The White Marriage Page 29

  Sam put a friendly arm across Hart’s shoulders. Hart, who was busy stubbing out his cigarette in a large china ashtray with ‘Goût de Gauloise’ round it, turned and as he did so Sam was relieved to see that the expression on his face was one of relief.

  ‘Best to think that way, until you know better, Hart old boy, or one might head down the Othello route, don’t you think?’

  Hart nodded. He was still heart sore, but he could, none the less, see a glimmer of hope, just a glimmer. Perhaps Sunny hadn’t wanted the fiancé to kiss her; perhaps Sam was right.

  Hart gave a great deep sigh. The sort of sigh a horse can give when at long, long last he can feel a sensitive rider on his back, someone who has mounted him carefully, instead of plumping himself like a sack of potatoes in the saddle, someone who won’t jab at his mouth, pull and kick as if demented, someone who will reward him either with a gentle pat, or a kind voice.

  ‘Thank you, Sam—’

  He turned to Sam but he had gone, haring up the stairs to find Arietta, to make sure she was still the same, that she had not suddenly changed overnight into something quite other, or someone quite other. She was not in her room, so he flung himself down the stairs and into the street just as Arietta was coming back down it, tired out from the shop, only too happy to be back at the lodging house.

  ‘Oh, there you are.’ Sam slid to a halt, at the same time trying to be nonchalant. ‘I thought I might come to the shop to meet you, but you’re here.’

  Arietta looked at Sam. Something was the matter with Sam, but she was in too good a mood to anticipate what the particular matter might be.

  ‘Why would you want to meet me at the shop? We said we would meet here, Sam,’ she reminded him as he took hold of some of her shopping bags, and they walked along together.

  ‘Did we? I wasn’t too sure.’

  ‘We said, at lunch-time if you remember, that we would meet here.’

  Sam frowned, and looked and felt puzzled. ‘Lunch-time seems a long time ago,’ he offered, ‘you know how it is, particularly if you’ve enjoyed it.’

  It was Arietta’s turn to frown and look puzzled.

  ‘Sam,’ she said, at last, giving in to the uneasiness of his mood, but only after they had walked along for a minute in silence, ‘is something the matter?’

  ‘Something the matter? No. Well, yes, actually.’

  ‘Something I can do anything about, or rather, anything I can do something about?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. Some light shed on the matter, principally from the opposite sex, is needed in this case. Or to put it another way, since it involves him, we need to get to the Hart of the matter.’

  Arietta groaned. ‘Don’t make bad jokes, and above all, please tell me Hart hasn’t fallen in love with Sunny?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact he has.’

  Arietta stopped, both to rest her arms from the shopping, and in order to stare gravely at Sam.

  ‘But that’s fatal. I mean, Hart must know that she’s engaged to Gray Wyndham.’

  They were now in the hall of the lodging house. Sam put his finger to his lips as Arietta went to speak.

  ‘Ssh, whisper. Harty’s downstairs trying to put a sticking plaster on his heart.’

  ‘He’s going to need more than sticking plaster, Sam. He’s going to need a blooming great bandage. Gray Wyndham will never give up Sunny now.’

  ‘But you know and I know that he’s sending notes to this Fortescue woman in Beetle’s books, and God knows what else is going on.’

  ‘Yes, we do know that, but we can’t say anything to her, or to him. We just have to keep our traps shut.’

  They had crept upstairs and were now standing in Arietta’s room.

  ‘Why do we have to keep what you call our traps shut?’

  ‘Because, Sam, your Uncle Randy says so. It is none of our biznai. None at all. Mr Beauchamp says it is a “where angels fear to tread department”, and he should know. He’s been running a bookshop long enough.’

  Arietta sat down on her bed, counting off the emotional items on one finger after the other.

  ‘First, we have Sunny who has got herself engaged to this chap Gray, who only wants to marry her so he can get his hands on his beastly family money, and then we have this woman ‘darlingest’, as your Uncle Randy always refers to her now, who will be most disinclined to get her claws out of Gray Wyndham, and in the middle are the three of us, and poor Hart, who has fallen in love, albeit temporarily.’

  ‘No, no, nothing temporary about Hart’s feelings, Arietta. I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘You can always tell.’

  ‘How can you always tell?’

  ‘Because his face has changed. He has become a man overnight.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean since meeting Sunny Chantry my boyhood pal has stopped being a boy, and become a man. He’s got it that bad.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Sam looked down at Arietta. ‘And, Miss Staunton, as it happens, now the subject has come up, I looked in the mirror this morning after shaving, and realised – so has mine.’

  Arietta stared up at Sam. She would have liked to have made a joke, turned away from the moment, but she couldn’t, for the simple reason that she could see that it was true. Sam’s face had changed. The expression in his eyes was different.

  ‘So what shall we do next?’ Arietta demanded after they had kissed for a little.

  Sam thought for a moment. ‘Why don’t we go downstairs and find Hart and take him out to dinner at the bistro on the corner, and make him drink lots of red wine?’

  Sam went ahead of Arietta, plunging down the stairs once more, all set to persuade Hart to come out for a jolly with them, leaving Arietta to brush her hair and change her clothes, before following him down, which, a little later she did, to find someone new in the hall.

  ‘Sunny!’

  Sunny was looking dishevelled and upset.

  ‘Hallo, Arietta,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘What should I be doing here? I am coming back to my lodgings, Ari, that’s what.’

  Arietta pulled her after her up the stairs, at the same time keeping one finger on her lips to indicate that she must not speak until they were back in her room. Once they were, she turned and faced her childhood friend.

  ‘Look, Sunny, there has been the most awful to-do downstairs with the boys.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Because Hart saw you in the arms of your fiancé, being kissed, properly, in the street too, which actually is a bit cheap at the best of times, Miss Chantry.’

  It was Sunny’s turn to sink down on the bed, and stare up at Arietta.

  ‘Oh, what a pill—’

  ‘More than a pill, this is a whole bottle of the things. You truly seem to have broken Hart’s heart – no, don’t laugh. He thought you were gone on him, and now he’s seen you in the arms of another, he has – to say the least – hit the deck. Despair is oozing from his every pore.’

  Sunny stood up. ‘I’d better go and explain, hadn’t I?’

  ‘Not for the minute, no. Better stay here and brush your hair, and calm down. You look a bit flustered. Why not go up to your room, and change and bath and all that, and by that time we can have thought out what to say.’

  Sunny only nodded in reply because just for a moment she was finding talking difficult, and anyway, Arietta had turned away to brush her hair, which was just as well, because Sunny knew that if she so much as tried to utter, she would probably burst into tears of relief. It was so wonderful to be back at the lodging house, to be with Arietta, to be away from Gray and his father, and all the muddle she had made there. She had left them to come home and change into an evening dress because they were meant to be going to dinner at the Savoy.

  God, how she dreaded going back
again!

  Minutes later, as she lay in the bath, she thought about what she should do, and what she must say, and how she must say it. She must first tell Gray that she could not marry him. Then she must tell Hart that Gray had kissed her against her will, and pushed her into the taxi, also against her will. She must tell everyone everything, but just at that moment all she actually felt like doing was sinking beneath the water, and staying there.

  Arietta wandered down to the basement. Music was being played, which was good, since obviously this must mean that Hart had been persuaded to come out of the depths of his despair and blow a storm, which it seemed he was now doing. She went quietly into the room and sat down on the sofa, happy as always to sit in on a set and listen. After a while, when the three boys had paused to argue – which again was good because it meant that everything was as normal as blueberry pie – she picked up the evening newspaper. Inside there was a photograph of two buckled cars, and a caption above it.

  Socialite Killed in Car Crash

  Dilke Fortescue, the well-known socialite, has been killed in a car crash on the Hog’s Back in Surrey. On hearing the news, his wife, Mrs Leandra Fortescue, left London for Maydown, their magnificent country home. The driver of the other car is being treated in hospital. Mr Fortescue had a taste for fast cars, and was a well-known bon viveur. He leaves a widow but no children.

  Arietta didn’t know why, but her first reaction was panic. She quickly folded the newspaper and shoved it under the sofa. Darlingest’s husband was obviously as dead as a nail. What would this mean to Sunny’s fiancé, Gray? Now darlingest would be free to marry him, what would happen?

  Happily the set had begun again, so Arietta was able to slip out of the room, and run up the stairs to find Sunny. She knocked on the door of her room, but there was no answer. She tried the handle, but the door was firmly locked. She turned away. It seemed that Sunny had gone, but where?

  Chapter Twelve

  The silence in the room was such that had there been a wasp or a fly buzzing it would have sounded like a trumpet solo. Sunny heard the sound, but it did not register with her as a sound, nothing was registering with her outside of the fact that Gray was looking at her with longing, and hope, and it was breaking her heart, because, war hero that he was, she realised that he needed her, and perhaps always would. For this reason she must commit.

  ‘Of course I will marry you, Gray. Not to marry you would be to go back on my word, and one must always, always stand by one’s word, my father has always said that. Not to do so means you are quite beyond the pale, and the kind of person that no one wants to be.’ Sunny’s eyes were huge in her small heart-shaped face, her mouth dry, and her voice, although firm, sounded strained even to her own ears. ‘I mean – I mean – I, er, I have made a commitment to you, Gray, and I will always stand by that. I will always love you in the way that you want, and I hate to think that I would ever hurt your feelings. Goodness knows, you have been far too hurt by the war, I know that. I could never ever live with the guilt of letting you down. I want you to know that I will always stand by my promise to marry you, Gray.’

  Gray stared into Sunny’s eyes, and hearing the sincerity in her voice, he felt ashamed, and perhaps because of that he looked away, and took a different tack.

  ‘Your father doesn’t like me, Sunny. The last thing he takes me for is a man of honour.’

  ‘In that case he is utterly mistaken in you. You are the personification of honour, and – and everything you stand for is what we should all stand for. What we should all be is what you are, Gray.’

  ‘Sunny – I, er, have something to tell you, that might change your mind about me, I am afraid.’

  But Gray could get no further because he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. It was not his father returning for the evening paper or some such nonsense, but Fletcher, his butler.

  ‘Sir, forgive me for interrupting?’

  Gray said ‘Yes?’ in such a sharp voice that it implied, this had better be important.

  ‘There is a lady on the telephone, and she wishes to speak to you, in private, sir.’

  ‘Is it urgent?’

  ‘I believe so, sir.’

  ‘Very well, I will take it in my study.’

  Gray turned back to Sunny. ‘Please, don’t move,’ he begged her. ‘It’s probably my secretary about business. I will be back in a minute. Don’t move.’

  Sunny waited until Gray was out of the room, and then she snatched up her handbag, and started across to the drawing-room door.

  She peered out into the hall, which thankfully was empty, and then started to tiptoe across the hall as fast as she could.

  ‘Where are you going, young lady?’ a male voice demanded.

  Sunny froze. ‘I must just go to the aunt,’ she said in an embarrassed voice.

  ‘No need to tiptoe then, Miss Chantry. It is just through there.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sunny gave the butler a wan smile, and followed him obediently to the cloakroom. Once there she started to formulate a plan.

  Gray picked up the telephone and was startled to hear Leandra. She began to talk, fast and low. He stared around his study. He could hardly believe what she was saying, but he had to because she was saying it over and over again.

  ‘Dilke is dead, Gray, Dilke is dead. Poor Dilke is dead. He was killed in a car crash on the Hog’s Back. Poor Dilke, I always did say that he drove too fast. It’s terrible. Poor Dilke. But what it means is – is that we can marry. After all this time, we can now marry, Gray darling.’

  Gray wanted to interrupt her to say, ‘But I am not free to marry. I am engaged to Sunny Chantry,’ but he couldn’t, probably because Leandra was crying, and he didn’t know whether she was crying from relief, or from grief.

  Finally there was a pause as her voice steadied.

  ‘We can do as we have always wanted,’ she resumed, ‘because you can now come into your inheritance, because you will be a married man. We are free at last to be respectable, and loved.’

  Gray wanted to say, ‘But I don’t want to be respectable and loved by you, Leandra, I want to be loved by Sunny Chantry,’ and then he remembered his lie, and he fell silent.

  He and Leandra had constructed such a monumental lie that it was an Empire State Building of a lie, stretching right up to the sky; a lie as high as an elephant’s eye, as the song had it. Christ! What was he to do? He was in love with a girl who was keeping to her promise to marry him because she imagined him unable to make love to her, in other words, she felt sorry for him. Yet he was really loved by Leandra, who knew only too well that he was very much a man, in every sense of the word.

  All this flashed through his mind before he spoke, and then, perhaps understandably, he at once decided to back-pedal, to slow things down, while he tried to think of what to do.

  ‘Leandra, do you mind if we meet rather than talk on the telephone?’

  ‘No, of course, we must meet.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I long for you, but it can’t be quite yet. So much to do, you know how it is, so much to do, so much to organise. Of course, Rule is going to take charge of the arrangements. He is, as you know, so good at it all. Everyone always says how busy one is at these times, and I am afraid it’s true.’

  They both replaced their receivers, as of old, with no effusive phrases or expressions of love, because old habits die hard, and they had always been careful in that way.

  Leandra hurried off to repack for her return to the country. Having collected up her things once more she headed for the front door, but stopped as she remembered that she should be dressed in black. She paused, reluctant to delay her return to Maydown by even half an hour, but then turned back. Too awful to go back to Maydown dressed brightly. What would the servants think, particularly Rule, who knew all about Gray and as a consequence would hate her not to carry out her part, properly dressed as a grieving widow, heavy black veil and all?

  Gray too hurried, back to the drawing room and,
as he thought, Sunny, determined on telling her the truth, determined also that she should know how he now felt about her.

  He pushed open the door and, thinking to call to the butler to fetch them some drinks, he did not at first register that the room was empty. He pushed the bell for his butler.

  ‘Ah – could you tell me where our young guest, my fiancée, might now be, Fletcher? This is the second time she has left me in a matter of hours. Is she trying to tell me something, I wonder?’ he ended, trying to joke. ‘First she leaves me to go and change for dinner, and now, having brushed up, she leaves me once again.’

  His butler stared at Gray.

  ‘I showed her to the cloakroom a few minutes ago, sir,’ he stated in a puzzled voice. ‘I imagine she must have come back. I will check for you.’

  On his return he looked embarrassed. ‘I am afraid that the young lady must have left prematurely, sir.’

  It was Gray’s turn to look embarrassed. ‘Is there no trace of her anywhere in the flat?’

  ‘No, sir, but Mrs Fletcher thinks she saw her crossing the square in a bit of a hurry a few minutes back. Had we better check the silver, sir?’

  ‘Good God, no, nothing like that. I will telephone her later, thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Fletcher closed the drawing-room door. He’d had a funny feeling about that girl the moment Mr Wyndham had showed her into the flat. There was something about her, something that made him uneasy. She looked frightened, as if she didn’t ought to be with Mr Wyndham, and after Mr Wyndham Senior left, she looked more frightened still. If Mrs Fletcher was right, and she had spotted her not just crossing the square outside, not as he had just said, ‘in a bit of a hurry’, but haring across it, then something was very wrong, although what it was neither he nor Mrs Fletcher could say.