A Man of Forty (16 page)

“Call her Bertha, dearie. She'll never know.”

“… said why didn't I come to see you, she said. Said you were a sort of relation of hers, and ...”

“What did I tell you?” said Mrs. Parzloe, with another peal of laughter. “ She's a caution, that girl! She'll be the death of me, laughing. Go on, dear.”

“An old friend, she said, and ever so kind. And she said to ask your advice.”

“Do remind me to show you the tortoise before you go,” said Mrs. Parzloe. “ Such a little ducky he is. What about, dearie? Advice, I mean.”

“Well, you see, Mrs. Parzloe, I'm in a bit of trouble.”

“Are you, dear?” There was genuine concern in her voice. “ What sort of trouble?” She gazed in question for an instant; then comprehension dawned. “ Oh, you mean a bit of
trouble.
That
is
a pity, isn't it?”

“It's not very… convenient,” said Lily.

“I should never have known,” said Mrs. Parzloe, with an appraising glance. “ And I've done a bit of maternity in my day. When's your time, dear?”

“P'raps there won't be a time,” said Lily evasively. “ It'd be the ruin of me, Mrs. Parzloe,” she continued, with sudden vehemence. “ I just shan't care what happens if that happens, I tell you straight. There's my job and everything, let alone character. Ever such a nice post I've got. What chance has a girl like me, with a baby to trail round. It isn't fair.”

“Won't he marry you, dear?” In the silence that followed this question, Mrs. Parzloe gave her guest a shrewd look. “ But perhaps he can't manage with two wives?”

“There's nothing of that about it, Mrs. Parzloe,” said Lily, primly.

“No, dear. You're not that sort of girl. Don't think I'm a Mrs. Nosey Parker, but there's no denying the best way with a bit of trouble is to marry its dad and have done. Don't you think so, dear? But of course,” she conceded, “ only if the marriage would answer.”

“It won't answer, Mrs. Parzloe, because it won't happen.” Lily, red with nervous defiance of no one in particular, was on the point of tears. “ It's no good,” she said. “ I've got to get someone to help me. I suppose ... I suppose
you
couldn't help me, could you, Mrs. Parzloe? I'd be ever so grateful.”

“Me, dear?”

“Seeing you've been a nurse, like you said. I get quite good money, you know. I'd expect to pay, same as if you were a doctor?”

“ Me?” cried Mrs. Parzloe again. “ I wouldn't do it for a thousand pounds! Nor wouldn't a doctor either, except he was a rascal. But that's not saying,” she gently added, with a hand on the girl's arm, “ that I wouldn't do it for nothing, dearie, once I felt it was the right thing.”

“Would you really?” Lily uttered a deep sigh and suddenly burst into tears. Crying quietly in Mrs. Parzloe's embrace she said with a squeak : “ I've been ever so frightened, Mrs. Parzloe.”

“
I
know. It takes you that way sometimes,” said Mrs. Parzloe. “ Let's go into the garden and see if we can find the tortoise. Then we'll have a nice cup of tea and you shall tell me all about it, see? Found your hanky, dear? That's right.”

Smiling now, though with an occasional sniff, Lily followed her hostess through the kitchen, and stood with her in the back doorway, peering out at the small patch of garden. There was no tortoise in sight.

“Hiding somewhere, you may depend,” said Mrs. Parzloe fondly. “ He's up to any amount of mischief, you know—well, for a tortoise, I mean,” she said, laughing at herself, and giving Lily a humorous nudge. “ Yes, he can be ever so naughty. The other day, what do you think? He came walking up the garden path to me with a little blue flower in his mouth.” In a lowered voice, almost a whisper, she added quickly, confidentially : “ But I didn't say anything.”

Mrs. Parzloe'S Bertha, now the property of an earnest honest middle-aged warehouse clerk named Bates, lived at no great distance from Lily Elver's lodging; within a stone's throw of the Paragon Dance Hall, where she and Lily had first made each other's acquaintance ; and in the same postal district as Vines, the newsagent and stationer. She had seen Bert Vines several times across the counter of his father's shop, but had never expected to see him on her own doorstep. She greeted the sight with a stare of inquiry.

“Mrs. Bates?” said Bert.

“Yes,” she admitted, “ it
is
Mrs. Bates.”

By speaking of herself as an impersonal object she felt that she kept the young man at his proper distance. You couldn't be too careful, Harold said.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Bates, but might I have a word with Mr. Bates? Vines, the name is.”

“ Not Saturday afternoon,” said Bertha.

“Mr. Bates is out?”

“That's what I said. He goes out with his Rambling Club every first Saturday.”

“Really?” Bert changed his tone a little. He had taken Bertha's measure and thought it safe now to temper respectfulness with geniality. “ That's funny, that is. Because that was the very thing I wanted to see him about.”

“The Ramblers?”

“That's right. Quite a coincidence.”

“Are you wanting to join, Mr.…?”

“Vines. Bert Vines. As for joining, yes, well, I thought I'd like to make inquiries, seeing Mr. Bates is the secretary.”

“He's the president too,” said Bertha. “ And the founder, as a matter of fact.”

She looked at Bert Vines with new eyes. Harold was keen on the Rambling, believing it to be Good for People ; and she knew there was a shortage of young men. She wondered whether she should ask young Vines in for a moment; because one didn't ought to be snobbish, did one?

“It was Miss Elver put me on to it,” remarked Bert, cautiously angling.

A gleam of excited interest showed in Bertha's eyes. “ Lily Elver?”

“That's her, yes.”

“Do you know her?” Bertha asked. Lily's confidences, still very fresh in her mind, had been painfully indefinite on certain points. Was it possible that this young fellow…? “ I mean,” she amended, “ do you know her well?”

“Pretty well,” admitted Bert. He looked shy and interesting. “ One way and another, we've seen a good deal of each other, Lil and me.”

“Oh, really? I didn't know.”

“She told me she knew you, Mrs. Bates,” Bert confided. “ You've been very good to her, I believe. She
needs
friends, that girl.”

If this
was
the man in the case, thought Bertha, he'd got a pretty cool nerve, she
must
say.

“1 don't know what you mean, I'm sure,” she said carefully. “ But some people”—her voice swelled—“ought to be ashamed of themselves.” Seeing his perplexed smile she added darkly : “ Treating a girl like that.”

“Like what. Mrs. Bates?” Bert asked quickly. “ And who?”

“ I expect you know more about that than I do,” said Bertha. But her truculence was not quite sincere, for she began to fear that she had made a mistake. “ Anyhow, I can't stand here talking, Ramblers or no Ramblers.”

“I don't want to intrude,” said Bert, “ but I wish…”

“Mr. Bates will be home at eight o'clock,” said Bertha firmly, “ if you care to call back about then.” Making no secret of her intention to shut the door against him, she buttered the incivility with a smile. “ Better make it half-past, to be on the safe side.” I'm too impulsive, she said to herself. I get it from Ma. Hope I haven't said too much.

She had not said too much. She had said just enough : just enough to confirm a suspicion and strengthen a resolve in Bert. He was still in some doubt how to proceed, but his objective was clear enough, and when, on his way to call on Lily, he caught sight of Lily herself disappearing into the underground station, the temptation to begin work here and now was more than he could resist. He did not like what he was doing, and he knew he wouldn't like what she would say if she caught him at it. Moreover, he was taking a chance that might lead to nothing.

So, for that matter, was Lily herself. After a series of visits to Mrs. Parzloe, Lily was on her way to see Adam Swinford. She had reason to believe that something decisive would happen before the day was out; and it suited her notion of justice that Adam should be given A Last Chance. Up till now, she reflected, he had had scarcely any chance to show for certain whether he was as good as she tried to hope or as bad as she feared ; for though lavish of hints, she had told him nothing explicit, since that day, back in the spring, when he had sounded the first alarm and been playfully snubbed for it.

Flushed, and beginning to be frightened, she took her seat in the train, leaping back with shut eyes and thinking how nice it would have been to be taken real care of by someone rand to have the baby after all, poor little thing, because someone wanted it.
Somewhere, someone, dreaming and scheming for me.
But this Someone did not mean Just Anyone. It did not, for example, mean Bert Vines, who stood strap-hanging within ten yards of her, keeping his face turned away (except at stations), and hoping, for the first time in his life, that Lily would not catch sight of him.

Adam's device for getting himself invited to Radnage succeeded, but not so quickly as he had imagined it would. Dr. Hinksey's answer did not arrive till twelve days after the posting of Adam's letter, and when it did arrive it was found to contain no invitation. Adam was obliged, therefore, to continue the correspondence to the point at which an invitation became unavoidable on Hinksey's part. He liked old Hinksey none the better for putting him to this trouble, but was prepared to take him back into favour if the visit should yield the desired result. It occurred to him, as a passing thought, that Mary might possibly be away for that particular week-end ; but he refused to consider the possibility seriously. Her image was by now extremely dim in his memory ; he could not, in fact, have undertaken to recognize her had she appeared in an unlikely setting ; but he remembered the effect on her, and he had just enough curiosity left to make him persist in an enterprise which might yet, as he felt in moments of irritation, prove to have been more trouble than it was worth.

Dr. Hinksey's invitation, arriving on a Saturday morning, had not been in Adam's possession for many hours when he received an unexpected visit from a young woman whom he had no present desire to sec, though he had not yet made up his mind to be rid of her altogether. - It was the first time Lily had come to see him without his being consulted : there was an understanding, which amounted to a rule, that she should telephone first. The telephoning was a cumbersome process, because, as there was no connexion to his apartment, it meant his being disturbed by one of the hall porters in person, who would then switch the call through to the general call-box on the first floor landing ; but Stevenage (it was generally Stevenage) was a patient fellow, and Adam freely forgave him for the trouble he put him to. Nor did he give much time to wondering what construction Stevenage put upon these visits of Lily's : his curiosity did not extend to hall porters, though in his irritation at being unexpectedly confronted
by
Lily he came near to blaming the fellow for letting her pass without challenge. This, as cooler counsels told him, would have been absurd, since Lily must by now have been a familiar sight to Stevenage. Moreover, since each of the hundred and fifty flats in this man-warren was self-contained and independent, it was no part of the porter's duty to hinder the entry even of strangers, provided they looked presentable : only the poor and needy were turned away, to be hustled back through the revolving door by which they had insolently entered.

Answering the ring at his door, Adam found Lily there, breathless with the exertion of climbing the stone stairway.

“Oh, it's you, is it?” Adam said.

“Right first time. Do you mind if I come in? Those stairs take anyone's breath away.”

He stood aside to let her pass. “ Why didn't you let me know?”

“Thanks,” said Lily. “ My word, you
are
pleased to see me, aren't you?”

“Of course I am, my dear child.”

“Don't let your raptures get the better of you, dear.” Lily dropped into a chair. “ You needn't worry. I'm not staying.”

“My dear Lily, what's the matter with you today? I only asked a simple question.”

“Yes, didn't you? Ever so simple. Why didn't I telephone, so that you could have told Stevenage to say you were out?”

“As a matter of fact, I
was
just going out.”

“Don't let me keep you, dear,” said Lily, with calculated impudence. “ I'll wait.” She rose, feigning to yawn. “ In fact I think I'll go to bed. You don't mind, do you?”

These tricks were new to Adam. He supposed she had picked them up from American films, and he forced himself to answer playfully, in the same convention.

“Getting fresh, huh?”

Half-turned away from him, she said, with a sudden change of mood : “ Hullo! So
she's
come back, has she?” She had just noticed that the bronze Phryne was back in its place.

“Who?” Adam asked.

“Oh, nothing. A friend of mine.”

“You're very mysterious, darling,” he said, coming ne^r to her, wanting to make peace.

“Am I?” She looked up at him, smiling in her old way. The touch of his hand brought her a moment's illusion of happiness.

He judged that a kiss would help to keep her ductile, and as he bestowed it he caught himself wondering why he had ever supposed her to be pretty.

“Do you still like me?” she asked, taken off her guard.

“But of course! How can you ask?”

His tone was shocked, his smile deprecating. But this time she was not deceived.