by Anne Hampson
‘It seems to me,’ said Christine, moving towards her, ‘that your memory needs refreshing. I shall read the letter to you—at least, certain parts of it.’ The unmistakable note of triumph in her voice; the way she drew the letter from its envelope, as though wishing to keep her cousin in suspense, to torture her slowly, caused Muriel’s face to whiten and her throat to contract. She put a trembling hand to her breast, feeling the violent thumping of her heart, and moved further back until the heavy velvet curtains touched her legs. A terrible suspicion was beginning to creep over her. ‘You talk first of your meeting with Andrew as the greatest piece of luck that’s ever come your way,’ Christine said, and went on—‘I never thought it could be so simple, and I must admit that at first I didn’t intend trying my luck on him because I didn’t like him very much. However, when I saw he was attracted to me I thought it would be foolish to waste the opportunity, as he’s very rich indeed.’ She paused, smiling as Muriel put her hands to her ears. ‘I was going to ask if you wanted any more, but it appears that you don’t.’
‘I didn’t mean to send that letter,’ Muriel managed to say at last through whitened lips. ‘I wrote another, telling you I loved him—Aunt Edith mixed them, and the wrong one was posted.’
‘Not very original,’ Christine laughed, ‘even though you had only a moment in which to invent it. No, my dear Muriel, it won’t serve. I told you the other night that if I couldn’t have Andrew, you would not have him either. You wrote this letter, and he shall read it. You’ve played on his pity; persuaded Aunt Edith to paint you as a little innocent—heartbroken—but now he shall judge for himself.’
‘I didn’t know of Aunt Edith’s intentions,’ Muriel denied. ‘And I never played on his pity. I was forced to take work at the factory.’ She paused. ‘I suppose it’s no use reminding you that Andrew will be hurt, as well, by this?’
‘Not a bit—’ Christine turned expectantly, but it was a maid who entered the room.
‘Excuse me, miss, but your chauffeur wishes to speak to you.’
Christine’s lips compressed; she muttered something impatiently under her breath.
‘I’ll come immediately. Is the fog worse?’
‘It’s very bad, miss. Your chauffeur says it isn’t safe to drive in.’
‘Fetch me an envelope, will you?’ Christine requested after a thoughtful pause. Then she left the room.
When she returned the envelope was on the table. Muriel watched in frightened fascination as her cousin addressed it. The letter was put inside, the envelope sealed and stamped.
‘If I post it here in the village Andrew should get it by the first post tomorrow.’ At the door Christine turned, laughing. ‘Good night, Muriel... and pleasant dreams...’
She was shivering, and moved slowly to the fire. This was the end of her dreams; her engagement had lasted less than forty-eight hours—
No, not less, for she would have tonight. For a little while longer she would have Andrew’s love, feel his tenderness, see his lips soften when he smiled at her. And surely there would be at least one kiss.
There was a slight haze about the room, as though the fog crept in somewhere. It must be very thick indeed, Muriel thought, feeling suddenly afraid for Andrew’s safety. She had just decided to go to the door again when Mrs. Burke came in.
‘Isn’t Andrew back yet?’ she asked in dismay. ‘Oh, where can Betty have got to?’
‘Do sit down,’ Muriel urged, pulling a chair closer to the fire. ‘You’re perished.’
‘I can’t—’ She turned. ‘Andrew! So you haven’t found her?’
‘It’s all right, Mother; she’s staying the night at Sally’s.’ Andrew walked across the room and, pulling aside the curtains, closed the window. Then, turning, he looked steadily at Muriel until she was forced to lower her eyes.
‘How do you know?’ Mrs. Burke had sunk into the chair with a sigh of profound relief. ‘You haven’t had time to go there.’
‘The telephone was ringing as I came in; Betty and this boy-friend of hers took the road by the common, and as you know, the fog always settles there first. Betty decided to make for Sally’s, but apparently they had some difficulty in finding the house, for they’ve only just arrived. Sally rang immediately.’
‘Thank God! Is the boy staying, too?’
‘No; he had already gone when Sally phoned.’ His voice was harsh, and it seemed to Muriel that he tried desperately to suppress an inner fury. Fortunate that Betty was staying the night with her sister, Muriel mused, hoping his anger would soon subside. It would be more than she could bear if he remained like this for the whole of their last evening together.
All through dinner his face retained its harsh expression, and each time Muriel caught his glance she felt that her very soul was being pierced. Later, all having returned to the sitting-room, Mrs. Burke told Muriel of Andrew’s wonderful collection of gramophone records, and invited her to play some of her own choosing.
‘This is my very special favourite,’ Muriel said, waiting for the needle to come down on Tchaikowsky’s ‘Walzer Aus Der Serenade’. Andrew listened for a few seconds, then rose abruptly.
‘You must excuse me, Mother, I have some work to do,’ he said, and left the room without even a glance at Muriel.
‘Well!’ Mrs. Burke stared at the closed door. ‘And his favourite record, too! You must excuse him, dear,’ she said, turning apologetically to Muriel. ‘It must be something at the works—he’s always like this when anything goes wrong; shuts himself up in his study until the problem is solved. It’s one of the things you’ll have to get used to, my dear. He’ll be as right as rain in the morning.’
‘In the morning!’ Muriel exclaimed in dismay.
‘Won’t he come back again tonight?’ She could not understand him; he had been so anxious to be with her. They had a nice long week-end in which to make up some of the time they had lost, he told her driving down in the car ... and yet he had left the room without even an apology, without even a glance...
‘I shall go and fetch him,’ Mrs. Burke said with a touch of anger. ‘He has no right to leave you on your first evening—I can’t understand it at all. He has all day tomorrow to grapple with his problems.’
Was it something to do with work? Muriel wondered, feeling sure that Betty could not be to blame for Andrew’s conduct. But he had not said anything to Muriel about any problems at work.
‘Do you mind if I go?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Of course not, dear. It’s the room opposite to this.’
After knocking quietly Muriel waited for Andrew’s ‘Come in’ before entering his study. He was standing by the fire, but turned as she entered.
‘What is it, Muriel? I don’t want to be interrupted!’
Muriel was so taken aback by the sharpness of his tone that for a moment she was unable to speak.
‘I’m sorry, but it was just that...’
‘Just what?’
‘Nothing.’ She stared at him miserably.
‘You must have had some reason for coming. What is it?’
After a slight hesitation Muriel moved over to him.
‘Do you have to work tonight, Andrew?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then—then I won’t disturb you.’ She managed to smile. ‘But may I come back later, to say good night?’
‘If you like.’
‘I do hope you solve your problem,’ she said, turning to smile at him again before going out.
The rest of the evening dragged unbearably. Several times Mrs. Burke, looking most uncomfortable, announced her intention of bringing Andrew back, but Muriel stopped her, saying she was quite happy playing her favourite records. She waited till half-past ten, then replaced all the records in the cabinet.
‘Are you going to bed now, dear?’ Mrs. Burke spoke with obvious relief.
‘Yes, when I’ve said good night to Andrew.’ She bade Mrs. Burke good night and went across to Andrew’s room.
He was sitting
by the fire, staring into the flames. No sign that he had been working, no books or papers on the desk.
‘Have you finished?’ Muriel walked over to him, and stood looking down. ‘Your mother said you had a problem; is it solved to your satisfaction?’
A smile curved Andrew’s lips.
‘Yes, dear, my—problem is solved.’ Reaching for her hand, he drew her down on to his knee.
‘I’m glad,’ she said, finding a resting place for her head. ‘May I stay for a little while?’
‘Of course you may. What’s the matter, darling?’
‘Nothing—now that you’re nice to me again. Was Betty the cause of your crossness, or was it the problem?’
‘It was the problem,’ he replied, in an odd tone.
‘Was it very difficult?’
‘Not after I’d thought about it for a little while.’
Although feeling that she should show interest, Muriel could not waste precious moments talking about his work.
‘I missed you horribly; I wanted to be with you tonight—more than anything tonight,’ she said, a catch in her voice.
‘There’ll be other nights—thousands of them.’ Little he knew, she thought, that there would be no more nights, that tomorrow morning he would be hating her, both for what she was, and for the pain she was causing him.
‘I love you,’ she whispered desperately. ‘I do love you—Please believe that!’
‘I do believe it,’ Andrew responded gravely. ‘Otherwise my problem wouldn’t have been solved so easily.’
Muriel leant away, her face bewildered.
‘What has my love to do with your work?’
Andrew ignored that.
‘I solved my problem by asking two very simple questions,’ he said. ‘ “Does she love me?” and “Can I live without her?” The answer to the first was yes, and to the second, no. After that everything was clear. The letter shall be burnt ... unopened.’
‘Andrew!’ Muriel sprang up, the colour leaving her face. ‘You know there’s a letter in the post?’
‘The window was open,’ he said quietly. ‘I came round by the orchard...’
The colour flooded back into Muriel’s face; she moved further away from his chair.
‘Did you hear Christine reading—reading—’ Her throat went dry and she could not go on.
‘Yes, Muriel; I heard Christine reading extracts from the letter.’
‘And yet you still—? But you can’t! You must hate me! No decent girl writes a letter like that. What did you think when you heard?’
‘I could have strangled you,’ Andrew admitted. ‘But something far stronger than my temper urged me to think things over calmly before I did anything I’d regret—the same thing has happened before, and some day I shall tell you about it,’ he added, and went on, ‘That was why I came in here. I pictured what would happen if I allowed my anger to have its sway; the scene between us, in which I would say things I’d regret almost immediately, your going away, perhaps a long way away. I pictured my anxiety, more wasted time, before I found you—and I would have found you, my darling, for I know I can never be happy without you. It all seemed so stupid and unnecessary, because I was already asking myself those two questions and knowing the answers.’
Muriel was almost in tears.
‘You can’t love me now you’ve heard what I wrote—you can’t!’
He held out a hand to her.
‘Come over here and I’ll show you whether I love you or not.’
Muriel turned her back on him, hanging her head. ‘I’m too ashamed.’
‘Then I shall come to you.’ His hands were on her shoulders, gently bringing her round to face him. ‘We both did things on that cruise for which we’ve since been ashamed, but it’s all in the past. The future is ours.’ He kissed her lips and held her quietly for a little while, then drew her over to the fire, putting a cushion at his feet. ‘Sit down, darling.’
Muriel sat down, resting her head against his knees. ‘I don’t deserve this; I was detestable—’
‘I thought, sweetheart, that we were forgetting the past,’ Andrew said, but added, ‘I’m glad we both went on the cruise, but don’t ask me to go on another for a long, long time, will you? It would only revive the memory of my detestable conduct.’
‘I’ll never ask you to go on a cruise,’ was Muriel’s fervent reply.
Ten minutes later Mrs. Burke came in to bid Andrew good night.
‘Don’t stay up too long,’ she added, turning to the door. ‘I’m sure Muriel is tired.’
‘We’re going up at once,’ Andrew said. ‘We’ve been discussing our honeymoon, but haven’t been able to make a decision.’ He smiled affectionately at her. ‘Have you any suggestions?’
‘But of course,’ she replied, trying to be helpful. ‘What could be more romantic than a cruise—? Surely you’ve not forgotten where you met?’
