Child Friday (16 page)

“N-no,” admitted Emily. “At first I definitely disliked her—she asked so many odd questions. But at the end—well, as I said, I think she’s lonely.”

His smile was a little sardonic.

“Child Friday to the rescue?” he mocked. “Well, Emily, if you like to think you’re bringing a little light and sweetness into a barren life, I won’t stop you, but don’t get involved. The good lady may still have fish to fry.”

It was an unsatisfactory, rather inconclusive conversation and Emily wished she had not raised the subject. It was unlikely that Mrs. Mortimer would press for a further meeting, and Vanessa never suggested that either Dane or Emily should visit Torcroft.

A note, however, arrived a few days later asking Emily to tea.
“
My niece will be out
,”
it stated unnecessarily and rather pointedly. Emily made some excuse, wondering a little at the old lady’s sudden desire to establish contact, but she made no mention of the matter to Dane.

March was nearly over, going out like the proverbial lamb. Spring was everywhere on the moor, the tender green of new foliage sprinkling the folds and hollows which, through the winter, had been bleak and without color. Foals ran beside their dams amongst the herds of moorland ponies and everywhere the birds were nesting.

“How beautiful it is,” Emily said to Dane. “Spring and summer on the moor must surely make up for all winter’s desolation.”

“Have you found it desolate, Emily?” he asked.

“No, not in that sense, but perhaps one notices the seasons change here more than in the neat country round Lo
n
don.”

“There’s nothing neat about Dartmoor,” he said a little grimly. “It’s rather curious you should, like it. You’ve never in your life known anything but the suburbs and the dusty streets of London.”

“Is an appreciation of beauty merely a matter of environment, then?” she asked, feeling she was being laughed at, but he put up a hand and gently tapped her cheek.

“Of course not. I wasn’t doubting, my dear, only grateful,” he said. “The gods—and Louisa—chose well when they sent you.”

He seemed relaxed again. The fever of work which had possessed
him
just after Vanessa’s visit had abated and he would sit and listen to her reading or appear content to talk idly in the f
i
relit darkness of their long evenings. But Vanessa would not stay away for ever. Nearly a fortnight had elapsed since her return from London and, as Emily had always known would happen, she walked in one afternoon without warning.

Emily was amusing herself at the piano, searching in her memory for fresh songs and rhymes with which to entertain Alice in the Easter holidays. She did not hear the car, and, as once before, Vanessa entered the drawing
room unheralded.

“You strum quite nicely, Emily,” she said. “Where’s Dane?”

“Out with Bella.”

“Don’t you go with him?”’

“Yes,
if
he asks me,
but he enjoys his walks alone. He
gets more confidence.”

“With the aid of a dog? Well, I suppose he has to tell you some story.”

“What do you mean?”

Vanessa flung herself into a chair and smiled at Emily with utmost charm.

“Darling, be your age,” she said. “It’s plain your marriage is one of convenience, and one can quite understand what prompted Dane. It’s lonely to turn yourself into a recluse at thirty-six, and quite against nature. Still and all, you don’t want your secretary-cum-gove
rn
ess always tagging along, even if she does share your name.”

Emily had gone a little white.

“I don’t think I’ve met anybody, Vanessa, who can be insulting with such devastating grace,” she said.

"How clever of you—to recognize the two, I mean,” said Vanessa graciously. “But I wasn’t really being insulting, darling. After all, you wouldn’t pretend that this marriage is the result of a great passion, would you?”

“No,” said Emily bleakly.

“You were the rebound from me, and for you, I suppose, Dane was the rebound from that charming young Irishman who left you flat in your salad days.”

“Tim Lonnegan had nothing to do with me marrying Dane,” Emily said and knew as she, spoke that it was not quite true. The fact that she had felt at the time that she was unlikely to fall in love again had made, it possible for her to accept marriage from a perfect stranger.

“You’re a bad liar, Emily,” Vanessa mocked. “Oh, well, there’s always a way out of the wood, isn’t there?”

“What way?”

“Oh; I don’t know. These things work out. Now tell me, darling, in which direction would I find Dane?”

The little interchange had shaken Emily more than she knew. She wanted to hit out at Vanessa’s smiling calm, to wipe the sublime complacence from her lovely face.

“I don’t know,” she said. “And he wouldn’t thank you for looking for him. He’s been working perfectly hard lately and asked me to make his excuses to any—e
r
—visitors.”

“Meaning me?” said Vanessa, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, yes, if you want me to be honest,” Emily said, and heard Dane come back from his walk and the clatter Bella’s harness made as he flung it on the chest in the hall.

“Emily!” he called, but before she could answer, Vanessa had
run to the door.

“Emily’s in here with me,” she said. “Is it true, darling, that you told her to say you were not at home to me?”

He came slowly into the room. The blank, sightless gaze made it possible for his face to appear impersonal. Emily, who had come to learn each passing expression so well, had no idea of what he might be thinking.

“Good afternoon Vanessa,” he said courteously. “I don’t think I ever made myself as plain as that. It’s, after all, very kind of you to
call on us.”

Emily could have hit him. It was, she knew, virtually impossible for him to be gratuitously rude to an unwanted guests, but he need not have put her in the wrong.

“You see, Emily, you were mistaken,” Vanessa said. “Perhaps it was you, really, who didn’t want me here.”

“Now, Vanessa, don’t try to pick a quarrel with Emily,” Dane warned, but his voice was indulgent, telling them both plainly that he was merely amused by such feminine skirmishing.

“Will you order tea, Emily? We can’t send our guest home without hospitality.”

“How old-world you sound suddenly, darling,” Vanessa laughed. “But I’m glad to hear you still consider me worthy of hospitality. Emily had the usual wifely story of the hard-worked husband who mustn’t be disturbed, but perhaps that wasn’t true, either.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “We’ve been working hard on the book. There’s plenty of extraneous matter, too, you know. Emily has to be responsible for all my letters and business affairs.”

“Really?” Vanessa
’
s fine eyebrows curved upwards with delicate amusement. “How awkward that could be, darling. When your wife is your secretary too, she has to share all your secrets.”

“No great hardship, I assure you,” he replied, his lips giving a little quirk of sardonic comprehension. “Emily, my dear, will you do something about tea?”

All through tea Emily sat listening to their talk. As usual, Vanessa made little attempts to include her in the conversation and for once she was grateful. Had the opportunity arisen, she knew she would have been rude to Vanessa, despite Dane’s presence. When the girl rose to take her leave, Emily, perforce, had to accompany her to the door and Vanessa stood for a moment, pulling on her gloves without hurry.

“You see, darling, it’s not the way,” she said softly. “You won’t keep Dane away from me by silly tricks, neither can you fight something of which you have no understanding. Good-night.”

Emily went back to the library.

"And what do you want me to tell Vanessa next time she calls?” she asked, and he frowned at the unaccustomed temper in her voice.

“Something more courteous than whatever you told her today, at any rate,” he replied.

“You told me to make your excuses. I did, to the best of my ability. She twisted my words to make me sound downright rude.”

“Well, perhaps you were, Emily. I’ve not known you in this sort of mood before.”

“You’ve not known me at all if you imagine I can take rudeness without giving any in return.”

He looked at her as he sometimes did, as if with concentration he must be able to read the expression on her face.

“Was Vanessa rude to you?” he asked, but she would not reply to this but enquired again if in future she was to forget that he had said Vanessa should be classed as a stranger.

“Did I say that?” he asked irritably. “Well, I daresay I was on edge at the time. Let her come if she wants to. What harm can she do?”

“I don’t know,” said Emily, suddenly afraid. “I don’t know at
all.”

He looked profoundly weary, as if, for him, a matter of no consequence had been forced into ugly proportions.

“Don‘t make mountains out of molehills, my dear,” he said. “I’m well aware that you must know what the position once was between myself and Vanessa, but that has nothing to do with you. Understand?”

“Yes, Dane,” she said, keeping the unsteadiness out of her voice. “I understand very well.”

CHAPTER
EIGHT

EASTER was early that year. When April came, Emily found that she was looking forward to Alice’s return from school. A fourth pers
o
n, even a child, would make the three-some which she and Dane seemed now to share with Vanessa more bearable. Although days would go by without the girl making an appearance at Pennyleat
,
E
mily always had the uneasy feeling that she might walk in at any moment and claim Dane’s attention for the endless reminiscences to which she was so adept at turning the conversation, leaving Emily outside the warmth and humor of experience which could not be shared by a third.

Emily had no means of knowing whether he welcomed these periodical visitations or not. Whatever his earlier mood, he seemed to have withdrawn his objections to interruption as far as Vanessa was concerned. If he appeared moody and irritable between her visits, Emily could only conclude that he missed her. In spite of his assurance that she would soon tire of country dullness, she showed no signs of going.

“How can I?” she said with a shrug and a charming pout. I’m broke, and Aunt Gertrude is my only refuge.”

“You don’t
look
broke,” Emily said, eyeing Vanessa’s expensive clothes with a sceptical eye, then wished she had not spoken when she saw Dane smile.

“Vanessa always had to have the trimmings,” he said. “You haven’t changed, have you, Vanessa?”

“No,” she said, “I like the best, and you used to say the best was good enough for me.”

“Did I? Well, you paid for dressing, I will say, my dear. What are you wearing now?”

It seemed to amuse him to listen to her describing her clothes and accessories. Sometimes he would turn to Emily for confirmation and Vanessa, because such things evidently mattered to her, would turn and twist about the room as if he could really see the things she was describing for him.

“Is she as lovely as I remember her?” Dane asked Emily once, after Vanessa had gone, and she replied, knowing that her voice was flat and expressionless:

“I don’t know how you remember her, Dane. But she’s very lovely.”

“You’re generous, aren’t you?” he said.

“Why not?” asked Emily gravely. “Do you think I’m jealous of her, Dane?”

“No,” he answered with faint surprise. “By all accounts you have your own share of loveliness.”

“No,” she said. “No! Compared to Vanessa
—
”

“You’re charmingly modest ” One eyebrow rose in
quizzical amusement. “There is more than one kind of beauty, you know.”

“But you’ve never
seen
me!”

“Not with the eyes of the body, perhaps, but the blind have other compensations.”

“To you I’m just a voice, a nebulous personality conjured lip by touch and hearing and nothing substantial,” she said, and he pressed his fingers against his eyelids in sudden weariness with the whole conversation.

“Do you think so?” he said indifferently. “Well, Emily, perhaps in our case it hardly matters. Not regretting your bargain?”

“No,” she said. “As you’ve reminded me, in our case it hardly matters.”

But to herself she cried passionately:
“
Am I always to take second place to beauty ... to my mother, to Rosemary, and now to Vanessa?
But hard on that thought came another, striving for common sense. She had married a stranger without love, without even the promise of affection; she had nothing to expect from such a union, or, indeed, any right to demand that which was not in the bargain.

Her thoughts leapt ahead to Alice’s holidays. There should be dyed eggs for Easter and Simnel cake, and all the delights of the spring of the year for a child unused to treats. There was the new playroom with its carefully chosen treasures, and there was Emily’s own untapped store of affection ready for the asking. As the holidays approached she unconsciously identified herself with the child. Were they not, both of them, guests in Dane’s house, pieces of flotsam that had no real place there?

“Oh, my!” Mrs. Meeker would say, admiring each new addition to the playroom. “Bain’t she the lucky little toad! Miss Alice will surely be powerful delighted at all you’m thought of for she.”

But Shorty was less enthusiastic.

“Miss Alice ain’t like most kids,” he observed disparagingly. “ ’Ope you won’t be disappointed, ma’am.”

But before Alice could return, an unlooked for happening put all thoughts of the child out of Emily’s head. Tim Lonnegan came to stay at Torcroft and Vanessa brought him over to Pennyleat one afternoon.

Dane’s Research Thesis was nearly finished. He and Emily had been working on it all the morning and now she sat with him in the library, going through his accumulation of correspondence. Emily, for once, was thankful for the interruption, but she thought Dane looked displeased. Vanessa stood for a moment in the doorway, surveying them both, and said with her amused drawl:

“Keeping the little woman to the grindstone, as usual, darling? Well, you’ll have to let up for a bit. I’ve brought an old friend of Emily’s to call on her.”

Tim followed her into the room, his eyes flickering curiously from Dane to Emily. He was just as she remembered him; the gay, red head, the blue, humorous eyes, and the spare frame, with its neat, elegant bones. For a moment she felt the breath catch in her throat as she rose to greet him and the memory of her own behavior in the past made her tongue-tied.

“Well, Emily?” he said with that easy unconcern she remembered so well. “I didn’t expect to find you down here, married, established, old friends all forgotten, as
well.”

“I haven’t forgotten you, Tim,” Emily said, gathering herself together. “This is my husband. I knew Tim Lonnegan, Dane, when I was one of Miss Pink’s young ladies
always looking for work.”

Dane’s mouth twitched slightly as if he appreciated the description. He acknowledged the introduction gravely and all the time Vanessa stood and watched the three of them.

“Well, now, isn’t that nice?” she said cosily, settling herself in a chair by the fire. “Emily and Tim will have lot
s
to say to each other so we can just sit and
li
sten for a change, Dane, or, better still, go for a walk
or
something.
”

“Yes,” he said unexpectedly. “Why not? Fetch me
Bella’s harness, will you, Emily?”

“Oh, but please
—
” Emily began, feeling uncomfortable, but he only smiled and repeated his request and she went out to the hall to fetch Bella’s harness.

Tim watched the process of harnessing the bitch with evident curiosity, and when they had gone, went to the window to watch Dane cross the lawn.

“Is that what you fell for?” he asked. “The strong and silent hero of romantic fiction being led about by his dog?”

Emily said calmly: “Have you never seen a guide dog working before? They are pretty amazing.”

“No, I haven’t, but you’ve begged the question, anyway,” Tim replied with amusement. “Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself since the days when you expressed such devotion to me.”

“Earning my living,” she answered sedately.

She thought he looked faint
l
y puzzled. He crossed the room quickly, and took her by the shoulders, holding her away from him while his eyes ran over her curiously.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

“One tends to change after two years,” she replied.

“Do you think so? But you can’t be very old.”

“Old enough to have learnt a little sense, I hope.”

“How severe you sound! Have you lost all that old adolescent fervor? What a pity—or is it? Perhaps you’ve acquired a more enticing flavor or would it be just the elegant clothes?”

“I had no money for elegant clothes when you knew me,” she said.

“No, in those days you had to borrow from Rosemary.”

“That frock was mine, not Rosemary’s. She borrowed it from me,
”
she said with all the indignation she had f
e
lt at the time of that incident, and he laughed.

“Poor Emily!” he said caressingly. “We did treat you badly between us, didn’t we? But you were such a funny little thing with your enthusiasm and your rather touching desire to please. What a pity you weren’t then as you are
now.
Do you know you’ve become most attractive? Clothes help, of course, but there’s some new quality—poise, perhaps—or can it be that you really have no
f
urther interest in me?”

She gave him a long look. He seemed no older. The little tricks of voice and expression which he had always practised were, perhaps, a shade more mechanical, but the charm was still there, and now his eyes held the flicker of renewed interest. She looked at him and knew that the old, unhappy affection for him ha
d
gone for ever.

“I was eighteen then,” she said gently. “One
grows up.”

He turned away and lit a cigarette.

“This is all rather astonishing. How did you, the little mouse, land such a handsome prize in the matrimonial stakes?”

“Dane is blind,” she said unnecessarily, as if that fact excused her good fortune, and he said, as once Vanessa had:

“A blind husband has his points. Some women might envy you, Emily. How did you come to marry him?”

The eyes she raised to his were clear and grave.

“I think Vanessa has already told you that,” she said, and he smiled.

“Well, yes. It was a little tough on her, wasn’t it, to miss her ultimate goal by so small a margin?”

“Hardly her ultimate goal,” said Emily with calmness. “She threw Dane over five years ago when he first became blind. Didn’t she tell you that, too?”

“Oh, yes. Vanessa discusses her affairs very freely—and yours.”

The faint color stained her cheek-bones.

“Vanessa doesn’t know a great deal about my affairs—only what she guesses,” she said.

“Well,” said Tim bluntly, “my guess is as good as hers. One can tell by looking at you that your marriage has gone no further than the wedding ceremony. Don’t misunderstand me, my sweet—I, personally, find that most intriguing.”

For a moment she was caught up in the old compulsion, and although his surmise humiliated her, she knew an involuntary quickening to the remembered invitation in his voice.

“Are you staying long?” she asked, meaning to snub him for his impertinence, and saw too late that her question could be taken another way.

“That depends,” he answered. “That depends very much on whether you might need me.”

She threw a log on the fire, feeling the flush moment more hotly to her cheeks.

“What became of Rosemary?” she asked quickly. “I’ve often wondered
.”

“I’ve no idea. I haven’t seen her for well over a year.”

“Oh! I used to think you’d marry her.”

He laughed, not unkindly.

“Oh, Emily! There was no curing you, was there?” he said. “One doesn’t marry the Rosemarys of this world. They’re there to have fun with.”

“Like me.”

"No
.
not like you. You were always too serious, my pet—that was our undoing, but now—well,
I
like you that way.
”

“
Only because you’re safe,” she said. “I can no longer embarrass you by expecting declarations you aren’t prepared to make. I have a husband already.”

A little spark danced in his very blue eyes.

“And that, my innocent, is a very strong inducement” he told her softly, as Dane and Vanessa came back into the room.

“Will you ring for tea, Emily?” Dane said. “I’ve already told Shorty we have guests.”

Vanessa’s heavy-lidded eyes watched Tim speculatively. For once she did not monopolize the conversation, but encouraged Emily to respond to the young man’s chatter. They were alike in some curious fashion, Emily thought, for each had a brand of charm which could be turned on and off at will, and each had that brittle brilliance which would always serve their own ends. She was relieved when Vanessa rose to go.

“May I come again, sir?” Tim asked, and Dane’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the small formality of address.

“Certainly,” he said courteously. “It’s often dull for Emily here,
I’
m afraid.”

When they had gone he stood with his back to the fire without speaking immediately. The bitch thrust her long muzzle into his hand and he caressed her absently.

“That was your young man, wasn’t it?” he said then.

“What young man?” Emily hedged.

“The one you told me you ran after. How does he appear to you after two years?”

He asked the question casually, as if the answer had not much interest for him, and Emily said, with an effort to appear as casual:

“Like any other young man one has known and forgotten. How did you know—that it was the same one,
I mean?”

He stooped to rub Bella’s ears, his face tender with affection for her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps one senses these things. Strange he should turn out to be a friend of Vanessa’s. Is he staying long?”

“I don’t know. In any case we won’t see much of
him.”

“Why not?” He sounded surprised. “You heard him ask if he might come again.”

“Yes, but
—
”

He looked up from his dog and his face was the polite, expressionless mask she sometimes found so hard to read.