Let love abide

by Norrey Ford

  "Being shot is never amusing, but I gather he is not on the danger list. It was a character called Thompson, a gipsy fellow. Know him?"

  "No. Wait—yes, I do. He threatened Paul, who only laughed and said there was no danger. But he said Thompson resented prison more than most, because of his gipsy blood. But he can't be free yet!"

  "They get remission for good conduct. There was nothing in the papers, but, of course, we've been reading the Scottish editions. Now run away and pack. I want my sleep."

  "I don't like deserting you."

  "Bosh! I shall manage very well without you. But I shall miss you."

  The news about Paul was in a postscript to her mother's letter. It added little to what Professor

  Dryden had already said. In a misery of frustration, unable to start out on her journey for some hours yet, she packed, locked her case, and laid her coat ready over a chair. After that, she could only wait.

  She read the rest of her mother's letter. There were two cuttings enclosed, which she put aside. Simon liked his new job, and had been to play tennis with Caro. He had been invited to go again. Caroline was bearing up well, though Max's affair was in the papers now—cutting enclosed—but luckily Simon's name wasn't mentioned.

  She turned to the cuttings. One said Large Scale Tax Frauds in big type. The other, obviously pushed in at the last minute, said, in smaller type, Local Solicitor Attacked—Man Detained.

  She stared at the crumpled scrap of newspaper as if it could tell her what she most desperately needed to know. But it said nothing more. Paul was in hospital. He had been shot in the shoulder.

  "Darling!" she whispered. "Darling, please don't die! I love you."

  Caro took Sally to the hospital. "He's in Private Patients, so we can visit every day. His shoulder is pretty painful, but the doctor says he is tough and has a terrific constitution. He's going to be all right, Sally."

  "Thank Heaven for that. It was ghastly coming down in the train, and not knowing. Don't hospitals smell frightening?"

  "I'm always afraid they'll whisk my appendix out when I'm not looking. This way—we have to walk up the stairs, the lift is for patients only. We didn't tell Paul you were coming—just in case you decided not to or the Professor couldn't spare you. Oh, Sally, it's going to be all right for him, isn't it? You do love him?"

  "In the train I had time to realise how much."

  The younger girl squeezed her hand. "He told me

  about you—those first hours after the operation, he

  was nearly delirious with pain. They let me sit with

  him, and he talked about Sally, Sally—half to me, half to himself. He adores you."

  At the door of Paul's room Sally grabbed Caro's arm. "I'm petrified. You go in first. I'll follow."

  "Not a bit of it," Caro declared. "The longer you wait the worse it will be."

  She opened the door and gently propelled Sally inside.

  "Now I know I'm delirious," said Paul. "You're in Edinburgh!"

  "If I am, it's your fault. You sent me there!"

  She moved across an endless space of highly polished floor, and as she came, he stretched out his free arm to her. She dared not trust her voice. He looked thinner and worn with pain. She slipped her hand in his, and he gripped it weakly. They looked into each other's eyes, and there was complete silence save for the muffled thudding of her heart.

  She lifted his hand and laid it against her warm, soft cheek. "I am quite real, darling," she said softly.

  He smiled, his old teasing smile. "Did the Professor tire of you?"

  "He never really wanted me. I was wished on to him by a character called Winn. I came because of a man by the name of Thompson."

  His grip strengthened. "All the way from Scotland—because of me?"

  "Because of you." Suddenly she was crying quietly. Tears poured down her face, but she pushed them away with her hand, not troubling to disguise them. He released her hand and took a handkerchief from his pyjama pocket and wiped her face. "Don't cry, my blessed. The worst is over. What is there to cry about?"

  "I'm not crying because I'm sad, but because I'm happy. Because I love you."

  He shook his head as if emerging from deep water. "You said you didn't, you couldn't. You turned me down and walked all over my heart in hobnail boots."

  "Only because of Simon's awful mess. I didn't want you mixed up with the family of a criminal." She finished mopping her eyes, and returned the handkerchief with a rainbow smile.

  "I thought I'd cooked my goose with you, and had wild thoughts of emigrating. You're a convincing liar, my love. It makes me tremble for our married life. You are going to marry me, aren't you?"

  She dimpled demurely. "I might, if asked."

  "Dearest little Sally March, please marry me. I am clean, fairly respectable and moderately endowed. I'll give you a rope of pearls, a mink coat and a Paris honeymoon—also an electric washing-machine. Will you have me?"

  "No."

  "You won't marry me?"

  "Not on those terms."

  "What shall I offer, then?"

  "Only one thing I need."

  "My heart's love. My need of you. My life and my future—everything I have. Out of my heart's need, my love—please marry me."

  She smiled into his eyes, happiness radiating from her. Carefully, she put her arm around him and laid her cheek to his. "That's a wonderful offer, my darling. Your life, your love, your need of me. What more could a woman ask?"

  He touched her soft hair with tender lips. "My wife! My wonderful wife! I'm dazzled with happiness, and, bless my heart, I think I always will be."

  "You certainly need someone to look after you. The moment my back is turned you get yourself into this place!"

  "Who am I to grumble? It brought you back to me. I'm indebted to Thompson. When can we be married? Do you want a white wedding, and so forth?"

  "Mummy will. It doesn't matter to me what I wear, or how or when. Being together is the only thing that matters."

  "You do me great honour. I can only hope to deserve it." They exchanged a quick, shy smile, and suddenly he seemed as shy as she felt. There was a noticeable silence which neither seemed inclined to break.

  Paul sighed very softly. He had resigned himself to the loss of the woman he loved, and in the time since she went away he had wandered in a dark and troubled world lit by sharp flashes of pain. Now he was awake again, and though his shoulder hurt abominably, his heart had stopped aching, and he was at peace. He had walked into Paradise and found it home.

  He said suddenly, "I'd like a white wedding." "I thought men hated them."

  "I'm prepared to put up with it, for the sake of seeing you walk to me in a glory of white and gold, like a regale lily. There must be trumpets playing splendid music. We'll have the Purcell Trumpet Voluntary. And you must wear a billowy veil like a cloud, and afterwards I shall carry you off to an inn I know which hasn't changed since the first Elizabeth —except for the lighting and plumbing. Simon will be my best man, and "

  "Hi, wait! This is my wedding as well. Are you going to organise my whole life for me?"

  He seemed surprised. "Of course. What are husbands for?"

  "For kissing," she suggested, leaning towards him invitingly.

  "Tempting me with her painted lips," he grumbled.

  "Talking of Simon," she said, after a supremely satisfying moment. "By strange coincidence your godmother knows his new Chief very well. I suppose you had a hand in that, too?"

  He was unabashed. "Dickie Culligan's son was killed in the war. Simon's like him in many ways. If Dickie takes a liking to Simon—"

  She laughed softly. "You're incorrigible. You've already planned schools for our children, I suppose?"

  "I'll tell you what I have done. Will you look in that top drawer for me--under the pile of handkerchiefs you'll find a little box? That's it. Now come back here."

  He held both her hands in his huge warm paw. "Our being apart was a bad dream, but always I had t
he strong conviction that some day we'd wake up and find it was only a dream. Even in the dark moments, I never lost hope. So for a long time I've carried this about with me, ready for the moment of waking up. Take the lid off the box."

  She did so, and he picked out a small silver ring. "This is not valuable, darling, except that it belonged to my great-grandmother. I want you to have it." He put the pretty thing into her palm. "It's called a posy ring. There's a verse written round it, inside. Read it."

  She held it up to the light. "I've never seen one like this before. It says "

  "It says, Let love abide though death divide! Heart's dearest, will you wear my ring?"

  She stretched out her left hand to him, and, a little clumsily, he slid it over her finger. They did not speak, for there was no more need of words.

  THE END