The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (174 page)

She added the name of the solicitor and of a detective agency once employed by her husband. She found mucilage and sealed the letter she had opened. She then sealed her own. She had a sense of deep relief. She took it at once to the post office which was nearly a mile distant, and was combined with the small grocery shop. As she was leaving she saw Finch

Whiteoak buying a chocolate bar. She followed him out of the shop.

Outside he began to run in quick, uneven spurts, like a lamb gambolling. She felt wonder that anyone could feel happy on a day like this when she herself was so miserable. She called out to him:

“Finch! Wait a moment.”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“Wait a moment,” she repeated.

“I can’t,” he answered and began to run again.

“Please wait,” she cried, “I want to ask you something.”

He waited, looking shyly up at her out of his grey-blue eyes.

“How is Eden?” she asked, as she reached his side.

“Better, thank you.”

“Has he gone away?”

“He’s gone to live at the University.”

“Oh. Was he really ill? Did the doctor see him?”

“No — just Renny.”

She forced a smile to her lips. “Surely you saw him! Did he seem unhappy?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “No — not unhappy — at least — I don’t know —”

“What did he look like? What was his expression?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Are Mr. Dayborn and his sister and the baby still at Jalna?”

“Yes. Please, I must hurry.” Touching his cap he almost fled along the road. She saw him climb a fence, as though to make certain his escape. As she passed that spot she saw him loitering, peeling the silver paper from his chocolate, as though untold leisure were before him. She said to him as she passed:

“You weren’t in such a hurry after all, were you?” She muttered to herself, — “Another one turned against me! It will not be Dayborn’s fault if I am not completely ostracized.”

T
HE
D
INNER

A
T FIRST
E
DEN
felt glad of the seclusion of the University. He wanted nothing so much as to escape from the attentions of Amy Stroud. She had so repelled him in their last meeting that he felt no desire ever to see her again. But, as the weeks passed, he began to think with longing of his free home life, almost unrestricted by rules. Say what he would against his family, they were a thousand times more congenial to him than were the earnest young men among whom he now lived. He was unfortunate in not finding even one who attracted him. Their minds were already set in a rut that, if adhered to long enough, would supposedly lead to success. They made brilliant achievements out of each of their little triumphs. They laid down the law about morals, economics, politics and literature. “I’d rather,” thought Eden, “have Uncle Nick’s past than the future of the whole bunch of them.” He had no community spirit, he hated teamwork. Because he was supple and swift in his movements, he had excelled in certain forms of athletics. He had been one of the best runners, in a short dash, one of the highest jumpers, in his college. He hated the grind and self-denial of training. What he liked to do was to appear at almost the last moment and win a race or a high jump, apparently without effort. In games he was always perversely amused to see the downcast faces of the team he was playing with, when defeated. Seldom a game passed that he was not reprimanded by the umpire for breaking rules.

The wet weather endured for some time, as Renny prophesied. Then, in late October, Indian summer came with its mysterious deep gold sunshine, its hazy, hyacinth sky and the burning scarlet and gold of the woods. Eden went home for a weekend and on his return felt the bonds of his new life almost unbearable. He lapsed into complete indolence that sometimes became melancholy.

He was in this mood when the morning’s post brought him a letter from Mrs. Stroud. Lying in bed he read it.

My Beloved Friend—

For you always shall be beloved by me — even though my love is returned by coldness. But I can’t think you have forgotten our happy times together and I’m going to ask you a favour. I am staying in town for a few days and it would give me something beautiful to think about in the long lonely days if you would dine with me here. If you will come, we shall make no reference to any unhappiness of the past but just enjoy ourselves in our old carefree way. Eden, my darling, do not refuse me this. If you do, I’ll know that I have offended you deeply and bitterly. I shall eat my heart out, wondering how.

Any day will suit me. Come at seven.

Your

Aimee

Eden was surprised to find that he was glad to get this letter. The boredom of his present life pressed all about him. The thought of meeting Mrs. Stroud again came as a return, even though somewhat tarnished, to an old and pleasing relationship. He forgot their last meeting and remembered only the times when he had the freedom of her house, when she prepared him delicious little meals. He was too shrewd not to guess that she was staying at a hotel far beyond her means, in order to tempt him there.

After all, he thought, he had treated her rather badly. She had done nothing more to deserve it than to offend his sensibility. He could not let her go on worrying herself ill. They must have one more meeting. It would leave her less humiliated. Perhaps their friendship might continue, on a more temperate level.

He sprang up with a feeling almost of exhilaration. The morning was lovely. He would dine with her the next night. Possibly he would take her to a play later on. He wrote her a brief note telling her the day of his coming.

After that the hours dragged. He wondered how he could have lived through them had he not had the meeting with her to look forward to. Promptly at seven o’clock he arrived in the lounge of the hotel.

It was a comparatively new one, with a conscious magnificence. An orchestra was playing and waiters moved quietly about bearing trays of cocktails. He would not have recognized her had she not risen to greet him. She wore a dinner dress of the fashionable short length. It was of a bright Chinese red and she wore long red earrings. The precise waves of her hair showed that she had been to a hairdresser. But her fine grey eyes were the same, and her deep caressing voice. She took his hand in both of hers. Her eyes were full of tears but she smiled. She said:

“How prompt you are! It’s the very first time you have appeared at the hour I set.”

“I must make up for my former delinquencies,” he said.

She gave him an expressive look, then said, — “You have nothing to make up for. Your presence at any time was all I asked.”

They sat down on a deeply padded settee. A waiter approached. They ordered cocktails. As they sipped them they were, at first, at a loss for words. Then Eden laughed and said:

“How sophisticated we must look! If that waiter knew the few cocktails I’ve had he would despise me.”

She laughed gaily. “But they’re good, aren’t they? Do you think this dress becomes me? I bought it specially for tonight. I wanted to look as though I hadn’t a care. I thought you would like me best so.”

“Aimee — how sweet of you!” He laid his hand on her knee. He felt the glow of the spirits all through him.

The ice was broken. Their estrangement seemed a thing of the past. They laughed and talked excitedly, as in a reunion of lovers. She looked so young that no one would have taken her for twenty years his senior. They recalled little incidents of their former meetings but neither Renny’s nor Dayborn’s name was mentioned.

There were a number of people in the dining room but she had reserved a table for two in the corner. She was at this moment doing what she had long dreamed of doing, entertaining in a fashionable hotel with an air of what she thought
savoir faire
. It pleased her to order the most expensive items on the menu. She told the waiter to bring a bottle of champagne. As he drew the bottle from its icy shelter and uncorked it she felt confident and happy. By her own strength of character, her own vital charm, she would undo the harm Dayborn had done her. She would re-establish herself in the esteem of her neighbours. She felt that nothing was impossible to her.

Eden’s spirits were so lifted by the change from the scholastic atmosphere to one of gaiety that he thought of nothing but the moment and to make up to Amy Stroud for what he now began to consider his cruel treatment of her. The orchestra was playing dance music and a few couples were on the floor.

“Will you dance?” he asked.

“Do you think I do it well enough?”

“You dance beautifully.”

He led her out. He himself had taught her all she knew of dancing. It had seemed a cruel thing to her that in her girlhood she had known nothing of this pleasure. In the past months she had profited so well by Eden’s teaching that their movements were followed with admiration by more than one.

When they returned to their seats the waiter refilled their glasses. Mrs. Stroud had an air of possession toward Eden. Her eyes roved boldly about the room. Presently she laid her hand on Eden’s arm.

“Look, darling, at that table over there — the third on my right. Two men and a woman. Did you ever see such a proud head as that on the man with his back to us? I wish he’d turn round.”

Eden craned his neck to see. The man turned his head so that his profile was visible.

“Good God!” gasped Eden, almost dropping his glass, “it’s Renny.”

Mrs. Stroud turned pale. Her hands shook. Then she gathered herself together.

“What if it is?” she said. “I’m sure he hasn’t seen us. Your back is to him. If he did glance round he wouldn’t recognize me in these things. I’ll hold the menu before my face.”

But relaxation was now impossible. Try as they would they could not forget the figure three tables away. Mrs. Stroud laughed and chatted determinedly but her eyes were inevitably drawn in that direction. Eden exclaimed:

“I do wish you wouldn’t keep looking at him! It’s getting on my nerves. I think we’d better go.”

“We can’t, without the risk of being seen. Wait — I think they’re going!”

But they were not going. The woman, young and sleek-haired, was going to dance with Renny. The music was “Three o’clock in the Morning,” a popular hesitation waltz. There was nothing to do but to remain seated and hope to escape notice. Fortunately the two dancers glided in an opposite direction and might have been lost to view but for Renny’s height and the colour of his hair. The husband, stout and calmly affluent, sat absently fingering the stem of his wine glass, the pouches beneath his eyes accentuated by the light from a lamp at his side.

Whether because of the champagne or because of his inborn perversity, Eden now had a desire to be discovered. The expression on Renny’s face would, he thought, be something to cherish for the rest of his days. It would be well to prove, too, that he was not to be treated like a mere boy. Better show Renny that if he wanted to continue this precocious affair, nothing Renny could do would stop him. Mrs. Stroud exclaimed:

“Quick — put your hand to your face!”

She herself was holding a menu as though to shield her eyes from the light. Obediently Eden raised his hand but, between the spread fingers, his eyes looked out, bright with insolence and daring. Their attitudes were so obvious as to draw the attention of all who passed. As Renny and his partner moved directly in front of them, the music ceased. Renny’s gaze was attracted by the hidden faces; he halted. Recognition gleamed in his eyes.

His face, however, still kept the expression of interest it had worn as he listened to the animated talk of his partner.

Now he spoke to her and they came straight to the table where Amy Stroud and Eden sat. Renny introduced them to Mrs. Denovan. Her husband had, that day, bought one of Renny’s hunters for her. They were Americans. She said:

“Couldn’t your brother and his friend come and sit at our table? There’s lots of room.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” agreed Renny, staring hard at Eden.

He and Mrs. Stroud rose, with an air almost submissive, and followed the others. The music was beginning again. When introductions were over and they were seated at the table with Mr. Denovan, he ordered coffee and liqueurs. Amy Stroud felt a strange exhilaration. Renny’s imperturbability on discovering Eden and her, the meeting with these strangers, the potency of the wines, transformed her momentarily into the woman she was always striving to be.

“Are you a neighbour of these gentlemen?” asked Mrs. Denovan.

“Yes,” she returned. “Though not for long.”

“They’ve got a lovely old house and a wonderful old grandmother. Why, she conversed with my wife and me like a woman of seventy.”

“She’s more interesting than any woman of seventy I’ve ever known.”

Eden saw a shade of resentment cross Renny’s face. He thought — “Renny doesn’t even want to hear Gran
praised
by these people. That’s what’s the matter with him. Everything that he loves, he wants to keep from the outside world. For all my deceptions, he’s got a more secret nature than I have…. Gosh, he’s asking Amy to dance!”

Eden had an almost hysterical feeling as he saw Renny take her hand, place his arm about her waist. Certainly she had courage. He threw her a look of approval. He hoped she would acquit herself well. Old Redhead was a good dancer. He turned to Mrs. Denovan and asked her to dance. She was light as a fairy. She was like thistledown on his arm. He gave himself up to the pleasure of the dance.

Under circumstances less extraordinary, Amy Stroud would never have felt sufficiently sure of herself to have danced with Renny. Tonight was different. Though she was not intoxicated, she was in a state approaching it. She wanted to snatch the pleasures of the night with both hands. Her life in the past month had been so lone, so torn by agitation, that she felt, in her flame-coloured dress, like a butterfly newly emerged from the cramping darkness of its chrysalis. Yet, as she waited with her hand in Renny’s for his signal, she had to set her teeth to keep her lips steady. She was afraid he might feel the trembling of her limbs.