Authors: Winifred Holtby
Miss Weller, with a final scream, collapsed among the
broken glass and crockery, and crouched sobbing on the
floor.
'Don't you think you'd better say something?' asked
Gloria. 'Or would you rather I did not disturb your confi
dential interview? No thanks, I won't come in. It looks
rather messy, and I've got a decent frock on.'
It was a lovely frock. Never had she looked more rich and
splendid and desirable. She held her cloak of golden tissue
and brown fur tightly about her with one jewelled, cherry-
tipped hand. The light from the passage glittered on her swinging ear-rings. She raised her eyebrows and looked
from Johnson to the girl.
He still stared at her, speechless and ridiculous, seeing her
as a goddess remote from mortal imperfection, as a bright
loveliness, as the beauty and crown of life.
She shrugged her shoulders.
'Well, I suppose I ought to inquire whether you're mur
dering or seducing this young woman or something. But I'm
tired, and I want my dinner. And as you seem to be other
wise occupied, I think I'll say good night.'
She had gone. He heard the door of the flat slam behind
her. Only then did he find his tongue.
'Gloria! Gloria! Mrs. St. Denis! Comeback.' He pushed
the table over in his blind rush for the door, completing the ruin of his own room. He hurled himself down the passage,
and fumbled with the Yale lock. But the catch had slipped, and it had always been difficult to open. By the time he
reached the street, she had climbed again into the taxi
which had brought her and had vanished among the jostling
traffic. He knew then that he had lost her beyond all hope of recovery. He stood bare-headed and wild-eyed, staring
up the street, but he had no hope of her return, and none
of her forgiveness.
He climbed slowly and heavily up the stairs. In his flat
the wretched Doreen Weller still wept among the broken tumblers. All that he wanted now was to get rid of her. He
went to the desk, unlocked it, and from a leather wallet took
out four five-pound notes. He had intended them for
Gloria's expenses on the way to Paris. He had intended
them to pay for Pullman cars and flowers. He crushed the
notes into a ball, and thrust them into the girl's damp
fingers.
'Here's your damned money; you little fool,' he said.
'Now get to Hell outa here.'
Slowly she opened her hand and unfolded the notes upon her knee. Slowly the realization that she was saved reached her dazed and angry mind. Slowly she climbed to her knees
and to her feet, pushed the notes into the shabby leather
purse which she had dropped on to the chair, and, still
sobbing quietly, found her way out of the room. Without a
word, she went off down the passage, and Johnson heard her
snivelling until the door of the flat slammed for a second
time, and he was left alone.
He stooped to gather up the red carnations, now drenched
in champagne, trodden upon and broken, and as he fum
bled clumsily among the scattered olives and glass and
flowers, the sense of his desolation swept down upon him.
The telephone broke shrilly upon his misery. At first he
let it ring; then the absurd hope that it might be Gloria,
which even as it rose to his mind, he rejected, sent him to
the instrument. He heard a familiar voice.
'Hallo. Hallo. Is that you, old dear? I say. You know
who this is? Yes, Delia! Look here. You do anything to-
morrow? 'Cause I'm bored. This damn job's come to an
end. I've got the chuck. Couldn't we go somewhere?'
'Couldn't we?' Johnson responded to the old appeal.
'Look here, lil' old thing. What about Paris?'
'What, Paris! You don't mean it! Oh, boy. This is so
sudden.'
'Yes I do. You gotta passport? Good. I'll get two tickets
for the boat-train at Victoria 8.20 to-morrow night. Let's do
a little trip together. Yes. Yes. I've got the cash all right.
Need a holiday.'
'But honest. Not joking?'
'Abso-ballyutly. I was thinking of going off f'ra day or
two in any case.'
'Well, I don't mind. But how will all your good works get
along without you? What'll you do about your Christian
Cinema Company and poor Caroline?'
Johnson laughed into the telephone. 'I'm fed up with the
lot of 'em. You're the only woman in the world I can bear
to look at at the moment. You won't let me down, darling,
will you? We'll have a lovely time together. A lovely time.
We might go to Egypt. Cairo, you know, an' Alexandria. 'Smy belief I've been in London too long. Say, baby, we'll
paint Europe red, an' to Hell,' he was about to add 'with
Gloria!' but checked himself in time with a laugh that was
half a sob, and called to her, 'to Hell with your Poor
Caroline!'
Chapter 7 :
Caroline Audrey Denton-Smyth
ยง1
on
Thursday, April 4th, Caroline faced her depleted Board
across her pile of papers. From the chair, Mr. Guerdon blinked and cleared his throat. Hugh Macafee sprawled
reluctantly on her right.
She despised both of them. Mr. Guerdon was a conven
tional man. At last she saw beyond his apparent liberality
and progressiveness to his temperamental and invariable
timidity. He could do nothing unsafe, and nothing that his
fathers had not done before him. She had been deceived at
first because, his fathers having been Quakers, pacifists,
humanitarians and radicals, he had pursued these interests
from filial convention and lack of initiative, just as in other circumstances he would have pursued imperialism, tariff
reform, evangelicalism and fox hunting. Well, she knew
him now. He was of no more use to her.
Hugh Macafee was purely selfish. He had never cared for
the high ideals of the company. All that he wanted was to
find someone who would finance his inventions.
She could manage them. That morning she had taken an
egg beaten up with the remainder of Father Mortimer's
brandy for her breakfast. She felt that she could face tigers
on an egg.
'I - er - I suppose that we are all here,' muttered Mr.
Guerdon.
'I looked up the constitution of the company,' said Caro
line briskly, 'and so far as I can see, nothing was
laid
down
about a quorum. Of course I'm not saying it ought
not
to
have been but there it is, and until we have co-opted other
directors, I suppose we must act alone.'
'Well, I suppose so. Really, there is not much to do. Let
me see. . . .'
If Caroline had not prompted him, Mr. Guerdon
would have let the whole meeting go to pieces. He did
not care. He wanted to escape to his comfortable little home up at Golder's Green. Caroline knew. A high note
of moral indignation rang in her voice as she began to
read.
'A meeting of the Board of the Christian Cinema Com
pany Ltd. was held on March 11th at the offices in Victoria
Street. Mr. St. Denis was in the chair. Present, Mr.
Macafee, Mr. Guerdon, Mr. Johnson and Miss Denton-Smyth, Honorary Secretary. The minutes of the previous
meeting were read and confirmed. Under Correspondence
the Honorary Secretary read a letter from Mr. Joseph
Isenbaum announcing his resignation from the Board. The
Board accepted the resignation with regret and instructed the Secretary to write a letter to this effect to Mr. Isen
baum.'
The formal phraseology of the minutes soothed Caroline
as the familiar words of the Church service soothed her.
Here lay security in a world of fleeting values. Disciplined by the ritual of business convention, the defection of Isen
baum appeared less tragic. What had these calm sentences
to do with sleepless nights and days of aching misery? As she read the flat record of her own defeat, she found herself able to regard with something like complacency this retreat
of her directors.
The minutes came to an end.
'Let me see.' Mr. Guerdon blinked and licked his lips.
'Any business arising out of the minutes which is not on the
agenda?'
Nobody spoke.
'Well, then, I think we pass on to correspondence.'
Caroline drew from her file a large sheet of mauve paper, scrawled across with writing in brilliant purple ink. She felt
perfectly calm now, though she was very cold and her throat
hurt her.
'I have here a letter which I received since the last Board
meeting from Mrs. St. Denis, and though I think we all
know about it, I believe I ought to read it.' Her voice was
even steadier than usual as she read: -
'March 20th,
1929.
dear
Miss
denton-smyth,
I am writing on behalf of my husband to say that he has been ordered by his doctors to leave England immediately on account of his health, and is leaving to-morrow for the
South of France. It is probable that he will not be allowed
to spend another winter in England. As you probably know,
his lungs were affected by his War Service. In that case he
has asked me on his behalf to tender with great regret his
resignation from the chairmanship of the Christian Cinema
Company. He thanks his colleagues for their loyal and help
ful co-operation, and wishes me to say how much he regrets
the necessity for this step.
Yours truly,
gloria st. denis.'
'Well,' said Mr. Guerdon. 'I suppose we must accept that.
It comes to the same thing in the end.'
This was the first shadow of challenge. Caroline braced
herself for battle.
'Don't you think, Mr. Guerdon, it would be
better
if I
wrote to Mr. St. Denis and expressed the regret of the Board
for his ill-health, and said that we should be delighted to
appoint a
Vice-chairman,
to serve during his absence but that
we
very
much hope that, as soon as he is better, he will be
able to rejoin us? You see, he has been ill before and got better. I understand that the Mediterranean is
very
bene
ficial to the lungs.'