Mistress of the House (7 page)

Jess came in to the kitchen.

“Well,” said Aunt Hilda pleasantly, “now we are all here, and can make a start.” She rose majestically and walked to the table. “Where are all you young people sitting? I think I shall sit here, if nobody minds.” She sat there, with her back to the fire and they gathered round the table.

Later they all went into the sitting room. It was comfortable and attractive, but Laurie missed the kitchen fire. She wondered if Aunt Hilda’s presence always meant a fire in the sitting room, and found out later that it did. Aunt Hilda severely disapproved of sitting round the kitchen fire. She understood that it was unavoidable that they should eat their meals there; that a dining room would be extravagant and unnecessary, with such a good fire there; but she could not reconcile herself to sitting there in the evening.

Laurie, however, found her pleasant, if a little condescending. She found, too, that Aunt Hilda intended to breakfast every morning with herself and Max. There was no need for her to be up so early as to breakfast with Mrs. Lorney, Jess and Roger; nor did Mrs. Lorney like the idea of cooking yet another meal after Max and Laurie had finished. So it was inevitably settled, and Laurie did not like it. She realized how much she had enjoyed these
tête-à-tête
meals with Max.

When Aunt Hilda joined them on the first morning, Mrs. Lorney vanished to do the sitting room fire—one extra job on her long list of daily jobs.

“I must hurry,” said Laurie, “or I shall be late.”

When she rose to go, asking Aunt Hilda to excuse her, Max went to the door with her.

“Don’t come back late,” he said, “because we’ll start right after tea.”

“I won’t,” she said, her smile bright for him.

He need not have reminded her, for their little excursion had been constantly in her mind, and remained there all day.

As tea was not quite ready when Laurie got home she went up to her room and changed her dress, putting on a gayer one than she allowed herself for working, and loosening her hair about her face. “You look very nice, Laurie,” was Mrs. Lorney’s comment when she re-entered the kitchen, and she put into words what Max was thinking. Jessica told herself dourly that clothes seemed to be all Laurie ever thought about. She said, as they sat at tea: “We’ve all seen the film, but Aunt Hilda hasn’t. Perhaps she would like to see it, too.”

Laurie sat suddenly immobile, disliking Jessica intensely. How could they politely refuse to take her if she wanted to go? yet her whole evening’s enjoyment would be spoiled. She glanced at Jess to see a little smile on her lips. Then she glanced at Max, who shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“Which film is this?” asked Aunt Hilda pleasantly, and, on being told about it, declared that she would very much enjoy a visit to the cinema, since the Laytons (with whom she had been staying) rather disapproved of this form of entertainment, and it would make an agreeable change. Max looked at Laurie with resignation.

“Well,” he said, “we are starting right after tea.”

Mrs. Lorney looked at Jessica with disapproval. She knew what was troubling her daughter, but it was unnatural and wrong that she should be so jealous concerning her brother. She said: “Oh, but Hilda, you really can’t go out tonight. Miss Stedman is coming up to see you, and staying for supper; and as her visit is entirely on your account...”

“Oh really? Angela Stedman? Now, isn’t that charming of her?” (Angela Stedman was the very elderly daughter of a baronet; a thin and wizened spinster with a sparkling sense of humor; and although Aunt Hilda did not appreciate the second, she had great admiration for the first.) “Then I’m sure Max will forgive me if I stay at home this evening.”

“Certainly,” said Max. “Perhaps another time...”

“Come on,” he whispered to Laurie as they left the table, “let’s go before anything else happens.”

Laurie hurried upstairs for her fur jacket, Max fetched a rug for the car, and they were hurrying off when Mrs. Lorney overtook them just outside the kitchen door. “Max,” she called softly.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Call in at Miss Stedman’s. Ask her to ’phone and say she’s sorry she can’t come. We’ll invite her some other time.”

“You sinner. Do you mean to say you invented it?”

“I did—but don’t ask me why.”

“Well,
I
think you’re a darling,” said Laurie.

They settled themselves in the car, Laurie wrapped the rug around her, and they set off. Max called in at Miss Stedman’s lovely Georgian house in the village, leaving Laurie in the car, but was there only a few minutes.

“She was most co-operative,” said Max when he came back, “and she wants to meet you, too. I’ll take you to tea there one day.”

“Good,” said Laurie.

They arrived at the cinema, and they sat together in the very dark little gallery. Laurie was extremely conscious of Max’s nearness, and her elbow, touching his arm on the arm of the chair, seemed to be the only part of her that was really alive. She remembered innumerable occasions when she had sat in more luxurious cinemas than this one, accompanied by various young men, and had waited with amused resignation for the moment when they would feel for her hand, hold it and caress it for the rest of the evening. Sometimes, she had invented excuses for withdrawing it, sometimes she had been willing enough to leave it where it was, but it had never been a matter of the slightest importance. Now, because Max made no slightest move towards her, she found herself tempted to slip her hand into his. It could be a spontaneous, friendly gesture, meaning very little, but Laurie could not do it, knowing that, in her case, it was not spontaneous and would mean a good deal. She thought that her concentration on it might put the idea into Max’s mind, but this notion bore no fruit. They sat the program through with no more communication than an occasional smile, or an occasional ironical comment from Max.

Afterwards, Max took her to a restaurant for supper. It could not compete with the restaurants that Laurie usually frequented, but if it was less grand, it was more friendly. It was not large, and was comfortable. The younger element of the cinema-goers patronized it for supper, and soon after Max and Laurie arrived, it was full up. They had a corner table for two, and the proprietor himself came up to greet Max.

“Well, Max, my boy,” he said, beaming on them both, “it’s a long time since we had the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Let’s hope it won’t be so long till the next time,” said Max. “This is Miss Giles. She’s living with us for a while.”

“Well, you and Miss Giles shall have some special salad. There isn’t much of it. I made it myself and it’s very good. And my wife will want to come over and see you, I know.”

When he had gone, his wife came over. She greeted Max, was introduced to Laurie, and pulled up a chair for a few minutes’ talk. She spoke candidly and naturally about Max’s lameness, enquiring after his foot, and smiling understandably when he replied to her.

“It’s nice,” she said, beaming on Laurie, “to see you two together. And high time that Max came out of his shell. Such a silly boy, thinking it made the least bit of difference to anybody. It’s just what I say to my husband, time and again—‘Any girl would jump at Max, foot or no foot, and think herself lucky to get him.’ Am I not right, my dear?”

“Perfectly right,” answered Laurie.

Max smiled at Laurie when she had gone.

“Well meaning,” he said, “but she talks a lot.”

“She talks common sense,” said Laurie.

He looked at her for a moment seriously, and Laurie thought that he would like to speak to her seriously; but he said nothing. He brought out cigarettes and offered them to her. While they ate their delicious salad, which was a meal in itself, he talked of impersonal things, and when they went out into the cold spring night, and she tucked her hand into his arm as they walked to the car, he remained strictly impersonal. They settled themselves in the car.

“I know,” he said, “that it hasn’t been a very exciting evening for you, Laurie. The cinema’s only second-rate, and Dick’s place is homely, but it’s the best that this town can do for you at this time of night But I don’t have to apologize for the drive home by moonlight; that is something that you don’t get in London, or in many other places for that matter. We’ll go over the hills; and if you don’t think it’s one of the loveliest drives you ever had, you’re not the kind of girl I take you for.”

They were well out of the town before Laurie said: “What kind of girl
do
you take me for?”

“That,” he said, “is a difficult question to answer.”

“Have a shot at it,” advised Laurie.

“Not now. It needs a cleverer person than I am to put it into the right words.”

“I hope it’s the kind that you like, anyway.”

“I think that goes without saying,” said Max.

“Does it? Oh, that’s nice to know.” Now she did manage to slip her hand into his arm in a spontaneous gesture, and she left it there, not knowing if he was pleased or not They drove over the moonlit hills, and came slowly down to the village, not talking at all. They took the road for the farm and at length turned into their own lane. Laurie sighed.

“It’s been a lovely evening,” she said.

“Not too tame for you?”

“No.” They came over the last rise, tipped down to the farmhouse, drove through the open garage doors and came to a stop within a few inches of the whitewashed wall. Max switched off the lights and they were in quiet darkness. Laurie did not move for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said. “I enjoyed it very much.”

“That goes for me, too.”

“And I’m so glad that Aunt Hilda didn’t come.”

“Are you? Well,
that
goes for me, too.”

“Why?” asked Laurie turning her head towards him.

“Why?” Max laughed, and then was silent.

“Yes. Why?” she insisted.

“Well...” There was a breathless pause. Laurie waited. Max struggled with himself. “Well,” he repeated lightly, “I have rather too much of Aunt Hilda to want to take her to the pictures with me.”

“How disappointing,” said Laurie. “I thought that at least, you would tell me you enjoyed my company.”

“You don’t need telling that” he said, his voice suddenly rough with feeling. He leaned across her to open the door for her to get out, and because Laurie’s hand was still in his left arm, he used his right and this brought them so close together that Laurie caught her breath sharply. The slightest movement brought her cheek against his. Almost automatically, she was in his arms and was lost in his kiss.

Reluctantly, he let her go. Reluctantly, she got out of the car and walked out of the garage into the moonlight. She waited for Max to close the doors, and when they turned to walk to the house, she put her hand in his arm and drew close to him. In the deep shadow outside the kitchen door, she paused, looking up at him, and when he would have put his hand on the latch, she held it with her own.

“Laurie,” he said, despairingly, and took her into his arms. She leaned on him gratefully, wanting never to move. After blissful seconds, she turned her head up to him, and if it occurred to her for a brief moment that he kissed her unwillingly, she soon forgot it in the ecstasy that poured over her at the touch of his lips.

At last, they went in, Laurie transported into a new world of happiness. Only one person was in the kitchen, and that was Jessica. She looked up at them, well aware how long ago their footsteps had stopped outside the door, and she saw that there was something fresh between them.

“Oh hallo, Jess,” said Max pleasantly. “You weren’t waiting up for us, I hope?”

“I was,” she said grimly. “You’ve never been as late as this before. I thought you’d had an accident.”

“Nonsense. I must have been later, quite often.”

“Only in the old days,” said Jessica.

Max realized with surprise that what she said was true. “Well,” he said pleasantly, “it’s time I stopped being such a stick-in-the-mud, isn’t it?”

Jessica threw a look of such intense dislike at Laurie that it penetrated the glowing atmosphere all round her. She pulled herself together.

“I’ll go straight up,” she said. “Goodnight, Jessica. Goodnight, Max.”

“Goodnight, Laurie,” he said, and limped across the room to open the door for her. She went up the stairs with her candle, and set it on the tallboy in her room. Then she sat in her armchair, fully dressed, living again the last part of what had been a wonderful evening.

CHAPTER SIX

During the few days which followed Laurie’s little trip with Max, it became obvious to her that something had gone wrong. The golden dream in which she had been wrapped since that evening slowly disappeared, and she woke from it to find that she was farther from Max than she had ever been. The times of the day at which she had been almost certain of seeing him—usually meal times—no longer brought him into the house. Either he got his milking finished earlier, or went back to finish it later, because breakfast time found Laurie with only Aunt Hilda for company: and several times he did not bother to come in for tea. There was, of course, the possibility that he did not find Aunt Hilda’s company any attraction, but Laurie could not give this much credence as his own family repeatedly expressed surprise at his not arriving. Nor did she see him about the farm. He had been used to come out of the dairy, or granary, or various barns, if she passed, to enjoy a chat with her; but now she took her way unchallenged. Not only did it surprise her. It hurt her extremely.

She was in love. She had admitted it to herself with pleasure and pride. Several times before she had wondered if she were in love, but this time there was no doubt about it. She had admitted it on that pleasant evening, and she had woken the next morning with the glorious certainty coloring the whole day for her. She had looked forward to seeing Max, to discovering that what had happened to her, had happened to him, too. And Max had not appeared. When she did see him, he appeared to avoid her; to evade the necessity for looking directly at her. There seemed to be no opportunity for speaking to him alone; and after dark, when the family gathered round the fireside, there was always Aunt Hilda to monopolize him in conversation.

Laurie began to feel acute disappointment. She began to doubt. She had really thrown herself at his head. He had meant nothing at all. Before that evening, he had taken pleasure in her company, so that obviously he liked her; but she had gone too far in wanting anything more.

Then she met him in the wood where once before she had walked with him. Or, more correctly, she came across him there; for he was sitting on a mossy bank, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, in an attitude of the utmost dejection. She hesitated, at sight of him, afraid to intrude in something that did not concern her. Should she go back quietly the way she had come, hoping that he would not see her? or should she try to get back to their former friendliness and see if she could help him? She took a step forward, still doubting, and he heard the movement on the dry leaves and looked up.

“Oh, Laurie,” he said, and started to get up.

“Don’t get up,” she said, and joined him at the little bank and sat beside him. And, before she would allow further thought to change her mind, she said swiftly: “What is the matter, Max, is something wrong?”

“No,” he said, smiling at her, “there’s nothing wrong.”

“But,” doubtfully, “you looked so miserable just now.”

“No. Just tired, Laurie, just tired.”

“If you were tired, it was silly to come so far.”

“Yes, perhaps ... I think the spring evenings make me tired.”

She was quiet, feeling rejected.

“I expect you wanted to be alone,” she said.

“I did,” he said. “But don’t get up and go away, now you’re here.”

“Well, of course I shall,” said Laurie, beginning to rise. “I don’t intend to intrude on your privacy.”

His hand was on hers, holding her back.

“Don’t be foolish,” he said, laughing at her.

She looked down at his hand over hers, and stayed where she was, wanting to hold it in both of her own, wanting to feel his arms about her again, and forcing herself to steadiness. They were silent for a little while, and when Laurie looked up, she found that Max’s eyes were upon her.

“Have I been rude to you?” he asked. “You look despondent.”

“You’re never rude to me ... Unless it’s rude to avoid me as you’ve been doing lately.”

“I’ve been busy, Laurie.”

“I know. But you have to eat breakfast if you
are
busy.”

“The milk lorry comes earlier in the spring and summer. We finish a bit earlier.”

It was a valid excuse, but it did not convince her. She looked up at him, and took her courage in both hands.

“It isn’t that,” she said “You are keeping away from me, but there’s no need to do that, Max. Do you think I’m going to worry you? You used to like walking and talking to me.”

“Of course I like it, Laurie. You know that. I’m not keeping away from you...”

“You are. Look, Max, let’s be honest We’ve been such good friends. Haven’t we?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s only—the other evening that has spoiled it all, let’s forget about it and go back to where we were.”

He smiled at her.

“We’re good friends again, aren’t we?” she said.

“Yes, of course.”

“And you won’t go on avoiding me?”

“No, Laurie.”

Unaccountably, two tears sprang into her eyes, but she looked away from him until she could blink away. Then she jumped to her feet and looked down on him with a too-gay and too-bright smile.

“Then that’s settled. Now we know where we are. And when you’re miserable, Max, you must tell me about it and let me help.”

“I shouldn’t dream of burdening my friends, if I
were
miserable.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“Would you come to me, if you were unhappy?”

“Yes, of course I should.”

“Why don’t you, then?”

“I?” She stared at him. “I’m never unhappy.”

“Not now?”

“Well, just the least bit.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me. I like you very much, Max.”

They stood and stared at each other. Laurie’s smile disappeared, and a suspicion crept into her mind and grew there. She searched his face for confirmation of her suspicion but could find nothing there. False pride kept her silent for a while, but something stronger than it finally impelled her to speak.

“All right,” she said, with an odd air of defiance and challenge. “I am unhappy.”

“But why?” he asked, with quick concern.

“Because,” she said, with another very bright smile, “I want something that I cannot have.”

“What is it? Is it something that I could get for you?”

“You could. But why should I bother you?”

“Because you know quite well, Laurie, that I would like to do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Why? Well, that’s an unnecessary question. Haven’t we just decided that we’re good friends?”

Laurie was silent. “What is it?” asked Max.

“Well,” she said slowly, “I’m in love.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s rather different.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

“Even so, I can’t imagine your not being able to get what you wanted.”

She smiled at him.

“Have you ever been in love, Max?”

“Now, Laurie, you don’t want the details of my love life, I’m sure.”

“No. But have you?”

“Yes.”

“And how did you set about getting what you wanted?” He hesitated.

“I know,” said Laurie, “you never had the slightest difficulty. But what would you do if you were confronted by somebody really obstinate?”

“Oh, I suppose I should stick at it until I wore her down.”

“I don’t think I could do that,” said Laurie.

“I can’t imagine the need for it,” said Max. “The man must be a lunatic.”

“No. He’s just rather obstinate, with an enormous inferiority complex.”

He looked quickly at her. She returned his look, with a quite serious expression. She watched the struggle going on inside him, and did not move an eyelash. He turned away from her, and still she stood motionless and quiet, until at last he turned back.

“Laurie,” he said, feeling his way.

“Yes, Max?”

“Look, my dear, we haven’t known each other long. And you—you feel a little sorry for me, and...”

“I do
not
feel sorry for you,” she interrupted.

“You have a sweet, compassionate nature, and you are going out of your way to be nice to me.”

“Oh, be quiet,” she said. “If you can’t talk sense. Don’t you realize what nonsense all that is?”

“Is it?”

“Yes. I’m not feeling compassionate about you. I don’t think you need it. I’m sorry, of course, for your sake, Max, that you limp; but as far as I’m concerned, I never think about it. You have so much else. Max, couldn’t you forget about it yourself just for five minutes?”

“I never forget about it.”

“Not for long enough to be honest with me?”

“Never for a second when I’m with you.”

“But why?”

“Laurie, must we have all this out?”

“Yes, we must because it means a lot to me.”

“Well, then, I remember it constantly because it’s the one serious handicap to telling you that I love you.”

“There,” she said. “Why couldn’t you say so before, and save my pride for me? Why make me corkscrew it out of you? If it’s true, of course. It is true, isn’t it Max?”

“Yes, it’s true,” he said with bitterness.

She looked at him seriously.

“And you’re not pleased about it. Is that why you were miserable when I found you, Max?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you pleased? Is there some obstacle in the way?”

“Don’t you see any obstacle?” he asked.

“Do you mean Jess?”

“Jess? Good God, no. Why should Jess be an obstacle? Are you being deliberately stupid, Laurie? Don’t you think I’m handicapped? Don’t you look on my lameness as an obstacle? You talk about saving your pride—well, what about mine?”

“Max.”

“Yes?”

She held out her hand to him. He took it, and she pulled him closer to her. He looked down on her. “Put your arms round me,” she said, and when he held her closely to him, she said: ‘That’s better. That’s much better. You mean it, Max, that you love me?”

“Yes. I do.”

“And I love you. But you shouldn’t have made me tell you that way. Now, don’t worry about anything else for a little while.”

“But, Laurie...”

“I know. We’ll talk it all over after supper tonight. It’s heaven to be with you like this again.”

“But, darling ...”

“Oh, must you argue? Well, what is it, then?”

“Look, Laurie, you must get this straight. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“I know. We haven’t got as far as that yet.”

“We’re not going to get as far as that. Do you think I would let you tie yourself to me? It would limit you so.”

“No it wouldn’t, Max. It would give me wings.”

“Don’t laugh about it. I’m serious. Listen, Laurie, I’m a cripple.”

“You are
not.
I will not have you say so.”

“You like dancing, and I can’t dance. You like games and plenty of walking, and I can’t share them. You would resent me all the time...”

“Oh, Max, you have a lot to learn.”

“And so have you.”

“All right. You’re not asking me to marry you. I understand that. But we love each other desperately, so please do forget the troubling things for a little. Come and sit down.”

They sat together on their bank again. Laurie buried her face in his shoulder and his arms held her close. The unhappiness died out of her, but Max was troubled.

Some time after supper that night, Laurie put on her coat and went out into the garden. She walked through the small flower garden, and past the kitchen garden in the shadow of the tall rhododendron hedge. There, Max caught up with her, and she turned into his arms.

“No,” he said. “No more of that. We’re going to be very sensible.”

“Just as you say,” she agreed, but slipped her hand into his arm, while they walked out of the kitchen garden to the low stone wall on the far side of the hedge. They sat on it, side by side, and Laurie waited for him to begin.

“Since we were up in the wood,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about us, Laurie; and I can see quite plainly that it wouldn’t do. But don’t think I liked coming to that conclusion. I was very tempted to take things as they are, and not to bother about consequences. You know that I love you, so there’s no need to shy about that any longer. I love you, Laurie, and I wish with all my heart that I could honestly ask you to marry me. God, how I wish I were just as I used to be. But that’s dodging the issue. I knew that I couldn’t bear to take the risk.”

“The risk of what?” asked Laurie in a low voice.

“The risk of having you and losing you. The risk of causing you unhappiness.”

“I think you would make me very happy.”

“For a while, yes. I think I could. But there are so many things that we can’t share; and they are the things you like. If you dance, or play tennis, or join in other fun with other young people, you would have to do those things without me. I shouldn’t like that and no more would you at first; and later on, there would be somebody else who would do all those things with you, and then I should lose you.”

“No. You’ll never lose me.”

“You’re very definite, Laurie, but I’m ten years older than you are, and I think I know much more about the world.”

“Do you mean,” asked Laurie, “that your mind is quite made up?”

“Yes.”

“You love me, but you won’t marry me?”

“It sounds daft, but that is what is comes to.”

“And that way, you’re causing us both unhappiness.”

“Only for a while.”

“Do you think yours is only for a while?”

“Oh, God, don’t tease me, Laurie.”