(1941) Up at the Villa (11 page)

There was a break in that strong man's voice, but his
smile was indulgent and gentle.

`You're a romantic, silly little thing. I can quite
believe that what you did after that man killed himself seemed the only thing
to do in the circumstances. It was an awful risk you took, but it appears to
have panned out all right. The fact is
,
you badly need
a man to look after you.’

She looked at him doubtfully.

`Do you still want to marry me now that you know
everything?' He hesitated, but for so brief a moment that to anyone but Mary it
would have been unnoticeable.

`You surely didn't think I was going to leave you in the
lurch? I couldn't do that, Mary dear.’

`I feel terribly ashamed of myself.’

`I want you to marry me. I will do everything I can to
make you happy. Career isn't everything. After all, I'm not
so
young as I was. I've done a good deal for the country; there's no reason why I
shouldn't sit back now and let younger men have a chance' She stared at him
with sudden perplexity.

`What do you mean?' He sat down again and took her hands
in his.

`Well, darling, you see this does alter things a bit. I
couldn't take on this job; it wouldn't be fair. If the facts leaked out the effects
might very well be disastrous.’

She was aghast.

`I don't understand’

`Don't bother about it, Mary dear. I'll telegraph to the
Minister to say that I'm going to be married and so can't go to India. I can
make your health a very reasonable pretext. I can't offer you quite the same
position as rd hoped, but there's no reason why we shouldn't have a very good
time. We can take a house on the Riviera. I've always wanted a boat of my own.
We can have a lot of fun sailing about and fishing.’

`But you can't throw everything up just when you're
reaching the top of the tree. Why should you?’

`Listen to me, dear. It's a very ticklish job I've been
offered; it needs all my intelligence and all my serenity. I should always have
the anxiety that something might be discovered. You're not at an advantage to
make
a calm
and considered judgment when you're
standing on the crater of a volcano.’

`What can be discovered now?’

`Well, there's the revolver. The police could find out if
they took the trouble that it had belonged to me.’

`I dare say they could. I've thought of that. It might be
that the man had taken it out of my bag at the restaurant.’

`Yes, I have no doubt one could think of a variety of
plausible ways how he might have got hold of it. But there'd have to be
explanations, and I can't afford to have it necessary to make explanations. I
don't want to put on any frills, but I'm not the sort of man to tell a pack of
lies. And then it's not only your secret
It's
Rowley
Flint's as well.’

`You can't suppose for a moment that he'd ever give me
away!’

`That's just what I can suppose. He's an unscrupulous
scamp.
An idler.
A waster.
He's just the sort of man that I have no use for. How do you know what he'll do
when he's had a couple? It's too good a story to waste. He'll tell it in confidence
to some woman. He'll tell one and then he'll tell another, and before you know
where you are it'll be all over London. Believe
me,
it
won't take long then to reach India,’

`You're wrong, Edgar. You misjudge him. I know he's wild and
reckless, if he hadn't been he'd never have taken that risk to save me, but I
know I can trust him. He'll never give me away. He'd rather die first.’

`You don't know human nature as I do. I tell you he
hasn't got it in him to resist telling the story.’

`But if you think that, it would be just the same if
you'd retired or
not.,
'There might be a lot of
gossip, but if I'm in a private position what does it matter? We can snap our
fingers at it. But it would be very different if I were Governor of Bengal. After
all, what you did is a criminal offence. For all I know it's extraditable. It
would be a fine chance for an unfriendly Italy to sling mud. Has it occurred to
you that you might be accused of killing the man yourself?' He stared at her so
sternly that she shuddered.

`I've got to play fair,' he went on.

`The Government has trusted me and I've never let them
down. In the position they want to put me in it's essential that nothing can be
said about my character or my wife's. Our situation in India largely depends
now on the prestige of its administrators. If I had to resign in disgrace it
might be the occasion of the most serious events. It's no good arguing, Mary; I
must do what I'm convinced is right.’

His tone had gradually changed and his voice was as harsh
as his expression was stern. Mary saw now the man who was known all through
India not only for his administrative ability but for his ruthless
determination. Watching every line of his grim face, intent on the flicker of
his eyes which might disclose his real feelings to her, she sought to discern
his inmost thoughts. She knew very well that he had been shattered by her
confession. He was incapable of sympathy for such outrageous, such shocking
behaviour. She had destroyed his belief in her and he would never again feel
quite sure of her. But he was not the man to take back the offer he had made.
When of her own free will she had told him what she might easily have kept to
herself, he could do nothing but respond to her frankness with generosity; he was
prepared to sacrifice his career and the chance of making a great name for
himself, to marry her; and she had an inkling that he took something like a
bitter joy in the prospect of such a sacrifice, not because he loved her so
much that it was worth while, but because his sacrifice heightened his pride in
himself. She knew him well enough to know that he would never reproach her
because on her account he had had to give up so much; but she knew also that with
his energy, his passion for work and his ambition, he would never cease to
regret his lost opportunities. He loved her and it would be a cruel
disappointment not to marry her, but she had something more than a suspicion
that now he would give her up, however unhappily, if it were humanly possible to
do so without a surrender of his self-respect. He was the slave of his own
integrity. Mary lowered her eyes so that he should not see the faint gleam of
amusement in them. Strangely enough, the situation struck her as slightly
diverting. For she knew now, quite definitely, that whatever the circumstances,
even if nothing had happened that he need be afraid of, even if he were made
Governor-General of India tomorrow, she didn't want to marry him. She was
attached to him, she was grateful because he had taken the unhappy incidents
she had felt bound to tell him so kindly, and if she could help it she did not
want to hurt his feelings. She must go warily. If she said the wrong thing he
would grow obstinate; he was quite capable of overruling her objections and
marrying her almost by main force. Well, if the worst came to the worst, she
would have to sacrifice whatever remained of the good opinion he had of her. It
was not very pleasant, but it might be necessary; and if then he thought the
worst of her, well, that would make it the easier for him. With a sigh she
thought of Rowley-, how much easier it was to deal with an unscrupulous scamp
like that! Whatever his faults, he was not afraid of the truth. She pulled
herself together.

`You know, Edgar dear, it would make me miserable to
think that I'd ruined this distinguished career of yours.’

`I hope you'd never give it a thought. I promise you that
when I'd retired into private life I shouldn't’

`But we oughtn't only to think of ourselves. You're the
man for this particular job. You're needed. It's your duty to take it
regardless of your personal feelings.’

`I'm not so conceited as to think I'm indispensable, you
know.

`I've got such a very great admiration for you, Edgar. I
can't bear the thought of you deserting your post when your presence is so
necessary. It seems so weak.’

He gave a little uncomfortable movement and she felt that
she had caught him on the raw.

`There's nothing else to do. It would be even more
dishonourable to accept the position under the circumstances.’

`But there is something else to be done. After all,
you're not obliged to marry me.’

He gave her a look so fleeting that she could not be sure
what it meant. He knew that, of course, and did that look mean: Good God, if I
could only get out of it, don't you think I would? But he had great control
over his expression and when he answered his lips were smiling and his eyes
were tender.

`But I want to marry you. There's nothing in the world I
want more.’

Oh, well then, she'd got to take her medicine.

`Edgar dear, I'm very fond of you. I owe so much to you;
you're the greatest friend I've ever had. I know how splendid you are, how true
and kind and faithful; but I don't love you.’

`Of course I know that I'm a great many years older than
you. I realize that you couldn't love me in quite the same way as you'd love a
fellow of your own age. I was hoping that, well, the advantages I had to offer
would in some measure compensate for that. I'm dreadfully sorry that what I
have to offer you now isn't perhaps so much worth your accepting.’

God, how difficult he was making it! Why couldn't he have
said right out that she was a slut and he'd see her damned before he married
her? Well, there was the cauldron of boiling oil; there was nothing to do but
to shut one's eyes and jump right in.

`I want to be quite frank with you, Edgar. When you were
going to be Governor of Bengal, you would have had a lot of work and I should
have had a lot too; after all, I'm human and the position was dazzling; it
seemed enough if I liked you. We should have had so many interests in
common,
it didn't seem to matter if I wasn't in love with
you.’

Now the most difficult part was coming.

`But if we’re just going to live a
quiet life on the Riviera, with nothing much to do from morning till night,
well.
I think the only thing that would make it possible would be if I
were as much in love with you as you are with me.’

`I'm not set on the Riviera. We could live anywhere you
liked.’

`What difference would that make?' He was silent for a
long time. When he looked at her again his eyes were cold.

`You mean that you were prepared to marry the Governor of
Bengal, but not a retired Indian Civilian on a pension.’

`When it comes down to brass tacks I suppose that is
really what it amounts to.’

`In that case we need not discuss the matter further.’

`There doesn't seem much point in doing so, does there?'
Again he was silent. He was very grave and his face showed no indication of
what he was thinking. He was humiliated, poor man, and bitterly disappointed in
her, but at the same time Mary was pretty sure he was infinitely relieved. But
that was the last thing he proposed to let her see. At last he hoisted himself
out of his chair.

`There seems no object in my staying in Florence any
longer.
Unless, of course, you'd like me to stay in case
there's any bother over - over that man who killed himself.’

`Oh no, I think that's quite unnecessary.’

`In that case I shall go back to London tomorrow. Perhaps
I had better say good-bye to you now.’

`Good-bye, Edgar. And forgive me.’

`I have nothing to forgive.’

He took her hand and kissed it,
then
with a dignity in which there was nothing absurd walked slowly down the grass
patch and in a moment was hidden by the box hedge. She heard his car drive
away.

9

THE interview had tired Mary. She had had no natural rest
for two nights and now, lulled by the smoothness of the summer air and the
monotonous, pleasant chattering of the cicadas, the only sound that disturbed
the silence, she fell asleep. In an hour she woke refreshed. She took a stroll
in the old garden and then made up her mind to sit on the terrace so that she
could look again at the city below her by the lovely light of the declining
day. But as she passed the house Ciro, the manservant, came out to her.

`Signor Rolando is on the phone, Signora,' he said.

`Ask him to leave a message.’

`He wishes to speak to you, Signora.’

Mary shrugged her shoulders slightly. She did not
particularly want to speak to Rowley just then; but it occurred to her that he
might have something to tell her. The thought of that poor boy's body lying on
the hillside was always on her mind. She went to the telephone.

`Have you got any ice in the house?' he said.

`Is it to ask me that that you made me come to the
phone?' she answered coldly.

`Not entirely. I wanted to ask you also if you had any
gin and vermouth’

`Anything else?'

`Yes. I wanted to ask if you'd give me a cocktail if I
got into a taxi and came along.’

`I've got a lot to do.’

`That's fine. IT come along and help you' Shrugging her
shoulders a trifle
irritably,
Mary told Ciro to bring
what was wanted to make a cocktail and went out on to the terrace. She was
eager to get away from Florence as quickly as possible. She hated it now, but
she did not want her departure to arouse comment. Perhaps it was just as well
Rowley was coming; she would ask him. It was rather absurd, when you came to
think of it, that she should rely so entirely on someone who was so notoriously
unreliable. Fifteen minutes later he was with her. It was a strange contrast he
made with Edgar as he walked across the terrace. Edgar, with his height and his
spareness, had-looked wonderfully distinguished; he had a natural dignity and
the assured air of a man who had been accustomed for many years to the obedience
of others. If you had seen him in a crowd you would have asked who that man was
whose face was so full of character and whose manner bespoke authority. Rowley,
rather short, rather stocky, wearing his clothes as though they were a
workman's overalls, slouched across, with his hands as usual in his pockets,
with a kind of lazy impudence, debonair and careless, which, Mary was bound to
admit, had
a certain
attractiveness. With his smiling
mouth and the good-humoured mockery of his grey eyes, of course not a person
you could take seriously, but one who was easy to get on with. It suddenly
occurred to Mary why notwithstanding his faults (and disregarding the great
service he had rendered her) she felt so much at ease with him. You could be
entirely yourself. You never had to pretend with him, first because he had a
keen eye for any sort of humbug and only laughed at you, and then because he
never pretended himself. He mixed himself a cocktail, drank it at a gulp and
then sank comfortably into an arm-chair. He gave her a roguish look.