Authors: Barbara Perkins
‘I’m getting ready as fast as I can,’ he said shortly, and he sounded so much like the impersonal Kevin I had grown used to in the past few weeks, instead of the friendly Kevin of last night, that I turned back to peer at the early morning countryside, blinking a little and trying to concentrate on the wintry landscape. It was grey and soggy, but the clouds as I looked up for them were higher than they’d been for days, and not rain laden. I heard Kevin begin to lead Thunder out, blinked again, and looked round at him.
‘I’m sorry that you had to spend the night here because of me. I’m sorry if—’
‘Think nothing of it. But
don’t
start walking—or no further than the lane between the fords. You’d better promise, or I’ll—be thinking of you doing some damn fool thing like trying to find your way across the fields. I’ll get someone to come back and fetch you—understand?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘Charlotte.’ He dropped Thunder’s bridle, leaving the horse to stand, and walked slowly towards me. I felt like backing—but I was against the side of the barn already, so I didn’t. When he was in front of me I gulped and looked up—and saw him studying my face. I was well aware how awful it must look, but I tried to look as if I wasn’t, and said with an attempt at steadiness,
‘All right, I promise not to try to find my own way. I h-haven’t really got a clue where we are, anyway—’
‘Do you remember I said yesterday that I wouldn’t mind your marrying Henry—but for one thing?’ he asked abruptly, his mouth a straight line. ‘I didn’t mean to say what the one thing was. But—’
‘I wish everyone wouldn’t keep on—’ I began crossly, but Kevin put out his hands and caught hold of me by the shoulders.
‘It may be unethical. And stupid. And—God knows, I don’t. But I can’t go on like this,’ he said, and suddenly I was close against him, held tight as he bent his head. He kissed me, hard. Then he let me go. Unsmilingly he said, ‘Now you know,’ and while I was still staring at him in dazed wonder, he turned on his heel and walked quickly towards Thunder. He was up in another second, riding away without looking back, the two of them departing without so much as a goodbye...
I hadn’t moved by the time he was out of sight. My legs didn’t belong to me, and I didn’t have the breath to call out after him—even if I’d known what I wanted to say. I went on gazing at the space where he had disappeared for what must have been minutes, and when I did wake up, I found I was crying.
Crying
... Stumbling back into the barn, I picked up a handful of hay and scrubbed at my face with it: nothing I did could make me look worse, and there ought to be something rational I could think about to stop me trembling all over. Except that I couldn’t. I remembered waking up with my cheek against Kevin’s shoulder, and the trembling got worse. One night marooned in a hay-loft—one perfectly innocent night—had no right to send me into such an illogical, unhinged state.
I found I was wondering how long I’d been in love with Kevin instead of hating him—or as well as hating him—as if the thought were a perfectly sensible one. How
could
I have been falling in love with a man with whom I had been at odds ever since I arrived? Somehow, it seemed I could ... because suddenly I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without him.
Remembering the way he had kissed me was far too muddling. I retreated from it mentally—except that I didn’t want to think about anything else—and tried to be practical. Being practical required me to go down to the lane and see what state my car was in, so, still feeling weak at the knees, I went.
The car Henry had given me was still half immersed in water. I gazed at it, and, the name hitting me with a guilty thud, thought,
Henry...
CHAPTER
VII
I
Henry had been as worried about me as I had feared, and received me back with such an excess of affectionate concern that it was hard to get a word in edgeways. He had the whole household running round in circles to provide hot baths for me, food, hot drinks, and every comfort and attention. I might have been an invalid from the way I was tenderly put to bed and told to rest. There was no sign of Kevin anywhere: he had been home, and gone. My state of dazed confusion was put down to the terrible experiences I must have gone through, and when I was obediently in bed (not because I was tired, but because everyone was sure I ought to be, and besides I was still feeling extraordinarily weak at the knees) Henry came in to pat my hand, and tell me that he would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to me. I smiled at him weakly, and tried to say I was perfectly all right, but he wouldn’t let me. He said I must definitely stay in bed for the rest of the day and keep warm and hope not to have caught a chill. When he had gone, the memory of his kind, concerned face filled me with panic-stricken guilt. If only it wasn’t so plain that he was fond of me...
Everyone
seemed to think I was going to marry Henry. The question was—did Henry? And—oh, help!—had I really given him reason to think that I might?
Feverishly, I wished I had never come. Only if I’d never come I’d never have met Kevin ... or never met him again, after that first unpromising meeting on the train. If only I could reach Kevin, and find out ... what? All he had said was, “Now you know,” and that might mean
anything
. I dwelt on every word Kevin and I had ever exchanged, with remarkable fervour (very remarkable, considering what some of the words had been) and found myself falling into such a doting state that I knew I was being ridiculous. The trouble was it was quite impossible to
stop
being ridiculous. Love must be something one caught, like ’flu—and being in love obviously had a lot in common with being delirious. I had certainly been quite right to decide I’d never loved Robert. Who on earth, I thought wildly, was Robert? I couldn’t even remember what he looked like.
Essie, popping in, told me I’d better be all right for the dance tomorrow night, reminding me of the dance’s existence. She also told me cheerfully that Pa had been in a terrible flap about me. He’d have had everyone out scouring the countryside if there had been the remotest clue where I might be. Casting me a mischievous grin, she said Kev seemed to have survived all right.
‘Is—is he at home?’ I asked uncertainly.
‘No, gone off to the hospital. Was he beastly to you? He came in looking as black as thunder,’ Essie said cheerfully, adding, ‘Hm, apt, that. Black as Thunder. Poor old boy, it’s lucky he didn’t catch a chill, but the Ballyneelan strain’s good and strong. I hope you and Kev didn’t fight all night—or maybe that’s why you look so green. I must say, you
don’t
look awfully well—so I s’pose I’d better go away and let you rest, like Pa said!’
She took herself off, and I went on lying there, restless. Perhaps I
was
delirious!
Henry wouldn’t let me get up, even though I protested about preparations for the dance. He said everything was in hand, and I wasn’t to worry. He couldn’t know I was worrying on quite different grounds. I tried to string my thoughts together logically, but everything was far too jumbled, mixed up with gypsies and men whose name began with the letter H. Gypsies aside—with feverish resolution I tried to push them aside—it was still true that if Henry had started to make the same assumptions that everyone else seemed to be making, I could hardly hurt his feelings by showing I had fallen in love with his nephew. As my pampered day wore on into evening, I listened for Kevin to come in—and didn’t hear him. I began to feel as if I would never see him again. I began to feel, miserably, that it would be better if I never
did
see him again.
He had gone out by the time I got up the next morning. The whole house was in the throes of being reorganized for the dance, and I walked into Ganner and Mr. Mott moving furniture out of the drawing-room: Ganner stopped to tell me that my car had been towed up to the house, and that he had got the engine dried out and going again, though he would drive Miss Essie and myself into Beemondham later this morning just the same. I remembered, dimly, that Essie and I both had hair appointments made a week ago (remarkable for Essie, but it must be part of her docility to get her father into a good humour) and if I had
got
to be present at this dance, it was just as well I had a hair appointment after the soaking I had had. I went dispiritedly to find my breakfast, was made a fuss of by Henry, and found myself jumping guiltily every time he spoke to me. It was, I thought unhappily, no excuse to say I had never
meant
him to jump to any conclusions. He had been immensely kind to me ever since I had arrived—and before that—and looked at in certain lights, I
could
perhaps have looked as if I was leading him on—even by taking the job in the first place. Luckily my silent demeanour was taken to be an aftermath of my so-called dreadful experiences...
I tried to behave like my normal self as Ganner drove Essie and me into Beemondham. It wasn’t until after Ganner had dropped us and gone off to do some errands that I discovered Essie wasn’t so docile after all about having her hair done. She had, she said, washed it only the day before—and I could pin it up as usual for her, couldn’t I? I looked at her dubiously, but she gave me one of her mischievous grins.
‘
You
go in, Shah—but don’t tell on me, there’s a dear! If I buy a hairbrush and some pins you can do something with it on the way home so it
looks
as if I’ve been having it done, and Ganner won’t tell!’
‘But—’ I began, looking at her dubiously.
‘I want to go and see about some new tack for Cora. And I hate sitting under those wretched dryers—it’s like being in an instrument of torture! I promise to be back by the time you’re out,’ she said cajolingly.
‘Oh—oh, all right, then.’ She would look lovely anyway, I knew—and her hair did look very clean.
‘But mind you
are
back,’ I added—and then wondered uncertainly how much like a stepmother I sounded. To Essie, apparently, I sounded normal: she gave me a relieved grin, waved at me, and made off. I went into the hairdressers to explain that Miss Thurlanger s appointment would have to be cancelled—and wondered whether all the assistants so assiduously attending to my own hair-do had also heard a rumour that I was to be the next Mrs. Henry Thurlanger. People in small communities, Kevin had said, gossiped.
It was some time while my hair was drying that I decided, miserably, that I could only do one thing: leave Thurlanger. Sitting there falling into daydreams where I would come out to find Kevin waiting for me outside was a useless occupation—as useless as wondering, with a fluttering feeling inside me, whether Kevin
had
meant anything by his “Now you know,” or nothing, or something quite unromantic. (In the past, I reflected, I might have thought it was all part of some deep-laid plot. Now I was seeing him in quite a different light: I felt as if everything had turned upside down). As soon as the dance was over I would go to Henry and tell him that I wanted to go home, not only for Christmas (which had already been discussed) but permanently. After all, he
had
said I could try out the job at Thurlanger for a few months—and it was a perfectly good excuse to say that I wanted to go back to nursing. I knew abruptly how much I would miss—all sorts of things, like the dogs, and the countryside round about, and the sight of Kevin in the distance riding off somewhere on Thunder. I would even miss watching Essie’s blasted ponies ... And I would miss Essie, too, in an odd way, though it was comforting to think I had at least partially succeeded in making her feel more at home in the social world Henry was so determined to thrust her into. Essie, I decided, had enough character to manage for herself: she had only needed starting off.
The only person who had managed to mix everything up irretrievably was me. Once I had gone, I could be forgotten by everyone—probably very quickly.
Essie was, as she had promised, waiting when I came out of the hairdressers. She was rather quiet on the way home, and fidgeted a little as I fixed her hair in a way which I hoped would deceive Henry’s sharp eyes: she grumbled when I sprayed lacquer over her, which she said was sticky, but when I pointed out that it did at least make her smell as if she’d just had her hair done she submitted. (I wondered why I had to get mixed up in deceptions as well as everything else, but I’d started it now so I had to go on). We got back to Thurlanger to find caterers causing added confusion, and Henry was fretting about to such an extent that I felt obliged to tell him to rest. Mrs. Mott as usual wouldn’t let me do anything, in fact
she
told
me
to rest, as I had told Henry. I heard her mention that Kevin had been in, and gone out again. He certainly didn’t seem at all disposed to seek me out—but after all, he
was
a doctor, and I gathered there had been a call for him from the hospital. Besides, it was no use my wanting to see Kevin. Feeling both nervous and depressed, I took myself out of everyone’s way, and lay on my bed until it was time to eat a light meal before dressing for the dance. By now, since I had been lying thinking bitterly that everything was all my own fault—and feeling guilty all over again about Henry—it was almost a relief to hear that Kevin was still held up at the hospital. I wasn’t sure how I was going to face Kevin anyway—now I had discovered my own feelings. It would have been almost better, I decided, if I
had
been the confidence trickster he had originally thought me. It would certainly have simplified things, since I was sure confidence tricksters didn’t suffer from terrible pangs of conscience. Or fall in love.
Essie did look as lovely as I had expected—and possibly even a little less cheerfully unconscious of it. Her dress was long, white, and classic—making her look both younger, and older, both at once. She inspected me almost as thoroughly as I inspected her, seeming pleased with her choice for me and saying mischievously that I would “knock ’em cold,” an expression she seemed to have picked up from her cousin Dominic (or perhaps even someone else, by now). I looked at my own reflection without appreciation, wondering if my misery showed through the elegantly dressed exterior, and agreed with Essie that the sea-green dress was beautiful, and suited me, and made me feel marvellous. We went down to find Henry looking dapper in evening dress and showing a tendency to behave like the proud owner of both of us—and the house looking almost unrecognizable with most of the furniture removed and catering staff all over the place. I tried not to sound mechanical as I agreed that the drawing-room floor looked very good for dancing on and that the decorations looked splendid—and resolved to avoid a bunch of mistletoe I had noticed hanging in seasonal state over the front door. It was quite a relief when people started arriving, in glittering groups, and Henry had to go and welcome them in.
They were much the same people as I had met before—though they seemed more inclined to accept me by now. I talked, and danced, keeping a social smile pinned to my lips—but my eyes kept sliding over the assembled company in search of a tall figure who went on being conspicuously absent. And then abruptly Kevin was there, coming in through the front door in his ordinary clothes and making a quick, unsmiling excuse to the people nearest him that he had been called out, and must go up and change before he could join in the festivities. He made for the stairs, turned his head, saw me watching him, and paused for a second. It seemed a long second, as we looked at each other across the room and my knees turned to water just as they had two mornings ago, in the barn. Then he turned away and went on up, running lightly up the staircase, disappearing from view.
I discovered someone was asking me to dance.
I danced, made numb conversation, and looked round the brightly-lit and crowded drawing-room without seeing it. What on earth were all these people doing here? Slowly, the realization came to me that I couldn’t meet Kevin
—I couldn’t
!—in front of all these people, or anywhere else for that matter. My partner said something, and I tried to pull myself together enough to answer, and then came to an abrupt decision. I would go and tell Henry
now
that I wanted to go home, however unsuitable a time it was to break it to him, and then I would retire to my room and stay there. I made what must have been a very abrupt excuse to my partner (he probably—quite rightly—thought I was mad) and since I couldn’t see Henry, I made for Essie standing talking to Peter Raglan at one side of the room. Catching hold of her, I asked breathlessly,
‘Where’s your father?’
‘Pa? Oh, he went upstairs to the study. Said he was going to take refuge for a few minutes,’ Essie said, grinning, ‘because Pete would insist on talking to him about spavins, wouldn’t you?’
‘Was—was he alone?’
‘Yes, I think so. What’s—’
I didn’t let her finish, and ignored the fact that Peter Raglan probably thought I was as mad as my dancing partner must have done. Edging round the room, I escaped through chattering groups into the hall and up the stairs, hoping I had time enough before Kevin came down. There was no sign of him as yet. As I came up to the study door on the gallery I saw that it was half open, and the sound of voices from inside made my heart sink. Surely, though, I could pretend a reason why I wanted a word with Henry alone. And then, as I moved closer, I heard Henry himself, speaking quite distinctly. ‘But, my dear Kevin, I never had the least intention of marrying her, and I’m sure she doesn’t think so! As a matter of fact, I brought Charlotte here with the express purpose of finding a suitable match for
you
—and the more I’ve got to know her, the more suitable it seems! Now, please, don’t scowl at me for interfering—you must admit—’
I whisked away, my cheeks burning, and ran for the upper staircase.
A suitable match!
Surely it couldn’t be true that Henry had planned it right from the start?
Inside my room, with the door firmly shut behind me, I flung myself down on my bed with my heart thudding. Then I sat bolt upright again as a horrifying thought occurred to me. Oh—oh no! What would Kevin think
now
? That I had been a party to this from the beginning? That I had deliberately set out to catch, not Henry, but
him
?