There was a short, an ominous silence. Tommy had gone perfectly white. Without looking at her, he said:—
“Then I suppose because I haven’t asked you to sleep with me before we’re married, I’m Victorian and stuffy. Is that it?”
For a moment Dodo felt almost frightened, but she answered steadily:—
“No, because you’d think it was wrong.”
“And you wouldn’t?”
“No,” said Dodo.
Again there was a silence. Making an obvious effort, Tommy took out and lit a cigarette before he went on. He said:—
“Tell me the truth, Dodo.”
“I’ve told it.”
“Tell me the rest. You wouldn’t have gone this far unless there were something more.”
“I haven’t a lover, if that’s what you mean.”
The match burned his fingers, he dropped it and let it flare out on Alice’s rug. He said:—
“That night you spent in town last month, when we met coming from the station. I thought there was something queer about you. Where had you been?”
“With Sonia.”
“Only Sonia?”
“Yes. At least—”
“For God’s sake tell the truth!”
“At least, Sonia had her lover upstairs, and there was another man where I was, in the sitting-room. I didn’t know till morning, and I’d gone before he woke up.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Tommy harshly.
Dodo shrugged.
“I swear there’s nothing to go off the deep end about.”
“Isn’t there? A slut and her lover upstairs—”
“Sonia isn’t a slut!” Dodo’s cheeks flamed till she was as scarlet as he was white. “They’ve been devoted to each other for years, it’s exactly the same as being married, only they stick together of their own free wills. They don’t need any legal ceremonies to make them faithful. And as for the other man, I don’t suppose he knows of my existence. The whole thing is so utterly unimportant—”
“Not to me.”
“Very well.” Dodo tried to smile. “I told you, didn’t I, it was time we talked to each other? For years and years, ever since we stopped being in love, we’ve just made conversation. Now we can be honest.”
“Honest.” Tommy walked to the window and pulled aside the curtain and stood looking out at the bitter weather. “I apologize for calling you a liar. I believe you’ve told the truth. But all the time this was going on—while you were getting all these ideas, going about with these people—you were engaged to me. That’s what I can’t get over. You behaved as though you cared for me.”
“I did, Tommy. I still do.”
“I’m not a fool, though you evidently think me one. Perhaps you cared for me at the beginning. But if you’d gone on caring, you’d have been—have been on my side. The decent side. All the time you were really on the other. Whether you ever really intended to marry me I don’t know.”
“I felt I was being pushed into it. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“That’s quite humorous. You didn’t want to hurt my feelings, so you went on letting me be engaged to you, and making plans for my whole life, and all the time you thought me dull and stuffy and Victorian and a bore.”
“I did try—over the house,” said Dodo, in a small voice.
“So you did. That was another push, of course.” With a peculiar unconsciousness Tommy rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. “Well, it’s over now and you needn’t pretend any more. I’ll tell my people to-night, and you can tell yours.”
Dodo began to cry. She cried as noiselessly as possible; she did not wish him to hear her, and suspect an appeal to his pity. Nor were her tears for her broken engagement. She was crying because even her own generation had let her down, because Tommy hadn’t for one moment understood what she was trying to say, because he had somehow turned a confession of faith into a confession of shabby misbehaviour.… She steadied her voice to say proudly:—
“You’re thinking worse of me than I deserve. But I’m very sorry to have made you unhappy.”
Tommy jerked round and for a moment looked at her. He was still very pale, but his features were under control. Without another word he walked past and out of the room, and Dodo heard the front door close behind him.
2
Ten minutes later the maid, going into Dodo’s room to turn down the bed, found her young mistress feverishly throwing clothes into a suitcase. She glanced enquiringly at the clock, and withdrew. Dodo also kept glancing at the clock: it was ten to nine, there was a train to London at twenty past, she could just do it. What she could not do, that evening, was embark on long explanations, listen to her mother’s remonstrances, argue with her father. She couldn’t, in fact, face the music. She had to get out. She wanted above all to get to Sonia Trent, that fount and origin of the modern ideal—who wouldn’t ask questions or expostulate, but simply take her in and let her sleep among the gin-bottles and wake up next morning in a world where no one was conventional or stuffy or old.… Bliss! thought Dodo. What heavenly, heavenly bliss!
She ran downstairs, her case in one hand, her bag and hat in the other; flew into the morning-room, dropped case and hat, seized paper and pencil from the bureau. Dear mother, scrawled Dodo, I’ve gone to stay with Sonia. My engagement to Tommy is off. Don’t worry, Dodo. She pulled off her engagement-ring, thrust it into an envelope with the note; on her way out dropped it on the hall table. Then she ran, ran as fast as she could, her suitcase bumping against her legs, all the way along Oakley Road. The London train was in. Dodo hurled herself past the barrier and into a carriage. She had no ticket, but she could pay at the other end.
CHAPTER VIII
1
Dodo reached Britannia Mews shortly after eleven; not late, by the Mews’ standards, but it was Monday, when the Puppet Theatre did not open, and week-enders hadn’t returned, so that there was no one about, and very few lights showing. Dodo thought quickly that she had never seen the place so quiet, and hurried on to Number 7.
She knocked at the door; but there was no answer. She listened intently; nothing made a sound but her own taxi turning in Bedford Street, and the bare branches of the lime-tree creaking against each other in the small wind. It was as quiet as—as a churchyard! Dodo knocked again, more loudly. Could Sonia be away? She pushed up the letter-flap and peered through. A light burned within—not that that meant anything, for Sonia would leave a light on for days together. Dodo rattled the flap and knocked again. She couldn’t bear Sonia to be away! Suddenly a door opened, the door of Number 10, and a woman’s voice asked what the row was. Dodo spun round and enquired in turn whether Miss Trent were known to be in or out. “Oh, definitely out,” replied the voice; and Dodo stared at a small, intelligent face behind horn-rimmed glasses. A new-comer to the Mews—staring back at her rather curiously. “I’m terribly sorry if I disturbed you,” said Dodo, “but I’ve simply got to find Miss Trent. Have you any idea when she’ll be back?” “Not the faintest,” said the woman; “I shouldn’t wait.” But she waited a moment herself, apparently to see whether her advice were taken; and at that moment Dodo thought she heard a sound in Sonia’s room. She pounced back to the door and beat again; and sure enough, Sonia opened it.
She did not look at all welcoming. She was wearing a grey brocade housecoat, her feet, thrust into slippers, were bare, and her hair was tumbled—which of course made her first words less of a shock.
“Damn you,” said Sonia, “I was asleep …”
Dodo almost pushed past her into the room, dropped her bag and dropped into a chair.
“Darling, I’m terribly sorry if I woke you, but I had to. I’ve come!”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“I’ve come to stay. You know it was all arranged! What’s the matter, darling? Is Robin here?”
“No, he isn’t,” snapped Sonia.
“Well, then.” Dodo pulled off her hat. It was unlucky, she told herself (fig
hting down a doubt too dreadful to contemplate) that she had found Sonia in such a peculiarly foul temper; but then Sonia’s temper was notorious. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean, for example, that Sonia wasn’t really and truly very glad to see her. It couldn’t.…
“I’ve had an awful day,” said Dodo simply. “It was all so utterly ghastly I simply couldn’t stay at home. I hadn’t time to phone. And you did say I could come any time I liked.… You’re not angry, are you?”
“Of course not. You simply made such a hellish row on the one night I’d gone to bed early.” Sonia moved across to a mirror and began smoothing her hair, sleeking it back behind her ears; her long grey-green eyes smiled at Dodo through the glass. At once Dodo sank back in her chair, relaxed and happy again. Of course it was all right, of course Sonia wanted her. She said solemnly:—
“Darling, if you hadn’t been pleased to see me I’d have jumped into the river. I’m dead.”
“You’ll have to sleep on the divan.”
“All I care is that I’m here. You’re the only person in the world, Sonia, who hasn’t let me down.”
Sonia yawned.
“My poor infant, you shall tell me all about it in the morning; I’ve just taken two sleeping tablets, and I’m going straight back to bed.”
Dodo now regarded her friend more closely. She did look—not exactly sleepy, but lethargic, relaxed. All her movements were peculiarly slow.… Sleeping tablets, of course. Sonia took them recklessly, they were her only remedy against all ills. A wave of grateful tenderness warmed Dodo’s heart as she said:—
“Of course, old thing. And I’m going to tuck you up and give you a hot-water bottle.”
Sonia smiled.
“I’ve got a hot-water bottle—”
“I bet it’s cold. I bet you’ve been lying on your bed for hours and got it all in a mess. Darling, you need a nurse.”
Dodo jumped up. At once Sonia whipped round, but she wasn’t quick enough, Dodo was up the stairs and at the bedroom-door before she could be stopped. At its threshold, however, she stopped of her own accord, for on the edge of the bed (tumbled just as she had expected) a man sat hurriedly lacing his shoes.
He wasn’t Robin.
Dodo automatically backed away and stumbled downstairs, all her Hambro and Baker blood burning in her cheeks. So few moments had elapsed that Sonia was still moving across the room; they nearly collided. Sonia flung out her long, scarlet-nailed hand in a gesture of warning; and instinctively, shamefully, Dodo spoke in a lowered voice.
“It—it isn’t Robin!” she stammered.
“My good idiot, I never said it was.”
“But—” Dodo broke off, summoning all her sophistication to meet this new development. It proved inadequate. She couldn’t keep the reproach out of her voice as she said childishly, “If it had been Robin, I shouldn’t mind.…”
“Why the hell should you mind anyway?”
“I don’t,” said Dodo stoutly. But she did. She minded so much that to her horror she felt her eyes brim with tears. In the little mirror, so lately filled with Sonia’s drowsy elegance, she saw her own face scarlet and blubbered like a schoolgirl’s. She said wretchedly, “It’s only because you and Robin have been a—a sort of ideal to me. But if you’re in love with any one else—”
Sonia began to laugh. Her laughter was curiously explicit: it told Dodo more about her friend than she had learned in two years. There was a brutality about it, a pleasure in deriding; above all, there was contempt. Dodo turned and stared; Sonia had collapsed on the divan, her head thrown back, the beautiful line of her throat quivering with mirth. She raised herself on an elbow and tried to speak; but at the sight of her friend’s face laughter took her again.
“Darling,” she gasped. “Darling …!”
The word of endearment stung most of all. In a moment of blind misery Dodo rushed to the door, and pulled it open, and fled out into Britannia Mews.
2
The branches of the lime-tree creaked a little as they touched; there was no other sound. Dodo ran a few paces towards the archway, then her knees gave and she stopped, leaning against the brick wall. Her physical fatigue was greater than she had realized; that brief moment of relaxation had unbent her will; as for her controlling mind, it was still shaken beyond bearing by the collapse of an ideal. Nothing held. Free love, the gay and casual intercourse of the sexes—but the man on the bed hadn’t looked gay or casual; he had looked a gross, guilty, undignified fool. The room itself, Sonia’s gay modern room, had been made squalid by his presence; Sonia herself, angry at being disturbed, heavy like a cat with cream …
“Of course she didn’t want me!” thought Dodo bitterly.
Because the man wasn’t Robin.
Dodo shut her eyes, trying to blot out his heavy, startled face. “If I’d telephoned first,” she thought, “Sonia would have bundled him out, and I shouldn’t have known. Perhaps she often has to bundle men out. When Robin’s coming. Or doesn’t Robin mind either?”
The small wind blew colder; Dodo turned up the collar of her coat. Her hat, her bag, her suitcase, were all still inside Number 7. Well, she couldn’t go back for them. Not to-night. Perhaps even now Sonia was upstairs again, making her peace, making jokes about a country cousin.… Sliding between the sheets like a long white mermaid with her grey-green eyes … Dodo, back to the wall, pressed hard with her hands against the grimy brick on either side. “I’ve made a fool of myself,” she thought. “An utter, complete fool. I don’t suppose any one’s ever made such a fool of themselves before.” And then another thought occurred to her; that if the man came out, he would see her standing there and recognize her, and perhaps, if Sonia had sufficiently soothed him, think it funny.
At that she moved, and took another step towards the archway. But her knees were still weak; she had no money, no luggage; where was she to go? She couldn’t walk all night, she couldn’t walk a hundred yards; only within the narrow compass of Britannia Mews could she reach sanctuary.
Dodo turned round and without any conscious effort of thought, by blind instinct, made her way to the Puppet Theatre.
This time her knock was light as the scratch of a stray dog at a door; she stood on the balcony and waited, shivering. The stars seemed much nearer, which was ridiculous, for what difference could nine feet make to a distance counted in millions of miles? But they blinked and flickered, they were almost dazzling; Dodo blinked back and found that the light in her eyes came from an open door.
Mrs. Lambert stood before her, tall, erect, fully dressed, speaking in a low cool voice.
“Who is it? What is the matter? Please don’t make a noise.”
And Dodo said, very quietly:—
“I’m Dodo Baker. My mother’s your cousin. We’ve got Uncle Treff staying with us now. You’re my Aunt Adelaide. I want to come in.”
3
The small room was extraordinarily clean and orderly. A bright fire woke flickering lights in well-polished surfaces of wood and brass, there was old-fashioned china on the mantelpiece, and a curious shell; the chairs had antimacassars. A room unimaginable in Britannia Mews! Victorian! Dodo stared about, wondering why it should all seem so agreeable; why she should suddenly feel at home, and safe; and while she looked at the room, Mrs. Lambert looked at her.
“So you’re Alice’s daughter,” said Mrs. Lambert. “I can see the likeness.… How’s your mother?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Dodo politely.
“She is probably in hysterics. You had better telephone at once.”
Dodo shook her head.
“That’s all right, I’m supposed to be at Sonia’s. That part’s all right. But now I’ve nowhere, unless you let me stay here. I’m afraid I’m a nuisance.”
“Not so long as you’re quiet; I’m sitting up because my husband isn’t very well.” Mrs. Lambert continued to regard her visitor thoughtfully, but without much sign of excitement. She remained indeed most beautifully calm, as though nothing i
n the situation were in the least out of the way. “We have a spare room, over the Theatre; sit down a moment, while I see to things.”
Dodo sat down by the fire, in a Windsor chair with a patchwork cushion tied to the seat, while Mrs. Lambert moved quietly in and out. There were two more doors besides the one on to the balcony, one leading to a room behind, the other pierced through the wall on the side over the theatre—all neatly edged with rubber tubing, to keep out draughts. The small cold wind couldn’t get in.
“I’ve put you between blankets,” observed Mrs. Lambert. “They’re warmer.”
“Thank you very much,” said Dodo; and added painfully, “I suppose the whole trouble is that I’m not logical. If I were logical, I suppose I wouldn’t have minded.”
“Drink this,” said Mrs. Lambert.
It was a cup of very hot milk, laced with something stronger. Dodo drank it in long steady gulps and felt much better. She looked round the room again and said intelligently:—
“I know now why people go into convents.”
“That would upset your mother. Why?”
“Because they’re so clean.”
“One can be just as clean—or cleaner—outside one. The Carmelites I believe don’t wash.”
“Oh?” said Dodo, momentarily interested. “Why don’t they wash?”
“They are too holy. Haven’t you even a toothbrush?”
Dodo shook her head.
“You haven’t by any chance run away from home?”
“Not exactly. But I can’t go back.”
A curious expression passed over Mrs. Lambert’s face.
“I gather you are not eloping with any one, or you wouldn’t be here alone.”
Dodo put her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists.
“Aunt Adelaide, you’ve read all those books where the hero sees two yokels making love in the cowshed and hates sex ever after?”
“I have not,” said Mrs. Lambert. “But I can well believe that they exist.”
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