CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN Romilly got back to Handbridge for the weekend, his mother said to him, “I have had such a perfectly charming letter from Erika. One of the nicest letters I’ve ever had.”
“She’s not well,” Romilly said.
“Oh, isn’t she? I’m so sorry, what’s the matter with her?”
“Almost entirely lost her voice. She sounded dreadful ... Can I see her letter?”
Lady Hanbridge was able to hand it to him then and there because she had it on her desk.
“I haven’t got time to read it now,” he said. “I’ll take it, may I?”
“Yes, but do give it back to me, won’t you? I want to keep it ... Did you see her?”
“No, I rang her up but she was in bed.” He pocketed Erika’s letter and went out.
Later, when he was alone, he read it, and then he compared it with the little note he had received from her thanking him for his flowers. He frowned. It was most puzzling. The style of the two letters was so completely different.
The children were home, which made a great hubbub in the house. The two younger boys worshipped Romilly and were always at his heels. He was a wonderful brother to them and spent a good part of Saturday teaching them how to drive. In exchange they helped him to clean Bumble.
The family were always at their happiest when they were just together by themselves. After the Goodwood party they were having a very quiet weekend. Nicole seemed to be almost part of the family by now. She fitted in so well that they almost forgot she was there.
It was Philippa who suggested that they should go over to Brighton on Sunday. It would be nice for Nicole, and besides, the sudden sunshine after such a beastly cold, wet week called one almost irresistibly to the sea. She asked Romilly if he would drive them over. If not, she said, could she borrow his car? He replied that he would drive them over himself. It was ages since he had been to Brighton and he would enjoy showing Nicole the Pavilion.
Philippa, of course, was delighted. Everything was so much more fun when he was there. He would give a different atmosphere to the whole expedition. She had been rather worried about him that weekend. He had seemed so depressed, so silent, so unlike his usual self, and she had commented on it to her mother who had also noticed it.
“I’m afraid it’s that Mrs. Cunningham,” Lady Hanbridge had said.
“Yes, I believe she’s still away,” Philippa had replied. “That’s probably why he’s so low. She had to go and see her father, you know, who was ill, and I don’t believe he’s heard from her—unless he heard in London. There hasn’t been a letter here and she hasn’t rung up.”
“How do you know there hasn’t been a letter?”
“Oh, I know her writing.”
“And do you always see the letters before anyone else?”
“Yes, always. I make a point of it. I like to know what’s going on.”
“You really are incorrigible, darling.”
“What’s the good of pretending I’m not curious when I am? ... Don’t you think Erika’s writing was rather surprising? It was an awfully good letter though. The letter was just like her, but somehow I would have thought she would have had better writing—a more educated, tidier writing somehow. That great sprawl doesn’t seem to go with the rest of her.”
“Yes, I agree. It surprised me, but, as you say, the letter itself was just like her. A wonderful letter.”
Philippa asked the same question of Romilly, “Don’t you think Erika’s writing is rather surprising?”
“In what way?”
“That great untidy sprawl. It doesn’t seem to go with the rest of her character.”
“Do we know her character?” Romilly asked. “There are many surprising things, irreconcilable things, about her. Her writing doesn't surprise me because I know she herself is full of surprises.”
The children also wanted to go to Brighton, so there were six of them to crowd into Bumble. The children’s idea of heaven was the Pier, and Romilly promised to take them there if they in their turn were patient about going round the Pavilion.
They had only just arrived when they ran into Poppy. The children had insisted on having an ice cream in spite of Philippa’s warning that it would spoil their lunch. “Ice cream is much nicer than lunch,” Charlie declared. Charlie was the youngest.
“Erika, what are you doing here?” Romilly asked, as soon as he saw her. “How long have you been here?”
“Just a day or two.”
“Are you better?”
“Yes, thank you ... Thank you so much for your lovely flowers.”
“Thank you for your note ... Are your parents here? I’d like to meet them.”
“No—no—I’m here alone. They couldn’t get away. The doctor thought after my laryngitis that it would be good for me to get away for a day or two.”
“Why didn’t you come back to us?” Philippa asked.
“I didn’t think you’d want me again, and besides, sea air, you know, and all that. I don’t know why sea air is supposed to do one so much good ... And the weather’s been terrible, except for today.”
“But you haven’t had much of it,” Romilly put in.
“No, no, of course not, but it’s been dreadful everywhere, hasn’t it? ... Is this the rest of the family?” The children had been staring up at her with an interest that almost diverted them from their ice cream.
“Of course,” Romilly said. “How remiss of me. I forgot they hadn’t arrived when you left. Children, this is your cousin, Erika Hanbridge, from South Africa. This is Caroline, this is Peter and this is Charlie.”
Erika solemnly shook hands with the three of them. Their small hands were hot and very sticky.
“You’ll come and have lunch with us, won’t you?” Romilly asked.
Poppy hesitated. “Of course she will,” Philippa said. “We’re going to Lucien’s. We’ve reserved a table.”
“I’d love to.” She could think of no possible excuse not to go with them although she knew that to be thus again with Romilly could only increase her unhappiness afterwards. But for the moment what bliss it was to be seeing him, to be talking to him again.
“I can’t leave Bumble here,” he said, “or I’ll get into trouble with the police. Do you think you’ll all be able to crowd in?”
“Easily,” Philippa said.
Poppy was told to get in front and the two boys squeezed in beside her, half sitting on her. They didn’t like the idea of sitting at the back or of sitting on someone’s lap. She was squashed up close against Romilly. “Am I in your way?” she asked. “Can you get at the gears?”
“Yes, that’s all right. Just move your leg a little bit this way,” and he put his hand on her knee and moved her leg gently. She was conscious of the thrilling warmth of his touch through the thin material of her dress. “You’re not too squashed?”
“No, no,” she said. “I’m only afraid of making it difficult for you to drive.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I can manage perfectly.”
They had a big table at Lucien’s near the window. The children alone would have made it a cheerful meal. They were well behaved without being in the least inhibited. Poppy felt so happy to be with them all. They were such an enchanting family. She was so pleased that she had now met the other three. She had felt most painfully embarrassed when Philippa and Romilly had first hailed her but now she was completely at her ease. It was no good, she told herself, spoiling the present by thinking of the future. She might just as well abandon herself to this unexpected happiness and enjoy it to the full while it lasted.
After lunch they went round the Pavilion. She had already seen it twice since she had been there, but how different it was going round it with Romilly. It was not only his mere presence, it was also his knowledge. He knew so much about the history of the period and made it all come alive for her.
Afterwards they went on the Palace Pier and put pennies in all the slot machines. The children particularly liked t
he machine which showed, in three scenes, Mary Queen of Scots having her head chopped off. Another favorite was the house on fire, with the toy fireman going up the ladder to save the lady from the burning bedroom. The competitive games of hockey and football also caused much amusement.
The children were eventually dragged away from the Pier by the lure of the bumper cars. Romilly took Poppy in a car with him and had to use all his skill to avoid being rammed by the two boys who were in another car together doing their best to ram every other car. Poppy was thoroughly enjoying herself and laughed so much that she quite ached from it. “Oh, what fun this is,” she exclaimed at one moment.
“But you have bumper cars in South Africa, don’t you?” Romilly asked.
“To tell you the truth I have never been in one before,” Poppy answered, thus rather cunningly avoiding a direct answer to his question and saying what was true at the same time.
“Would you like another turn?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
They had three turns together but when finally they got out, Romilly said, “Oh, I am so sorry, I’m afraid you’ve got oil on your dress.”
She looked down and saw a great smudge of black grease on her skirt. “Oh, that doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Will it come off?”
“It will come off when it’s cleaned.”
“I’m so glad. I wouldn’t like you to spoil that dress. It’s my favorite ... What shall we do now?” He asked this of them all.
“Tea,” Caroline said promptly.
“Then tea it shall be. What hotel are you staying at, Erika?” Poppy told him. “Then let’s go and have tea there,” he said.
She could think of no possible objection, though it made her more than a little nervous because naturally she was known at the hotel under her real name, and she had made acquaintances there who knew her, as well as the management.
They had tea in the covered veranda. One or two people she knew passed through, but fortunately they only bowed and smiled at her when they saw her. And then a dreadful thing happened. She heard a page calling out her name in the lounge: “Miss Duncan, please ... Miss Duncan, please...” She was evidently wanted on the telephone and it could only be Erika. She kept her eyes strictly in front of her. She was terrified lest the page should see her and recognize her. His voice came nearer as he came out on to the verandah—“Miss Duncan, please ... Miss Duncan, please...” She did not move a muscle, and then the voice receded again and was finally silenced.
“Miss Duncan is obviously not in to tea,” Romilly said jokingly. “I wonder what this Miss Duncan is like.”
“I think she’s very old,” Peter said, “with a face like a horse.”
“Yes, that’s just how I see her,” Charlie agreed. He was rather apt to echo his brother.
“Oh, no,” Caroline said. “I think she’s just like Miss Chitty at school.” As none of the others knew Miss Chitty this description was not very illuminating.
“I see her like Miss Dunstable in Trollope,” Romilly said. “An heiress. Very tall, rather masculine. A good horsewoman.”
“Oh, no,” Philippa put in, “I see her as tiny. A tiny little maid with lavender kid gloves ... What do you think, Nicole?”
“I think she is like Erika.”
“Like Erika? Oh, no!” This was a general chorus. “How do you see her, Erika?”
“Rather petite, with golden hair. Very fragile-looking with large blue eyes, rather too large for her face.” This was a pretty accurate description of her sister Mary.
“Oh, no!” came the chorus again.
Poppy was infinitely relieved when the conversation turned to something else. She was wondering what Erika had to say to her, whether there had been any new developments. She was very sorry to have missed her but perhaps she would be able to get hold of her later. As soon as the Hanbridges had gone she would ring up her own flat in London on the chance that Erika or Lew might be there.
“When are you leaving England?” Romilly asked her.
“Oh, very soon. Early this week. We are going to Paris.”
“And you have never been there before? How exciting for you. Where are you going to stay?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“I must give you the names of some restaurants.”
“Yes, please do.”
“Do you like cheese? There’s a wonderful restaurant near the Gare St. Laurent that serves nothing but cheese—but what cheese! You start with the very mild, creamy varieties and work up to the really strong ones. They are all labelled with little flags so that you know just what you are eating.”
“I’d like to go there,” Poppy said truthfully.
“Would you like to write down the name? Here’s a pencil.”
Poppy was just about to write down the name when Philippa said to her, “Mummy was so pleased with your letter. She said it was the nicest Collins she had ever had.”
“How sweet of her. But it was such a lovely visit ... Will you write down the name for me?” This to Romilly. She had realized in time that they would know Erika’s writing and that her own must look quite different even if only glimpsed while she was writing down an address.
“All right, and I’ll put down a few others at the same time.”
“How are your mother and father?” Poppy asked Philippa.
“Very well. They’ll be thrilled to hear we’ve seen you. Why don’t you come back with us tonight?”
“Thank you very much, but I’m afraid I’ve got to get back to London tonight. We’re leaving so soon for Paris, but it is sweet of you to suggest it.”
“You’ve got to get back tonight?” Romilly asked. “I’m going back tonight too. I think I’ll go up with you from here. It’s a much easier journey. Pip can drive Bumble home.”
“Oh, but...” Poppy started to protest but she could think of no excuse why he should not go with her.
“Any objection?” he asked.
“No, of course not, but won’t you miss an evening at home?”
“It’s always a terrible rush and a great inconvenience for everyone else as it means having dinner early ... You don’t mind driving Bumble, do you, Pip?”
“On the contrary I’m very flattered that you trust her with me.”
“But what about your luggage?” Poppy asked desperately, still seeking some means to prevent him from going with her.
“You don’t think I take luggage back and forth with me every weekend, do you? I’ve got a duplicate of everything in my flat in London.”
“But isn’t it nicer going up in the morning?” she persisted.
“No, I detest it, unless I motor as I did last Monday with Dennis.”
“Then why don’t you motor up?”
“I don’t want Bumble in London. I find a car a perfect nuisance in London these days.”
“The truth is,” Philippa put in, “that when he wants a car in London he prefers to borrow Dennis’s rather than bother with having his own ... I suppose we ought to go as I’m going to drive. I drive much slower than he does. Do you mind if we come up to your room. Erika, before we leave?”
What could Poppy say? She had thought that all difficulties of this nature were behind her, but there were as many being crowded into this one day as into the whole week at Hanbridge.
There was nothing for it but to take Philippa, Nicole and Caroline up to her room in the lift. Philippa had often been into her room while she was staying at Hanbridge and was almost bound to notice the difference in her hairbrushes and other toilet accessories, but how could she prevent it?
She was right: Philippa did notice the difference at once. “Where are all your lovely bottles?” she asked, “and those wonderful hairbrushes? Florence has never stopped talking about them.”
“They are only brought out for special occasions,” Poppy answered as lightly as she could. “Like staying with you. I bring as little as possible when I’m staying alone for only a couple of nights like this. Having to do my
own packing makes me very careful of what I bring!”
“If I had lovely things like yours I couldn’t resist using them all the time,” Philippa said. “And you haven’t got any of your jewels? I hardly know you without that lovely bracelet you always wear.”
“I think it’s safer not to have any jewels when one is staying in a hotel, don’t you? I’ve only brought all my oldest clothes too.”
“I do hope the oil will come off that dress.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about it, I’m sure it will.”
“Don’t you want to change?”
“No, I’ll wait till you’ve gone. I’ll have to come up and do my packing anyway.” She did not want Philippa to see the grey coat and skirt she would put on to travel in. It was so very different from anything of Erika’s. It was so unmistakably off the peg. And then it occurred to her that Romilly would have to see it, but perhaps he wouldn’t notice it. Philippa was bound to notice more than he did.
They went down again in the lift (Poppy was thankful to get them out of her room before some other discoveries were made), and she and Romilly saw them off in Bumble and waved till they were out of sight. As they turned back together to the hotel, Romilly said, “I don’t know how it suits you, but what about going back now and having dinner in London? Or are you expected back to dinner?”
Poppy had to think very quickly. If she said she was expected back to dinner it would seem very rude not to ask him in to the hotel in London to meet her parents. “No, I’m not expected back,” she said after only a moment’s hesitation. “In fact Mother and Dad are out to dinner this evening.”
“That’s fine. Well, would you like to do that? ... Are you packed? ... Will it take you long? ... Well, go and do it as quickly as possible. I’ll wait for you here. You’ll almost certainly find me in the bar.”
Poppy left him and on her way up to her room asked for her bill. Fortunately it was all ready for her so she paid it then and there. She did not want Romilly to be with her when she paid it. For one thing he might see how many days she had really stayed there, and for another he might see her real name. It had been one of the difficulties that she had been dreading.
Once You Have Found Him Page 15
