Authors: Anne Weale
“Do you? Sometimes I’m not so sure that I know myself.”
“You’re in a strange mood tonight. What is it? Are you finding this life less satisfying than you thought it would be?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps it takes time to enjoy a life of leisure. I haven’t got used to it yet.”
“I thought you’d been roped into the good-works brigade.”
“Yes, but committee meetings aren’t very exacting.” She opened her eyes and sat up. “Justin, would you mind if I accepted a modeling commission occasionally? I met Mary Lyall, who trained me, yesterday. She’s looking for models to do a special export show at the Mansion House next month and asked if I was interested. I didn’t think I’d miss working, but I do, and if I only took half a dozen jobs a year it would keep me in touch with the people I used to know.”
Justin crushed out his cigarette. “Yes, I would mind,” he said flatly.
“But why? It wouldn’t interfere with my private life, and everyone knows I used to be a model, so they could hardly raise their eyebrows at this stage.”
“Other people’s reactions don’t particularly concern me.”
“Then why do you object?”
“You say it wouldn’t interfere with your private life. What is the date of this thing at the Mansion House?”
“The sixteenth, I think.”
“The
n
it would certainly interfere. I’m going to a conference in New York next month and I’ve every intention of taking you with me.”
“Oh! Well, I didn’t know that. But surely you plan these things fairly far in advance. I could always cancel a job that clashed with your arrangements.”
“Possibly. But that doesn’t happen to be my main objection. I realize that you must find it difficult to adjust yourself, but apparently you’ve overlooked the way in which most married women occupy themselves.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“You must be singularly unobservant,” he said dryly. “Or were you under the impression that my idiosyncrasies included a dislike of children?”
A tide of color stained her face.
“I’ve never thought about it,” she said huskily.
A sardonic smile touched his mouth. “The idea evidently doesn’t appeal to you,” he said smoothly. “But what a delightful picture it would make for the so-called society magazines. ‘The beautiful Mrs. Templar with her charming children. Mrs. Templar, one of London’s most brilliant hostesses, is a devoted mother.’ Or didn’t you include motherhood in your plans?”
“Oh, stop it!” She jumped up, pale now, her lips trembling. “You seem to revel in taunting me. I know the reason I married you was a mercenary one and that I deserve to be called hard and calculating, but I honestly meant to be a ... a good wife as far as I could, as far as you would let me. At first I thought that it
...
that we could be almost as happy as ordinary people. But ever since we came back to London you haven’t given me a chance. There are times when I wish we’d never met.” Her voice quivered and she turned away to hide the hot tears that stung her eyelids.
There was a moment of heavy silence and then Justin said, “I’m sorry. I had no right to say that to you. Andrea, please look at me.”
She tried to keep her face averted but, his hands firm on her shoulders, he turned her around and tipped up her chin.
“Do you really wish we had never met?” he asked gravely.
She bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said distressfully. “I think it would have been better for both of us if we hadn’t.”
“I told you once that we were two of a kind. I still believe that.”
She sighed. “Do you? It doesn’t seem to make all this much easier, does it?”
“Did you imagine it would be easy?” he asked with a tinge of irony.
“No. I suppose not. I just thought it would be different.”
“In what way?”
He had loosened his hold on her shoulders and she moved a little away from him and stood twisting the silver bracelet on her left wrist, one of several nervous mannerisms that she had acquired lately.
“You must know what I mean,” she said in a low voice.
“Unfortunately I am not omniscient as you seem to think.”
He took two cigarettes from the box on the table, lighted them and handed one to her.
“Now suppose you pluck up courage to tell me why ‘all this,’ as you call it, is not what you expected,” he said calmly.
She drew a deep breath.
“The day we were married you said you wouldn’t expect me to counterfeit any false emotions.” Her voice was taut with strain. “You said we needed to know each other better. But how
can
we ever do that if we go on living like
...
like people in a hotel? You’ve given me so much. A beautiful house, servants, a car of my own and more money than
I
can possibly spend. But I’ve given you nothing. Don’t you see how
...
how grasping it makes me feel? I know I’m not a very nice person, but I’m not so utterly callous that I don’t feel guilty at taking everything and giving nothing. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could run your home more efficiently or if you needed
...
companionship, someone to talk to. But as things are I’m just
...
just a parasite!”
She waited, a choking lump in her throat, for his reaction. He had heard her out in silence and now he studied her intently, his face unreadable.
But the anger that she expected or the cool mockery, with which he had so often devastated her composure, did not come.
“You’re tired and overwrought,” he said in an expressionless voice. “You’d better go to bed; Tomorrow you’ll see things differently.”
Then with a curt “Good night” he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
The following morning,
while Andrea was forcing herself to answer a letter from a girl whom she had known at the model school and who was now living in South Africa,
Hubbard announced that Mr. Brennan had called to see her.
Wondering what he could want, she asked Hubbard to show him in.
“Good morning. I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” Simon Brennan said as they shook hands.
“Not at all. I was only writing a letter, and as I’m not a good correspondent I welcome any distractions,” she said, managing a smile.
“I came to return this. You left it in the car last night.” He produced a black suede glove from his breast pocket.
“Oh, how careless of me! I’m so sorry,” Andrea said vexedly. “Thank you for bringing it back. I hadn’t even discovered I’d lost it.”
She paused and then, since he seemed in no hurry to go, said, “Would you like some coffee? I usually have some about now.”
“If you’re sure I’m not in the way.”
“Of course not.” She pulled the bell rope by the fireplace. “How long are you on leave?”
“I’m due for a month, but it’s quite probable that something will crop up before then.”
“How do you plan to spend it?”
“There are two or three shows I want to see, and then if the weather holds I’ll get down to the coast and relax.” Hubbard answered the bell and Andrea asked him to bring coffee. She went on talking to Simon, but only part of her mind was taking in what he said and forming appropriate replies. The other part was going over and over the scene with Justin the night before.
Why had he provoked her into making that anguished outburst and then deliberately ignored it? For more than an hour after his terse good-night she had paced the silent library trying vainly to fathom some convincing motive for this seemingly brutal behavior. Was it her fault? Had she been wrong to blurt out her feelings?
When at last she had switched off the lights and crept upstairs she was still no closer to an answer.
This morning she had told Miller that she would like breakfast in bed, and by the time she came downstairs
Justin had left the house. After seeing Mrs. Lane about the lunch and the dinner party which they were giving that evening, she had tried to write to Polly Lang in Cape Town but found it hard to concentrate. Even Simon Brennan’s cheerful, company failed to shut out her troubled thoughts.
He stayed for nearly an hour, and it was not until he rose to go that Andrea, remembering and dreading the dinner party, said impulsively, “My husband is a great admirer of yours and I know he would like to meet you. I suppose you couldn’t have dinner with us tonight?”
“That’s very kind of you. I would like to,” he said, smiling down at her with the friendliness she found so warming.
“About half-past seven, then?”
“Fine. Black ties, I take it?” He cast a rather amused glance at the splendid proportions and luxurious furnishings of the room.
“Yes.”
As they crossed the hall, the front door opened and Madeline came in, a miniature poodle on a silver leash frisking around her ankles.
“So here you are. I wondered what had happened to you,” she exclaimed.
Too late, Andrea remembered that she had arranged to meet her sister-in-law at a hat show at the Astor Club at eleven.
“I’m terribly sorry, Madeline. I completely forgot,” she said apologetically. “Oh, this is Mr. Brennan. My sister-in-law, Mrs. Laverick.”
Madeline gave Simon a dazzling smile. “How d’you do. Have I butted in at the wrong moment?” she asked archly.
“I was just leaving.” He turned to Andrea. “Until tonight, then, Mrs. Templar. Thank you for the coffee. Goodbye, Mrs. Laverick.”
When he had gone, Madeline unclipped the poodle’s leash and strolled into the library.
“What an attractive young man,” she said with a sly smile. “I’m not surprised you forgot our date, darling.”
“I’m awfully sorry about it. Was it a good show?”
“Not bad, but not as entertaining as coffee with your Mr. Brennan, I should think. Who is he?”
“A friend of Nick Randell. He came to return a glove I left in his car.”
“How exciting!” Madeline said quizzically. “I hope you’ve made a clean breast of it to Justin, darling.” She drifted over to the Regency mirror and inspected her reflection with the critical care of a woman whose looks are her primary interest. “What did he mean by ‘until tonight’?”
“Only that he’s dining with us. Justin wants to meet him.”
“How broad-minded of him.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
Madeline studied the line of her jaw. She was terrified of losing her looks and spent hours watching herself for the first sign of wrinkles and slackening contours.
“I’m sure Robert wouldn’t be so hospitable. He’s always absurdly jealous if I so much as glance at another man,” she said derisively.
Andrea was not in the mood for Madeline’s innuendos, even if they only meant to tease her.
“Perhaps he has reason to be,” she said shortly.
“Darling! What a perfectly
horrid
thing to say. You can’t imagine how faithful I am to him. Considering how fat and bald he’s getting, I think it’s really rather noble of me. I wonder why men get so hideous after fifty. I will have to make Robert diet. That tummy he’s getting is too revolting.”
“How can you talk about him like that? You know he’s devoted to you. He’d be terribly hurt if he knew,” Andrea said angrily.
“Oh, I don’t mean it unkindly. Actually I’m quite fond of him, too. At least I don’t have to worry about him having affairs with other women. I daresay he’d like a final fling, but he hasn’t the courage.”
“It would serve you right if he did,” Andrea retorted. She hated the disparaging way in which Madeline and her friends discussed their husbands. The most personal details of their married lives were bandied over the bridge
tables as freely and carelessly as they gossiped about servants and clothes.
“You are in a high-minded mood this morning,”
Madeline said unconcernedly. “By the way, have you changed your powder or don’t you feel well? I noticed how pale you are as soon as I came in.”
“I didn’t sleep very well,” Andrea said uncomfortably. She was well aware that there were shadows under her eyes and that a careful makeup had failed to camouflage the pallor of her skin.
“You aren’t starting an infant, are you?” Madeline asked.
“No, of course not.”
Her sister-in-law raised her delicately penciled eyebrows. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it, darling. Personally I think that if one must have offspring it’s better to get it over as soon as possible. I remember I was absolutely furious when I found that Jeremy was due to arrive bang in the middle of the season and it was too dreary for words having to plod about in the most hideous garments while everyone else was enjoying themselves. But after all the dismal part I was quite pleased because having him improved my figure. I’d been much too thin before. Talking of figures, you’re thinner than you were a couple of months ago. Don’t lose too much weight. Justin detests skinny women.”
“I expect not working has
cut down my appetite,” Andrea replied. “Would you like to stay for lunch? Justin should be in presently.”
“Yes, I may as well. I’m going to try out a new massage treatment at two. Margot Bartram says it’s positively miraculous. Why don’t you come with me? It would freshen you up for your party tonight.”
“I don’t think I will, thanks. I have the flowers and one or two other things to do. Will you have a drink?”
Madeline asked for a cocktail and, calling the poodle to her, began to talk to it in an itsy-bitsy voice. She had bought the dog only a few weeks before Andrea first met her and would probably change it for a more fashionable breed as soon as she tired of having its curls clipped in grotesque styles and buying jeweled collars to match her clothes. Andrea wondered if the poodle liked being dragged in and out of beauty parlors and dress shops and being fed on
canapé
s and chocolates, or whether it fretted for a run in the park and a bone to bury.
She was about to hand Madeline the cocktail when there was a screech of brakes on the road outside and with an involuntary jerk she spilled a few drops on the carpet.
“I’m sorry. It startled me,” she said, flushing at her clumsiness.
“Better your carpet than my skirt,” Madeline said a trifle sharply, having hurriedly moved her legs aside as she saw the glass tilt.
The poodle, which had been catapulted off her knees, recovered its balance and began to lick up the liquid, its bobbled tail waving excitedly.
“You seem fearfully nervous. Have you had a row with Justin or something?” Madeline asked.
“I’ve always jumped at unexpected noises,” Andrea said with a forced laugh.
But Madeline did not miss her slight flinch and the unsteadiness of her hands as she wiped the base of the glass with her handkerchief and set it on the low table by the couch.
“Look, you don’t have to keep up appearances with me, my dear,” she said not unkindly. “That brother of mine can be a devil when he chooses, and I doubt if marriage has mellowed his temper.”
Andrea did not answer, and helping herself to a cigarette, Madeline said, “The day he brought you to see me I wondered if you would be able to manage him. He’s always been shockingly overbearing. Old Aunt Laura is the only one of the family who can get on with him, and she’s as arrogant as he is. You’re a fool if you let him browbeat you.”
“He doesn’t, and I’ve never wanted to manage him, as you put it,” Andrea said crisply. “I despise men who are under their wives
thumbs.”
“Wait until you’ve had a taste of his temper,” Madeline advised her. “You’ve probably seen only his best side so far, but once the novelty has worn off you may wish he was the meek and mild type. That’s one of the reasons I married Robert. I was never madly in love with him, but I knew he’d be easy to handle.”
She gave a reminiscent laugh. “Poor old Robert. He was quite staggered when I accepted him. It had taken him weeks to nerve himself to propose, and when we were engaged he behaved as if I were some kind of goddess who’d fallen into his lap by mistake.”
“Didn’t you ever feel guilty at not caring for him in the way he felt about you?” Andrea asked, without thinking before she spoke.
“Guilty!” Madeline looked astonished. “What an extraordinary idea!”
Her tone implied that it was also in extremely bad taste.
“I’m sorry.” Andrea flushed. “I just thought it must be difficult to
...
to accept love if one can’t return it.”
Madeline regarded her coldly for a moment and then, with a characteristic shrug, she said, “What a naive creature you are in some ways. It’s a great mistake for any woman to allow her emotions to get out of hand. Look at Helen Myers. She was hopelessly infatuated with Gerald from the first, and now, of course, she bores him to distraction. If she hadn’t smothered him with devotion he might not be amusing himself elsewhere. No, my dear, it’s stupid to lose one’s head over a man and fatal to let him know it. Poor Helen! She never was particularly attractive and now she’s lost what looks she did have, worrying herself to death over Gerald’s little diversions.”
Andrea had met Helen Myers at a bridge party and had heard about her husband’s blatant affairs with other women. In her opinion, these had nothing to do with Helen’s patient adoration of him in the face of repeated humiliations. One brief encounter with Gerald Myers had convinced Andrea that he was the kind of man who was incapable of being faithful to any woman for more than a few weeks. She had met his type before and recognized the weakness and complete egotism of his character. She said as much to Madeline.
“Oh, yes, I agree. Gerald is an out-and-out rotter and anyone less besotted than Helen would send him packing,” her sister-in-law said carelessly. “But then no woman can expect to hold an attractive man indefinitely. I daresay you’ll have trouble with Justin later on, but at least he won’t flaunt his affairs in public. He’s always been madly discreet. Don’t look so angry, my dear. Surely you didn’t imagine that you’d be the only woman in his life for the next twenty-odd years?”
“I don’
t
want to have a row with you, Madeline, but if you ever say anything like that again I will have to ask you to leave,” Andrea said bitingly.
“Good heavens, how melodramatic!” Madeline said with a tinkling laugh, but she had flushed and there was an unpleasant glitter in her eyes. “I had no idea you cherished such romantic notions. Do you really believe that, once the novelty of being a husband has worn off, Justin will never so much as glance in another direction? How touchingly innocent you are.”
Pale with disgust, Andrea rose to her feet intending to ring for Hubbard and ask him to show Madeline out. But before she could do so, Madeline said brightly, “Well, well. Talk of the devil. You’re just in time to save me from having my eyes scratched out, little brother.”
“I seem to detect a note of discord,” Justin said coolly, glancing from the heightened color of his sister’s face to Andrea’s set mouth and angry eyes. It was impossible to tell how much he had overheard, for he had come into the room without a sound.
“You certainly do,” Madeline said tartly. “Your bride has a temper, in case you haven’t discovered it already.”
“And what exactly did you say to rouse it?” he inquired, pouring himself a drink.