My Sister Celia (21 page)

“She
’
s my sister,” thought Freda fiercely. “I
’
m not going to take instructions about her from anyone. Not even from Brian. I
’
m going to see what she has to say to me. I
’
m going to judge for myself how she feels. And if I think she should be told—”

Without finishing the sentence, even in her own thoughts, Freda flung on her dressing-gown and crossed the tiny landing.

“Celia,” she said softly outside the half-open
door.

But there was no reply.

She stood there, undecided, listening, and the silence was so intense that she thought she should be able to hear Celia
’
s breathing. Certainly, if she were
deeply asleep...

On impulse, Freda pushed the door fully open and looked in. Then, as the brilliant moonlight picked out every detail for her, she uttered a gasp.

The room was empty. There was no one in Celia
’
s bed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

In
the
first shocked moment of discovery, it seemed to Freda that only something tragic could explain
Celia’s absence.

“What
has she done with herself?” she said aloud, with a gasp of fear. “Celia! Oh, why did I ever agree to this silly and dangerous pretence?”

She walked distractedly about the little room, rubbing her hands nervously together, talking to herself since there was no one else to talk to.

“The bedclothes haven
’
t even been turned back. Then she hasn
’
t been home at all. She must still be out with Larry. And that must mean—”

Well, what did it mean? Could there have been
an accident?

But no, she assured herself, as she began to grow calmer—if there had been any accident on the short way home, she and Brian could not have failed to come upon some signs of it. Then, for some inexplicable reason of their own, Celia and Larry must be motoring round the countryside.

And, even as she came to this conclusion, Freda heard sounds of a car coming along the road and stopping outside the cottage.

Feeling in some way a guilty intruder, she ran back to her own room, where she stood, undecided, trying to make up her mind whether to pretend in her turn, that she was asleep in bed, or whether to go down boldly and court discussion with Celia.

Then the memory of her terror when she first stood beside Celia
’
s empty bed decided her. She had had enough of masquerading. The anguish of supposing that her play-acting might have brought disaster to Celia was still fresh upon her. Whether Brian liked it or not, she was going to have done with pretending.

While she had been coming to this decision, Celia and Laurence had evidently said their good nights, for she now heard the front door of the cottage open, and only Celia
’
s footsteps came in.

“Celia!” She called out in as natural a voice as she could manage. “I
’
m in, so don
’
t think there
’
s a burglar upstairs.”

She came to the head of the staircase and looked down into the half-lit room below. Celia looked up, and for a moment Freda thought she saw consternation on her sister
’
s face. Then Celia
’
s characteristic smile flashed out and she said, in almost her normal tone,

“Hello! I didn
’
t expect you and Brian to break things up yet.”

“N-no? Well, I was suddenly tired. I suppose it was our early start this morning. You said you were tired too. I thought until a few minutes ago that you were fast asleep in bed.”

She came slowly down the stairs now, until she stood only a few steps above Celia.

“Once I got into the open air again, I felt better,” Celia explained lightly.

“Then have you just been—driving around?” Freda asked a little diffidently.

“Yes. At least—no. Not only that. It seemed such a wonderful moonlight night that our first idea was just to go for a short run. Then”—Celia laughed a trifle self-consciously—
“
I don
’
t know whether there
’
s something catching about engagements, Freda, or whether it was the force of example. But—” She paused, and the most dreadful premonitory chill slid down Freda
’
s spine.

“Wh-what do you mean?” she said, moistening suddenly dry lips with the tip of a nervous tongue.

“Can
’
t you guess?” Again that little, not entirely natural laugh, though Celia
’
s eyes looked bright and clear. “Larry and I started talking about your engagement and suddenly we found we were talking about ourselves instead. And—well, Freda, the obvious happened. We thought we
’
d make it a double engagement. And so—we
’
re engaged too.” For a moment Freda thought the cottage clock on the wall had stopped. At any rate, she didn
’
t hear its loud, companionable tick for several seconds. What she did hear was her own voice saying, in a thin unconvincing sort of tone,

“How wonderful.”

“Yes—isn
’
t it?”

Slowly Freda came down the last few steps and, putting her arms round her sister, she kissed her. “Darling,” she said, “are you very happy?”

“Yes, of course. Aren
’
t you?”

“No,” said Freda, without any possibility of stopping herself. And then she burst into tears.

“Freda!” Celia cried out in amazement. “What on earth is the matter?”

“Everything,” sobbed Freda. And wrenching herself away from Celia
’
s eager, detaining hands, she went and sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs they had chosen together and, burying her face in her hands, she cried and cried.

“But I don
’
t understand!” Celia followed and stood over her, distracted and anxious. “What
’
s wrong, darling? You
’
re just engaged. You should be madly happy. Brian
’
s the dearest man on earth—and you
’
re going to marry him.”

“I
’
m not,” gasped Freda, with all the force of her angry conviction.

“But”—Celia
’
s voice trailed away incredulously. Then
sh
e found it again, to ask almost
apologetically
, “Do you mean that you
’
ve—quarrelled or something?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that.”

“Then I simply don
’
t know what you
’
re talking about,” said Celia helplessly.

“No, no—how could you? I
’
ll try to explain.” Freda checked her sobs, clasped her hands together, and tried to imagine what she was to say.

One thing was certain. She must not betray Brian, or breathe any word of his ill-starred planning. But, at the same time, she could not go on with this horrible mockery of an engagement.

“It
’
s all my fault,” she began, in a low voice.

“I
’
m sure it isn
’
t,” declared Celia loyally.

“I ought to have known my mind better.” Freda tried to infuse a sort of embarrassed remorse into her tone. “But it—it was all so unexpected. I like Brian most awfully—I wouldn
’
t hurt him for the world. And somehow, in the garden—with the moon and
everything
—”

“The moon wasn
’
t up then,” Celia pointed out, practically.

“Well, it all seemed so
romantic,
anyway. I
’
d never had anyone make love to me before. I suppose I was—thrilled and rather carried off my feet. Then he asked me to marry—to be engaged to—him. It was all so wonderful and charming—and flattering. I couldn
’
t imagine there was any answer but
‘
Yes
’
.” There were a few odd moments of silence. Then Celia said, in a stifled sort of voice,

“When did you know it should have been
‘
No
’
?”

“Oh, almost immediately! But by then we had come indoors and told you and Laurence, and you were making such a fuss and sounded so pleased
—”

“Did I seem pleased?” Celia spoke in a small, strange voice.

“Oh, yes.” Freda drew a careful breath. “Weren
’
t you?”

“No,” said Celia flatly. “I could have died with misery and horror.”

“Celia! Why?” A sort of shocked delight made that sound almost an octave higher than Freda had intended.

“Because
I
wanted Brian.”

Again there was a pregnant silence. Then Freda said gently,

“But you could have had him, dear, almost any time during the last few years.”

“I know. Do you think that made it any easier for me in that ghastly moment of self-revelation?” Celia pushed back her hair with a distracted gesture. “I
’
d never
really
imagined life without Brian. It would be like imagining life without the sun—or water—or anything else which is taken for granted but absolutely vital to one
’
s existence.”

“Yes—I see. You took him for granted, as you say. There were no delicious and romantic surprises about Brian. He was devotedly yours—and always there.”

“Why, yes. How well you put it. How did you know?”

“They
’
re your own words, Celia dear,” Freda smiled faintly. “You used them when we discussed him, once before.”

“Did I?” Celia looked a little amused herself then. But almost immediately her expression became grave again. “I can
’
t describe the shock when I found he was
not
devotedly mine—that he wouldn
’
t always be there!” She actually closed her eyes for a second and swallowed, as though she literally tasted the bitterness of that moment again.

“Well”—it was Freda
’
s turn to smile slightly, though the tears were still wet on her cheeks—
“
at least he administered a surprise at last, even if it was not a delicious or romantic one. You mean that you just
knew
in that moment that—it was Brian for you?”

“Yes. Though it seems almost indecent to say that to you when you
’
ve just got engaged to him.
”

“But I
’
m in the process of getting disengaged as soon as I can,” Freda stated quickly. “And
you
will have the job of consoling him, Celia,” she added, with sudden inspiration.

“You—think so?” Celia smiled slowly.

“Yes. I
’
m sure of it.”

“But if he asked you to marry him, in that impetuous way, he must be very much in love with you, Freda.”

“Oh, no!” Freda spoke with almost too much cheerful confidence about that. “I was never anything but second-best. He just got tired of waiting and waiting for you. He thought you were genuinely
in love with Larry—Oh!
”
Suddenly Freda
broke off, as she remembered another vital point. “You
’
re engaged to Larry, of
c
ourse
, aren
’
t you?”

“Well—yes.” Celia seemed reluctant about giving much thought to that now.

“But if you felt as you say about Brian, why on earth have you just got engaged to Larry?”

“For that very reason,” said Celia, as though the fact were self-explanatory.

“It
’
s not a very good reason,” Freda objected.

“Oh, in a way, it is.” Celia sighed impatiently. “I was terrified at the thought of a future without Brian—of having to watch while he made a happy life with someone else. I couldn
’
t even hate you, Freda.” She smiled suddenly, her affectionate, heartwarming smile. “And—I couldn
’
t possibly get away from you both. I simply
had
to find something— someone—to help me build my defences. Larry
’
s a dear, of course. I even thought once that I was in love with him. When he—when he asked me to marry him, it seemed almost providential.”

“Did it?” said Freda wonderingly, because she found it rather difficult to follow her sister
’
s line of reasoning. “But wasn
’
t it a bit hard on him?”

“Hard on him?” repeated Celia, with the surprise of one who saw things always—though in the nicest possible way—from her point of view. “No, I don
’
t think so. If I
’
d married Larry, I
’
d have done my best to make him happy and make him a good wife.
”

“It doesn
’
t sound a very inspiring prospect,” said Freda soberly.

“It was better than having
nothing
to set against the loss of Brian,” retorted Celia, still strictly from her own point of view.

“Yes—I see. But it
’
s going to be a bad blow for him now, isn
’
t it?”

Again Celia showed some reluctance to consider that.