Such is love (21 page)

Gwyneth was silent, thinking how wonderfully "poor Terry' had fallen on his feet, and how extremely little hold Paula was going to have over him, after aU.

"You don't approve, do you?" Paula asked with a smile.

"No, Paula, if you want my opinion, I don't."

"Well, Vm awfully happy about it. It makes things so

much simpler and nicer. And, as you said yourself, if we're happy about things, that's the really important point, isn't it?"

That hadn't been quite what Gwyneth had said, of course, but she let it pass. Perhaps her fears and imaginings were something of an impertinence now that everything was so definitely settled. Certainly no one would be interested in them. The best thing was to keep them to herself.

But later, to Van, she did say:

"Don't you think it's very unwise? Paula's father is apparently going to settle quite a large sum of money on Terry."

"Very unwise," Van agreed lazily. "Hang on to your own money until it leaves you of its own accord, is my theory. It does that soon enough, in any case."

"No, Van—really, I'm serious."

"Are you, darling? Well then, what is the idea in feathering Muirkirk's nest for him? Hasn't he anything to feather it with himself?"

"No. I suppose that's the truth of the matter."

"Why on earth Paula wants to marry a man who can't even afford to keep her, I don't know," Van declared with an impatient little shrug. "But it's always the way with these rich only daughters. Find some fellow who has loads of charm and a big overdraft and keep him in clover for the rest of his life. That seems to be the great idea. I don't think Muirkirk is quite the villain you do, but I'm hanged if I've much respect for him. Before I'd live on my wife I'd black shoes."

"I should have thought Paula's father would have argued on those lines, too," Gwyneth said.

"Perhaps he did, poor fellow. Paula has a quick way of dealing with any opposition she meets. Besides, of course, in spite of ever^^hing she says, they are really very indulgent towards her, when it comes to the point. It's the usual situation of rather elderly parents with an only—and attractive daughter. They keep a close eye on her, to begin with, then when they capitulate, they do the thing hand-' someiy. Probably they're telling themselves now that all they really want is dear Paula's happiness, and this is the way to give it to her." '

Gwyneth sighed.

•*I suppose that is it." . "She seems very happy, doesn't she?'*

"Oh, very."

Then I shouldn't worry. Some women enjoy squandering money on a man. You can't teach them wisdom and they probably will never learn of their own accord. Anyway, perhaps they get their money's worth out of the pleasure of doing it."

"Paula isn't as silly as that, though."

"Not quite—^but very nearly," was Van's verdict. And at that, they left the subject.

Even if Terry were going to acquire a small fortune, as well as a wife, in the New Year, there was really nothing to be done about it.

For Gwyneth and Van, the first Christmas in their own home passed happily. The vague invitation to spend it with Gwyneth's parents did not materialize—Gwyneth had not supposed it would—and they preferred, in any case, to have it alone together, making it Toby's first real home festivity. The child was excited and pleased over every detail, and his delight was sweeter to Gwyneth—and indeed to Van—^than any present of their own.

He was used to a Christmas tree—^they had always had a big one at Greystones—^but the personal stocking and the home celebrations which naturally centred round him were quite outside his previous experience. He told Gwyneth afterwards that it was "the very best Christmas there'd ever been."

She thought it unlikely that he could remember more than, perhaps, three with which to compare it, but she laughed and was pleased with the compliment to their efforts, all the same.

That year January was fine and bright, and almost every afternoon she and Toby used to go into the Park. He had I several little friends there now, in addition to the greatly j envied owner of the puppy, and it was even warm enough sometimes for Gwyneth to sit down on a bench in the pale, wintry sunshine for a short while and watch her little boy tearing about happily with the others.

She used to think then how happy she was and how very greatly blessed. She had in Van the best and dearest of

husbands, and Toby, who had once seemed irrevocably lost to her, was living with her now as the treasured little son that he was.

It was true that the last seal of security had still not been set on her happiness, but at least everything had been made as safe as one could possibly hope. And if sometimes nervous anxiety overwhelmed her and made her wonder in panic again what would happen if Van ever foimd out, she reminded herself inmiediately that no one could expect perfect happiness. She must be grateful—^and more than grateful—for what she had.

One afternoon Gwyneth was out with Toby, and he had begged her to sit down for a while and watch him play.

"It's most important," he explained earnestly, his woolly-gloved hands planted on her knee in a characteristic manner. "We're all going to race and you must say which is first and second and third. I've told them you'll know because you know everything."

"Very well," Gwyneth said, accepting the heavy responsibility of so much knowledge.

So she sat there for some time, acting as imipire for several panting little boys and one skinny little girl who, , most disconcertingly, contrived to beat them all every ' time.

After a while they grew rather tired of this and began some other game in which her services were not required, j Relieved from her duties, Gwyneth glanced round idly. | She wondered whether she should walk briskly to the mainjj gate and back, for it was getting a trifle chilly, but she felt ji lazy, too, and could not quite make up her mind to move. '

There was no one else about except a few strollers. Then, walking slowly and deep in conversation, two other people came into view. She watched them without interest for a few seconds—^until she realized with a disagreeable ■ shock that the man was Terry.

The woman with him should have been Paula, of course, but she certainly was not. Someone much older— oddly familiar, and yet not really well known to Gwyneth.

They were almost abreast of her now, still too deep in conversation to have noticed her. And then, with a start that made her feel physically sick, Gwyneth recognized her. It was the woman who had come and fetched Terry

from the hotel, all those years ago. The wife—who was supposed to be dead.

Whether her start attracted his attention or whether he just happened to glance her way Gwyneth could not have said, but at almost the same moment as she recognized the woman, Terry looked at her.

Her own expression must have told him something, and if she had been in any doubt before, the flash of angry dismay in his eyes would have told her that her guess was correct. A second or two too late, she tried to make her face blank of all surprise and horror, but she was afraid he had seen all that was necessary already.

With the faintest sign of recognition from him and none at all from the woman, they passed on—and Gwyneth was left, agitated and trembling, wondering what on earth she was to do with this horrible piece of knowledge which had come her way.

So Teriy was still marriedl His wife was not dead at all. This marriage he was going to ^alm off on Paula was no more real than the one with Gwyneth herself. It was a more complicated and much more profitable fraud—^that was all.

And Paula's father was to settle a large sum of money on him—^make him comfortable for life! Then, when he had had enough of Paula, he would decamp, taking his newfound capital with him. Very simply—^very effective. The woman was no doubt in it, too, or if not, she would be paid well (with Paula's money) to keep out of the way for a while.

It was probably quite outside Terry's intentions that she should have been here even now. Perhaps she had turned difficult—^he had had to persuade her—discuss with her the amount of the bribe. Oh, he was the most vile

A shadow fell across her, and, looking up, Gwyneth saw that Terry was standing beside her—alone, looking down at her with a mixture of doubt and bravado.

"Well, Gwyneth," he dropped down on the seat beside her, "it's quite an unexpected pleasure to see you here."

"I often come with my little boy. He likes to play here," she said coldly.

Should she make another attempt to hide her knowledge?—^keep it to herself and try to put him off his guard

until she could decide what she was gomg to do? It might be best.

Terry was looking away thoughtfully now to Where Toby was deep in consultation with his friends.

"He is a very charming child—our son." The thin, steely note of danger was meant as a threat, she knew— a. warning that he really had her completely in his power. Then there was little doubt he knew that she knew. It was scarcely worthwhile going through the farce of pretending. And yet one must. In any case, she would not let that statement go unchallenged.

"I don't know why you speak so absurdly about Toby," she said coolly and proudly. "It's an extremely dangerous thing to say and quite without foundation, incidentally?"

"Dangerous for me or for you, Gwyneth?"

"For you. There is a law of libel which touches even such scoundrels as you, I suppose."

"But such a very dangerous one to invoke, don't you think?"

She was silent, and after a moment he took the initiative about the other question and remarked:

"You know why I came back to speak to you, of course?"

"I'm afraid I don't. I should have thought it would be much more comfortable for both of us if you made no attempt to speak to me except when the presence of other people forced it on us."

She did that so well that, at first, she saw he almost believed her. Then Toby came running up to ask her something very important. He stopped in surprise on seeing Terry, and said rather doubtfully: "Hello."

"Hello. Don't you remember me?"

"No," Toby said, but it was rather obvious that he did, and Gwyneth realized that, for some reason, he didn't like Terry. i

"We ought to go home now, darling," she said as natur-™ ally as possible to Toby.

"Oh, Mummy, just five minutes more!" he begged.

"I think "

"Suppose you let him have five minutes," Terry's voice suggested smoothly; "It might be a good idea."

She bit her lip furiously, feeling the tug of the chain and longing to resist.

Toby looked at her hopefully, and after a moment she spoke with a curtness that was not meant for the child.

"All right. Five minutes only."

Toby galloped off, and Terry laughed quietly.

"So you aren*t very good at recognizing people?" he murmured, but she only said:

"I don*t know what you*re talking about."

"Come, Gwyneth. Ill use the words you once used to me—^I don't know that ifs any good hedging. Of course you recognized her. Your expression gave you away."

She didn't say anything, and he added almost carelessly:

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," GwyneSi said slowly, and that, of course, was the literal truth.

"May I suggest that it would be much wiser to do nothing?"

She looked at him with fear and dislike.

"Do you really expect me to do nothing?"

"I expect you to make a great many protests to begin with, and then to decide—very wisely—^that it isn't your business."

"I suppose when you have got all you can out of Paula and her family, you will desert her?"

"You haven't a very high opinion of me, have you?" he remarked with a smile.

"No. Why should I? I know you too well."

He paid tiiat the tribute of an amused grimace.

"Well, whether you believe me or not—^I really do intend to settle down with Paula **

"I don't believe you," she stated baldly.

"—^And I'm not expecting to have any trouble from— the lady you saw just now."

"You mean you're paying her with Paula's money to keep out of the way?"

He shrugged.

"I don't believe that, either," Gwyneth told him shortly. "Why don't you get a divorce if you really no longer have any interest in each other, and don't intend to see each other again?"

"My dear, do you really think I could afford to appear

in a court of law?—even in connection with anything so simple as a divorce suit," he said with shameless simplicity.

There was something in that, she supposed.

"Anyway, that is beside the point," she said impatiently. •*The fact is that Paula won't be really married to you— whether you stay with her or whether you choose to desert her later."

**There is so much in the way one looks at these things, Gwyneth. If you don't tell her, she'll think she really is my wife. That's quite sufficient for her happiness, you know."

"Until you choose to leave her."

"But I've told you—I'm staying with her."

"We're arguing in a circle." Gwyneth rose to her feet with an air of finality. "Don't ask me what I'm going to do. I don't know. But—oh, why don't you go away again, Terry? Why don't you go?—instead of hanging around waiting to prey on silly young women because there happens to be money in it!"

"Don't be absurd, my dear. What man in his senses would turn his back on a charming wife and financial security for life?"

She called to Toby without answering that, and he came running across the grass to her.

"So you don't know what you're going to do?" There was an angry little sneer in Terry's voice.

"No."

"Very well. But don't imagine I shaU be in any similar state of indecision if you do give me away. I shall know exactly what / am going to do."

And with that final threat, he turned away and left her, striding along the path with an air of purpose, his footsteps ringing sharply on the half frozen ground.

"Mummy, are we going home now?"

Toby's voice roused her from her thoughts and recalled her to the fact that she was standing staring after Terry in her perplexity.

She glanced down then at the little boy.

"Yes, Toby."

As they turned away he thrust his hand into hers and remarked:

"It was a lovely afternoon, wasn't it?**

And what could she say but "Yes" again?

During all the rest of that day she tried to come to some sort of decision. On the face of it, it was criminal to let Paula—and her parents, too—be exploited by Terry. His assurance that he would stick by Paula was scarcely worth the breath behind it. And, in any case, what sort of a position was that for a decent young girl?

And yet, if she were personally responsible for giving Terry away, she could hardly expect much mercy from him. It had not required his last words to let her know that.

The next morning came, still without her having arrived at any decision, and with the morning's post came a letter from Paula's mother. For a wild moment Gwyneth hoped that they had found out something for themselves and were writing for some sort of advice about how to deal with detaching Paula from Terry. But the fantastic hope faded as she read the formal lines. It was simply that she wanted Van and Gwyneth to come to dinner the following week, and it seemed that 'Paula's fiance' would be there.

"We'll have to go, of course," Van said with a slight touch of resignation.

"Do you mind?"

"Not more than I mind other stuffy rather boring evenings. And they are kindly people who mean well."

'Stuffy' perhaps—but 'boring'—certainly not, thought Gwyneth. She only wished it could be. That would be infinitely preferable to the uncomfortably dramatic affair she was afraid it was going to be.

But if she chose to give Terry away before then, of course, the dinner party would not take place at all.

Oh, if only something would happen so that the onus of taking action was not on her! Why hadn't Paula seen that woman with Terry, instead of herself? Why hadn't her parents been suspicious—^loath to part with a penny of their money—or one of a dozen other things which might have put Terry off?

Why did she have to be responsible for deciding on the right thing, regardless of how it wrecked everything for herself?

"It's too cruel," Gwyneth thought distractedly. "It would be bad enough if someone else did it to me—but that I

should have to put the match to the gunpowder myself is too awful."

It was no wonder she hesitated from day to day, telling herself that there was no desperate need for urgency until every other chance of the marriage failing had had time to operate.

Suppose, by some miracle, Paula grew tired of him, found out for herself what kind of man he was, was completely put off by something he did? Or suppose he discovered an even better proposition than Paula?

She knew it was illogical and absurd to go over these more than remote possibilities. It was like saying to oneself: "Suppose I won the Pools?" But just as that is sometimes a spurious consolation for an empty purse, so these fantastic improbabilities seemed a weak sort of inspiration of hope.

On the night of the dinner party Gwyneth dressed with particular care. She wanted to make herself look self-possessed and sophisticated, so that Terry might not feel so completely sure of his power.

But Van's comment was not encouraging in that respect. He smiled at her and said: "Darling, how adorably and absurdly young you look tonight."

"What! In black, and with ear-rings?"