Over the Blue Mountains (22 page)

“No,” she gasped, “read what he says. I don’t deserve it!” Slowly, Juliet picked up the first page and read:

Beloved,—I have no right to address you like this, since I am Max’s friend, and I think I’d have managed to keep silent if I truly believed you loved him, but—

She put down the letter again, for the rest of it was not for her, she saw. And, realizing that Verity’s tears were tears of frightened, passionate relief, Juliet just dropped a kiss on the top of her head and went out of the room.

It was the strangest day after that. Max either had, or arranged to have, business in Adelaide all day. And when Verity joined Juliet at lunch, it was obvious that she was in a happy, chastened and indescribably relieved mood.

“I can’t, in all decency, say anything in front of Max about my happiness, so you’ll just have to put up with it all, Juliet,” she said.

“I don’t mind.” Juliet smiled at her across the table. “But apart from any strain of hiding your feelings, don’t you think that in the circumstances we ought to leave for home as soon as we tactfully can?”

“Why, of course. I asked Max to make the arrangements today. That’s one reason that he’s gone into Adelaide. It can’t be anything but embarrassing for us all if you and I stay on.”

“That’s what I thought,” Juliet said, with every appearance of agreement. But in reality her heart sank wretchedly at the thought of leaving.

Not only could she never expect to see this heavenly place again. When she said goodbye to Max, she supposed it might well be for always. With the breaking of his engagement to Verity, his connection with the family would cease, and in this country of terrible distances, how could one hope for casual meetings?

There was always the link of Carol, of course. But even that seemed uncertain and unsubstantial at the moment.

In the early evening Max returned, and because of his coolness and self-possession, the situation was not as embarrassing as it might have been. To Juliet, when they were left alone for a minute or two, he said, “I suppose Verity has told you that we have broken our engagement?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Juliet felt bound in common politeness to say that, however inaccurately and, a little conscience-stricken, she added immediately, “I mean—I’m sorry if you’re very unhappy about it.”

He smiled slightly and ruefully.

“No man exactly likes being—rejected, Juliet. But Verity was so positive about her change of feeling that I could do nothing but accept her decision. I knew already, of course, that she was dismayed by her practical experience of life here and, if she were going to find it something she couldn’t face, I suppose it was a great deal better that she should find that out before she married rather than after.”

“Of course,” Juliet said.

But she was thinking,
How cool—almost cold—he is about it. I wonder if he was right when he used to declare to Carol that he couldn’t feel very deeply about anyone.

But she changed her mind about that the following day when they actually came to the hastily arranged departure.

On the long drive to the airport, he was almost completely silent, and for the first time since she had known him, Juliet saw him profoundly depressed. Once or twice he made obvious efforts to disguise the fact, but they were useless, and Juliet, in her own unhappiness, could do little to help him.

Verity was the only happy one of the three of them. And, in her newfound consideration for others, she had to do her best to hide her good spirits. So that they were a very quiet and subdued trio who arrived at the airport, and Juliet felt that she hated, yet clung to, every minute of that last quarter of an hour with Max.

How tragic and banal to have to fill this precious meeting, which must inevitably be the last for some while if not forever, with meaningless phrases about the journey, the weather, the other passengers.

They sat on the wide leather seats, or walked about the restricted space, pretending to examine magazines, notices at the candy and tobacco kiosk or even the one or two stationary planes grounded outside the big windows.

It can’t
just end here,
Juliet thought despairingly.

But it seemed that it could. The minutes dragged their slow length across the face of the big clock and presently, with bright ruthlessness, a disembodied voice announced that their plane was ready to depart.

“Goodbye, my dear—good luck,” she heard him say to Verity, and characteristically they kissed each other, as though to show that they remained on terms of common-sense friendship.

“Goodbye, Juliet.” Her hand was in his now, and, quite unexpectedly, he bent and kissed her, too. She felt his firm mouth on hers—unsentimentally, even perhaps impersonally—and knew that this was what she would always remember of their goodbye.

“Goodbye, Max.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as tremulous as she felt. And at the very, very last moment, he said. “Write to me, will you, and let me know how things are with you?”

“Of course I will!” she cried, feeling like a prisoner reprieved. And as she went out into the hot sunshine of the airfield, she seemed to feel that, after all, she took with her one fine, tenuous little thread that bound her still to Max.

It was a completely uneventful flight during which Verity slept most of the time, apparently worn out with happiness and excitement. Only when they were nearing Bathurst did she wake up, looking indescribably fresh and happy, and say to Juliet, “We’re nearly there, aren’t we?”

“Yes. I think we have about ten minutes to go.”

“I expect Elmer will be at the airport. I sent him a telegram.”

Oh, fortunate Verity, who was going to meet her love, instead of having left him behind!

Elmer Lawson was indeed at the airport, to greet his beloved with such unfeigned delight that Juliet’s heart warmed to him. To see him with Verity was to know that she was safe and loved. And because Juliet had grown sincerely fond of her difficult eldest cousin during the past few weeks, she could not fail to experience some reflection of her happiness.

Juliet stayed overnight with the Lawsons and confirmed her earlier impression that they were kindly, common-sense people who had not lost their heads because of the considerable amount of money they had made. With them, Verity would have a chance to develop the better, more sensible and less selfish side of her nature and, judging from the kind but matter-of-fact way they treated her, Juliet guessed that there would be much affection for her but very little senseless “spoiling.”

Elmer offered, with the utmost good nature, to drive Juliet to Borralung next day. But it would have been cruel to take him from Verity almost as soon as he had found her. And, having discovered that she could cover the journey not too inconveniently by train and long-distance bus, Juliet refused his offer.

“You’ll explain to them at home, won’t you?” Verity said airily, as she bade Juliet goodbye. “Tell mother I’ll be down some weekend soon and that she’s not to worry.
You
can assure her of that, Juliet, having seen me and Elmer together.”

“Yes,” Juliet agreed with a smile. “I haven’t many misgivings about your future, Verity. I hope you’re going to be most awfully happy.”

“Oh, I shall be. Don’t worry,” Verity stated with confidence. And to show how friendly and thoughtful she had become, she kissed her cousin goodbye—though her improvement was sufficiently partial for her to forget all about expressing reciprocal wishes for Juliet’s happiness until at least half an hour after she had gone.

It was a long journey, and much more tiresome than Juliet had supposed, and sometimes it seemed to her that she must have been sitting for days in the hot, gritty little train as it puffed and jolted in a leisurely manner past whole forests of gum trees, through sun-parched scrubland, and across innumerable level crossings where bells rang incessantly.

At last, however, she reached the small station halt where she was to change over to the bus, and at this point the journey began to speed up and look as though it might eventually have an ending.

It was the very hottest part of the afternoon when she finally arrived at Borralung, but fortunately the bus route went right past the house, and so she was set down at the gate, and she left her luggage just inside for Andrew to bring up later.

Everything looked quite unchanged as she pushed open the screen door and came into the comparative cool of the house, and she had to remind herself that, after all, she had been away less than two weeks, even though it seemed to her that she had lived nearly a lifetime’s experience during that period.

“Hello, Juliet!” Aunt Katherine came out into the hall and kissed her in her own special manner, which was rather a soft bumping of cheeks than a genuine kiss. “Where is Verity and whatever has happened? You didn’t say anything in the wire except that we were to expect you today.”

“No, Aunt Katherine.” Juliet took off her hat and pushed back her damp hair. “I thought it would be easier to explain when I arrived.”

“Explain what?” Aunt Katherine asked very pertinently, and she seemed annoyed that the explanation was still further delayed by the arrival of her husband and Andrew, and then by Penelope who—though she was supposed to be undemonstrative—threw her arms around Juliet and kissed her.

“Now,” Aunt Katherine said, when at last they were sitting in the front room, “if all the family embraces are over, perhaps dear Juliet will give us the news.”

“The first piece of news,” dear Juliet explained apologetically, “is that Verity has broken off her engagement to Max
.
”

“She must be mad,” Aunt Katherine said, without emphasis but in a tone which gave “mad” its literal meaning.

“No, Aunt Katherine. She was eminently sane about it.” Juliet smiled slightly. “You see, she didn’t really love Max and—”

“Verity never really loved anyone,” interrupted Aunt Katherine with one of those flashes of bright intuition about her own family, “so there was no need to attach undue importance to that.”

“Well,” Juliet said thoughtfully, “perhaps it’s true that she never deeply loved anyone until recently. But then there was someone, Aunt Katherine, and so the engagement to Max became unreal and then impossible. The man she really loved was Elmer Lawson. She is engaged to him now,” Juliet added, realizing that she had not explained this salient point.

“Really, Juliet, you are exasperating! Why keep us all sitting on thorns like that, when you could have started off by saying that Verity was engaged to Elmer Lawson?”

“Who,” inquired Uncle Edmund at this point, “is Elmer Lawson?”

“Oh, my dear! A most eligible young man,” his wife reminded him impatiently.

“He was here the weekend of the fire, father,” Penelope said.

“Oh,
that
young man.” Uncle Edmund considered him in retrospect. “Seemed rather a sensible sort of fellow.”

“He is very nice,” Juliet said.

“He is very rich,” Aunt Katherine said. “Or at least, so I believe. From the little we saw of the family in Bathurst, they must certainly be what is called solid.”

“So Verity wants to marry into a solid family.” One of those extremely rare moments of humor that sometimes came to Uncle Edmund seemed to visit him at the thought of his indulged elder daughter in “a solid family.” “Well, I suppose she won’t think of asking our advice, so we may as well consider ourselves satisfied with the situation.”

“But I
am
satisfied,” Aunt Katherine asserted firmly. “More than satisfied. She will be hundreds of miles nearer to us than if she had married Max. And, to tell the truth, I never could think of Verity as cut out for life in the country.”

“What about Max?” Uncle Edmund inquired.

“Well, what about him?” Aunt Katherine wanted to know.

“It seems the moment to ask if he was very cut up about the broken engagement. Was he, Juliet?”

“I suppose ... he was, uncle. In fact, I’m sure he was the morning we left. He was very quiet and seemed dreadfully depressed.”

“He’ll get over it,” stated Aunt Katherine, who had a great talent for believing that things were as she wished they were.

“It’s to be hoped so,” Uncle Edmund agreed.

And then, strangely enough, there seemed very little more to explain or add. Juliet felt that the whole thing could hardly be over so simply and so ruthlessly. But Aunt Katherine—and to a certain extent Uncle Edmund, too—were realistic enough to know that when their elder daughter had decided to do something it was as good as done. Repining or advising would be equally useless. Verity had changed her fiancé, and there was nothing to do but welcome the new one.

“It seems—callous somehow,” Juliet said afterward to Penelope.

“But I suppose life is callous,” Penelope said a little sententiously. “Look at Martin.”

Mentally, and with a certain amount of shock, Juliet looked at Martin.

“What—about him?” she asked rather reluctantly.

“Well, he hasn’t had much luck or happiness, has he?”

“N-no. I suppose not.”

“He is looking forward immensely to your going to see him now you’re back.”

“Does he know I’m back?” Juliet looked surprised.