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THE LONELY ROAD

Margaret Malcolm

When Dick Corbett jilted her on the morning of their wedding day, Lucy courageously set out to build a life without him.

She found a pleasant job as a secretary to an author. And it was Owen Vaughan, her employer's nephew, who helped Lucy gather up the pieces of her shattered dream.

But Fate played cruel tricks. For among the first people Lucy met in her new life were Dick and his bride!

LUCY sat up in bed and crowed with sheer delight. The night before she had left her curtain wide open so that the moment she woke up she would be able to see just what sort of day it was. It was so very, very important that at least it should be dry because this was the most important day of her life—her wedding day.

At half past eleven that very morning she and Dick were to be married. And here, just as if it had been ordered along with the wedding cake and the champagne, was a perfect April day. The blue sky hadn’t so much as a puffle of cloud in it and the sunshine poured in at the window. There was only one description for it—bride’s weather.

Smiling contentedly, Lucy lay back on her pillows, her hands linked above her head. Gently she twisted the engagement ring that Dick had given her a year previously. To Lucy it was the most beautiful ring in the world, not because Dick had spent far more money on it than perhaps he ought to have done, but because it was the outward and visible sign of his love for her, just as the plain one he would give her in a few hours’ time was the proof that their love would last for ever.

Dreamily she recalled the beginning of their love story. There had not, perhaps, been anything dramatic about it, but from the very beginning it had felt so
right.

Fifteen months previously they had met at a wedding in the Surrey village where Lucy lived. They had not been among the principal characters, which was just as well, for it left them free of the duties which fall to a best man or a bridesmaid, and so they had been able to spend all their time together. And that was just what they wanted for, as Dick afterwards said,

“Even before we were introduced, I
knew!”
And Lucy, starry-eyed, had whispered that so had she.

Dick, a native of Sheffield, had intended going back early on Sunday, but he changed his plans. He would catch the latest possible train so that they could have as many hours together as possible.

It had been quite dreadful, saying goodbye that evening, but they wrote long letters to one another and had such protracted telephone conversations that Lucy’s father had said they ought to get a reduced rate for quantity!

Of course, everybody who saw them together knew that they were in love, but though they had no doubts themselves, they decided not to announce their engagement until they had known each other a few months. Actually, it was Lucy’s idea.

“I just couldn’t
bear
it if there was a fuss,” she had said earnestly. “It would—it would—well, of course, it wouldn’t spoil everything. Nothing could. But all the same—”

At first Dick had not seen why there should be a fuss. He had a reasonably decent job with excellent prospects. He had a nice little sum of money in the bank, left to him by his parents, and it wasn’t as if he was the rackety type. What more could anyone ask of a young man of twenty-seven?

“Oh, not
that
sort of thing,” Lucy had replied.

“Then, for goodness’ sake, what?”

“Just—we haven’t known each other very long, and I think, perhaps, Mummy and Daddy might worry that we should change our minds.”

Lucy was very fond of her parents and she was their only child, so she felt her attitude was not only natural but reasonable. Dick, left an orphan at an early age, didn’t see it that way.

"I
shan’t change,” he had declared emphatically.

“Nor shall I,” Lucy had insisted as positively. “So we’re quite safe to wait—just a little while, aren’t we? And I’d rather we suggested it than be asked to.”

And Dick, though he had grumbled a little, had given in, but he had stuck out that the engagement should not be longer than six months. In the end, that had turned out to be impossible. Dick had been transferred by his firm to a branch in Leicester, and as that had meant promotion and really hard work, he had been compelled to tell Lucy that it was out of the question for him to have time off for a honeymoon for some time to come—unless, of course, they got married but postponed their honeymoon?

They talked it over, and in the end, decided to wait. It had been something of a heartbreak, particularly when the day they had originally planned as their wedding day came and passed just like any other day. But now all that was over. In another few hours—

Lucy slid out of bed and crossed the sun-warmed floor to her wardrobe. Almost holding her breath, she opened one of its doors and gazed at her wedding dress, still encased in its cover of protecting plastic. It was a very lovely dress, soft and lacy and thoroughly feminine. It had cost Lucy a lot of money, but in her mind’s eye was a picture of Dick turning as she came up the aisle—and she knew that nothing but the best was good enough.

In an otherwise empty drawer of her dressing table was her veil and the little coronet of orange blossom she would wear—she looked at them and sighed with pure bliss. How lucky she was, she thought, that she had the sort of hair, honey-coloured and thick, that did just what one wanted it to without any bother. Other brides might have to worry about a last-minute set, but she didn’t.

There were sounds of people moving about the house now. Collie, their nondescript dog who was anything but a collie, barked because he knew that the drawing of the bolt on the front door meant he was going to be taken out for his early morning walk. There was a gentle tinkle of china and Lucy slipped back into bed because, last night, Mrs. Darvill had told her that she should have her breakfast in bed, and would not listen to any protests. Darling Mummy, not too happy at losing her only child, but certainly not going to spoil this heavenly day with tears or reproaches.

A delicious smell of bacon and coffee wafted up from the kitchen. Lucy, suddenly discovering that she was hungry, plumped up the pillows behind her and waited in happy anticipation. A moment or two later her mother came in bearing a daintily laid tray which she set on Lucy’s knees.

“There you are, darling. And what a lovely day you’ve got!” she said, kissing the happy face that was lifted to hers.

“M’m!” Lucy sniffed appreciatively. “This smells heavenly! Has the postman come yet?”

Mrs. Darvill laughed.

“You’re surely not expecting a letter from Dick this morning?” she asked. “Why, you’ll be seeing him in just a little while!”

“Yes, I know,” Lucy answered. “But you see, there wasn’t one yesterday, and travelling down as late as he had to, it wasn’t really possible to telephone—has he come, Mummy?”

“Feel in my apron pocket,” Mrs. Darvill said teasingly. “There might just be something!”

Lucy took out four letters from the pocket, and one was from Dick. She tucked that under her pillow and opened the others while her mother waited.

“A cheque from Aunt Millie,” she announced. “A very generous one, too. And a letter from Mrs. Marchment saying that they’re bringing their present with them because they had to order it and it didn’t come in time to post. And—” she burst out laughing, “a very agitated note from Mr. Keane asking if I have any idea what has happened to the Pottinger and Pringle file! Poor darling, he’s always popping things into his own drawers and forgetting. I expect that’s what it is this time!”

“Poor Mr. Keane, he’ll miss you,” Mrs. Darvill remarked. “After all, you were his secretary for three years, and the new girl must have a lot to learn.”

“I’ll ring her up before he gets to the office and tell her to look in his desk. He hates having to admit that he’s absent-minded.”

“Well, now get on with your breakfast,” Mrs. Darvill suggested. “When you’ve read Dick’s letter, of course!”

She went out of the room and Lucy opened the letter. It was not very long—

Then, without any warning, the world stood still. Lucy’s world, at any rate. She stared at the lines of Dick’s easy flowing hand—stared and felt her heart turn to ice, for what he had written was not capable of misinterpretation.

“
I can’t go through with it, Lucy. I thought I could, but there are some things stronger than common decency.

“I know I’m an utter swine, letting you down like this, particularly at the last moment, and there is only one thing I can say in extenuation—I’m doing you less of an injury by backing down than I would be if I married you. You deserve a better chap than I am,

“Forgive me if you can.

Dick.”

The sunny room was very silent and still. Then, with a strange conviction that she was somehow standing outside herself, controlling a situation that silly, happy Lucy Darvill could never have coped with, she folded the letter with hands that were quite steady, and slid it back into its envelope.

With the deliberate movements of an automaton she put the breakfast tray on the bedside table, got out of bed and put on her dressing gown and slippers. Then she went downstairs.

Passing the open drawing-room door she noticed the perfume of the flowers with which it was decorated, and caught a glimpse of the wedding cake’s white elegance. But neither meant anything to her now. Hearing her parents' voices, she walked unwaveringly to the kitchen and stood framed in the doorway.

“Did I leave something off the tray?” Mrs. Darvill asked. And then, seeing her girl’s frozen face: “Darling, what is it? Tell Mummy!”

“There—won’t be any wedding.” Lucy said in a toneless voice entirely devoid of feeling. “Dick—has changed his mind.”

They stared at her, unable to take it in. Then, with a little cry, Mrs. Darvill put her arms round her, only to feel as if it was a wooden doll she held.

“Darling, there must be some mistake—” she insisted. “Dick would never—”

“You’d better read it,” Lucy said listlessly, and took the letter out of her pocket.

They read it in silence, and when they had finished it, Mrs. Darvill was in tears and Mr. Darvill was muttering fiercely under his breath. It would have gone hard with Dick Corbett if he had turned up at that moment!

“I think it would be a good idea, Daddy, if you were to ring up the Rector at once,” Lucy heard herself say in a matter-of-fact way. “Then he can let the organist and the choirmaster know.”

“Yes,” Mr. Darvill said heavily. “I’ll do that.”

“And then,” Lucy went on, “telegrams or telephone messages to as many people as we can possibly manage—”

Beyond words, Mr. Darvill nodded and went out to the telephone. They heard him ask for the Rectory number and then Mrs. Darvill pushed the kitchen door shut. Lucy went to the window and stood staring out at the garden, gay with the daffodils Mr. Darvill had been assiduously cultivating for this day.

“Did you—did you eat your breakfast?” Mrs. Darvill asked, thinking that surely one of the hardest things in life is to see your own child suffer and be unable to do anything to ease her pain.

Lucy shook her head.

“And by now, it’s all cold and unappetising,” Mrs. Darvill said briskly. “Well, you shall have a glass of milk instead. That will keep you going quite nicely.” Because it was too much trouble to protest, Lucy drank the milk. When she put down the empty glass Mrs. Darvill asked the question that had been in her mind since the moment Lucy had broken the news to them.

“Darling, what are you going to do?”

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. What did it matter what she did?

“I know, Lucy, but you must make up your mind. Would you like us to cancel our holiday—?”

Mr. and Mrs. Darvill, shrinking from the thought of the empty house, had decided to start their own holiday the following day.

“No, no, certainly not, Mummy,” Lucy said so quickly that Mrs. Darvill flinched.