But Not For Me

by Mary Burchell

  It was early evening when they arrived and they drove straight to the small but exclusive hotel where the Dobsons always stayed during their rare visits to London.

  “Very delightful,” commented Mrs. Dobson with a pleased sigh when she realized that even the staff were almost entirely as she had always known them. “I like places that don’t change.”

  Ariane said nothing, but she smiled sympathetically. For her part, she sometimes felt she would have been glad to see everything change. But if Mother were happy and satisfied—that was all right.

  It was pleasant, it was true, having no wishes but their own to consult. And, after a theatre that evening and a really long and refreshing sleep that night, Ariane began to feel ready to enjoy herself to the full.

  Shopping was not too obviously labelled “trousseau” at first, and any visits they had to make were mostly to old friends of her mother. Quiet, unexacting people who were a little apt to treat her as being only slightly older than Julie.

  On the third day, however, Ariane excused herself from accompanying her mother on one of these calls, and found herself with the pleasurable prospect of an entirely free afternoon in front of her.

  It was brilliantly fine, with that soft, hopeful warmth which only comes with the spring and early summer. And as Ariane walked slowly through St. James’s Park, watching the children playing, and the ducks hustling each other at the water’s edge, she felt happier than she had for many weeks.

  She sat down presently to watch a group of very small children intent on carrying all their toys from one side of the grass stretch to the other, for the express purpose, it seemed, of carrying them back again.

  Ariane was so amusedly absorbed that she had no attention for the few passers-by, and not until a tall figure had passed her, paused, and then came back again did she look up.

  “Why, Ariane,” said Harvey Muldane, “I had no idea you were in London.”

  It seemed, somehow, quite natural that he should be there. That, out of all the millions of people in London, almost the only one she knew—and certainly the only one who mattered—should meet her.

  She gave him her hand and, after a moment, he sat down on the seat beside her.

  There was nothing about him to remind her of that last unfortunate meeting—at least, the last meeting except for the few moments in the hall when he had come to collect Julie. His manner was calm, easy and almost friendly. And suddenly it seemed to Ariane that his coming was merely the completion of her happiness in this lovely afternoon.

  She explained that she and her mother were in London for a fortnight, and he said quite sincerely:

  “I hope I shall see something of you. If business doesn’t take me away from town too soon I should like to take you out one evening, if I may.”

  He spoke in the natural, sociable way she associated with most of her men friends, but never before with Harvey.

  She told him how much she would like to go out with him one evening, and then he said abruptly:

  “What are you doing now? Have you any time free?”

  “Yes. Mother went visiting, and I have the whole afternoon to myself. That’s why I’m just idling it away quietly.”

  He smiled.

  “Then will you idle away some of it with me and let me take you to tea?”

  “But weren’t you going somewhere when you saw me?”

  “No.” Just that. No elaboration about what he did or did not do. And she realized then how very, very little she knew of his life and thoughts.

  “I should like to come,” she told him. And presently they got up and strolled together past the suspension bridge and up towards the Mall.

  Little was said until they had left the Park and found a quiet, exclusive tea-room just off St. James’s Street. And even then, when he had given the order, and took up the thread of conversation again, it was only to say quite conventionally:

  “And how do you like London?”

  “Very much indeed.” She smiled at him and felt that she loved London at that moment. “I like to watch the people and wonder about them to myself. It’s oddly fascinating after living in a place where every second person you meet has known you all your life.”

  “And is it really as bad as that at home?”

  “Very nearly.”

  “So strangers interest you—in imagination? It sounds to me a little as though you are running away from realities.”

  “Oh no, Harvey!” She was slightly startled by the suggestion which was somewhere near the truth. “Take that woman over there, for instance,” she said, hastily and at random. “Doesn’t she suggest something interesting—as though there might be quite a story to her life?”

  He shook his head with a little smile.

  “You’re too fanciful for me, Ariane.” But, while she poured out tea, he unobtrusively studied the beautiful, expensively dressed woman who was sitting the other side of the room.

  “Well?” Ariane smiled inquiringly as she handed him his tea.

  “Nothing—except that she is rather like my mother.”

  “Is she, Harvey!” Whenever she had thought about Mrs. Muldane, Ariane had never visualized anyone like that. “Was your mother beautiful?”

  “Oh yes. And elegant and charming and very correct too.”

  Ariane hesitated.

  “Were you very—fond of her?”

  “Very. But she didn’t care much about me,” he said without rancour. “Apart from the fact that I was the eldest son, that is.”

  “But she must have.” Ariane was indescribably shocked at the simple way he said that.

  “Oh no. I thought her very marvellous, but I was a clumsy, rather bad-tempered child, I suppose, and I never seemed able to please her much. The others came into line much more easily.”

  “But perhaps you were bad-tempered because you were nervous.”

  “That’s very charitable of you, Ariane.” He laughed a little, but rather as though the way she said that touched him. “However, nothing is easier than to put one’s faults down to being misunderstood, so I think we’ll just leave it at the fact that I was not an attractive child and the others were.”

  “Still, she shouldn’t have made any difference.”

  “Oh, I don’t expect she did, consciously. But I suppose children always know. Just as I always knew she slightly despised my father.”

  “Harvey!”

  “Well, he was also much too much of a rough diamond for her.”

  “Then why did she marry him?” Ariane asked indignantly. Harvey raised his eyebrows rather quizzically.

  “The same reason for which women always marry the Muldanes. Money.”

  Ariane was silent, her cheeks suddenly scarlet. Then:

  “Am I supposed to take that without protest?”

  “It’s the truth, my child. Whether it’s a good reason or bad, it is the one for which my mother married my father, for which Sally married Maurice, and for which—forgive me—you find Frank attractive.”

  “And isn’t that the reason for which Marta finds you attractive? You wouldn’t answer that question before, but I think you owe me an answer now.”

  “Marta has refused to marry me—definitely and finally,” Harvey said quietly. And, in that moment, Ariane thought she knew why it was that, if he still looked indefinably sad, at least that perpetual air of strain was lessened.

  “It’s because he has taken some decision,” she thought.

  “Marta put her other horrible suggestion to him and he has refused. He’s miserable about losing her, but he knows he is right, and I suppose he finds some sort of consolation in that.”

  “What is it, Ariane? Are you too deeply offended with me to say anything?”

  She glanced up quickly and found him smiling slightly in that cynical way of his. This was much more the old Harvey, but somehow she couldn’t mind even that so much after the extraordinary glimpse she had had of the other side of him.

  “No, I’m not offended,” she told hi
m slowly. “I was only thinking hard. I’m glad she refused you. You’re much too good for her.”

  Up went his eyebrows again.

  “Are you trying to make me feel a beast for what I said?”

  “Oh no. That doesn’t really matter.” She realized then that that was the truth. Then, glancing at her watch she added: “But I must go now. Mother will be home and wondering where I am.”

  As they came out of the tea-place, he put his hand very lightly round her arm.

  “You know, Ariane, you once told me that ‘in spite of everything’ you liked me. I’m inclined to echo that in my turn. In spite of everything, I can’t help liking you ... And now may I call you a taxi?”

  “Yes, please,” Ariane said, and that was all, because the illogical lump in her throat kept her from saying any more.

  He made no further reference to seeing her again, not even when he handed her into the taxi and said good-bye. And Ariane, of course, could say nothing either.

  Only, all the way back to the hotel, one thought was running through her head:

  “Shall I see him again? Shall I see him again? It’s wicked of me, but I can’t bear it if I don’t see him again.”

  To her mother she only said the bare truth—that she had met Harvey Muldane and that she had gone out to tea with him.

  “Really, how extraordinary that he, of all people, should turn up!” exclaimed Mrs. Dobson vexedly. “He’s one of the few people I genuinely dislike.”

  “I think you’re prejudiced, Mother,” Ariane said. “There’s a great deal about him which is very nice indeed. And—and he rather wants to please, you know, even when he’s in his most difficult mood.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. He has a most ungracious indifference about the impression he makes on people. That is really what I dislike about him. You look at him with much too kindly judgment. When you’ve had as much experience as I have, you will realize that an occasional hour or two of charming behaviour does not make up for general ungraciousness and ill-nature.”

  Ariane said nothing more. It was not really any good, she could see. But she was remembering very vividly the oddly uncomplaining way he had said: “I was a clumsy, rather bad-tempered child, I suppose, and I never seemed able to please her much.”

  And she remembered it many times during the London visit.

  For the first few days, she found herself taut with anticipation every time the post came or the telephone-bell rang. It seemed that the only important thing in the world was that Harvey should write or telephone.

  But no word came from him. And, after a while, she told herself that business had called him away after all, and it was better that it should be so.

  With quite a convincing appearance of pleasure, she accompanied her mother on the various shopping and social expeditions which were planned. It was kind of Mother to take so much trouble, and, in common decency, she must play her part too. Besides, one had to do something, so one might as well do what Mother wanted.

  Day after day slipped past in this uneventful waiting for something which never happened, and it was with almost a physical shock that Ariane realized the end of the holiday had come without a word from Harvey.

  It was ridiculous of her to attach so much importance to it, of course. All he had said was that if business did not call him away he would like to take her out. Well, business had called him away—and that was all there was to it.

  But even on the last morning of all, when she saw there was a letter for her, she thought with frantic rapidity: “If that’s from Harvey, I must stay somehow. I must make some excuse to stay even now.”

  The letter, however, was from Frank—merely to say that if he could get away, he would be at the station to meet her, but that if he were not there she would know that business had kept him.

  Curious. The same reason. And in one case it mattered all the world—in the other not at all.

  Ariane was very quiet on the journey home, just as she had been on the journey to London. But there was a different quality about the stillness.

  Frank was not on the platform to meet them, but Caroline Ventnor was, and Ariane felt overwhelmingly glad to see her.

  “It seems much more than a fortnight, Caroline!” she exclaimed as she hugged her friend. And perhaps Caroline felt that too, because she said:

  “Walk down with me, Ariane. It’s so difficult to talk in the car, and it doesn’t give us any time, anyway.”

  “Very well. Wait a moment while I tell Mother.” Ariane ran after her mother to the car. “Mother, you don’t mind if I walk down with Caroline instead of coming with you, do you? It’s such a long time since I saw her, and there’s so much to talk about.”

  “Of course not, my dear. Go along and have your talk. Goodbye, Caroline.” She waved her hand. “Come in and see us soon.”

  Caroline promised she would, and when the car had driven away, Ariane linked her arm in her friend’s, and they strolled down the almost country road together. For a minute or two neither of them said anything. Then Caroline spoke a little absently.

  “Had a good time?”

  “Lovely, thanks. What’s been happening here? Anything?”

  “Well—” Caroline paused.

  “Oh, there must be heaps to tell me,” Ariane declared. “I haven’t seen a soul from Norchester for two weeks. Except—” she brought it out quite calmly—“except Harvey. I met him in London about two days after we arrived. But I didn’t see him again after that.”

  “Oh? He’s down here now,” Caroline said indifferently.

  “Here! Is he? He didn’t say anything about coming.”

  “No? She’s here too.”

  “She? Who?”

  “Well, the lady in the case. Marta Roma, of course.”

  Ariane stopped dead.

  “Are you sure? But—but how extraordinary.”

  “Is it?” Caroline seemed curiously lacking in interest. “She’s been here nearly a week, I believe. Staying at the Stag again and rather shocking Mrs. Bellamy. Though how people who keep a country pub retain any powers of being shocked I don’t know,” she added in parenthesis.

  “But what is she doing here?” Ariane had begun to walk on again now, but her expression was worried and thoughtful.

  “Having a quiet time before she goes to America, I suppose.”

  “She’s going to America?”

  “Yes. Leaving the day after tomorrow.”

  “How do you know?”

  Caroline laughed slightly.

  “How does one know anything in Norchester? The same process by which we all know everything about everybody almost before it’s happened. I suppose some of her luggage has been sent straight from here to London Airport. And somebody told somebody that somebody else heard her booking a place on the early morning train. You know the sort of thing.”

  “So Marta Roma has been here a week—with Harvey.”

  “We-ell. She’s staying decorously in one place and he in another, you understand.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Ariane became sunk in thought and there was silence again. Then:

  “Ariane.”

  “Yes?” Ariane looked up quickly, arrested by something in the way Caroline said her name. “Yes?—what is it?”

  “Just that I didn’t ask you to walk down with me so that we could discuss Harvey and the Roma lady. It was something else entirely.”

  “Is there something special you want to say?” Ariane was aware, with sudden contrition for her own absorption, that Caroline seemed strangely upset.

  “Yes. But it’s horribly difficult—”

  “But, my dear Ariane took her arm affectionately again, “surely there can’t be anything difficult to say between us.”

  “Yes, there is. It’s about Frank. And I’m not sure that you won’t hate me when I’ve said it.” Caroline stared in front of her rather unhappily and didn’t respond to the pressure on her arm.

  “About Frank?” Ariane repeated in astonishment.
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br />   “Yes. It isn’t really so sudden as it sounds. We’ve both been struggling against it for several weeks, and he wants us to go on doing so. But I won’t. It’s ridiculous to ruin three people’s lives for an idea—for it would mean your life too, in the end.” Caroline hesitated, but as Ariane remained silent, she went on doggedly. “He’ll be furious when he knows I’ve told you, but the truth is, Ariane, that he—that we are the two who love each other. His feelings have changed entirely, though he’ll never, never tell you so himself.”

  CHAPTER VII

  “Frank—and you!” Ariane repeated slowly. And then her voice failed her because a terrible, overwhelming relief made her want to shriek with hysterical laughter.

  Frank and Caroline! Of course! It was the most natural thing in the world. They had the same cheerful, imperturbable outlook, the same tastes. They were bound to like each other. They were even very likely to love each other.

  Only she, with her ridiculous scheming, had come in between, had pushed things out of their natural course. It had needed this to show her how absurd, how utterly without sense or excuse her action had been.

  She had nothing with which to hold Frank really—no genuine feeling, however hard she tried. And with him only a disturbed sense of duty to his engagement and a warm liking for herself were keeping him unhappily faithful to his impetuous declaration.

  “It’s always like this with a manufactured marriage,” she thought with sudden, rather frightening insight. “Only usually the poor man doesn’t meet the girl who really matters until it’s too late. But this time it’s not too late. Oh, thank God, it’s not too late!”

  She had no idea how long a silence she had left while these thoughts raced through her head, until Caroline spoke with some difficulty.

  “I’m sorry. I suppose it’s a frightful shock. Perhaps he was right, and I ought not to have said anything. But—”

  “Caroline!” Ariane flung her arms round her friend. “Of course you ought to have said it. My dear, I’m so thankful—I mean—Oh, Caroline, you’ll make him a splendid wife. Much better than I should. And of course we ought to have seen it before. You’re simply made for each other.”