Accompanied by His Wife

by Mary Burchell

  The girl passed the tip of her tongue over her very red lips.

  ‘Why couldn’t Michael say all this for himself?’ she began furiously.

  ‘Perhaps I thought I could say it better for him.’

  ‘Anyway I deny it absolutely. It’s a lot of nonsense,’

  ‘My dear,’ Mrs. Harnby said good-naturedly, ‘I don’t expect you to admit it, in so many words. I only advise you to go home and talk it over with your husband. I thing you will both see that, if you come out of this without a criminal charge against you, you will be singularly fortunate.’

  The girl gave a furious little exclamation.

  ‘I suppose—’ she shot a vicious glance at Patricia—I suppose she’s been your little tame spy?’

  ‘Patricia?’ Mrs. Harnby looked genuinely surprised. ‘Oh, dear me, no. I had no need of Patricia’s assistance in this.’

  ‘Well, you had to have some one. I don’t see how a sick, bedridden old woman could go nosing all that out for herself.’

  Mrs. Harnby sat up rather straight. She was not beautiful, but she dominated the room.

  ‘My dear, I have seen a great many women in my time who were living on their wits. One comes to recognise them at sight, you know. Some of them have to do it. Some of them do it because there is a thrill in it. And some of them do it because they are too lazy or dishonest to do anything else. I don’t know which you are, and I really don’t care. I only know that I don’t intend you to make any more out of my son. There really isn’t anything else we can have to say to each other, you and I, except’— and she smiled with something like mischief—‘that I can assure you, when you have reached my age, you will be very much surprised if anyone describes you as an old woman. Patricia dear, perhaps you would show our visitor downstairs.’

  In silence Patricia went over and held open the door. For a moment she thought the other girl was going to burst out into some furious tirade. But evidently she saw the futility of it, and—in silence also—she preceded Patricia out of the room.

  Even on the way downstairs they said nothing to each other. Only when they were in the hall, she turned on Patricia with a furious curiosity beyond her control, and shot at her the one question:

  ‘How did she know?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ Patricia said, with absolute truth.

  And then she showed her visitor out, overwhelmed suddenly by the enchanting realisation that she was showing her out of their lives too.

  The moment the front door was closed, Patricia fled upstairs again, and into Mrs. Harnby’s room.

  She found Michael’s mother continuing her interrupted manicure, and she stood before her almost trembling with the excitement of putting the very question which had caused such furious doubt in their visitor’s mind.

  ‘Mrs. Harnby, how did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t, my dear,’ Mrs. Harnby assured her coolly. ‘I merely employed the oldest trick in the world. I drew a bow at a venture—but I drew it with absolute confidence. It never succeeds without that.’

  ‘But what gave you the idea? It was one chance in a million that you were right!’

  ‘Oh no, Patricia.’ Mrs. Harnby laughed. ‘One chance in two. Didn’t you think there was anything fishy about her story?’

  ‘I—I never thought of it that way at all;’ Patricia confessed. ‘I just took it for granted that the story Michael told me was correct.’

  ‘Um—hm.’ Mrs. Harnby looked thoughtful. ‘Michael has been very stupid over this too. But then I suppose he was blinded by infatuation at first, and by anxiety later. You weren’t, Patricia—’ she gave Patricia a severe look—‘you ought to have jumped to the right conclusion more quickly.’

  ‘But what conclusion?’ Patricia came and sat on the side of the bed, smiling at Mrs. Harnby, amused and intrigued beyond expression.

  ‘Well, first, does that young woman strike you as the kind of person who would fall a victim to a violent passion—even on board ship? Such a violent passion, mind you, that she leaves a rich, devoted, and indulgent husband?’

  ‘N—no, I suppose not,’ Patricia admitted. ‘I just thought he was an even better proposition than Michael.’

  ‘When she left him again within a few hours—or days?’

  ‘Well, I supposed she found she had made a mistake.’

  Mrs. Harnby shook her head amusedly.

  ‘Women of that sort make much more sure of their jumps than that. It was possible that she blundered, of course, but, in that case, she took a suspiciously short time to decide that there was nothing to be had by staying with him. No, no; really the most likely explanation was neither sudden passion nor the belief that she had found a better proposition than Michael, but’ simply that he had some authority with her or hold over her.’

  ‘But it’s all pure conjecture,’ protested Patricia.

  ‘Of course it’s pure conjecture.’ Mrs. Harnby smiled. ‘How do you suppose one could deal with a young woman of that sort if one waited for confirmation of all one’s suspicions? People who live by bluff, darling, are usually only tripped up by bluff. Besides, you know, there was more than that to go on.’

  ‘Was there?’ Patricia looked at her with affectionate amusement. ‘You mean the fact that she turned up again?’

  ‘The fact that she turned up here, my dear. If she was simply the prodigal wife returning, then the obvious thing was to meet Michael as he had arranged. But she didn’t. She came to the house, at a time when she knew he was almost bound to be out.’

  ‘But’—Patricia looked doubtful—‘I don’t think she knew about me. Really I don’t. She seemed so absolutely stunned at finding me here.’

  ‘Oh no, of course she didn’t know about you. She wanted to find out how things were here, and she intended to put pressure on Michael through me. Probably that was the husband’s idea, now I come to think of it. Poor man—’ Mrs. Harnby looked reflective—‘he really hadn’t had much out of it, up to then. No wonder he wanted something in cold cash. Then, when she saw you, she jumped to the hasty and almost inevitable conclusion that it would be better to secure a life pension in the form of alimony, by divorcing Michael.’

  ‘But she changed her mind, remember.’

  ‘Or else the husband pointed out that the risks were not worth it. I’ve forgotten how many years one can get for a conspiracy of that sort, but I feel it must be a discouraging number. She had discovered by then that Michael was anxious to keep you out of it. Obviously he would almost certainly pay a handsome sum for the privilege of divorcing her, rather than being divorced. Once the money had been paid over, the true position could be explained. Michael, with his necessity for avoiding publicity, would have to let the matter drop, and they could retire to the Continent at his expense. Which would have suited them admirably if—’ Mrs. Harnby smiled reflectively and with perhaps pardonable pride—‘if the bedridden old mother hadn’t happened to ask a few awkward questions.’

  Pat laughed delightedly.

  ‘It was all ridiculously and gorgeously improbable, but—’

  ‘No, Patricia, not gorgeously improbable. Reasonably possible. Which is a very different thing.’

  ‘Well, even so, it was taking a terrific risk, to accuse her so blandly.’

  ‘My dear, a risk of what?’

  ‘Well, if you were wrong—and I still maintain that the chances were at least three to one that you were wrong—you would have—’

  ‘Looked a perfect fool?’

  ‘To say the least of it.’

  ‘And do you really suppose I wasn’t prepared to take a three to one chance—or a hundred to one chance—of looking a perfect fool, if there was a question of Michael’s happiness at stake?’

  ‘Oh—’ Patricia smiled at her suddenly—‘I see. Of course. You were perfectly right to take the chance.’

  ‘The perfect bluffer never thinks, “I should look such a fool if—” He simply thinks, “What have I got to lose anyway?” I can’t help think
ing,’ Mrs. Harnby added with a reflective and regretful air, ‘that I should have been very successful in the gentle art of living on one’s wits, if I hadn’t happened to be more or less honest by temperament.’

  Patricia laughed and kissed her warmly.

  ‘You would have been a success at most things,’ she asserted firmly. ‘But most of all as Michael’s mother. I think when he comes in, you had better see him right away. You ought to have the honour of explaining things yourself. Besides—’ she smiled—‘I think there are a lot of things he wants to tell you about his marriage, only he has had to keep them all to himself up to now.’

  ‘I daresay.’

  ‘I’ll send him to you as soon as he comes in.’

  Mrs. Harnby nodded.

  ‘And now, my dear, what about you?’

  ‘A—about me?’ Patricia was taken aback. ‘There’s nothing much to say about me.’

  ‘No? Are you suggesting that you gracefully fade out at this stage?’

  ‘Well—’ Patricia smiled deprecatingly—‘there isn’t very much else left for me to do, is there? It’s been lovely while it lasted, in spite of the anxiety. But, in the manner of speaking, it was a job which has come to an end now. I’ll have to find a new one, you know.’

  Mrs. Harnby didn’t comment on that. She simply said bluntly:

  ‘Who is Phil?’

  ‘Phil?’

  ‘Yes. The young man who seems to frequent the Zoo.’

  Patricia laughed vexedly.

  ‘You don’t miss very much, do you?’ she said with affectionate admonishment.

  ‘Not,’ Mrs. Harnby admitted, ‘if it is put under my nose.’

  ‘Meaning that I rather gave myself away once or twice.’

  ‘Twice,’ was the accurate reply.

  ‘Well, he—he’s an old friend of mine.’

  ‘Which do you like better—Phil or Michael?’

  ‘Mrs. Harnby, there isn’t any question of—of comparing the two. At one time Phil and I were—were more or less engaged. But there’s nothing like that between Michael and me. He’s simply fed up with everything to do with women or—or marriage.’

  ‘And are you fed up with everything to do with men or marriage?’

  ‘Well—no, I wouldn’t say that. Only please don’t run away with the idea that there is anything between Michael and me. There isn’t. He’s been a wonderful friend to me, and he was ready to do anything he could to protect my reputation. But he understood just as well as I did that, once we were able to make explanations to you, this—this business would be over, and I should go away again.’

  ‘I see.’ Mrs. Harnby seemed willing, to let it go at that. ‘So you did propose to explain to me at some date or other?’

  ‘Oh yes! Just as soon as you were well enough to stand a—well, a shock.’

  ‘When it was too late to do anything, in fact.’

  ‘We didn’t think of it that way.’

  ‘No, of course not ... Well, I think I must rest for a while now, my dear. And when Michael comes in I will explain to him that he is really an extremely fortunate bachelor.’

  Almost as soon as Patricia had gone downstairs, Michael telephoned to say that he would be late, and in the end he came in only just in time for dinner.

  It was impossible to send him upstairs at once, and Patricia had to sit through dinner, seething with suppressed excitement, and longing to say—‘Don’t look so tired and worried, Michael. Everything is going to be marvellously all right for you!’

  After dinner Michael went upstairs to his mother’s room, without the need of being told to go, and Patricia was left to the desultory conversation of Isobel, and her own excited thoughts.

  Dear, dear Michael! How utterly relieved he would be, once he had recovered from the first shock. It would be pretty awful at first, she supposed, learning the truth about his tragic marriage. But his feeling about that must have changed so much in the last few weeks that the relief must inevitably outweigh the disillusionment. He could start life again in an even more completely free manner than he had hoped. It. was not a case of obtaining a divorce on the best terms possible. It was a question of simply wiping out that disastrous marriage as though it had never been.

  And he would wipe out everything else connected with it at the same time, of course. He had as good as said so.

  ‘You know—’ Isobel’s voice broke in on her reflections—‘I think it is almost time that Deborah and I went back home. Aunt Leni really does seem to be through the worst part of her illness, and I don’t think we shall have much more anxiety about her, bless her. And now that you are here there really .isn’t any need for me.’

  ‘Oh, but I shall—’ Patricia stopped herself just in time. Perhaps it was not the moment to start explanations to Isobel. So she changed ‘I shall be going almost directly’ to ‘I shall miss both of you very much.’

  ‘Thank you, Patricia dear. That’s very nice of you. But I hope you’ll be coming to see us in Scotland later in the year. Deborah has taken such a fancy to you, you know.’

  Patricia murmured some suitable acknowledgment of Deborah’s graciousness, and turned with a smile to Julia, who had just come in. Whatever Julia had to announce it could not be any further appearance of Pat, and that gave one a delightful feeling of freedom and confidence.

  But with the removal of Pat from the list of possible visitors, it seemed one had not removed the element of agitating surprise.

  ‘There’s a Mr. Magerton to see you, madam,’ Julia explained. ‘I have put him in Mr. Harnby’s’ study, as he said he would like to see you privately.’

  CHAPTER XII

  ‘Mr.’ Magerton?’ Patricia heard herself say in the most astonishingly calm voice. ‘Very well, Julia, I’ll come.’

  And then she was crossing the hall to’ Michael’s study, where Phil—of all people—awaited her.

  He was standing when she came into the room, his hands thrust, into the pockets of his dinner jacket. But he swung round as soon as he heard her enter, and came eagerly towards her.

  ‘Phil—’ From sheer force of habit she held out her hand. ‘What is it? What has brought you here?’

  ‘I wanted to see you. I simply had to see you. Please don’t be angry about my coming.’

  ‘I’m not angry,’ she told him. And then added as an afterthought, ‘And it doesn’t really matter about your coming here, because everything has been explained now.’

  ‘About Harnby and his fictitious marriage, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that,’ Phil exclaimed, as though it concerned him. Which, of course, Patricia reminded herself, it did not.

  ‘Won’t you sit down, Phil?’ He sat down slowly. ‘And won’t you also explain why you’ve come to see me? Because there isn’t really much that you and I have to say to each other now, you know.’

  ‘I know you must feel like that. I don’t blame you.’ He spoke with a jerkiness that was unlike his usual easy flow of words. ‘But I had to come—principally, I suppose, to apologise. At least, to apologise before I did anything, else.’

  ‘To apologise?’ Somehow she couldn’t imagine Phil in an apologetic mood. ‘For what? Oh, I see. For what happened last time we met.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve thought it over and over since then, and I know I was a cad to suggest such a thing to a girl like you. I don’t know quite how to explain how I ever came to such a point. I didn’t mean it as an insult.’

  ‘No, Phil, I don’t think you did. It’s just that we regard these things differently, I suppose. Don’t think any more about it. I daresay I didn’t make myself as clear as I should, either.’

  ‘No, don’t try to take any of the blame. You didn’t do anything that really justified my—thinking of you that way,’ Phil said earnestly. ‘It was just my rotten mind.’

  ‘All right, Phil.’ She smiled, faintly put out by his determination to abase himself. ‘We’ll just take it that any implied insult is wiped out now. It was
nice of you to want to come and apologise and put things right.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m not leaving things like that!’ He got up and came over to where she was sitting. ‘Don’t you see? I’ve come round to looking at things your way. You were right, of course. I want you to marry me, Patricia. You will, won’t you? You’ve as good as said you have forgiven me. I don’t deserve it, but you’ve said it, and that makes everything all right, doesn’t it?’

  Patricia stood up too in her agitation, but when he would have taken her in his arms, she put out her hands to prevent him.

  ‘But what is it, darling?’ He was divided between anxiety and impatience. ‘Don’t you understand? I love you and I want to marry you. You wanted to marry me less than a week ago. You can’t have changed. It is all right; isn’t it?’

  ‘No, Phil.’ She found her voice at last. ‘It isn’t all right, if by that you mean that I’ll marry you. It—it isn’t as simple as that.’

  ‘But, Patricia, why not? Are you angry still? Did you mean you hadn’t really forgiven me?’

  ‘Oh, it isn’t a question of forgiveness,’ she exclaimed distressedly. ‘Nor of anger either. Do please believe that.’

  ‘Then what is it, my dear? Don’t you want to marry me after all?’

  ‘No, Phil, I don’t.’ The absolute certainty of that presented itself to her in all its baldness. ‘I’m terribly sorry. It must seem strangely inconsistent of me, but that’s the plain fact. I don’t any longer want to marry you.’

  ‘But, darling, you can’t surely stop loving me for something I’ve bitterly regretted—something for which, you say you have forgiven me.’ He was almost angry in his vehemence. ‘It’s just that you feel sore about the way I behaved, isn’t it? I don’t blame you. I’m willing to wait until you feel better about it. I do understand one can’t wipe out that sort of thing in five minutes.’