Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other

by Mary Burchell

  "Fm selfishly glad you did, '* Thea told her.

  "Are you, love? Well, there were some other inducements to bring me home, but we'll talk of those later. I sent off a cable to Emma, or rather, I was foolish enough to leave the question of its dispatch to one of the servants in my hotel. Very silly, because he had already shown himself to be rather unreliable, but I did think he would manage a simple thing like that. Well, never mind now. Here I am, and I'm so delighted to find that you are staying here."

  "Oh, are you?" Thea's tone was grateful as well as pleased, because it was lovely to find that no complications existed, as far as Mrs. Dorley was concerned, even though

  Thea had married the wrong member of her family — at least, from her point of view.

  "Yes, of course. And Emma tells me that I can look forward to your company for some while."

  "Well, if—if— oh, there's a lot to explain. We can talk about it afterward, can't we?" Thea said, rather desperately staving off full explanations.

  "Yes, of course. Lin, I take it, is not down here?"

  "Oh, no."

  "Not even for weekends?''

  "Well, not-so far," Thea said feebly. "He-he's very busy in town, you know, and I found the hot weather so much less trying in the country.''

  "Yes, of course, poor child! I haven't even asked after your health. Are you making a good recovery? Or are you still feehng a bit weak and languid?"

  Guiltily conscious of her excellent state of health, Thea murmured something hastily about being "pretty well all right," for it was useless to represent herself, in one breath, as unable to support summer m London, and in the next, as in bouncing health.

  Mrs. Dorley, who was no fool, gave her one quick, penetrating glance. But her shrewdness was equaled by her discretion, and she made no attempt to force early confidences.

  Then Emma, beaming with satisfaction and good nature, came to ask whether they would like tea in the garden, and by common consent, they moved out there.

  To Thea, who had thought she was happy in the sole company of Emma, it was infinitely delightful to have Mrs. Dorley's friendship restored to her. She was so kind and so full of common sense, that situations that with other people would have been embarrassing, with her could be frankly disposed of

  Over tea, she said to Thea, "Stephen told me of your letter, dear, but of course we had already heard from Lin about your marriage, so it was no news to us. Stephen wanted me to give you his best and kindest wishes, and I feel sure, from what he said, that you put your refusal as nicely as possible. I won't say it hasn't been a bad disappointment for me as well as Stephen. But these things have a way of

  arranging themselves, and one never causes anything but trouble by interfering or voicing useless regrets.**

  "Oh, you are a darling/'Thea said earnestly. *'You don't know how wonderful it is to have you home and to be able to talk with you again. I was so much afraid that my—my marriage, and my having to refuse Stephen, would be bound to make a sort of barrier between us. But it isn*t going to be like that, is it?'*

  "Certainly not!" Mrs. Dorley's tone was amused as well as emphatic. "This is the twentieth century, not Jane Austen's time. I shouldn't presume to indulge in displeasure because any young friend of mine followed her own ideas on marriage rather than my own. I will admit that I'm surprised you chose Lin, because I hadn 't realized you had a great deal in common. But when I've said that, I've said all I am entitled to say on the subject."

  Thea smiled in answer to that, but decided not to embark on any reply in words. And presently Mrs. Dorley began to tell her about her experiences in America, and the conversation shifted onto safe ground.

  /'// tell her all about it later on, Thea assured herself. But when she reflected how fond Mrs. Dorley was of her brother, the "telling" presented itself as a rather difficult and not very kindly task.

  Only, she's got to know about the divorce, Thea thought. But for that, I'd try to keep it all from her her. Though, as a matter of fact, I believe she guesses something. She must do. Any intelligent woman can see that it's odd I'm down here while Lin stays in town. This silly business about the country being better for me just doesn't wash. I'll tell her a modified version of the truth. Why should I put Lin in a bad light to her? She hasn't any illusions about him—Stephen said that once—but the last thing I want is for her to be forced into some kind of "taking sides'' against her own brother.

  While Thea considered these matters with half of her mind, she contrived to give her seemingly whole attention to what Mrs. Dorley was saying. And presently, when Darry came to be fed and to demonstrate his pleasure at Mrs. Dorley's return, she slipped away to see if she could help Emma with any of the additional tasks that Mrs. Dorley s return had involved.

  It was not until much later in the evening—just as Thea

  was thinking of going to bed, in fact—that the discussion of personalities came up again auite unintentionally.

  Mrs. Dorley had been reading the newspaper and, as she said, "putting herself au fait with home affairs from a home point of view," when she looked up and exclaimed, "Why, I see it's the first night of Geraldine's new play tomorrow. Are you going?'*

  "Oh, no!"

  Mrs. Dorley looked surprised, more perhaps at the emphasis with which Thea spoke than the information.

  "It... it's rather difficult coming back here at night by the last train," Thea explained hastily.

  "Why, yes, I suppose it would be. I thought you might be staying in town for the night."

  "No. Oh, no. I'm not so much interested in what Geral-dine does, you know," Thea said, hoping that sounded casual and circumstantial.

  "No? Well, I daresay that's understandable. She hasn't ever been overly kind to you," Mrs. Dorley said frankly. "Tell me, Thea, did she behave badly when you were ill?"

  "Well—yes. I suppose she did." Thea recalled very sharply the unutterable dismay Geraldine had caused her when she had carelessly indicated that her home was now closed to her young cousin.

  "She was very angry, you see, and—"

  "Thea? I really can't see why." Mrs. Dorley spoke with energy. "You could hardly have had the accident on purpose."

  "Well, she didn't know until then that it was Lin who had taken me out. She thought I'd been deliberately concealing my—my friendship with him. It was true in a way. At least, I hadn't gone out of my way to tell her I was going out with him, because—because—"

  "I know. She regarded Lin more or less as her property at that time, didn't she?" Mrs. Dorley supplied helpfully.

  "Yes, she did. And—" suddenly Thea halted in her recital, and said very distinctly^ and clearly "—Mrs. Dorley, was Lin ever her property in—m any horrid sense?"

  "If you mean, was he her lover—certainly not," Mrs. Dorley replied categorically.

  "Oh—tnank you. ' Thea smiled faintly. "I wish everyone replied to one s questions as clearly. But anyway—' her

  smile faded "—you'd be almost bound to say that, because of course you think I'm happily married to Lin, and a devoted wife and all that sort of thing."

  "Oh, no, I don't, child," Mrs. Dorley assured her briskly. **I hope I have too much sense to suppose that you are giving the appearance of a happy and devoted wife. I have enough experience to know that things are not at all like that between you and Lin, without having enough knowledge to be able to say why."

  "Oh."

  Thea was a good deal taken aback to find she had concealed the true state of affairs so poorly. But after a while she went on slowly, as though frankness was a relief

  "There isn't really anything between Lin and me. Not anything at all. You can tell me the real truth about him and Geraldine without it mattering in the least."

  "My dear child! Why harp on him and Geraldine?" Mrs. Dorley demanded, with a sort of good-humored impatience. "What I said just now was perfectly true."

  "Was it?" Thea looked up eagerly.

  "Certainly. Geraldine is an extremely grasping and acquisitive young w
oman. She would have likecl to have Lin as both a financial and amorous conquest. His production and direction had a great deal to do with putting Geraldine where she is, and I believe he always had the highest regard for her art, which is indisputable."

  "Oh, yes," Thea agreed, almost with enthusiasm.

  "But, as far as anything else was concerned, I can assure you there was nothing between them. If you want the real truth, Lin had a sort of good-natured contempt for her as a person, while he had a great respect for her as an artist."

  "Oh, I see." Thea's smile held more relief than she knew.

  "So if Geraldine has been trying to make trouble between you two—"

  "Oh, no. It isn't Geraldine," Thea said hastily. "The only trouble with Geraldine was that she was furious about my going out with Lin and thoroughly sick of having me at her apartment, in any case, although—I don't know if you knew—" Thea glanced at Mrs. Dorley questioningly "—it was actually Lin who paid all my expenses."

  "Lin! Was it? No, I didn't know that. And how absurd of

  him to do it through anyone like Geraldine when he could have done it through me,'* she added disgustedly.

  Thea didn 't say anything to that. She thought she knew why Lin had always refrained from bringing his uncompromising and straight-thinking sister into this.

  "Anyway, Geraldine demonstrated her general disgust by telling me that I couldn't come back to her apartment anymore, and that I could find a new home. She told Lin much the same, I suppose, and he came to see me in the hospital. He came three or four times a week, in any case. He—he was awfully good to me." And suddenly Thea's voice trembled as she thought of how good he had seemed, and how much his visits had meant to her then.

  "Don't tell me Lin suggested your marryine him as the only way out? " Mrs. Dorley said with a dry smile.

  "Well, yes—he did. Oh, he suggested all sorts of things first— offered to pay for me in a club or hotel or something. He even offered to rent an apartment for me, I believe. But of course it was quite impossible. Even Lin saw that. And even if he had come right down to giving me money and leaving me to make my own arrangements, Geraldine would have guessed, of course, because she knew who had been supplying the money before."

  "Of course," Mrs. Dorley interjected vexedly. "That comes of his being so silly as to put things in the hands of a woman like Geraldine. But, my dear Thea, why didn't you come here to Emma, as I suggested?"

  "I hadn't received your letter yet and—"

  "But you knew you could come. You knew we should have been only too glad to have you make your home here. Surely, dear, we had made that quite clear before we ever went away."

  Mrs. Dorley looked so vexed and reproachful that Thea came eagerly and sat on the rug at her feet.

  "Dear Mrs. Dorley, I did know that, and I would have come, only—only—" suddenly she put her arm on Mrs. Dorley's knee and her head on her arm "—Lin lied to me and-^'

  "Lin what?"

  "He lied to me—told me quite coolly and circumstantially that he had been to make inquiries of Emma, and found that she was having to shut up the house and go away to

  nurse a sick sister. He even told me that she was taking Darry with her, and that Darry would have to learn to put up with living in a new place."

  "He told you that? Lin did?"

  **Yes—oh, yes." Thea was crying now, and hardly aware of Mrs. Dorley's hand on her hair. "It made me really see that there was nothing else to do but marry Lin—nowhere else to go when I came out of hospital. Because by then, you see, I knew my left hand was going to be virtually helpless for ages, and I couldn't do anything much about supporting myself"

  "But, Thea dear—don't cry so, there's a good child—I simply can't understand this. I never knew Lin do such a thing as indulge in deliberate deceit. Believe me, that's true. I've known him all his life—I mean really known him—not just been his sister. I can't believe he'd do such a thing."

  "But he did it,"Thea said forlornly.

  "Yes, yes. I'm not doubting what you say, dear. I'm only trying to understand it. Was there any possibility of his havinig made a genuine mistake?"

  "On, no." Thea shook her head sadly. "He didn't deny it when I charged him with having done it."

  "You mean, he admitted deliberately lying to you? With the express purpose of convincing you that you had no course out to marry him?"

  Thea nodded without looking up.

  "Thea dear—is Lin very much in love with you?"

  "Oh, no. I should have forgiven him quite easily if he had been because I—I—well, never mind about that. But he didn't even pretend that was the explanation. In fact he ... he rather sneered at the idea."

  "Thea, this sounds like a stranger you're describing!" exclaimed Mrs. Dorley, greatly distressed.

  "That's how he seemed to me, all of a sudden," Thea said unhappily. "Oh, I didn't mean to tell you all this. It's a shame when you're so fond of him and he's been a good brother always to you. I really didn't mean to distress you about this, because it's quite another side of him from anything you've known, I m sure. And it really doesn't take away from his goodness to you."

  "That's all quite beside the point, my dear," Mrs. Dorley said firmly. "And I'd very much rather that you told me—

  well, anything about this business that you feel like confiding in me. Did he-did he give you any idea why he had done this inexplicable thing? I mean-why trick you into marrying him-because it really does amount to that-if he was not in love with you. *'

  There was an awkward pause.

  "Don't think I'm trying to force your confidence." Mrs. Dorley looked extremely worried. "But—"

  "No, no. It's not that," Thea cried. "It's only that I feel I ought to have managed not to tell you all this. Only, now that you know part of it, I suppose you ought to know the whole."

  "My dear, I don't think one is ever the happier for being kept m Ignorance of the motives of the people one loves, if that is what's worrying you," Mrs. Dorley said earnestly.

  "Oh, how I agree with you," cried poor Thea, from the depths of her own experience of wretched confusion. "Very well, then. I'll tell you just what Lin said himself, and you must make what you can of it. I begged him to give an explanation, and finally he admitted that he-he'd been rather intrigued and charmed by my-my lack of sophistication and general-oh well, he thought I was a new type, and that attracted him. But he also saw that I-I wasn't the sort to indulge in anything but marriage. Circumstances just played into his hands. He offered me marriage, as I've described to you, but just looked on it himself as a-sort of legalized affair."

  "Wait a minute, Thea-" Mrs. Dorley looked strained and worried "-I haven't got this quite straight. Was he frank about this when he proposed to you in hospital?"

  "Oh, no, no. It was on quite a different basis. He put it to me then that he wanted to provide for me-from just disinterested kindness-but he couldn't do so without marrying me. But I was to regard myself as quite free whenever I wanted to go, and I insisted, naturally, that he should feel the same. His idea was-at least, he said his idea was-that when I was well and able to support myself, we could arrange a quiet divorce." ''Yes, I see. And you agreed to those terms?" "Yes, Mrs. Dorley. They seemed to me the height of generosity. They were the height of generosity. My only

  possible hesitation in accepting them came from fear that I was imposing on his goodness. '

  "Um-hm.Goon."

  "It was then—when I felt such misgivings about imposing on him—that I thought of going to Emma, and suggested that I should. And then he—oh, well, you know that bit."

  Mrs. Dorley nodded.

  "Even on—on our so-called honeymoon he went to the trouble of reassuring me and repeating that the marriage was not binding on me and wouldn*t be—I mean—*'

  "That he wouldn't expect you to fulfill any wifely obligations?"

  "Yes. But it was all just an elaborate blind—he admitted so afterward. He knew I was nervous and—his own horrid expression was that '
he knew I was a girl who couldn't be rushed.' "

  Mrs. Dorley pressed her lips together without saying anything, and presently Thea went on.

  "Less than three weeks after the wedding I came down here, quite by chance, for a day's outing in the country. Of course I came past the house, saw it was occupied and came in to Emma. It didn't take long for me to find out what had really happened, and when I went back home that evening I charged Lm with lying to me. He admitted it quite brazenly and gave the explanation that I—I told you of He had intended to involve me in what would be to him an enjoyable affair, and into which I—I should have put all my love and affection because—well, I shouldn't have done it at all if I hadn't felt that way. I'm not that sort of girl, Mrs. Dorley, and he knew it."

  "Yes, child, of course. It's obvious." Mrs. Dorley stroked her hair again. '^

  "Then when he was tired of it, the quiet divorce would have been introduced—and that would have been the end. He would have had his fun, and I suppose he thought any heartbreak I should have suffered would be fully compensated for by the fact that at least my reputation had been kept intact."

  There was a long silence after Thea had finished speaking. Then Mrs. Dorley said with a sigh, "Yes, it's not a very pretty story."

  "But—'* Thea looked at her timidly "—it surprises you very much, doesn 't it? *'

  "Yes, Thea, it does/'

  "I think I've told it to you exactly as it happened. Certainly exactly as it appeared to me," Thea said earnestly.

  "I'm sure you have, my dear. Please don't think I doubt your word about all this. It's just—" she hesitated "—it's so out of character."

  "Oh, is it?" Thea looked up eagerly at her. "That's what I told myself at one point—beiore my suspicions had been at all confirmed. But of course, in many ways I hardly know him. You know him so well, and you ^el like that?"