ONCE YOU HAVE FOUND HIM
Esther Wyndham
What could be more delightful than to spend the sunny July days of Goodwood Week in a beautiful Georgian country mansion, with masses of expensive clothes to wear, pleasant people for company, and nothing to do but enjoy oneself?
Poppy Duncan was in that enviable situation, but with one underlying, fatal flaw in her happiness—she was there on false pretences.
CHAPTER ONE
AS Poppy Duncan went to work that Friday morning she asked herself, “Can it really only be yesterday that I was so happy?” She seemed to have lived through a whole lifetime since she got home the previous evening. It was the same world outside—a continuation of the same beautiful July weather. It was only inside herself that all was darkness and winter now.
Yesterday her mind had been full of her coming holiday, full of the happy little cares of packing to go abroad. She had saved up for two years for this trip to Belgium and had been eagerly, almost greedily, looking forward to it, but now it would have to be abandoned. She had undertaken a terrible responsibility. She had undertaken to find three hundred pounds in order to get her sister’s husband out of serious trouble.
It was only the evening before that her sister, Mary, had come to her and told her about Jack’s trouble. It was a common enough story, no doubt, but it had hit her like a thunderbolt. Jack was the accountant in a firm of engineers. He had taken money for a perfectly “safe” investment. The venture had failed, and now in a week’s time the firm’s books were to be examined and it would be found that three hundred pounds were missing.
Mary, of course, was quite distraught, and Poppy had refrained from saying what she thought: “How could he have been such a fool? How could he?” Instead she had comforted Mary by saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll find the money somehow.”
Ever since the death of their parents, Poppy had been more like a mother than a sister to Mary. Mary had only been eleven when their mother died, and Poppy at sixteen had taken full responsibility of her. That was eight years ago, and seldom during those eight years had Poppy been entirely free from anxiety on Mary’s account. Mary had been very delicate as a child and though she was quite strong now she had retained a certain frailty of appearance.
Poppy could not help feeling protective towards her. She herself, she always maintained, was as strong as a horse. In fact she did have a mental vigour that kept her going at high pressure even when her body was weary. She had always been so busy, always having to crowd into her life just a little more than it would contain, that she had got out of the habit of relaxing, and even on a holiday it would be a race to see how much she could read, how many sights she could see. She had a look of super-abundant health. That was what struck a stranger most about her; she looked so well, so blooming, her complexion was so fresh. She had the kind of brilliant coloring that comes from a sharp morning walk. She possessed radiance. It was natural that Mary should turn to her in her trouble, and natural that Poppy should soothe her and tell her not to worry and assure her that everything would be all right. Mary was expecting a baby in a few months’ time and Poppy felt that it was essential she should not be worried, and she was than ever indignant with Jack in her heart for being so stupid at such a moment, though she did not utter one word of criticism of him aloud. She knew how Mary adored him. Already she was taking all the blame on herself. “It was all my fault,” she had said. “I have wanted so many things that we couldn’t afford. I kept saying, ‘If only we had this, if only we had that.’ I didn’t mean it of course but he thought I did. He thought I wasn’t satisfied. He did it for me.”
Poppy was thinking of this as she let herself into the large house in Eaton Place where she worked. Poor Mary, poor darling Mary, how loyal she was. Where she loved she loved blindly and completely.
Poppy was secretary to a Dr. Francis who lived and had his consulting-rooms in Eaton Place. The doctor had gone off the day before for his holiday. If he had been there, would she have been able to ask him to lend her the money? She might have been driven to it, though she would have been most reluctant to do so. He was such a kind man. She was sure he would have lent it to her without asking a single question as to why she wanted it. She had been his secretary now for four years and could never hope for a better, kinder employer.
The telephone started to ring as she got to the little room at the back of the house which was her own domain. It was a woman patient wanting the doctor. Poppy gave her the name and telephone number of the doctor who was doing Dr. Francis’ work while he was away. She began to open the letters but she found it difficult to concentrate. Thank goodness there was not much to do that day. It was just a question of clearing up before the holiday. Her own holiday had been abandoned—at any rate until she could think of some way of getting the money. She had told her friend Helen, who shared a flat with her and with whom she had been going to Belgium, that she could not now start with her the next morning for family reasons but that she hoped she might be able to join her in a few days’ time. Fortunately there was another girl, Ruth, going with them so she did not feel that she was letting Helen down too badly.
But how was she to raise the money? All she had of her own in the world was the twenty-five pounds she had saved up for this holiday abroad, and Mary and Jack had no savings left at all. They had spent every penny they had between them getting into their home last year. “Well, I’ve got a week to think of something,” she told herself, but even if she had had a year what could she have done? She felt utterly sick at heart.
She suddenly realized that she had forgotten to take off her hat. She got up and removed it and hung it up in the cupboard and then combed her hair in front of the mirror over the mantelpiece. There was a gas-fire fitted into the grate which made this little office of hers very cosy in winter, and it was cool in summer too as it faced north. But this morning she did not really see herself in the glass: it was Mary’s troubled little face that was in front of her, and she shook out and combed her reddish gold hair with complete absent-mindedness. Hers was an unusual face—a rather tiptilted nose, a wide mouth, wide-apart very blue eyes and this lovely hair—soft hair like molten red-gold, worn unfashionably long. She had the kind of coloring that most artists long to paint. In fact she had recently sat for her portrait to a young painter, a friend of the doctor's, who had begged her so hard to do so that she had not liked to refuse, but she had found the three long sittings that he required very tedious.
The front door-bell went—the patients’ bell that rang in her office—and all at once she remembered that the South African girl was coming in that morning to have the last of her penicillin “fogs” as a preventative for the cold she had felt coming on. She had already had two treatments. She was going down to stay with some unknown relations next week and it was terribly important to her to stifle her cold. “I get them so badly,” she had told Poppy, “that they are like a major illness.” She had woken up a few mornings ago with a sore throat and had rung up Dr. Francis to know whether there was anything she could do about it. Dr. Francis had asked a few questions over the telephone and had told her to come round and try this treatment of inhaling penicillin. “We won’t promise you anything,” he had said, “but it does work like a miracle with some people.”
She had come round and the doctor had seen her and she had then had the treatment in Poppy’s office because the doctor was busy with another patient. But Poppy had met her once before that when she had come in with her mother who was suffering from pains in the chest and giddiness. They had only lately arrived from South Africa and Dr. Francis had been recommended to them by an old patient. Poppy had been able to see at a glance that Erika Hanbridge—such was the girl’s name
—came of a rich family, not only because of her clothes but because of her jewels and accessories and the scent she used. She had had a beautiful green crocodile bag to match her green crocodile shoes, two diamond clips that were obviously real, a gold bangle and a very lovely gold cigarette-case and lighter to match set with sapphires. She was a tall good-looking girl, very much Poppy’s own height and build, and, funnily enough, with rather the same colored hair as Poppy, only hers was coarser and done in a chignon.
On the first occasion when she had come in to have treatment she had talked a great deal to Poppy with the most disarming frankness and friendliness. She had told her that she had to go down to Sussex to stay with some “horribly grand unknown relations” to go to the Goodwood races. “Oh, you’ll enjoy that,” Poppy had said. “I believe it’s a lovely course—one of the most beautiful in England.” The girl had made a face. “I’m dreading it,” she had said. “Why?” Poppy had asked.
“Oh, I’m terrified of these grand English families. Lord and Lady Hanbridge. They live at a place called Hanbridge Court near Petworth. Do you know it? They are very distant cousins of ours, though we have never met them, and it seems that the Honorable Romilly Hanbridge, the eldest son, might so far demean himself as to marry me because of my money. Dad thinks it’s a wonderful idea. He can’t wait to see me as Lady Hanbridge.”
“Romilly Hanbridge is probably very nice,” Poppy had said comfortingly. “I’ve seen pictures of him in the Tatler. He’s certainly very good-looking. It’s a well-known family. One is always hearing of them, and I believe that Hanbridge Court is the most beautiful place. You’ll enjoy it.”
Erika had made a face again. “No, I shan’t. To tell you the truth there’s someone else I care for, but Dad won’t hear of my marrying him. He says if I marry him he’ll cut me off with the proverbial shilling. He’s got nothing against him personally but he’s so set on my marrying this Romilly Hanbridge that anyone else is poison to him. I don’t care two hoots about being cut off as far as the money is concerned, but I don’t want to go against him, for Mother’s sake. It will make a rift between Dad and me and that will make her so dreadfully unhappy. I couldn’t do it—especially now she isn’t well ... I suppose you can’t tell me what the doctor really thinks of her—how ill she really is?”
Naturally Poppy could give no opinion on this matter though she did happen to know that Mrs. Hanbridge’s heart was causing anxiety and that she would have to take great care of herself for the next few months. She was not surprised therefore when she let Erika in that morning to hear from her that her father and mother would not be going with her to Sussex next week, as had been their original intention, because her mother was in bed. But in spite of this bad news about her mother’s health Poppy sensed a kind of suppressed excitement about Erika that morning—almost an electric current—a kind of restlessness.
“Cold better?” she asked.
“It certainly hasn’t come out and my throat’s gone,” Erika replied. “It’s marvellous if it’s really going to do the trick.”
“I’ll give you the treatment in the doctor’s room to-day,” Poppy said. “It’s more comfortable in there,” and she opened a door to the left of the hall and ushered Erika into the doctor’s large consulting-room which was simply but beautifully furnished. There was a couch in one corner covered with a white sheet, but Erika had her treatment sitting up in an armchair. Poppy got out the apparatus and plugged in the electric current and put the little bag over Erika’s mouth and nose. For about twenty minutes there was silence between them while Erika inhaled and Poppy sat close to her, occasionally adjusting the machine. Twice the telephone rang and Poppy got up to answer it. She did not know that while Erika was sitting there inhaling, with her eyes half closed, she was in fact closely watching Poppy, and that her quick intuition told her that something was seriously wrong this morning with the doctor’s charming and pretty secretary. “Poor girl,” she thought, “she’s probably unhappily in love.” One is apt to jump to this conclusion when one sees trouble in the eyes of another woman. But Erika was not one to see a fellow-creature suffering without trying to offer some assistance, and besides she looked upon Poppy as a friend by this time, so as soon as the bag was off her nose she asked at once in her direct way, “Is anything the matter this morning. Miss Duncan?”
“The matter?”
“Yes, you look kind of sad and worried.”
“Do I?” Poppy, being very reserved by nature, was horrified at having shown her feelings so plainly.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Erika asked.
“No, thank you so much. I’ve just got a spot of family trouble, that’s all ... What about you? I hope you are not dreading your visit so much, though it is very sad for you that your parents won’t be going with you.”
“I suppose you don’t know anyone who would go in my place, do you?” Erika asked half jokingly. “I’d give a thousand pounds to someone who’d do that for me.” Poppy gulped.
“Do you dread it as much as all that?”
“More than ever. Lew’s over here now. He’s the person I care for. He followed me over, but Dad doesn’t know he’s here. We can only meet in secret—unsatisfactory, snatched meetings. But we’ve found a friendly stationer just round the corner from my hotel who lets us leave letters there, so at least we can write to each other ... But next week when I’ve got to go to Hanbridge, I shan’t see him at all. I don’t know how I’m going to live through it. On the other hand, as Mother and Dad won’t be there, I’ve been thinking and thinking how I can avoid going without them knowing I’ve not gone. It’s the perfect opportunity for Lew and me to get married. I’m sure if I faced Dad with a fait accompli everything would be all right He’s a wonderful loser is Dad, I must say that for him. He’ll fight tooth and nail for anything he wants, but when he knows he’s lost he gives in gracefully and never bears a grudge. He’s set his heart on my marrying Romilly Hanbridge and he’ll do anything to promote it. (You should see the trousseau he’s bought for me this visit. If clothes could kill, Romilly would be a dead duck!) But the moment he finds I’m married to someone else he will realize it’s hopeless and give in gracefully. I’m sure he will; but as long as there’s any chance of my marrying Romilly he’ll fight me and Lew with all his might ... But how am I to get out of going? It’s been churning round and round in my head. Lew and I have talked it over till we’re silly ... If only I could find someone to go in my place...”
“Would I do?” Poppy asked with a dry mouth.
“You? Would you do it?” Erika’s eyes came suddenly alive with excitement. “I’d give you anything, anything in the world.”
“What. I need, desperately, is three hundred pounds.”
“You could have it at once.”
“No, it would be wrong, but I must confess I'm dreadfully tempted.”
“Why should it be wrong? You would be making two people supremely happy. What’s wrong in that?”
“It would be wrong to deceive your father. And anyway I could never pass as you. We would never get away with it.”
“I don’t see why not. We are about the same size. I’m sure my clothes would fit you, and we’ve even got the same colored hair, which is the only striking thing about us.”
“But I don’t know anything about you or about South Africa. I’d give myself away every time I opened my mouth.”
“They don’t know anything about me or South Africa either, and I could easily prime you ... What time do you get away from here? ... Well, when you leave this evening will you meet me, anyway? There’s a place called the Dover Buttery. Do you know it? It’s where Lew and I meet. Will you at least meet me there and talk about it? ... I’ll have the money all ready for you.”
“I should naturally pay you back and give you interest,” Poppy said.
“But why? You will be doing something for us of incalculable value. Three hundred pounds isn’t nearly enough. You must let me give you five hundred at least.”
“No, no,” Poppy said, passing her hand over her forehead. “I don’t want a penny more ... I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I should.” Just then the telephone rang again and Erika took the opportunity of leaving before Poppy weakened further, but as she went out she said, “Remember, I shall be expecting you this evening whatever happens.”
For the rest of the morning and afternoon Poppy kept telling herself that she was mad—mad to so much as contemplate such a wild scheme. She had no right to abet this girl in going against her father. Her father probably had perfectly good reasons for not wanting her to marry this Lew. Probably Lew was thoroughly undesirable and she would be doing Erika, whom she liked enormously, the worst possible service by assisting her to marry him. At the same time a small wicked voice kept whispering within her, “Just imagine going to Mary this evening with the money and saying, ‘Here it is, darling, there’s nothing more to worry about.’ ” The temptation was almost irresistible.
Oh, dear, what was she to do? What was she to do? If only she could think of some other way of getting the money. There was still a week; there was no need to do anything in a hurry. Yes, all very well, but how many other opportunities were going to present themselves during that week of earning three hundred pounds?
By the time she left Eaton Place that evening she was still undecided, but she went to meet Erika Hanbridge at the Dover Buttery because she had half promised to do so. When she got there she found the place empty except for a couple sitting in a corner, and at first she thought that Erika was not there and she did not know whether she was more relieved or disappointed, but then she realized that it was Erika sitting in the corner with a man.
As she went over to them the man got up. “Thank goodness you’ve come,” Erika exclaimed, stretching out her hand. “I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
Once You Have Found Him Page 1
