Mistress of the House (13 page)

* * *

They reached home late in the evening. The family had waited supper for them, and was delighted to welcome them back. There was a confused chatter for a while; everybody trying to talk at once—except Jessica. She sat quiet, but without her usual sulky expression. She did not look at Laurie. Roger reported on the farm, Mrs. Lorney and Aunt Hilda told them of the rest of the wedding reception, and how Beryl and Mrs. Giles had stayed an extra two days and thoroughly enjoyed themselves; and Max and Laurie talked of their round of gaiety in Town, and their meeting with Neville. Later, however, the exuberance wore off, and while Mrs. Lorney and Jessica cleared the supper table, the others gathered round the kitchen fire. The evening was chilly and the fire pleasant, but in a short time the weariness of her day of travelling, and the warmth of the room made Laurie drowsy and she decided to go to bed.

Max had made a fire in their bedroom too.

“Oh, how nice,” said Laurie, and stood and looked round the unfamiliar room. “And something is different. What is it?”

“Mother made new covers and curtains while we were gone, and changed things round a bit. Do you like it?”

“Very much. That’s why she wanted my opinion on those chintzes we saw in Town? Isn’t that kind of her? Though I still feel that I haven’t really any right to be in here.”

“You certainly have now, Mrs. Lorney; and I’m glad to have you here.” He wheeled the armchair before the fire. “Come and sit here with me for a while. I’ve often thought of having you here. Summer nights, when you were sleeping in the little room across the passage, I was often tempted to kidnap you and bring you here. I used to lie and think about you, Laurie, until I must have disturbed your rest for you; but now I don’t have to.” He shook his head, looking at her: “You can’t possibly know, Laurie, what you mean to me.”

“Darling, I’m so tired at this moment, I’m not even interested. Let’s come to bed.”

“Ungrateful woman. Here am I, pouring out the secrets of my heart for you...”

“And I don’t even want to hear them. Isn’t that disgraceful? Never mind—I’m too weary to care.”

Taking her into his arms, and pulling up the covers round her bare shoulders, Max said later, “Our holiday was very pleasant, Laurie. I enjoyed every moment of it. But I feel that our real married life begins right now. I hope I’m going to make you happy.”

“Don’t worry on that score, Max. I’m so happy right now that it’s a wonder I don’t burst with it.”

And with her head on his shoulder, and her hair tickling his cheek, Laurie realized that what she had said was true, and that she had never known a happiness so intense as this.

* * *

Max went back to his farming. Laurie went back to White Lodge for the short time needed to finish Mr. Humphries’s book. It seemed that life had scarcely changed its pattern at all, on the surface. Laurie returned to the farm at tea time, and found all the work done, all the cooking finished and tea ready. She had not yet started her own housekeeping. When the book was finished, she told herself, it would be different.

At White Lodge, her work was almost finished.

“I shall miss you,” Mrs. Humphries told her. “It’s been very pleasant having you in the house, and my husband has liked it as much as I have. And you’ve been a great help to him—always so willing and so understanding. I hope you will come and see us often.”

“Of course I will. And when Mr. Humphries needs anything done, in the secretarial line, I shall be delighted to come and help him.”

“That’s very kind of you. I’m sure he would appreciate it. And now I want to invite you to Diana’s birthday dinner. You and Max, and Roger and Audrey; and I want Jessica to come, but I’m not sure who to invite for her. I don’t think she gets on very well with Tommy. Ah, well, I’ll think about it. It’s on Wednesday week. Diana has a few day’s leave, and Neville is arranging to be here. I’m really very pleased with Neville. He’s been home more this summer than for many years past. I began to look round for a woman—you know how it is, they always say ‘
cherchez la femme
’; but I couldn’t hit upon anybody; so I’ve come to the conclusion that there must have been one in London, keeping him away from us for so long; and now it must be all finished with.”

The day of Diana’s birthday dinner was also the day on which Aunt Hilda was due to leave the farm for the winter. She had enjoyed the summer on the farm. Firstly, the weather had been most enjoyable. Some of her summers had been wet and dismal ones, but this, on the whole, had been very fine. Secondly, there had been a great deal going on, what with Laurie there, and her engagement and marriage to Max. Aunt Hilda had a large amount of news and gossip to impart, and would enjoy the imparting of it. She was almost sorry to leave, whereas usually, at the end of her six months, there was a faint relief and a looking forward to her next port of call. Moreover, Jessica had implied that things might not be the same next year, and Aunt Hilda worried a little about that. “You were almost turned out of your room last spring,” said Jessica, “and she had only just arrived here then. What she will do, now she’s mistress of the house, one can’t tell, but don’t reckon on finding everything the same.” Aunt Hilda was of an age when she wanted nothing to change. Laurie herself, however, did a little to reassure her. She said, as she kissed Aunt Hilda’s cheek in goodbye: “We’ll see you next spring, Aunt Hilda. And I hope you enjoy your stay in Town.”

Gala occasions at White Lodge were very different affairs from the homely ones of the farm. There was a great deal more formality. The dining room was resplendent with fine silver and glass, and masses of flowers. Blazing fires lit the drawing room and the hall, and the hall rugs had been rolled up and put away, so that there could be dancing after dinner. Diana was more silvery blonde than ever in a black dress, and Neville, helping to do the honors, showed himself once more as an accomplished host.

Laurie found that she was placed between him and Tommy at the table. Max was opposite, between Diana and one of Diana’s friends, and seemed to be competed for pretty openly.

Jessica, meanwhile, sat between Mr. Humphries and a handsome young doctor who had come from London with Freda and Diana. She had hoped to be next to Neville and was accordingly annoyed to find him with Laurie. Moreover, she was on the same side of the table, and could not see what went on between them, but she could hear Neville’s voice among the others and missed a good deal of what the young doctor said by trying to hear what Neville said. So that the young man gave up trying to impress her and she realized, too late, that she had offended him a little. Even so, she had not the requisite self-confidence or charm to apologize to him, and to coax back his interest in herself. She relapsed into silence, or answered Mr. Humphries’s politenesses, wondering bitterly why, among so many people enjoying themselves, she once more felt out of it.

Neville tactfully did a good deal to restore her good humor by dancing with her first.

‘This winy red suits you down to the ground, Jess,” he told her, his arm about her, his expert dancing making her feel that she was much better at this than she really was. “It makes your hair look darker, and gives you a sombre, mysterious look.”

Jess did not take it as a “pretty speech” as Laurie or Diana would have done. She nearly always said what she meant, and she imagined that other people did, as a general rule. Neville, however, usually said what he thought people would like to hear, a fact that doubtless accounted for much of his popularity. He had said more than once, to his mother: “Well, it’s so easy to make people happy. You can usually find something to congratulate a person about, so why not do it? If I flatter a woman, I can see her blossoming before my eyes. I don’t suggest that it should be done obviously, of course.” Most of Neville’s friends recognized his way of getting pleasantly through life: Laurie had talked of his “currency”—knowing it at once. It was pleasant to hear, it was probably true, but it did not mean that Neville was involved in any way. Jess did not recognize his speeches for what they were. When Neville talked of her sombre, mysterious look, she believed that he found her mysterious and attractive, when he called her “beautiful” she thought he found her actually beautiful, and when he applied terms of endearment, she did not understand that he applied them to most of his feminine friends.

So her dance with Neville restored much of her good humor, and she went on to dance with Tommy and the young doctor, with Roger and Peter and Benjy Somebody-or-other with a good grace. But this Benjy introduced a fresh note of discord.

“Who’s that girl dancing with Neville?” he asked Jessica. “Is she one of your locals, or did she come from Town?”

“She’s one of our locals, as you call them.”

“Pretty girl. I thought I hadn’t seen her before. Neville seems fairly smitten, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think. She’s my sister-in-law; and she’s—only been married a little while.”

“Oh, I say, I beg your pardon. Put my foot right into it, haven’t I? I’m frightfully sorry, believe me. It was just that they’ve been dancing together pretty well all the time; and they look very hand-in-glove together—or they just seem to, to me. I hope I haven’t offended you, or anything?”

“No,” said Jessica. “But you certainly got hold of the wrong end of the stick.”

“I’m sure I did,” he said. “I’m a tactless idiot—renowned for it.” But while he apologized to Jessica, and wondered if she had a soft spot for Neville herself, he told himself that Neville
was
smitten with the girl, and no mistake.

Jessica was glad when she got rid of him. He had roused the little jealous demon again, and she found herself watching Laurie with Neville. They weren’t dancing together all the time, anyway; for Laurie had gone straight back to Max, who was watching the dancing and talking to Mr. Humphries, and remained there, shaking her head in turn at Neville, Tommy and Benjy, and slipping her [—hand into Max’s arm. Jessica saw Max’s hand close over Laurie’s; saw the flashing smile he gave her as he turned his head quickly towards her, and quickly back again to Mr. Humphries, and saw that his fingers caressed hers continually.

Once more, Neville asked Laurie to dance. Once more, she shook her head.

“Go along, darling,” said Max. “Dance with Neville.”

“But I’d much rather sit here with you, and I
have
danced with Neville plenty of times.”

“Not nearly enough,” said Neville, holding out his hand to her. “Come along. Last time.”

“All right,” she yielded, rising and smiling at him. He put his arm round her, and they sailed off together, while Max watched them. They danced well together, and they obviously enjoyed it. Neville’s fair head was bent as he looked down into Laurie’s upturned face. She had her teasing look, Max thought. She was a lovely, gay creature; and he felt a moment of sharp regret that he was not able to dance with her, play with her, share with her all those gay occasions which so well suited her. And added to the moment of regret was the almost inevitable moment of doubt. Had he been right in taking her away from a gay life, to the solitude of a farm and a husband who could not share these gay occasions with her?

The music stopped. Neville said: “I could do with a drink. And you?”

“An ice for me, please. I find it awfully hot in here.” They went to fetch the ice and the drink.

“Let’s take them outside,” said Neville. “It’s a grand night. Moonlight. And quite warm.”

“Let’s,” agreed Laurie. They went out of the hall door, and into the garden. Max watched them go, and then turned to talk to Diana. Jessica watched them go, and did not hear what Roger, Audrey and Tommy were saying, clustered with her in one corner, with ices and drinks.

Neville and Laurie walked round the garden. Neville left his glass and Laurie’s little dish under a little shrub.

“Mother will find them,” he said. “Nothing can be in her garden without her knowing.”

“What’s the lovely smell?”

“The last of the roses. There’s quite a crowd of late comers. Especially the Étoile de Holland, which smells grand. I’ll get you some.”

“No, don’t. Not tonight, anyway. Thank you.”

“Just one, for its perfume. There you are.”

He gave her the rose, in bud. She smelled it and tucked it into the front of her dress.

“I think we’ll go back,” said Laurie.

He turned at once with her, and they walked towards the house. They were near it when the rose fell out of Laurie’s dress, and she said: “Oh, my flower,” and bent to pick it up. Neville bent at the same moment, and their hands touched as they both felt for the rose. His closed over hers, and as they stood up together, he pulled her close to him, and bent down to kiss her lips swiftly and surely.

Laurie stepped back at once.

“Laurie,” he said.

“You’re forgetting yourself, Neville.”

He stood still for a moment. He felt as if somebody had given him a blow between the eyes, unable to focus, unable to think or see clearly. But one fact emerged, and that one fact was quite plain.

“Laurie,” he said.

“I’m going back to the house,” she replied.

“No. Don’t do that. I want to talk to you. I’m an ass, Laurie, and I want to explain. Don’t go away just now.”

She waited.

“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry. Laurie, I want you to understand this. I kissed you on an impulse, not thinking who you were. Please try to understand. The garden and the moonlight, and the dancing and all that; and for a moment, you weren’t Laurie at all. Don’t think I’m a bounder and drop me, Laurie, will you? I think you and Max are—well, I said it before this evening—you’re grand guys and I’m fond of both of you. And I don’t in the least want to crash in and spoil my friendship with either of you. I’m sorry about the kiss and I won’t do it again.”

“Just another specialty?” she asked.

“Well, if you put it that way. I’m not going to deny that I find kisses in the garden very pleasant; but not with you, Laurie, as Max’s wife. It was a slip, and I’d like to be able to recall it. As I can’t, will you promise me to forget about it?”

“Well...”

“Come along, Laurie. Be generous. Let’s wipe it out, and I’ll behave myself in future. Honestly, love, I didn’t intend to do it.”

“All right, Neville. We’ll wipe it out. But if I were you, I should think twice before I kiss people on impulses, you may get into trouble one day.”

“I deserve it I know. But I’ll show you, by my future exemplary behaviour, how discreet I really am. And you won’t go all frozen on me, will you?”

“Of course not.”

“Or refuse to play tennis with me, or dance with me?”

“Well—no. On the old footing.”

“You’re a nice lass, Laurie.”

“And now,” said Laurie, “we’ll go back to the house.” They entered through the hall door. Max had vanished. Jessica was dancing with Roger, but her eyes followed the two of them as they crossed the hall, as they stopped to talk to Audrey, as they split up, Neville to dance with Audrey, and Laurie to talk to Diana. They looked just the same, she thought, and yet they were deceiving Max and everybody else. For Jessica had waited in impatience for them to return, and when the minutes slipped by with no sign of them, she went into the garden, standing in the shadow of the porch, to see if they were there. And had seen the kiss, had seen them conversing after it with apparent amiability. Her first reaction was a furious rage on Max’s account, and her second, a long way behind, was a jealousy for herself, because Laurie had tempted Neville away from her.