The Dark Shore (8 page)

“You—did sound a little strange.”

“I know.”
H
e picked up the wine-list and put it down again restlessly.
“
Le
t
me try and explain what’s been happening. I arrived here to find my mother had left her house in Halkin Street, so naturally I had to spend time
t
racing her before I could go and see her. That all took time, and then I managed to meet Justin and have a talk with him—”

“You did?” She had heard all about Justin, and Jon’s plans to invite him lo Canada. “Is it all right? What did he say?”

“He’s coming to Canada. He hesitated at first, but now he’s made up his mind, so that’s all settled, thank God.” He unfolded the table napkin absentmindedly and fingered the soft linen. “Then there were various other people I had to see—Max Alexander, an old friend of mine, for instance
...
and various others. I haven’t had much time to spare since I arrived.”

“No, you must have been very busy.” She watched his restless fingers. “What about the wedding, Jonny, and the honeymoon? Or haven’t you had much chance to make any more definite arrangements yet?”

“That,” said Jon, “is what I want to talk to you about.”

The first course arrived with the first wine. Waiters flitted around the table and then withdrew in a whirl of white coats.

“What do you mean, darling?”

He took a mouthful of hors d’oeuvre and she had to wait a moment for his reply. Then: “I want to get married right away,” he said suddenly, looking straight into her eyes. “I can get a special license and we can be married just as soon as possible. Then maybe a honeymoon in Spain, Italy, Paris—wherever you like, and a few days in England before we fly back to Canada with Justin.”

She stared at him, the thoughts whirling dizzily in her brain. “But Jon, Mummy and Daddy aren’t here. I—I haven’t bought all the trousseau
...
I was waiting till Mummy was here before I bought the last few things—”

“Hell to the trousseau. I don’t care if you come away with me dressed in a sack. And why can’t you go shopping without your mother? I’m sure your taste is just as good if not better than hers.”

“But Jon—”

“Do you really feel you can’t get married without your parents being here?”

She swallowed, feeling as if she was on a tightrope struggling to keep her balance. “I—I just want to be fair to them, and—and I know
...
Yes, I do want them to be here, Jon,
I
really do
...
But if—I just don’t understand. Why are you in such a hurry to get married all of a sudden?” He looked at her. She felt herself blush without knowing why, and suddenly she was afraid, afraid of the Distant Mood, afraid of hurting her parents, afraid of the wedding and the first night of the honeymoon.

“Jon, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hand closing on hers across the table. “That was wrong of me. Of course you shall have your parents here. I was just being selfish and impatient.”

“Perhaps I’m the one who’s being selfish,” she said ashamed. “I did say I wanted a quiet wedding—
”

“But not as quiet as the one I’ve just suggested.” He wasn’t angry. “It’s all right—I understand. We’ll keep it the way you want it. After all, the actual wedding will be much more important to you than to me. That’s only natural.”

“I suppose so,” she said, struggling to understand. “The wedding’s the bride’s day, isn’t it? And then, of course, you’ve been married before so—”

“So I’m
blasé
about it!” he teased, and she smiled.

They concentrated on the hors d’oeuvre for a few minutes.

“Sarah.”

Something else was coming. She could sense her nerves tightening and her heart thudding a shade quicker as she waited.

“No matter when we get married, I would like to talk to you a little about Sophia.”

She took a sip of wine steadily, try
i
ng to ignore the growing tension in her limbs. “You needn’t talk about her if you don’t want to, Jon. I understand.”

“I don’t want you to get one of these dreadful first-wife complexes,” he said, laying down his knife and fork and slumping back in his chair. “Don’t for God’s sake, start imagining Sophia to be something so exotic that you can hardly bear to tip-toe in her footsteps. She was a very ordinary girl with a lot of sex-appeal. I married her because I was young enough to confuse lust with love. It’s quite a common mistake, I believe.” He drained his glass and toyed idly with the stem as his eyes glanced round the room. “For
a while
we were very happy, and then she became bored and I found I could no longer love her or confide in her as I had when I married her. We quarreled a lot. And then, just as I was thinking of the idea of divorce, she had the accident and died. It was complete and utter hell for me and for everyone else who was staying at Clougy at the time, especially as the inquest had a lot of publicity in the local papers and all sorts of rumors started to circulate. One rumor even said that I’d killed her. No doubt some vicious-minded crank had heard we weren’t on the best of terms and had drawn his own melodramatic conclusions when he heard that Sophia had fallen down the cliff path and broken her neck on the rocks below
...
But it was an accident. The jury said
it could have been suicide because she wasn’t happy at Clougy, but that was ridiculous. They didn’t know Sophia and how much she loved life—even if life merely consisted of living
at
Clougy far from the glamor of London. Her death was an accident. There’s
no
other explanation.”

She nodded. Waiters came and went. Another course was laid before her. “And anyway,” said Jon, “why would I have wanted to kill her? Divorce is the civilized method of discarding an unwanted spouse, and I had no reason to prefer murder to divorce.” He started to eat. “However, I’m wandering from the point. I just wanted to tell you that you needn’t ever worry that you’re inadequate compared to Sophia, because there simply is no comparison. I love you in many different ways and Sophia I only loved in one way—and even that way turned sour in the end
...
You understand, don’t you? You follow what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Jon,” she said. “I understand.” But her thoughts, the most private of her thoughts which she would never have disclosed to anyone, whispered: She must have been very good in bed. Supposing
...
And then, even her private thoughts subsided into a mass of blurred fears and worries which she automatically pushed to the furthest reaches of her mind.

Jon was smiling at her across the table, the special message of laughter and love in his eyes. “You still want to marry me?”

She smiled back, and suddenly she loved him so much that nothing mattered in all the world except her desire to be with him and make him happy. “Yes,” she said impulsively. “I do. But don’t let’s wait for my parents, Jonny—I’ve changed my mind. Let’s get married right away after all
...
”

2

At half-past eleven that night, Jon dialed a London telephone number.

“Everything’s fine,” he said into the receiver presently. “We’re marrying this week, honeymoon in Paris for ten days, a pause for a day or two in London to collect Justin, and then we all go back to Canada—and well away from the anonymous phone caller and any danger of Sarah finding out anything. It’s best for her not to know.”

A pause.

“Yes, I did. No trouble at all. She didn’t even ask any questions about Sophia. I concentrated on the angle you suggested.”

Another pause. The night deepened. Then: “How will I explain to her? It’ll look pretty damned odd if I go back there, especially in view of my conversation with her tonight about Sophia
...
Why yes, of course! Yes, that’s reasonable enough ... All right, I’ll see you in about a fortnight’s time, then. Good-bye, darling
...
and think of me.”

3

The hotel in Paris was very large and grand and comfortable, and Sarah beneath her gay smile and excited eyes felt very small and lost and nervous. Later in the evening at the famous restaurant she tried to do justice to the food that was placed before her, but the nervousness and tension only increased until she could not eat any more. And then at last they returned to the hotel, said goodnight to the team on duty at the reception desk and travelled up in the elevator to their suite on the first floor.

Jon wandered into the bathroom. As Sarah undressed slowly she heard the hiss of the shower, and knew that she would have a few minutes to herself. She tried not to think of Sophia. What would Sophia have done on her wedding night? She wouldn’t have sat trembling through an exotic dinner or spent precious minutes fumbling to undress herself with leaden fingers
...
Perhaps Jon had lived with Sophia before he had married her. He had never asked Sarah to do such a thing, but then of course she was different, and Sophia had been so very attractive—and foreign
...
Being foreign probably made a difference. Or did it?

She sat down at the dressing-table in her nightdress and fidgeted uncertainly with her hair. I wonder what Sophia looked like, she thought. I’ve never asked Jon. But she must have been dark like Justin, and probably slim and supple. Darker and slimmer than I am, I expect. And more attractive, of course. Oh God, how angry Jon would be if he could hear me! I must stop thinking of Sophia.

Jon came back from the bathroom and threw his clothes
ca
relessly into an armchair. He was naked.

“Perhaps I’ll have a bath,” said Sarah to her fingernails. “Would it matter, do you think?”

“Not in the least,” said Jon, “except that we’ll both be rather hot in bed.”

The bathroom was a reassuring prison of steam and warmth. The bath took a long time to run, almost as long as it took her to wash. She lingered, drying herself and then paused to sit on the stool as the tears started to prick her eyes. She tried to fight them back, and then suddenly she was caught in a violent wave of homesickness and the tears refused to be checked. The room swam, the sobs twisted and hurt her throat as she fought against them, and she was just wondering how she would ever have the strength to return to the bedroom when Jon tried the handle of the locked door.

“Sarah?”

She wept soundlessly, not answering.

“Can you let me in?”

She tried to speak but could not.

“Please.”

Dashing away her tears she stumbled to the door and unlocked it. As she returned blindly to the stool and the mirror she heard Jon come in. She waited, dreading his mood, praying he wouldn’t be too angry.

“Sarah,” she heard him say. “Darling Sarah.” And suddenly he had taken her gently in his arms as if she had been very small, and was pressing her tightly to him in a clumsy comforting gesture which she found unexpectedly moving. She had never before thought him capable of great tenderness. “You’re thinking of Sophia,” he whispered in her ear. “I wish you wouldn’t. Please, Sarah, don’t think of Sophia any more.”

The fears ebbed from her mind; when he stooped his head to kiss her on the mouth at last she was conscious first and foremost of the peace in her heart before her world quickened and whirled into the fire.

4

When they arrived back in London ten days later, Jon spent two hours making involved transatlantic telephone calls and dealing with various urgent business commitments; his right-hand man, whom Sarah had met in Canada, had flown to Europe for some reason connected with the business, and the first night in town was spent in dining with him at a well-known restaurant. On the following day they had lunch with Camilla in Knightsbridge. When they were travelling back to their hotel afterwards, Sarah turned to Jon with a puzzled expression in her eyes.

“Where was Justin? He was never mentioned, so I didn’t like to ask.”

“There was a slight awkwardness when he decided he was going to Canada to work for me. After he had given in his notice and finished his work in the City I gave him some money and told him to go on holiday until I was ready to go back to Canada, and in fact he’s gone down to Cornwall to stay with a cousin of mine.”

“Oh, I see.”

The taxi cruised gently out of the Hyde Park underpass and accelerated into Piccadilly. On the right lay the green trees of the park and the warmth of the summer sun on the short grass. It was hot.

“As a matter of fact,” said Jon idly, glancing out of the window, “I’d rather like you to meet this cousin of mine. I thought maybe we might hire a car and drive down to Cornwall this weekend and spend a few days in the country before flying straight back to Canada.”

Sarah glanced up at the cloudless sky and thought longingly of golden sands and waves breaking and curling towards the shore. “That sounds lovely, Jonny. I’d like to stay just a little longer in England, especially as the weather’s so good now.”

“You’d like to go?”

“Very much. Whereabouts does your cousin live?”

“Well
...”
He paused. The taxi approached the Ritz and had to wait at the traffic lights. “As it happens,” he said at last, “she’s now living at Clougy.”

The lights flashed red and amber; a dozen engines throbbed in anticipation.

“
When I left ten years ago,” Jon said, “I never wanted to see the place again. I nearly sold it so that I could wash my hands of it once and for all, but at the last minute I changed my mind and gave it to my cousin instead. It was such a beautiful place, and so unique. I loved it better than any other place in the world at one time, and I suppose even after everything that had happened I was still too fond of the house to sell it to a stranger. My cousin goes back there once or twice a year and lets it for periods during the summer. I saw her briefly in London before you arrived, and when she talked of Clougy and how peaceful it was I found I had a sudden longing to go back just to see if I could ever find it peaceful again. I think perhaps I could now after ten years. I know I could never live there permanently again, but when my cousin suggested we go down to stay with her for a few days I felt so tempted to go back for a visit
...
Can you understand? Or perhaps you would rather not go.”

“No,” she said automatically, “I don’t mind at all. It won’t have any memories for me. If you’re willing to go back, Jon, then that’s all that matters.” But simultaneously she thought: How could he even think of going back? And her mind was confused and bewildered as she struggled to understand.

“It’s mainly because of my cousin,” he said, as if sensing her difficulties. “I’d love to have the chance to see her again and I know she’s anxious to meet you.”

“You’ve never mentioned her to me before,” was all she could say. “Or is she one of the cousins on your mother’s side of the family, the ones you said you wouldn’t trouble to invite to the wedding?”

“No, Marijohn is my only relation on my father’s side of the family. We spent a lot of time together until I was seven, and then after my parents’ divorce my father took her away from the house where I lived with my mother and sent her to a convent. He was her guardian. I didn’t see much of her after that until I was about fifteen, and my father returned to England for good to live in London and remove Marijohn from the convent. I saw a great deal of her then until I married and went down to Cornwall to live. I was very fond of her.”

“Why didn’t you invite her to the wedding?”

"I did mention it to her, but she couldn’t come.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t mention her to you before,” he said vaguely as the taxi drew up outside the hotel. “I lost touch with her when I went to Canada and I didn’t honestly expect to see her again when I returned. However, she heard I was in London and we had a brief meeting
...
So much happened in those two days before you arrived, and then, of course, when you did arrive I forgot everything except the plans for the wedding and the honeymoon. But when I woke this morning and saw the sunshine and the blue sky I remembered her invitation to Clougy and started wondering about a visit to Cornwall
...
You’re sure you’d like to come? If you’d rather stay in London don’t be afraid to say so.”

“No, Jon,” she said. “I’d like to spend a few days by the sea.” And as she spoke she thought: There’s still so much about Jon that I don’t understand and yet he understands me through and through. Or does he? Perhaps if he really understood me he’d know I don’t want to go to the house where he lived with his first wife
...
But maybe I’m being unnecessarily sensitive. If he had an ancestral home I would go back there to live with him no matter how many times he’d been previously married, and wouldn’t think it in the least strange. And Jon has no intention of living at Clougy again anyway; he’s merely suggesting a short visit to see his cousin. I’m being absurd, working up a Sophia complex again. I must pull myself together.

“Tell me more about your cousin, Jon,” she said as they got out of the taxi. “What did you say her name was?”

But when they went into the hall Jon’s Canadian business associate crossed the lobby to meet them, and Marijohn wasn’t mentioned again till later in the afternoon when Jon went up to their room to make two telephone calls, one to his cousin in Cornwall and the other to inquire about hiring a car to take them to St. Just. When he came back he was smiling and her uneasiness faded as she saw he was happy.

“We can have a car tomorrow,” he said. “If we leave early we can easily do the journey in a day. We’ll be a long way ahead of the weekend holiday traffic, and the roads shouldn’t be too bad.”

“And your cousin? Is she pleased?”

“Yes,” said Jon, pushing back his hair in a luxurious, joyous gesture of comfort. “Very pleased indeed.”