“It’s no good, Rose,” Guy said, half-humorously, when he realized she was attempting to get inside a situation that could never happen to her. “You’ll never understand the reactions of a spurned woman, and you’ll never understand me. So don’t try and stretch your imagination.”
“But you didn’t spurn her!” Rose answered, referring to Miss Vaizey. “You know very well it was the crack on the head!”
“Was it?” He regarded her with a little less humour, and a thoughtful expression round his mouth. “I don’t know. I don’t seem to know very much these days. I’m living in rather a strange state.”
“That’s because you’re waiting for everything to be restored to normal.” Rose picked up a book that was lying on the table, and looked at the tide without seeing it. “You’ve done the right thing, and now it can only be a question of time before everything is smoothed out. Miss Vaizey may be staying somewhere where ... where it’s difficult to get at her.”
“Is that the sort of place you would stay in if you were jilted, Rose?” he inquired with rather a harsh gleam in his blue eyes.
She put the book back on the table, and looked at him with rather a disturbed expression in her own large brown eyes.
“I hope I’ll never be jilted,” she said slowly. “I should think it’s an experience one would never forget.”
“You’ve said that before,” he reminded her, “when you were trying hard to persuade me to behave like a gentleman and go through with the marriage. But at that time you could have talked yourself hoarse and I wouldn’t have listened to you. I think I must have been a trifle concussed, to say the least! But now I’m sweetly reasonable, and no one wants me! The damage is done, Rose, and Carol-Ann can’t forgive me. Would you?” he asked, with sudden abruptness, staring at her hard.
“Yes,” she answered, after a moment of thought. “I would ... if I knew the truth!”
“But the truth isn’t as pleasant as all that,” he said smoothly. “I’ve just said I must have been partially concussed. But what is partial concussion to a man in - love? You’ve never been in love, my sweet brown-eyed infant, so you needn’t answer that one; but I can assure you that love is a very tenacious thing that would very likely be strengthened by a crack on the head! Instead of running away from his wedding the victim would be storming his bride elect’s castle - in other words, her father’s house! - and running off with her before the law gave him the right to do so if he sustained such a blow on his skull, as I did, the afternoon before his wedding. Or that would be a far more normal reaction than my own reaction, and Carol knows that. She’s a very bright little girl, and she must be fully aware of it.”
“Then you think that’s why - why she’s ignoring your telegram?”
“Bewes’ telegram,” he corrected her, smiling oddly. “We must stick to our story, in order that Carol’s pride shall not be too badly lacerated. At least I owe her that! But as neither Carol nor I wanted to marry one another there must be strong sensations of relief mixed up with the strain upon her nerves over the last few days. And she’d be foolish if she relinquished such a major advantage too soon. Or at all, if she can hold out.”
Rose’s eyes were so full of perplexity that he went round the table and put his hands on her shoulders. He shook her gently, laughing a little.
“Come off it, Rose! You live in a world of fairy tale, where the hero never puts a foot wrong, and the heroine really is a heroine! But listen to the truth ... the truth behind a fashionable Society wedding! Carol and I became engaged not because we experienced the overwhelming urge to fall into one another’s arms, but because her parents wished it. They’re very clever parents, and they worked over her nicely, pointing out all the advantages of a husband with a very great deal of money. And although poor Carol - I say ‘poor’ because she deserves a certain amount of pity, in spite of the fact that she’s hopelessly spoilt and futile - fancied herself in love with someone else, she was ready to plump for marriage where there was guaranteed security. The other chap hadn’t a bean, and he couldn’t have kept her as she’s accustomed to being kept for a week without running into difficulties!”
“And you?” Rose asked, her brown eyes unusually cool as she gazed up at him. “With no coercion to speak of - or I can’t think what coercion there could be in your case, since I don’t believe you possess any parents, and have no one to consider but yourself - what is your excuse for agreeing to marry a girl you can now describe as ‘futile’?”
He smiled almost serenely.
“Oh, Rose, grow up! You may be dreaming of marrying for love ... And I hope you will one day,” with sudden seriousness.
She turned away from him in revulsion.
“If I see much more of you,” she told him, “I shall hesitate to marry any man!”
He regarded her gravely, pensively.
“I wish I could make you understand,” he said, after a moment of silence. “There comes a time in a man’s life when he needs a wife ... Someone to run his home, and so forth, and possibly provide him with an heir. My life isn’t as uncomplicated as yours, Rose. There are all sorts of interests to be passed on ... Family interests that have to be studied. And a wife is the only answer when you’re up against that sort of thing.”
“And it isn’t necessary to love her, or even feel very strongly about her?”
“So long as she looks good at the head of a dinner table ... So long as she’s a member of a good family, and you can feel reasonably proud of her, no. Or I didn’t think so when I became engaged. What I didn’t bargain for was the growing feeling that I was bartering my freedom for a mess of pottage when the wedding drew near!”
“And there were no compensations?” Rose asked.
Guy walked to the window, and looked out.
“Almost any man, I suppose, could make love to a pretty woman if it was part of his duty. I’ve fallen in and out of love - light love! - a good many times in the course of my life; but it was only when I fell desperately in love that life turned grim on me, and I learned to be cautious.”
“And as a result you let down a girl who - even if she is all the feeble things you say she is! - had done nothing to justify the shabby treatment you meted out to her!” Rose got out in a voice that shook with anger, and a sudden need to defend the one who had not been deemed worthy of this wealthy man’s “love”. He could buy so many things, he thought he could buy a hostess for his table, and a mother for his children! Anger set Rose trembling inwardly. “If it had been that woman upstairs - the one whose photograph you still keep on your dressing-table! - that would have been much more like poetic justice, wouldn’t it? For you admit that she let you down!”
At the window Guy turned slowly pale, but she had her back towards him, and she didn’t see the fading colour.
“Are you referring to the photograph of Carmella?” he asked quietly.
“Carmella?” Rose echoed. “Is she Spanish?”
“Partly Spanish.”
“And she did let you down? She hurt you badly?”
“Very badly!”
Rose made a helpless gesture with her hands.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand men,” she admitted. “It’s true I haven’t met very many of them up till now, but if you’re anything at all to go by they have odd reactions! You’ve fallen in and out of love a good many times in your life. You’ve loved once desperately, and you were ready to marry without love. I don’t know why I feel so sorry for you sometimes ... but I do!”
“Because you’re a sweet, kind-hearted girl, Rose!” He wheeled on her coaxingly, his expression wry. “Let’s forget me for the time being. I shall make whatever reparation lies in my power to Carol-Ann, pay all the expenses of the wedding that didn’t come off, add a large sum over and above that for injured pride, and so forth - if her father will allow me, and I’m sure he will! - and she can marry the man she’ll be happy with, and in the end I’ll be her benefactor. Doesn’t that make you understand a little more easily
why you do want to be kind to me, Rose? Why you refuse to disapprove of me entirely?”
Rose shook her head.
“No. Because if it was my pride that had been injured, no amount of money would soothe it or do it any good. Least of all your money!”
He was regarding her quizzically when there came a tap on the door, and Mrs. Bewes entered.
“Dr. Carter is here,” she announced. “Shall I show him in?”
“Yes, do, please,” Guy answered, and the doctor came in with an alert, shrewd look in his grey eyes, and a leisurely smile for both of them.
The contrast between the watchfulness of his eyes and the slow movements of his lips struck Rose for the first time as definitely singular, but she was also very much aware of the fact that her cheeks were still burning with the strange resentful anger that was seething inside her - solely on account of another woman’s wrongs? - and she wondered whether the doctor would notice it.
He did glance at her rather hard, she thought, before he turned his attention to his patient, and then when he was able to pronounce the complete recovery of the latter he accepted a glass of sherry and sat down in one of the comfortable library chairs.
“Well, now I suppose you’re beginning to think of starting work?” he said.
“Work?” Guy echoed him. And then he remembered, and managed to cover up fairly smoothly. “Oh yes, of course!” He directed a gleaming look, that could have been compounded of a certain amount of amusement, across the room at Rose. “We’re consumed with the desire to get down to work, aren’t we, Rose?”
She murmured something appropriate, but she knew that her high colour increased, and Bruce Carter’s grey eyes rested on her thoughtfully.
“You don’t think you’ll find it too isolated down here, Miss Arden?” he inquired. “If you’re used to working in London you’re bound to find things rather different here.”
“I have worked in London,” she admitted.
“I told you I’ve borrowed her from my friend,” Guy said suavely. “And he happens to be a solicitor in Lincoln’s Inn.”
“There are not many solicitors who are generous enough to part with their secretarial help,” the doctor observed. “Yours must be a very understanding friend, Wakeford, unless he realizes that you are about to embark on a very important work? I’ve often thought I’d like to write a book myself, but I don’t get much time ... And I can’t think where the secretarial assistance would come from!” with a faint, amused smile.
“You’ll have to advertise,” Guy said, offering him his flagrantly expensive platinum cigarette-case. “Afraid I can’t offer to be as generous as my friend, and share Rose with you,” somewhat drily.
Carter’s eyes roved round the bookshelves, and he remarked that there seemed to be a very fine collection of books at Tregony’s Choice.
“It’s quite an attractive old house,” he observed. “Pity you can’t have the place entirely done up, and it would be extremely attractive. But I don’t suppose you come here very often?”
“Only when I have some particular reason for wanting to cut myself off from my fellow human beings,” Wakeford returned.
“Like writing a book?” the doctor said smoothly.
“Like writing a book,” Guy agreed.
“It’s a funny thing,” the doctor remarked suddenly, breaking a silence that was just a little obvious, “but the name of Wakeford is very familiar to me. I’ve been abroad for a couple of years, and I don’t remember encountering it before I left, but it’s extraordinarily familiar. Could I have read about you in the press, do you think?”
Guy met his level grey stare with an unblinking blue one of his own.
“You could,” he answered, without any embarrassment whatsoever. “And I should say it’s highly likely that you did! I failed to turn up for my wedding, and the newspapermen simply loved the story!”
Bruce Carter gave a careful hitch to his immaculately creased trousers, and then stood up.
“Extraordinary the effects of amnesia,” he murmured softly. “And I take it you received that blow on the head before you were due at your wedding?”
“That’s the only thing in my favour,” Guy said tautly. The doctor nodded.
“And you’re not really planning to write a book? So remember that Miss Arden has a reputation to safeguard! It’s true that you have Bewes and his wife living in here, but even in these days people will talk, you know, and if one of those newshounds tracked you both down here ... Well, it doesn’t require very much imagination to picture the write-up, does it?”
“No,” Wakeford agreed, looking suddenly pale again, “it doesn’t!”
“You’re a rich man ... And the world loves rich men, so whatever you do you’re almost certain to be forgiven sooner or later. But I take it that Miss Arden really does do secretarial work?” looking towards Rose with his strangely steady grey eyes. “That is, you do have to earn your own living?”
“Yes.” Rose nodded, feeling more uncomfortable than she had ever felt in her life before. “And I really do work for Mr. Wakeford’s friend - his solicitor.”
“And does he know where you are at the moment?”
She shook her head, and then nodded quickly.
“He knows that I’m in Cornwall. I - I wrote to him and explained that I wouldn’t be able to report for duty for a few days.”
“So it wasn’t with his entire permission that you appropriated Miss Arden?” Carter suggested smoothly, as he looked less pleasantly at his recent patient. “None of this is my affair, as I’m the first to admit, but when dirty washing has to be done in public it’s a good plan to make certain that innocent and very clean washing doesn’t get mixed up with the soiled stuff, Wakeford! You can tell me to go to the devil if you want to, but I think you ought to send Miss Arden back to town as quickly as possible.”
“But I can’t possibly leave him yet,” Rose cried, and Guy looked at her oddly. “I can’t leave him alone.”
The doctor bowed.
“Perhaps I’ve spoken out of turn, in which case I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Arden. But if you want me for anything my house is the first this side of the village,” and he strode out into the hall.
Rose went across to Guy and impulsively clasped his arm.
“I won’t leave you,” she promised him, “not while you want me! I couldn’t bear to think of you in this house - without ... with only Mr. and Mrs. Bewes! They’re dears, and I’m sure they’re very fond of you, but you can’t talk to them, can you! Not as you can talk to - to—”
“You?” he suggested, and lifted one of her hands from his sleeve and carried it up to his lips. “Oh, Rose!” he said, as if he was very much moved. “Oh, Rose!”
CHAPTER IX
The next day he wrote a letter to Carol-Ann that wasn’t exactly a cry from the heart, but it was an urgent appeal to her to forgive him if he had really made one day of her life intolerable for her. He stated that he was ready to marry her the instant she expressed a desire for the wedding arrangements to be resumed, but if she felt that she could never again contemplate marriage with him then he assured her that she would not suffer financially.
Some arrangement, he felt certain, could be come to with her father. But though when he showed the letter to Rose her immediate reaction - if she had been Carol-Ann! - was an instant negativing of any suggestion that she should want something from him apart from his name and his lifelong company, she couldn’t help but entertain the secret belief that Miss Vaizey would insist on balm for her pride.
And if Miss Vaizey was above that sort of thing, then it was almost certain that her parents would have more practical minds. That is if the picture Guy had drawn of them was correct.
The letter posted, he behaved as if a very real burden had been laid aside from his shoulders.
“I don’t like to think of myself as a cad, Rose. I told you that I’m not a cad, and that was the truth. I don’t seem to have the moral fibre, or be carved out of the same sor
t of undefinable rock, as the Bruce Carters of this world,” in a wry tone that told Rose very clearly that Bruce Carter’s words had touched him in a very vulnerable spot indeed. “But I have a code. It’s not a bad code, Rose, if you live up to it ... You do believe me, don’t you?” with sudden urgency.
She nodded.
“Of course I believe you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” And that was so indisputably true that an expression of relief crossed his face, for although he had once threatened her with a revolver he was not forcing her to remain at Tregony’s Choice. He was merely using all his undoubted masculine appeal to keep her there. “And I also believe that you’d be a married man now but for your collision with that taxi!”
He looked grim at the thought.
“Imagine me married to Carol-Ann! ... Tied to her for life! Having to put up with all her immaturity, her whims, and ... and I’m not yet out of the wood!”
“Oh, but you are,” Rose said, as if she could hardly believe it herself, and she pointed out to him one of those increasingly diminishing paragraphs that appear in the daily newspapers when a nine days’ wonder is beginning to lose its appeal for the multitudes. “Listen to this,” and her voice sounded very odd indeed. “Miss Carol-Ann Vaizey, who was to have married Mr. Richard Wakeford, was married in Switzerland to Mr. Neville Richmond, son of Captain and Mrs. Brian Richmond. The ceremony was performed after a special licence had been obtained, and in the presence of the bride’s parents.”
The sheer relief of it turned Wakeford silent. And then at last he said shakily:
“I’m free, Rose! Really and truly and unquestionably free!”
Escape to Happiness Page 7
