Such is love (14 page)

It was a wonderful first evening.

For Gwyneth it was a wonderful first evening, too. But in the background, there was always the shadow of Terry.

During the next few days she tried to put off her decision. It was not necessary to have him here at once. She might surely let herself enjoy Toby for a very short while first—the morning walks, the meals together, the little expeditions.

But while she was doing this, in what sort of danger was Paula? Paula—^who, if she grew impatient, would certainly yield to any pleading of Terry's that she would meet him secretly.

"I'll have to see Paula and tell her the truth," Gwyneth told herself desperately. But the very next moment she thought: "No, I can't, I can'tl I hardly know her. She is anything but discreet. I can't put my whole happiness in her hands".

Then—what?

And slowly, out of her sheer despair another idea began to grow. There was just one other chance—one faint possibility of settling the whole business without having to tell Paula anything.

She could force Terry to see her.

The decision was so simple and yet so momentous that it frightened her even to think that she was anywhere near carrying it out. On the terrible day long ago, when he had left her in that third-rate hotel, she had never thought to see him again. Even now she had hardly brought herself to believe that she would have to meet him, even in company with other people, and with the protecting knowledge that he could not say anything to her outside the barest conventionalities.

That she should see him alone—speak to him of intimate things—appeal to his better feelings, which she knew were almost non-existent—or, perhaps, even try to threaten him —all these seemed fantastic. But they were also beginning to seem horribly inevitable too.

How else was she to hold back the terrible march of events? How rescue Paula—and probably herself, too— from absolute disaster?

A whole night of wretched self-questioning and attempts to find other ways to escape finally hardened her resolve.

The next morning, when Van had gone to the office, she sat down to write to Terry. And, once she had started the letter, the words flowed with extraordinary ease.

You may not be altogether surprised to receive this letter (she wrote), because I don't know if anything which Paula or Van may have said has identified me for you. But—in case you don't know—I married Van Onslie some months ago and, by some irony of fate, it was me whom Pauia first told about her friendship with you. Even then, she didn't mention your name, and it was not until later that I realized the position.

You and I shall probably have to meet in the future— indeed, I think Van has already invited you home. But before that happens I must speak with you alone. Will you please telephone to me some time tomorrow, between eleven and five, so that we can arrange it?—

Gwyneth. She addressed the letter, and, with a sort of sick determination, dropped it into the nearest pillar-box.

Several times during the evening she wondered if Van noticed anything strange in her maimer. Toby had said twice that afternoon:

"Have you got a headache? Do you feel quiet?" And each time she had assured him that she was all right, and had told herself that she must manage better than this. But Van only said:

"You're rather tired, child, aren't you? Have you been overdoing it to-day?"

"No, Van. But I am a litttr tired. I think I'll go to bed early."

So she had to go to bed early—^which brought the dreaded tomorrow all the more quickly.

She hated every minute of the next morning. Each time the telephone bell rang, her heart seemed to flutter in her throat. And each time it was something quite unimportant, something which surely, surely need not have been used to drag at her nerves on this morning of all mornings.

And then, when the terrible moment did at last arrive, it was Toby who, on a sudden naughtly impulse, seized up the telephone and cried "Hello", as he had seen her do.

She took the receiver from him at once, and told him to' run along to Betty. And, even as she spoke, she heard Terry's well-known voice say:

"Mrs. Onslie? Gwyneth, is that you?"

"Yes " She got it out somehow. "Yes. Is that Terry?"

"Of course. It was charming to hear from you.**

She wondered then how that faintly insolent voice could ever have held such charm for her. But of course, the tone had been very different then—just as the tone which he used to Paula now would be different.

"Terry, where can I meet you?" She couldn't bring herself to say any tactful things to lead up to the question. She must get it over as quickly as possible.

"Are you quite sure you want to see me?"

"No, but I must. It's necessary."

He laughed slightly then.

"We-ell "

"Where can I see you?" She spoke impatiently because she hated having to repeat the question, as though it were of such importance to see him. Her pride had never been very much in evidence when she had had dealings with him before. Now the position was very different, and her pride suffered badly.

"You'd better come along here, to my rooms," he said carelessly.

"To your—rooms? I don't think that's necessary."

"But very enjoyable, don't you think? And safer than meeting in a public place."

"I'll take that risk," she said curtly. "I don't want to come to your rooms."

"My dear Gwyneth, you surely aren't troubling about the conventions at this hour, are you? I should have thought we had shared a room too often for that to matter."

She hated him so much when he said that that for a moment she could not even reply. When she did, it was simply to repeat:

"I prefer not to come to your rooms."

"And I prefer that you should, my dear," he said dryly. "It happens to suit me better. If you want to see me— you'll find me here any time during this afternoon. If you don't come, I shall know that you decided it was better for us not to meet."

She began to say something else—-to protest again, but the line went dead, and she was left sitting there with the telephone receiver in her hand, while the certaincy was

growing on her that it was almost useless to go and see him in any case.

Yet she had to go. What else could she do? It was the only possible charxe.

At lunch-time Toby said to her:

"Am I coming out with you this afternoon?*'

"Not this afternoon, darling. I have to go out alone. Betty will take you out."

"Oh." He looked rather dashed. He was great friends with Betty, but nothing was quite so much fun as going out with Gwyneth. "Will you be in to tea?"

"Yes," she promised, "I'll be in to tea." And, rather like a child herself, she thought: "Oh, I wish it were tea-time and this afternoon were over!"

Just before he went out for his afternoon walk, Betty brought him to her room to kiss her good-bye. Gwyneth was almost ready to go out herself, in a slim black suit with a great smoke fox collar.

"Good-bye, darling," she bent down to kiss the little, hatless, blue-clad figure. "Have a good walk."

"Good-bye. Have a good walk, too," Toby said politely. "You will be in to tea, won't you?"

"Oh yes."

"And can we have the chocolate biscuits with the cream in the middle?"

"I'U see we do."

"Thank you." He gave a little skip of pleasure, and ran back to Betty, who was smiling as she stood by the door, waiting for him.

"You're a very lucky boy,*' she remarked as they went off, and Toby said: "Yes, I'm a very lucky boy," very contentedly.

As she turned back to the glass to pull on her beautiful little black hat, Gwyneth thought:

"And I suppose she thinks I'm a very lucky woman, too." It would be impossible for Betty to suppose that her calm, beautiful, well-dressed employer had any serious cares in the world. Lots of money, a lovely home, a devoted, if stem, husband, and a dear little boy. What more could anyone want?

"Security," thought Gwyneth, as she went out of the flat. "Security—or what is any of it worth?"

She took a taxi to within walking distance of where Terry lived, in St. John's Wood. She would not take her own car and leave it outside, and she had a nervous disinclination to give Terry's address to any taxi-driver who might belong to the taxi-rank near her own home.

It was all very stupid and sordid, and she told herself grimly that she felt less respectable as—having seen the taxi drive away again—she turned down the road where Terry lived.

The 'rooms' of which he had spoken turned out to be the ground floor of a large and pleasant house, which had been converted into a garden flat. The manservant who admitted her either expected her or was quite used to his master having feminine visitors. Without any word of comment, he showed her into a well-furnished room, with large windows looking out on to a high-walled garden.

She sat down by one of the windows. She felt nervous, unhappily angry that she should have to be in this position, and she dreaded the coming interview. Never before had she had quite this feeling of angry shame. It was as though she were no more than a cast-off mistress, coming back to ask favours of a lover who had treated her badly.

When she heard his step outside, she stood up instinctively. And she hoped that she faced him with dignity rather than defiance as he came into the room.

"My dear Gwyneth, this is really delightful!'*

Any other man would have been at least faintly abashed at the situation, but Terry came forward coolly and held out his hand without a trace of embarrassment.

She just touched his fingers with hers, and she didn't smile as she looked at him.

He hadn't changed. He hadn't changed one atom in all this time. How very lightly the years dealt with such easygoing scoundrels as Terry! She supposed he lived on the hearts and nerves and energy of other people—^just as he lived on their money—and that was why time took no toU of him.

"Do sit down. I understand you wanted a really—intimate talk. And, if I may say so, Gwyneth, how very much lovelier you have grown."

"I came to speak about Paula," she said coldly and curtly. (Was it possible that she had once listened breath-

lessly to the slightest compliment this man chose to pay her?)

"Oh—Paula. Yes? And what about the charming Paula?'*

A smile touched Terry's rather full lips, but it came nowhere near his eyes, she noticed. Those remained hard, bright and alert.

"Terry, I don't know that it's any good your hedging.

You must know, as well as I do, that I can't possibly allow

a young relation of mine to keep up a friendship with you

—especially the kind of semi-secret friendship which you

fc: appear to have started.'*

She paused, but he said nothing, merely looked at her with those hard eyes and continued to smile.

"WeU?" she said sharply.

"What, my dear?"

"What have you to say?'*

"Nothing at all. I am waiting to hear how you intend to make the headstrong and romantic Paula break off thi^ —semi-secret friendship.'*

"I have only to tell her a fraction of the truth and you know she would never look at you again.'*

"On the contrary, if you told her a fraction of the truth, she would never look at you again, because she would simply not believe you. No, no, my dear, you would have to tell Paula the whole truth. How does that strike you, eh?"

"If necessary, I would do it.'*

"And yet I feel, somehow, that Paula is not the girl to keep things entirely to herself. Now if your husband were to know—"

"My husband knows the whole story already," lied Gwyneth unflinchingly. "All he does not know is that you were the man."

For a second she saw indecision flicker in Terry's eyes, but it was gone almost at once.

"Very ingenious," he conceded, "but a damned lie.'*

"Are you quite sure you'd better risk putting that to the test?" Her voice was as hard as his now, and her eyes were like blue stones. ^ "The risk would be yours, Gwyneth. I know you're i lying."

"How do you think you know?" she asked contemptuously.

"Because, if Evander Onslie had found that his wife had had dealings with another man, he would have left her. If he had found out before the marriage—well, my dear, the marriage would not have taken place. That's the long and the short of it. He's that sort of man."

Gwyneth sat perfectly still, her fingers locked together. It was strange and terrible to hear from Terry, of all people, the very words which hammered in her own brain day and night. He was right—Van was 'that sort of man'. Quite ruthless if he thought he had been deceived. Proud, honourable—and he adored her. If he were ever faced suddenly with the truth

She raised her eyes slowly and looked at Terry. There was defiance in them—^but she knew he had won the first round. "Well," he said pleasantly, *'how do we stand now? As I see it, it will pay neither you nor me to start talking. What about a mutual agreement for silence?"

"No," Gwyneth said through rather dry lips. "No. I can't leave Paula unknowing and unprotected. We've got to come to some understanding, Terry."

"Have we?" He carelessly held out his cigarette-case to her, but she shook her head impatiently. "What have we got to understand?"

She shifted her ground slightly.

"Do you really imagine that I'm going to stand by doing nothing while you treat Paula as you treated me?"

"I've told you, Gwyneth—I don't really see what choice you have. In any case, Paula is rather a different proposition from you, as it happens."

"What do you mean by that?"

He shrugged deprecatingly.

"You may be very attractive now. In fact, you are— damned attractive. But you were distressingly sweet and colourless at seventeen. Paula, on the contrary, I find charming. I'll admit her charm is not diminished by the fact that she is the only child of wealthy parents. But I like Paula. I might even"—he smiled insolently, straight at her—"I might even settle down with her."

*'Marry, do you mean?"

"An extreme measure, I agree, but not impossible."

"I thought you were married already—at least, once," she said bitterly.