikely, for she herself was longing to say dreadful things about him. “All the same, I think you should go,” she said.
“I couldn’t bear it,” said Tommy, shaking her head. “It would mean a row—it would mean constant rows. Mother is a darling pet, but she’s too like me—I mean, we both say things without thinking—and mother has never been fair to Midge.”
“You must think of the future—” began Elise.
“Yes, I know,” agreed Tommy. “That’s what I’m doing. Some day Midge will come back; Angela will bore him after a bit.”
“But you aren’t going to sit down and wait for that to happen?” Tommy did not answer.
“Oh, Tommy, I can’t understand it at all!” cried Elise.
“Of course you can’t,” replied Tommy with a wan ghost of a smile. “I couldn’t understand myself either unless I happened to be me. It’s awfully good of you to—to come over and see me, but you must just let me go my own way. You mustn’t worry about me. I shall be all right.”
“Of course I’m worrying about you. Tommy, my dear lamb, you can’t go on living here by yourself—if that’s what you’re thinking—”
“Why not?”
“Because every one will know about it. Every one in the regiment is bound to know—or at least to suspect. People will wonder why Midge has gone.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Tommy slowly. She hesitated, and then added: “No, I couldn’t stay on here, could I? I couldn’t face Mark or Barry or—or any of the other babes. They would be—be sorry for me. I couldn’t bear that . . . and the Thynnes . . . no, I shall have to go.”
“Ned will take you to Rithie,” said Elise, patting her hand. “He’ll take you over to-morrow morning. Your mother will be awfully pleased to have you.”
Elise was very tired indeed when she got back to the hotel; she was tired and miserable and utterly bewildered. The only ray of hope in the darkness was that Mrs. Fraser would be able to persuade Tommy to see sense, and the ray was not a very bright one. Elise decided to write to Mrs. Fraser and explain matters and warn her to treat Tommy with care. It would be a difficult letter to write, for it would have to be very tactfully worded, but it was worth trying. Anything was worth trying, anything to prevent Tommy wasting her life, wearing herself out, making herself miserable over that worthless man. If only Tommy could be made to see sense, if she could be persuaded to divorce him there might be a chance of happiness for her. Then Widgery—would he marry Angela? Would the Thynnes want that? Elise decided that if she were the Thynnes she would not want Angela to marry him. There was no hope of happiness in that sort of marriage.
Elise was having tea by herself in the lounge when Guy came in. “Nobody knows,” he said, flinging himself into a chair. “She left no address. I rang up the Listons—Tillie knows nothing. I asked the MacNairs, and I spoke to the man who drives the bus. I pursued an old woman who went to Rithie this morning in the same bus as Frances, and she volunteered the information that the luggage was labelled Euston . . . Euston,” repeated Guy. “That’s a tremendous help, isn’t it?”
Elise hesitated with the teapot in her hand—for the first time the possibility that Frances had really vanished into thin air flashed across her mind. She was appalled. “Bu
t someone must know!” she exclaimed.
“Who?” inquired Guy angrily. “Who would know? I’ve spent hours pursuing people and questioning them, and they all think I’m half-witted. I’m beginning to think so myself. I’m up to the eyes in work and my brain is like dough. I can’t think of what I’m doing. I’ve got the most appalling headache.”
“Doesn’t Alec—”
“No, he doesn’t. He looked at me in amazement and said that he thought Miss Field was a great friend of mine. He suggested I should ask you.”
“But it’s absurd,” said Elise. “People don’t vanish like that and leave no address—”
“That’s nice to know,” said Guy.
There was a little silence. Guy rang the bell with unnecessary force and ordered a whisky and soda—a double one—and his temper was not improved when Annie informed him that he could not have it until six o’clock.
“Bring it for me,” said Elise hastily. “I can have it because I’m staying in the hotel—that’s right, isn’t it, Annie?”
“Of all the idiotic laws!” exclaimed Guy, when Annie had gone to fetch it. “Of all the damned silly, fussy, old-womanish laws! I don’t know what we’re coming to. We’re supposed to be fighting for freedom, aren’t we? If this is a free country, why can’t you turn round without being throttled by red tape? Why can’t you get a drink when you need one?”
“She’ll write to me,” said Elise soothingly. *“She said in her letter that she’ll write and tell me how she gets on.”
“Oh, yes, I dare say,” agreed Guy with a mirthless laugh. “She’ll write to you in a month or two—if she hasn’t forgotten us all by that time.”
“Do you think Frances will forget us?” asked Elise in a quiet voice.
Guy hesitated. “I’m a beast,” he said. “I feel—I feel all wrong—all twisted into knots. I want to do something at once, not just sit down and wait.”
Elise knew the feeling, she wished she knew how to help him.
“Oh, well,” he said, after a little silence. “Oh, well, there’s nothing to be done. I shall just have to sit down and do my lessons like a good boy. They’ve made me adjutant,” he added.
“Oh, Guy, I’m so glad—and Ned will be delighted. He has always said you would make a splendid adjutant. Aren’t you pleased?”
“I suppose I am,” mumbled Guy. “I mean, I would have been pleased if I’d heard about it yesterday.”
CHAPTER XXX
During the next few days Guy’s friends had rather a difficult time. They could not understand why Fox, who was usually a pleasant, cheerful comrade, had suddenly become a bear, and a very bad-tempered bear at that. Nobody could please Fox, nobody could get a smile out of the fellow. His servant could do nothing right, the mess waiter could do nothing right, the clerks in the orderly room were in hot water up to their necks. It was thought by some that Fox was taking his new job too seriously and that it had got on his nerves, and by others that he was suffering from a liver chill. Captain Rackham was of the opinion that Fox was in love.
“You mark my words, there’s a blitz coming,” declared Sergeant Findlater in the privacy of the sergeants’ mess. “That’s why ’e’s making things ’um. ’E wouldn’t make things ’um for nothing—not Captain Tarlatan. Mark my words, there’s a blitz coming.”
“There’s a blitz going on now,” growled Sergeant Stokes, the orderly-room sergeant, who was the chief sufferer from the new broom. “You’d know if you were me. I wasn’t too keen on Captain Widgery as an adjutant—he did as little as he could—but I’d rather have him than Captain Tarlatan, who does a sight too much.”
“You got slack, that’s what,” retorted Sergeant Findlater.
Sergeant Stokes snorted and went away. He was aware that there was more than a grain of truth in the accusation, but still . . .
Guy was glad of the extra work. He was glad to find that the orderly-room staff needed gingering up; it did Guy good to ginger them. He was in a very unenviable state of mind, for he was desperately in love, miserably unhappy and furiously angry. He was angry with Elise and all the other people who surely ought to know something about the woman they called their friend; he was angry with himself for being such a fool; he was even angry with Frances.
Why didn’t Frances understand? asked Guy of himself, raising his head from a file of papers he was trying to put in order. I thought Frances understood. I thought it was perfectly clear. I thought she realised I was only trying to head-off Angela because of Tommy—Oh, hell, I shall never get this file in order!
Ned Crabbe was commanding the battalion in the Colonel’s absence, so he and Guy were thrown into very close contact (the Adjutant works in the C.O’s. office and is his right-hand man). Ned had been aware for some time that Widgery was a bit slack; he had spoken to Colonel Thynne about it, and had suggested in a tactful manner that someone else might do the job better and show a little more keenness for the work, but the Colonel had hummed and hawed and replied that Widgery was not doing badly and that he disliked changes—it wasn’t a good thing to keep changing round. Nothing more could be said, of course, though quite a lot might be thought—it was Ned’s opinion that, if things were not entirely satisfactory, changes were indicated and should be made. This being so, Ned was not sorry to see the orderly-room staff being gingered up and made to toe the line, and he left Guy to get on with the job. Ned knew the inner reason for Guy’s restlessness, and was glad that he could work off steam in a useful way. Ned was very sorry for Guy, and was ready to make allowances for him, but none were needed as regards his own contacts with Guy—Guy was the perfect Adjutant. They had always been tremendous friends, Ned and Guy; in the first instance because they both adored Elise, but afterwards because they liked each other. They were intimate and “jokey” in private, but on duty their conduct was circumspect. Guy was particularly careful not to presume upon his relationship with Ned, particularly careful to maintain his position as a subordinate officer. It was rather pleasant to work together, and they found much to admire in each other. Guy thought—By Jove, old Ned will make a clinking C.O., and was quite unaware that at the very same moment “old Ned” was thinking—Guy’s got brains. He’ll go far unless I’m very much mistaken.
One day, when the morning’s work was over, Major Crabbe got into his car. “I’ll be back at three,” he said. “I’m going out to see that patrol exercise at three-fifteen. I want you to come too.”
“Yes, sir,” said Guy. “I’ll have the letters ready for you to sign.”
“There isn’t anything important, is there?”
“Only the one to S.D.3,” replied Guy. “That ought to go—the others can easily wait.”
Major Crabbe hesitated. “Come over and have lunch, Guy,” he said. “Elise was saying she hadn’t seen you for a day or two.”
“But what about the letter?”
“It isn’t as urgent as all that.”
Guy was pleased at the suggestion. He nipped round to the other side of the car and got in, and, now that they were off duty, his manner changed, for he was no longer the Adjutant, he was dear old Ned’s brother-in-law.
“Has Elise heard from Tommy?” he inquired as he settled himself in the seat.
“No, we haven’t heard a thing since I took her over to Rithie and saw her off to Aberdeen. Elise rather hoped she would send a wire—there was a raid in Glasgow that night.”
“We’d have heard soon enough if she hadn’t arrived,” replied Guy.
“That’s what I told Elise.”
They shot out of the gate, acknowledging the salutes of the sentries, and turned left towards Cairn. Guy noticed as they went that a small fatigue party was busily engaged in clearing the undergrowth at the far end of the camp. He smiled to himself and commented upon it to his companion.
“Yes,” agreed Ned Crabbe. “It ought to have been done before. It was you who suggested it, I think.”
“It’s a pity the old boy’s coming back,” declared Guy, following out a
logical train of thought.
Ned laughed. “He isn’t a bad old stiff. You have to keep prodding him, that’s all. By the way, I had a letter from him this morning. You had better read it.” He felt in his pocket as he spoke and held out a letter to Guy. Guy read it with interest.
Baddely’s Hotel,
Kensington.
DEAR CRABBE,
I hope to be back on Monday. I saw Widgery at the War Office. We had a stormy interview, and I was obliged to threaten him with legal action. I had seen a lawyer and he told me the line to take. Finally, I went back with Widgery to the hotel and saw Angela. I had some difficulty in persuading her to leave him, but not as much as I had expected. I fancy she had discovered that he was not all she thought. Angela is here with me. She realises now that she has been extremely foolish, to say the least of it. When I go north she will go to her grandmother for a long visit. Widgery is leaving the regiment. He will be seconded in the meantime and will take up an appointment in one of the new Hush Hush units. I see no reason why any one should know what has happened except ourselves. Tarlatan can be relied on to be discreet. The only reason for disclosure will be if Tommy wants to divorce Widgery. She would be more than justified in doing so. Perhaps you will be good enough to find out her intentions so that I can consult my lawyer. Naturally I should prefer for Angela’s sake that the affair should be allowed to drop, but Tommy must be our first consideration. Angela must stand the racket if necessary. The whole affair has been a bitter pill for me—but I need not enlarge upon it. You will understand what I feel. I thought it a good opportunity to see Featherington while I was in town. I succeeded in getting some useful information from him about training, etc. He has promised to keep us in mind and to arrange some tactical exercises in collaboration with aircraft. (I shall explain fully when I return.) You will be pleased to hear about this.
Kindest regards to yourself and Elise.
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