In Search of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “How?” Vanda asked.

  “By lying, of course,” he said bluntly. “I am good at it. I learnt at school and I have been lying ever since.”

  “Really? I have always believed that you told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  “Nonsense, you have never believed any such thing,” he snapped.

  “I was being polite,” she snapped back.

  “Will you help me get rid of her?”

  Vanda gave a brittle laugh.

  “She is your friend, not mine,” she said. “But perhaps 'friend' is the wrong word.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You surely don't need me to explain? I didn't think you were so naïve. Well, it's like this. When a man –”

  “All right, all right,” he said hastily.

  “Good. I was sure you were too experienced to need explanations.”

  “I am not experienced enough to cope with her,” he said desperately. “I don't believe that any man is.”

  “You speak from knowledge, of course.”

  “If you mean was she my mistress once, yes she was,” he screamed, goaded beyond endurance. “Does it matter? You knew I had mistresses. You said so. I remember you seemed to find it a very good joke.”

  “My dear Robert,” she asserted coolly, “it is nothing to me whether you have one mistress or a thousand, as long as you do not bring any of them on this journey.”

  “Do you seriously imagine that I want her here?”

  “I don't know. Tell me.”

  “You shouldn't need telling. Have the last few days meant nothing to you? I thought we understood each other –”

  “So did I.”

  “Then we were both wrong, because if we had, you would not be asking me this kind of tom fool question. I want that woman out of here and I need your help.”

  “Why? Just throw her out.”

  “That is easier said than done. She is the sort of woman who always has her own way. If you had seen one of her tearful rages you would understand. If we are not careful she will join this ship. Do you want that?”

  “I thought I was being tactful in keeping away.”

  “Oh, did you!” he replied wrathfully. “Look, it was years ago, and we were definitely not as close as she likes to think.”

  “Really?” she responded in a withering voice. “Well, it's fairly obvious what she thinks.”

  He ground his teeth.

  “Could we discuss this later?”

  “I am perfectly happy to discuss it now.”

  “I think that's rather indelicate of you.”

  “Well, I think it is rather indelicate of you to bring your mistress on our trip.”

  “She is not my mistress. Not any more.”

  “She would like to be, though.”

  “That is what I am asking you to help me prevent, but you are being very stupid about it!”

  “Thank you!”

  “Don't mention it.”

  After a frozen silence he said,

  “I suppose I should be glad that you are jealous.”

  “How dare you say I am jealous!”

  “Well, I was jealous of you when you carried on with Piero in Paris. If I can admit it, why can't you? ”

  “You never did admit it.”

  “I have just admitted it now. I will say it again. I was jealous, I was jealous. Is that clear enough?”

  She stared at him while her heart began to soar.

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Good Lord, Vanda, you do pick some strange times to ask silly questions! Yes, I mean it. I am in love with you. I have probably been in love with you for a long time but I could not see it.

  “Well, I have seen it now and you are going to listen to me whether you want to or not. I love you. I want to marry you, and I am going to marry you, even if you are the most exasperating woman on earth. So what have you got to say about that?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “What – what did you say?” Vanda whispered.

  “I said you are the most exasperating woman on earth.”

  “No – the bit before that.”

  “I said I am going to marry you. We have shilly-shallied long enough and now it's settled. We are getting married and that's that – unless you have some objection.”

  The stars seemed to reel in the Heavens as the full impact of his words dawned on her.

  “No,” she sighed, breathless with joy. “I have no objection.”

  The next moment his arms tightened around her. Vanda felt herself pulled hard against him as his mouth descended on hers.

  Now she was in Heaven, kissing the man she loved, feeling him kiss her with all his heart and soul.

  “My darling Vanda,” he murmured against her lips. “I must have loved you a long, long time without knowing.”

  “And I –” she said happily, “I thought I only cared for you as a brother. How could I be so wrong?”

  “Kiss me,” he urged hoarsely. “Kiss me and tell me that this is really happening and not some dream. I don't want to wake up.”

  “We will never wake up,” Vanda breathed.

  “Tell me that you love me.”

  “I love you, I love you. I always will.”

  “And I will always love you,” he vowed.

  He kissed her again. In her riot of happiness she felt her last fear slip away. The oracle had been wrong to predict danger and death. There had been this happiness in store for them all the time.

  “No!”

  A scream of rage and anguish shattered their moment, forcing them to pull apart and turn to see Lady Felicity running along the deck towards them.

  “No!” she screamed again. “Robert, how can you do this to me? You love me.”

  “I do not love you, Felicity. I love Vanda and she is going to be my wife.”

  “You are lying,” she cried, hysterical tears pouring down her face. “You love me. You know you do.”

  “Felicity, stop this scene,” Robert ordered, coming forward to confront her. “I don't love you, and you don't really love me.”

  “I do, I love you,” she shrieked. “I won't let anyone else have you. I mean it.”

  Before either of them realised what she was doing, Felicity plunged her hand into her purse and drew out a tiny revolver.

  “I won't let her have you,” she screamed. “Do you understand that?”

  “Felicity –” Robert said, closing in on her slowly, “give me that gun.”

  “Stay where you are.” She waved the revolver at him. “Send her away, Robert. You don't love her, you love me.”

  There was a roaring in Vanda's ears. Suddenly she was back in Delphi, hearing the oracle predict blood and death.

  And her own reply,

  “Who will die? Not him, I beg you. Take me, not him.”

  Suddenly Lady Felicity raised her arm.

  “Take me, not him.”

  In a terrifying jumble of sounds Vanda heard herself scream and Robert's howl of anguish as the revolver exploded.

  Everything was confusion. The gun, though tiny, had seemed to bellow. Vanda saw the flash of the explosion against the darkness, then she was on the ground hearing hurrying footsteps, women screaming and men shouting.

  She was surrounded by people. Arms reached out to help her into a sitting position and she realised that Felicity's bullet had missed her. Apart from a few bruises she was uninjured. Helped by willing hands she climbed to her feet.

  “Are you hurt?” someone asked.

  “No,” she gasped, “but Robert – ?”

  She looked around frantically, crying,

  “Where is he?”

  A man's voice said,

  “He is hurt. The bullet caught him.”

  “Oh, no – no.”

  Suddenly she saw Robert lying on the deck, an ugly red stain upon his shirt.

  “That woman tried to shoot you.” It was Sarah, the bride whose engagement had prompted the party. “But he pushed you out
of the way and took the bullet himself.”

  “What did you say?” Vanda whispered in horror.

  “We heard her screaming and ran to see what the noise was about. We were just in time to see her fire the revolver.”

  “She was aiming for you,” said Myles, who was beside his fiancée. “She would have shot you because it was only a few feet. But he yelled 'no' and shoved you aside so hard that you fell and he was right in the line of fire.”

  “The Captain has ordered her to be taken below and locked up,” Sarah added.

  “I must see Robert,” she cried. “Oh, dear God, don't let him die.”

  She ran frantically across the deck to where Robert lay, frighteningly still and white.

  “Robert,” she wept flinging herself down beside him, “Robert!”

  But he did not move. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow.

  “He needs a doctor,” she screamed.

  “I am afraid this ship is too small to carry a doctor,” said the Captain worriedly. “We will have to find one in the locality.”

  “But that could take hours,” she cried.

  She touched Robert's face while tears streamed down her face.

  “No,” she whispered, “please not now, when we have just found each other. Oh, God, please help!”

  She closed her eyes and prayed frantically.

  'Send him a doctor now, this minute. He cannot afford to wait.'

  She did not know exactly which deity she was addressing. Was it the God she had always known? Or was it one – or all – of the ancient deities that had once ruled this country and, in many ways, still did?

  Whatever the answer – and perhaps it was both – she cried out inwardly to the presence she had felt at Delphi.

  “I asked you to take me, not him. Why didn't you listen?”

  There was no reply, only a profound silence. But in the midst of it, she felt a sense of reproach, as though someone had said –

  “Be patient. All is not yet ended.”

  'Save him,' she prayed. 'Save him.'

  “Stand back please. Let me get to him.”

  Startled, she looked up to see a man, whom she recognised as one of the passengers, bustling through the crowd in a purposeful manner. He was in a dressing gown and looked as though he had just been roused from his bed.

  He took charge, brooking no argument and brushing everyone else aside.

  “He needs a doctor,” Vanda cried.

  “I am a doctor, madam,” he said crisply. “I am Sir Steven Tranley, Chief General Surgeon at the Victoria Hospital in London.”

  Vanda's hands flew to her mouth. She had heard of Sir Steven, a brilliant surgeon, knighted for his services to the Royal family the previous year.

  A young boy helped her to her feet.

  “My father never tells people he is a doctor when we are on holiday,” he told her quietly. “But this was an emergency, so I fetched him.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she wept.

  Men were lifting Robert and carrying him below. She followed them down to his cabin, where a Steward tried to bar her way.

  “This is no sight for a lady,” he ventured.

  “My place is with him,” Vanda demanded emphatically. “Kindly get out of my way or I shall be forced to knock you down.”

  The Steward backed off hurriedly.

  Vanda approached the bed, terrified at what she would see.

  Sir Steven had removed Robert's shirt, revealing blood pouring from a wound in his shoulder.

  Vanda fought back a feeling of sickness. She must not give way to weakness. Robert needed her.

  “I cannot afford females in here, having the vapours,” Sir Steven said brusquely.

  “I shall not have the vapours,” Vanda informed him. “I can do whatever is needed.”

  From the bed came an incredible sound. Robert's eyes were open and he had actually managed a faint laugh.

  “That's my girl,” he croaked hoarsely.

  “Robert,” she whispered. “Oh, thank God, you are awake!”

  “Are you all right, my darling?”

  “Yes, I am not hurt.”

  “Then all is well.”

  His words finished in a groan as the doctor began to work on him.

  “I am going to have to dig that bullet out,” Sir Steven grunted.

  “He is going to survive, isn't he?” Vanda pleaded.

  “If the bullet hasn't touched the lung he will be all right. If it has –”

  He left the implication hanging in the air.

  His son had been sent to fetch his black bag. From it the doctor took a small bottle and sprinkled a few drops onto a clean handkerchief.

  “Lay this over his face,” he instructed Vanda. “Do not come too close or you will breathe it in yourself.”

  “I don't want that stuff,” Robert whispered. “I hate the idea of being unconscious.”

  “You will hate the pain even more,” the doctor stated.

  Vanda took the handkerchief.

  “Trust me,” she told Robert, and saw him relax at once.

  The next moment she placed the linen over his face and watched as his eyes closed.

  She was glad she had done so, when she saw the doctor at work, digging for the bullet. How could any man have endured the pain, she thought?

  At last Sir Steven drew out the bullet and held it up.

  “Here it is,” he called triumphantly.

  “His lung – ?”

  “Just missed it. He was lucky. It was a very close call.”

  “Thank God!” she murmured.

  “Never mind that,” Sir Steven said caustically. “There is still work to be done. I am going to bind up his wound and then I am returning to bed.”

  He was far from being the most agreeable man Vanda had ever met, but she could see now how he had acquired his reputation as a brilliant surgeon. He bandaged up the wound efficiently and gave his instructions in a brusque voice.

  “He will probably develop a fever and become restless. If so, give him some of this,” he said, placing a small vial by the bed. “Now I am going to bed.”

  “But he is safe now?” she implored, longing to hear him say the words. “The bullet missed his lung so he is not going to die?”

  “I cannot say that. I have done all I can and for the rest you will have to be patient. Goodnight.”

  He was gone and she was alone with the sleeping Robert. To her relief she noticed that his colour was better, but she knew that he could still be in danger.

  The bullet had not touched his lung. She must cling to that thought.

  Now she had time to think over what she had been told – that he had saved her at the cost of being shot himself.

  She had been ready to die for him and it seemed that he had been ready to die for her.

  As the minutes and the hours glided past, she had plenty of time to reflect.

  Each would have died for the other.

  He stirred and she leaned closer, watching until his eyes opened.

  “Is that you?” he murmured.

  “Yes, my darling, I am here with you. I will always be here.”

  “Yes, you must always be here, for I cannot live without you.”

  She took his hand, holding it gently.

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  Slowly she leaned forward and pressed her lips lovingly against his. As she drew back she saw his eyes closing again.

  She sat quietly beside him, allowing him the sleep he needed, while inwardly she spoke to an unseen presence that she knew was with her.

  'This was what you tried to tell me – blood and danger. And death? But there will be no death. I will not permit it. He is mine and I am going to keep him safe.'

  The ancient Greeks had believed that when a man died he went to the ferry that crossed the River Styx and handed a coin to the ferryman whose name was Charon, and he took the dead man across the river to Hades, the underworld.

  Now Vanda sat holdin
g onto Robert's hands, as if by doing so she could hold him back from the ferry. There would be no coin, she vowed, and no voyage across the Styx. The ferryman could wait forever. While she possessed the strength to fight him, he would leave without his passenger.

  She felt her head droop and forced herself to raise it. Now that the agitation of the evening was over, she could feel weariness overtaking her. Her eyelids drooped.

  She jerked up again. Robert's hands were hot in hers and he was growing restless.

  Quickly she poured some drops into the glass and supported him with her arm while he drank. To her relief he grew quieter.

  It seemed to her that now he slept more deeply and she became afraid lest his sleep grew too deep and he never awakened.

  She leaned close again, watching his face intently, looking for any signs of change. But suddenly it was dark and she could not see him properly.

  The air was cold and a chill wind whistled about her face. A dank miasma came off the water and the man in the ferry was drawing nearer. He was standing upright, driving his boat along with one huge oar.

  At the water's edge he stopped and held out his hand.

  “No,” Vanda cried firmly.

  He neither moved nor spoke, but stood holding his hand out with terrible patience. She tried to outface him but it was hard when she could not see his eyes. The hood of his great cloak hung low, obscuring his face.

  “Go,” she told him. “There is nothing for you here.”

  Silence. Only that motionless figure, the hand outstretched to eternity.

  Robert's breathing was growing shallow. There were dark circles around his eyes and his skin was grey.

  It was now or never.

  She gathered her courage and stepped forward, flinging her arm wide so that the ferryman's hand was knocked aside.

  “You shall not take him!”

  In that instant the cloak collapsed, revealing that there was nothing beneath. The waters opened, swallowing up the boat and the darkness vanished.

  Vanda opened her eyes to find that she was lying on the bed beside Robert. It was morning and the room was flooded with light.

  Best of all, his eyes were open and he was looking at her fondly.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You were talking in your sleep, but I couldn't make out the words.”

  Joyfully she felt his forehead.

  “Your fever has gone,” she said. “You are going to recover.”