One Man's Heart

by Mary Burchell

  “Oh!” Hilma smiled. “I didn’t tell him about that. Isn’t it unlucky or something to discuss your wedding dress with your fiancé?”

  “No, of course not, you silly girl. It’s unlucky for him to see you in it before your wedding day, but you can tell him about it as much as you like.”

  “I’ll tell him to-morrow,” Hilma said. “There’s plenty of time.”

  And then she went upstairs.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Even before she opened her eyes next morning, Hilma knew that it was a beautiful day. This was a very different awakening from that of the previous day.

  She sat up in bed, smiling with pleasure to see the bright winter sunshine, smiling to remember that all her troubles were really over at last, and smiling just a little because she was meeting Buck this afternoon.

  It would be a sort of salute to success. A mutual acknowledgment that, oddly enough, with the help of each other, they had surmounted all difficulties and were about to attain their respective ambitions. They certainly had reason to congratulate themselves and each other.

  It was no surprise to Hilma that everything went smoothly this time. There were no awkward questions at home, no need to invent any explanations for her mother, no interruptions in her plans as she had made them.

  This time it was he who had arrived first, and as Hilma came in sight of the gate, she saw a sleek little black Jaguar drawn up at the side of the road.

  He got out as she came up to him, and she saw that he too, was smiling and in good spirits.

  “Lieb­ling”—he took her hand a little ceremonious­ly—“we meet on the crest of the wave to-day, I think.”

  “We do.” She returned his smile. “Thanks to—”

  “Each other.” he assured her.

  “Well, yes, I suppose that’s right,” Hilma agreed with a laugh.

  “Please.” He held open the door of the car for her, and he carefully tucked a fur rug over her before going round to the driving seat himself. “Warm enough?”

  “Perfectly, thanks. What a lovely little car.”

  “Yes. Part of our natural background,” he ex­plained.

  “Yours, if you like. I haven’t anything like this.”

  “But you will have, Lieb­ling.”

  “No,” Hilma said. “No, I can’t imagine Roger allowing me to race around in a little car all my own. But of course I shall be able to use the Rolls more or less when I like.”

  “One can always make do with a Rolls,” Buck as­sured her, and they both laughed.

  “Now tell me all about it,” Hilma said.

  “About yesterday?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, Lieb­ling, he arrived in a great state very early. I felt sorry for him. He’s a good fellow, you know,” he added reflectively. “Almost too good a fel­low for a golden-haired adventuress like you.”

  “Buck, I’m not—”

  “We agreed about that long ago,” he warned her.

  “All right. Go on.”

  “He was much more gentlemanly than I was about it. Wandered round and round the point until it was all I could do not to show I had been forewarned by leading him straight to the subject. He quite hated himself for entertaining any suspicions about your be­ing anything but a sweet girl. Whereas, of course, he ought to have known by one look at you—”

  “Not,” Hilma retorted sweetly, “unless he had the same kind of scheming mind and acted from similar unworthy motives.”

  “Ah, perhaps that is the secret of it” Buck admit­ted, smiling ahead down the road. “Well, anyway, we got to the point eventually. And then I flatter myself I gave an excellent representation of a noble-hearted fellow who could not allow someone to shoulder blame unfairly.”

  “That,” Hilma said, “must have been rather difficult for you.”

  “On the contrary, Lieb­ling, the part fitted me like a glove. We adventurers can turn our hand to almost anything, you know.”

  “I dare say,” Hilma agreed, and the dimple ap­peared in the centre of her cheek.

  “I explained to him about Leni. A charming girl—from the Austrian side of the family, as you yourself observed. He quite understood, of course, that the slightly foreign element explained a great deal. No harm in the child—in fact, I grew quite fond of her as I described her wayward disposition—but she had been very indiscreet. I could hardly be too thankful that she had met a steadying influence like yourself.”

  “Buck! You didn’t say these ridiculous things!”

  “More or less. Why not? They supplied the perfect background to my story. She confided in you, of course—not me—and as you had known Martin in the old days, you boldly went and demanded the foolish letters which my poor little cousin had written. It said very much for your strength of personality, Lieb­ling, that he handed them over. And then—and this was your master-stroke—you brought them to the serious-minded cousin.”

  “You?”

  “Certainly me. Destroyed them in front of me, but suggested I should keep a very careful eye on my indiscreet little cousin in future.”

  “And what,” asked Hilma grimly, “was the effect on you?”

  “I, Lieb­ling? I was horrified that such a thing could have been going on in the very block of flats where I myself lived. I have sent Leni into the country. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s the best place for her.”

  “Oh, unquestionably.” Hilma laughed a good deal. “But did my poor Roger really swallow all this whole?”

  “Yes. But of course, it sounded much quieter and more circumstantial when I served it up to him.” admitted Buck modestly. “I merely suggested the outlines, and left discreet imagination to fill in the rest.

  “It seems a shame, doesn’t it?” Hilma bit her lip.

  “That I should have to tell so many lies for you?”

  “No. That poor Roger should be made to listen to them.”

  “Well, Lieb­ling, if we’d told him the exact truth, what would have happened?”

  “Yes, I know. It doesn’t make one feel any better, though. I sometimes find it difficult to remember that all this came of writing one silly letter, on a wrong and absurd impulse which I failed to live up to.”

  He nodded sombrely, and the laughter suddenly went out of his eyes.

  “I know. I sometimes ask myself just where one stops being a fool and starts to be a scoundrel.”

  There was silence then while he drove rather rapidly.

  “Buck.”

  “Um-hm.”

  “Do you often think on those lines?”

  “No, Lieb­ling, very seldom. Most of the time I know exactly what I want, and exactly what I am prepared to do in order to get it.”

  “And now you’re very near attaining your final am­bition?”

  “Very near.”

  “It’s a—good feeling, isn’t it?”

  “Do you mean virtuous or enjoyable?”

  “You know quite well what I mean.”

  He laughed then.

  “You know the feeling, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Hilma spoke thoughtfully. “Yes, I’m pretty satisfied with things at the moment. Nearly losing everything does make you appreciate it.”

  “You had a bad fright over that confounded scarab, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did. So did you over Alan Moorhouse, didn’t you?”

  “Quite right, Lieb­ling. I saw the whole family estate vanishing into thin air because I’d hidden a pretty burglar behind a window curtain.”

  She glanced quickly at him and saw that he was smiling again, though he pretended to be intent upon his driving.

  “I hope,” Hilma said gravely, “that you remember it’s to the pretty burglar’s credit that she came and rescued you afterwards.”

  “Believe me, Lieb­ling, I shall always remember it,” he assured her. “Even when I’ve become a middle-aged and gaitered squire, I shall look over my estate sometimes and think: ‘Now this would all belong to a stranger if it ha
d not been for—Lieb­ling.’”

  Hilma was quite silent for a moment. Then, when she did speak, her voice was rather gentle.

  “It means an awful lot to you, that estate, doesn’t it, Buck?”

  “Well, my dear, it represents all the life I’m used to.” He spoke quite seriously for once. “I don’t know if you know much about English country life. It gets hold of you—especially if the generations before you have known it and loved it. It isn’t an easy thing to tear your roots out of the soil.”

  “And so, when you got a chance to leave them there undisturbed—you took it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yes, I think I understand. Somebody told me—quite by chance—about the—the way your grandfather left things.”

  “And added that I was therefore marrying Evelyn purely for her money, I suppose?” he added grimly.

  “Well—no, not exactly. She seemed more impressed by the idea that Evelyn was marrying you for your ancestors, so to speak.”

  “Oh!” He laughed shortly. “It isn’t quite as cut and dried as that you know. As a matter of fact, Evelyn and I get on extremely well together. We’re neither of us specially sentimental, we like more or less the same things, and, to put it with absolute brutality, each has something the other wants.”

  “Yes, I can imagine that. I suppose many happy marriages have been built on less,” Hilma said slowly.

  “One likes to think so. I think she finds me mod­erately attractive. I find her the same—perhaps more than that. She hasn’t any absurd, endearing little ways or—” He stopped abruptly and then frowned. “I have no right to talk like this. I shouldn’t to anyone else, of course.”

  “No, I know. It’s just that, somehow, we have rath­er stripped things to the bone when we’ve discussed things together. It seems to come naturally. Perhaps there’s no harm in it. I suppose it started with our both being so frank when we never expected to meet each other again.”

  “Yes, that’s it.” He smiled suddenly. “Funny how we were both so certain it was the briefest, isolated meeting. And all the time our stories had got tangled up in the most fantastic manner.”

  Hilma nodded.

  “As you said when we met to-day, we really owe it to each other that we’ve worked out our stories to a satisfactory conclusion. That’s the queerest part of all.”

  “But rather nice, don’t you think?”

  She agreed with a laugh, and then added quickly:

  “Oh, Buck, do stop here. It’s so lovely.”

  He drew up at once by the side of the road.

  They were right out in the open country by now, and on either side of them stretched bare, almost leafless woods. Here and there a brown, withered leaf still clung to a thin branch, flickering restlessly to and fro and looking like a great moth outlined against the pale blue of the winter sky.

  Scarlet creeper sprawled over some of the tree-trunks in extravagant abandon, oddly at variance with the prim little stream that chattered past over roots and pebbles, to lose itself under a small stone bridge which spanned the valley.

  “Would you like to get out and walk a little?” He smiled slightly at the pleasure in her eyes.

  “Yes, do let’s.”

  “You won’t be cold?”

  “No, of course not.” She already had the door of the car open, and a moment later stood at the side of the road, where it sloped down to the little bridge.

  He took her hand, and she could feel the support of his strong fingers as he helped her down the stony slope.

  “There you are. Now you can look over into the stream.”

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Hilma leant her arms on the moss-covered parapet, and after a moment he did the same.

  “Yes, it’s pretty. In a terrific hurry, isn’t it?”

  “Um-hm. Poor little thing, it’s impossible to believe it ever does really reach the sea.”

  “Nonsense, Lieb­ling,” he said mockingly. “Nothing should seem impossible to you to-day. Not after all the difficulties we’ve successfully surmounted.”

  She smiled.

  “Yes, it is rather our great day, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “I suppose you have the same feeling that I have—that nothing further can go wrong. I didn’t have that feeling at any other stage of our—adventure. I felt uneasily that something would still go wrong, though I couldn’t quite say what.”

  “And all the time it was the scarab,” he suggested with a laugh.

  “Well, it seems to have been a dozen other things as well. But of course, that was the final disaster.”

  “But now it’s all over?”

  For some reason she disliked that way of putting it. She hastily amended it to:

  “Now it’s all safely and happily over.”

  “Yes,” he agreed lightly. “It all started with mutual distrust over a broken lock, and ends very charmingly with mutual congratulations in a charming winter landscape.”

  Hilma watched with great attention the progress of a leaf down the stream. Then she said:

  “They’re very sincere congratulations as far as I’m concerned, you know. I do really hope that you’ll be most awfully happy with Evelyn.”

  “Thank you, Lieb­ling. I hope you’ll be very happy with your Roger.”

  “Oh, I shall be,” she said quickly. “I never told you, but I went to see some friends of his some time ago. Nice, kindly people with lots of money. They live very much the way we shall. I thought how I should like it. They have two lovely children—a beautiful house—marvellous garden.”

  “In fact, everything you want, Lieb­ling?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I suppose that will be my lot, too, if I’m lucky. Lovely children—a beautiful house—marvellous garden.”

  Still she was silent.

  They both watched the stream for quite a long time. Then he said very quietly and deliberately:

  “My darling, it isn’t the slightest good. I simply can’t do it after all.”

  “What—do you mean?” Hilma spoke in a whisper, and suddenly she found she was trembling so much that she was glad to have the little stone parapet to lean on.

  “Lieb­ling,” he said, “I mean exactly what your silence meant when you wouldn’t answer my question just now. I mean that the house isn’t the slightest good unless it’s our house—the garden isn’t the slightest good unless it’s our garden—and above all, the children aren’t possible unless they are our children. I couldn’t have another woman’s children. That’s the beginning and end of it. And I don’t believe you could bring yourself to have any man’s son but mine.”

  Even then she didn’t look at him. Only she slowly pushed her hand along the stones until it rested on his.

  “Buck, I’m not a bit good at making a little money go a long way.”

  “No. And I’m probably not much good at making money at all until I’ve had a bit more practice.”

  “You—hate hard living, don’t you?”

  “Hate it. So do you, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ll be quite honest. I’m—frightened of poverty.”

  “So am I, Lieb­ling. Only I’m much more frightened of life without you.”

  “We’re not much good as adventurers, after all, are we?”

  “Not much, darling.”

  He put his arm round her and drew her against him. She leant her head against his shoulder and said:

  “Buck, what about your family home?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I can sell it.”

  “But you love everything to do with the past of your family, don’t you?”

  “Um-hm.” He very softly put his lips against the side of her cheek. “But there’s such a thing as loving the future of one’s family, too.”

  “You mean you’d sell it without breaking your heart about it?”

  “I think so. We shouldn’t make much out of it, as a matter of fact. It’s heavily mortgaged. But I suppose there’d
be something.”

  “Buck, I haven’t anything at all to contribute—ex­cept some unsuitably extravagant things towards a trousseau.”

  “You have some lovely stuff for a wedding-dress, I think,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh, yes.” She laughed a little. “But even that belongs to Aunt Mary, in a way, I suppose. She paid for my trousseau because she approved so heartily of Roger. She wouldn’t approve a bit of you, Buck.”

  “I can’t blame her.”

  “She’ll probably say I owe her the money she advanced because I got it on false pretences or something like that.”

  “She must be distressingly like my grandfather. Well, we’ll have to sell the car and pay her. You must have your trousseau, even if you’re marrying a penniless adventurer.”

  She moved slightly against him.

  “Buck, is there any work you can do?” she asked with candour.

  “Well, Lieb­ling, I know a good deal about farming and estate management. I suppose I must set about looking for a job as a bailiff.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t sound at all like you.”

  “My darling, does any of this sound at all like either of us?”

  “No. But”—she looked up at him suddenly and smiled full into his face—“it’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  The half-cynical, half-humorous expression surfaced suddenly.

  “Lieb­ling, it’s the most wonderful thing that ever happened to two groping, rather blind people. Do you realise that we’ve both been fighting against this ever since you shoved a penknife under the lock of my desk?”

  She laughed and hid her face against him.

  He looked down at her with the utmost tenderness and said softly:

  “And do you realise that it was in the very moment Fate had handed our highest ambitions to us on a silver plate that we knew no ambitions mattered besides having each other?”

  She didn’t answer him, and he bent his head to whisper:

  “Why don’t you speak to me?”

  “I’m listening to your heart.”

  “Why, you absurd darling?”

  “Because you told me once that you hadn’t got one.”

  “Did I, Lieb­ling? Well, I’m not sure that it wasn’t true then.”

  She shook her head, and he looked amused.