She and David Fenemore had not forgotten their decision to go and look for Professor Boddington. They were merely waiting until Sir Richard was better. They had decided not to tell the others about their plan, partly because they did not want to raise vain hopes and partly because they were half ashamed of it. In the clear light of day it seemed little short of madness — a wild-goose chase.
At last the day came when Sir Richard was well enough to be left in Maisie’s charge. He was to get up for a little that afternoon.
“I really think we can leave him safely for a day or two,” David said.
“Leave me for a day or two!” Sir Richard exclaimed in surprise.
“Jane and I have a scheme,” explained David. “We don’t want to say much about it because it may not come off —”
“If you don’t mind being left —” Jane added.
“Of course not,” said Sir Richard quickly. “Maisie can look after me perfectly well — off you go, it will do you both good to have a little holiday. Only for Heaven’s sake be careful of yourselves.”
“We’ll be careful, sir,” David promised.
“You have both been splendid,” continued Sir Richard. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all you have done —”
“Nonsense, sir.”
“It’s not nonsense. I am more than grateful, and more than sorry for all the trouble I have caused.”
“Now don’t be silly,” said Jane, smoothing his pillow. “And mind you are good and do what Maisie tells you. We’ll be back soon.”
They collected a few necessities in case they should be away for a night and walked down to the garage together.
“Are we mad?” Jane said.
“We can’t leave a stone unturned,” replied David firmly. “Even a very small stone. Sir Richard might easily have another attack —”
Tom Day was in the garage, tuning up the Rolls. He spent most of his time in the garage, or in the hangar, or tinkering with the dynamo which supplied the house with electric power. The low purring of high-powered engines soothed him; it was his way of escape from the strange haunting loneliness of the new world.
Tom was so surprised at their departure that Jane felt it necessary to explain their plans. It seemed foolish to be mysterious. Tom’s eyes became round with amazement as he listened to the story, he was speechless with surprise.
“Why so astonished?” enquired David as he swung himself into the driving-seat of the Rolls with one lithe movement of his body.
“Well, you haven’t much to go on,” Tom pointed out.
“On the contrary,” David replied, “I’ve got quite a lot to go on. I deduce Boddington from Jane’s blackbird — have you never heard of Sherlock Holmes?”
“Who is he?” enquired Tom. “Any relation of Tubby Holmes — the parachute man?”
“None. My man lived in the age of hansom cabs. He was a bloke who could deduce the colour of a man’s hair from a piece of mud on the dining-room carpet,” replied David somewhat inaccurately. He let in the clutch and they glided off down the drive.
“Well, I hope you’ve got your money with you,” shouted Tom.
Jane was glad that David had recovered his spirits sufficiently to jest with Tom. She saw that the reason was there was something to be done at last. Their quest might be a wild-goose chase — she felt sure it was — but at least it was activity, and activity was the breath of life to David. He had been depressed and wretched ever since Sir Richard’s collapse — the anxiety had weighed him down, and the awful responsibility. David had hung about the house for days, watching his patient like a hawk — watching, waiting, worrying. It was enough to depress anybody’s spirits to the lowest ebb. But, now that the waiting was over and there was something definite to be done, David’s youth reasserted itself and he felt the reaction. Jane did not share his cheerful mood. She was not sure that she was doing right to leave the convalescent Sir Richard, she was tired with anxiety and nursing, and pessimistic about the wild-goose chase upon which they had embarked. As Alice had said, the world felt empty, it was almost impossible to imagine anybody in it besides themselves.
“What did Tom mean about your money?” Jane asked, as they turned into the high road.
David laughed. “I had a joke with Tom,” he replied. “It was rather a silly joke really.” He took a wad of banknotes out of his pocket and handed them to Jane. “I got them at the bank,” he said. “They were lying on the counter — Tom’s eyes bulged when he saw them, and then he realised that they were worthless, and we had a good laugh.” Jane turned them over and saw that they were Bank of England notes for £50.
“It’s queer, isn’t it?” she said. “They give you a sort of thrill — even though you know that they are no use now.”
“Yes, it’s queer,” David agreed. He stuffed them back in his pocket and drove on.
“I think this is the turning,” Jane said suddenly. “No it isn’t — oh I’m sorry.”
David stopped the car and backed.
“It must be the next turning,” said Jane anxiously. She sat forward on the seat and tried to remember which way she had come. Had she seen that queer white house with the red roof? — she could not remember it at all. She realised that it was going to be more difficult than she had expected to find her way back to the little bungalow on the hill where she had seen the blackbird. She had been upset and worried, her whole mind had been concentrated on finding her way to Bardsholme and she had not memorised the landmarks. Now, of course, it was all backwards, which made it even more difficult. Jane tried to explain this to David to excuse her incompetence as pilot — they had taken half a dozen wrong turnings by this time, and David had been forced to turn the car in narrow lanes or back out of them for miles. He had taken it all in excellent part, and did not seem the least annoyed with her about it.
“Don’t worry, Jane,” he said at last in a friendly voice. “You are always telling other people not to worry, and then you go and do it yourself —”
“I hate being a fool,” Jane told him.
“I know you do,” he replied, laughing. “All clever people hate that — and you are frightfully clever —”
“No,” she said quickly, “but I like to think I am fairly intelligent, and I am causing such a lot of trouble.”
“Never mind,” David said. “We’ll find the bungalow some time — if it takes us a week —”
Tom was amazed when he saw David Fenemore and Jane Forrest drive off together — it took him some moments to recover. He had seen the strained relations which existed between them — nobody living in the same house could have failed to do so — and David had made Tom the recipient of his confidences. He had made no accusations against Jane in Tom’s hearing, except upon the one occasion when he had designated her story of her experiences as “lies” — but he had shown very clearly that he had “no use” for Jane, had sneered at her in a thinly veiled manner and avoided her whenever possible. Tom had seen all this, but, of course, he had not seen the reconciliation, so it was no wonder he was surprised by this new development. All of a sudden — so it seemed to Tom — the two had become excellent friends and had driven off together upon a palpably wild-goose chase.
Tom felt the need of something soothing — he started the engine of Sir Richard’s Bugatti and lifted the bonnet. The engine ran sweetly, powerfully, soothingly. He fiddled with one of the jets for a few minutes and felt better. His mind began to function normally again. What about Alice? he thought. He straightened his back, and stared unseeingly at the garage wall — what about Alice?
Tom liked Alice, there was no nonsense about her, she was a good pal, and always ready for a laugh and a joke. He had not let himself think about Alice before, because he was sure that she and David would pair off, and what girl would look at him if she could have a splendid fellow like David? But now that David had gone off like that with Jane Forrest there might be a chance. Would it be worth while having a try for Alice? He thought about it for a few minut
es, and the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea. Would it be perfectly “square” to have a try for Alice in his friend’s absence? Yes, why not? David had had plenty of opportunities. He had gone off with Jane. Alice was fair game.
Tom turned off the engine, and wiped his hands on a piece of cotton waste. He took his comb out of his pocket and combed his hair with the aid of the driving-mirror; then he went up to the house. He met Alice and Maisie on the doorstep, and broke the news of David’s departure with Jane Forrest. They were surprised, but not inordinately so.
“I thought there was something in the air,” Maisie said. Alice nodded. “I always thought David was in love with Jane even when he was rude to her — you had a kind of feeling it was hurting him to be rude.”
Tom was amazed at the perspicacity of the female mind. He had never got beyond the fact that David was abominably rude to Jane, it would never have occurred to him that rudeness was a sign of love.
“Well, that’s that,” he said at last. “You may be right — I expect you are. What about a trip into Fairtown for some shopping.
“I can’t leave Sir Richard,” Maisie said quickly. “But you might get some things for me. I want a new thermometer, and some aspirin, and a tin of Benger’s Food —”
“I’ll come,” said Alice. “I can get what Maisie wants, and some housekeeping things. I’ll run and ask Miss May if she wants anything.”
Tom dissembled his satisfaction and went to wash, and clean up generally. It was funny how the habit of cleaning up and making oneself decent persisted — Fairtown was empty, but Tom dressed himself carefully for a visit to it. He looked at himself in the glass as he smoothed his hair again (it was frightfully unruly hair and was becoming unmanageably long) and wondered what Alice thought of him.
Half an hour later Tom and Alice in the Bugatti were approaching Fairtown. It was a biggish place, quite new, and built of the white concrete which had completely superseded bricks and stone during the last thirty years.
Alice had been chatting about one thing and another, but, as they ran into the town, she became more and more silent.
“I haven’t got used to it yet,” she said at last, with a little shudder. “It isn’t so bad when we’re all together at Bardsholme; you can forget, then, that there’s nobody else in the world — that everybody is dead — but when you come into town like this —”
“I know,” Tom said. “It’s pretty ghastly, pretty grim. Sometimes I feel absolutely frantic — the loneliness of it gets me. I’m a sociable sort of bloke, I like lots of fellows about. I suppose we’ll get used to it —”
“Shall we?” Alice enquired. “I wonder if we shall. I feel worse about it than I did. It’s so awful to think of all the people you knew — and they’re all gone. You’ll never see any of them again.”
“I know,” said Tom. It was a favourite expression of his and could mean a good many different things. On this occasion it meant sympathy and understanding to the nth degree.
“It’s frightening, isn’t it?” Alice added.
“You needn’t be frightened,” said Tom, seizing his opportunity. “I’m here, Alice. I’ll look after you — if you’ll let me.”
“Oh, I know you will,” Alice replied, missing the point completely. “I don’t mean I’m frightened of anything happening to me now. It’s the future that’s so — so horrible to think of.”
Tom’s heart thudded against his ribs and his throat went dry. “I mean the future,” he said rather incoherently. “I mean I want to look after you always — to marry you. Will you, Alice? Please do, I’ve always wanted you — but I thought David —”
“No, no, not David,” she said faintly.
He stopped the car in the middle of the road and took her hand. “Who, if not David?” he said urgently.
“Nobody.”
“Then why not me? Alice, please say yes. You don’t like any of the others better than me, do you?”
“I never thought of you — I never thought you wanted anything except engines and things,” Alice told him. “You’re such a child — such an infant —”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“Well, what does that matter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I,” Tom said firmly. “So, if we don’t think it matters, it doesn’t — see? You’ve got to marry somebody, haven’t you? You’ll never have any peace till you do. Well, who d’you want? Surely you don’t want Maule — or Bunce. Who else is there? Alice, do say yes.”
“You must give me time to think,” said Alice feebly.
“Of course,” Tom agreed.
He let in the clutch and drove on. He felt rather miserable — the proposal had not been a success, he had bungled the whole thing. He should not have pointed out the lack of choice, it made it seem like a business arrangement, and it was not a business arrangement. He really liked Alice immensely, he felt he might fall in love with her quite easily if he let himself go — I should have swept her off her feet, he thought, frowning and pursuing his lips, I should have kissed her. I can’t think why I was such a fool.
“Why do you want to get married, Tom?” enquired Alice suddenly.
“I’m lonely,” he replied. “Frightfully lonely and restless — and I’m very fond of you, Alice. I’m not in love with you yet, but I could be — easily.”
She laughed. What a child he was!
“I was holding off because of David,” continued Tom gravely. “But now — I mean if I don’t need to hold off — Alice, don’t you see what a difference it would make if we belonged to each other? — it would be so much easier to bear.”
Alice realised that. She gazed round the deserted streets — already there were weeds growing in the cracks of the gutters; one of the windows of a shop had fallen out and the pavement was strewn with glass. The cars which cluttered the roadway had begun to look weather-beaten and derelict — one of them had mounted the path and was halfway though the door of an ironmonger’s shop. In a little while — Alice thought — the whole world will be a ruin, the houses will fall down and be swamped with vegetation. She felt, suddenly, that Tom was right. The only way to bear the dreadfulness of it all was to belong to somebody, to love somebody. She looked at Tom, and thought — he’s a dear, and awfully reliable.
“What about Iris?” she enquired.
“Iris! — for me, you mean?”
“Yes, for you.”
“No thanks —”
“Iris is a good sort when you get to know her.”
“Look here, it’s you I want,” he told her. “What are you trying to get at?”
“D’you want me or just a wife?”
“You.”
“I’ll think about it, Tom,” she promised.
They left the car in a side-street and did their shopping, carrying out the things they required, and piling them in the back seat of the car. It was a queer experience shopping in the empty town. Tom had done it before, but he had never got used to it, nor been able to get over the feeling that an irate shopkeeper would emerge from the back premises and catch him making off with armfuls of goods.
“There’s just the chemist now,” Alice said at last.
“Round the corner, in the main street,” Tom told her.
They found the shop and pushed the door open. There were rows of bottles and tins, and drawers all labelled and numbered neatly but unintelligibly to the lay mind. Alice produced her list and they set to work to find what they wanted.
“Where do you think they would keep thermometers?” Alice enquired in perplexity.
“Try all those drawers,” advised Tom from the top of a ladder which he had reared against the wainscoting. “There’s a fine stock of patent foods up here. How many tins shall we take?”
“Take two or three,” Alice said. “Have you found the aspirin or shall I look for it?”
It took them a long time to find everything they needed, but at last they had fi
nished and had packed it all into the car.
“Lunch now,” Tom said.
“How and where?”
“First to an ironmonger’s for a tin-opener and a corkscrew, and then to that excellent grocer in the High Street,” Tom told her. “He’s a wine merchant too if I’m not mistaken.”
They carried out Tom’s plan of campaign, and soon found themselves seated on the grocer’s counter eating olives and biscuits, and tinned ham, and drinking some very passable sherry which Tom had discovered in the back shop.
“There are moments when the world is quite pleasant,” Alice remarked.
“My own feelings exactly,” Tom replied cheerfully. The time seemed propitious for another proposal, but Tom shirked it. They were so happy together, he didn’t want it spoilt.
“Have you finished your shopping?” he asked, when they had finished their repast and lighted some excellent cigarettes to round it off.
“I wouldn’t mind a new hat,” Alice replied. “If it wouldn’t bore you to wait for me —”
“I’ll choose one for you,” Tom told her magnanimously, “and you shall choose a tie for me. Let’s go to that big draper’s at the corner.”
They strolled along the street to the corner. The sun was shining; they had fed well; the world seemed quite a good place after all.
“We’re alive anyway,” Alice said.
“You will marry me, Alice.”
“Yes, if you like.”
They stood still in the deserted street and kissed each other gravely.
“Oh, Alice, I’m glad,” Tom told her.
Neither of them was in love, but they liked each other immensely. In this strange empty world they were like a pair of children, clinging to each other’s hands in the dark.
The Empty World Page 15
