CHAPTER NINE
During the night the bandage with which the doctor had bound Loris's ankle made it throb painfully, and when Dickson's nurse redressed it in the morning it was so stiff and discoloured that she was not allowed to get up.
The bedroom windows were thrown wide open and the sunshine streamed in, touching the cream walls with fingers of light. Dickson sent up some books and magazines, but she could not be bothered to concentrate on even the lightest reading—for the adventures of the day before had told on her—and she was content to doze intermittently until lunch was sent up on a tray.
Melanie popped in for a little while, but seeing how tired Loris was, did not stay long, and promised to come and sit with her during the afternoon instead.
After their quarrel in the lounge, the subject of Miguel had not been broached between them again, and had it not been for her disquiet at leaving Melanie, Loris would have returned to England there and then, for she had been deeply hurt by the girl's remark. But next day Melanie had apologized for losing her temper, and her childishness had had such an endearing quality that Loris could not help forgiving her.
She knew that at heart Melanie was anything but worthless. It was only her youth and the spoiling which over-indulgent parents had given her that made her selfishly wilful and thoughtless. Given time, the pursuit of pleasure she was now so feverishly engaged in would burn itself out, and Loris felt sure she would eventually settle down to a happily married life.
If anyone had asked Melanie whether she was in love with Dickson she would have answered "Yes", without any hesitation, for even though she found Miguel and his friends exciting and gay, Dickson still held first place in her heart, and in spite of her 'don't care' attitude she was troubled by their estrangement no less than the rift between herself and Loris. If she sensed her friend's instinctive dislike and mistrust of Miguel she pretended to be unconcerned by it, and sometimes regarded Loris's calm face with annoyance, remembering the old carefree days when the atmosphere between them had been warm and affectionate. But although she shrugged her shoulders and pretended to be indifferent, she longed to be able to confide in Loris as she had done in the old days, and the accident gave her the opportunity she had been seeking.
Immediately after lunch she ran upstairs, hoping that the long rest in bed had proved sufficient and that Loris would now be in the mood for some company.
This was the first occasion they had really been alone together since their quarrel, and Melanie took Loris's hand and squeezed it impulsively as it lay on the coverlet, fervently hoping her friend would accept the olive branch she was offering.
But the sight of Loris's pale face proved too much for her, and her carefully prepared speech was forgotten as she burst out:
"Loris, what's the matter between us?"
"The matter? Nothing, why do you ask?" Loris answered casually, trying not to show how pleased she was that Melanie's mask of indifference was beginning to crack.
"But there is something wrong." Melanie sat down and swung one leg backwards and forwards as it dangled over the edge of the bed. "Things haven't been the same ever since—ever since I—"
"Ever since you were annoyed because I said I didn't approve of your attitude towards Dickson?" Loris prompted gently.
Melanie had the grace to flush. "I did flare up, didn't I? It must have been because I realized I was in the wrong." There was a pause. "But I want you to under-stand the way I feel about Dickson. It isn't that I don't love him—I do. It's just that if I'm with him the whole time, we always seem to end up biting each other's heads off. I don't blame him—I'm just as much at fault myself. But it isn't only me, Loris—you do believe that, don't you?"
"Of course I do. It isn't easy for either of you. But it's only because Dickson loves you so much that he gets upset. That's why you should be patient with him."
"I try to be, honestly I do, but it's hard to keep cheerful and smiling when you feel you want to scream! The only way I can go on is by getting a change of atmosphere." Then, in a small voice: "Loris, have you ever thought about my future—what will become of me if Dickson doesn't get well? Do you think we'd be able to make our marriage work with him always in his present condition?" She fingered the bedspread nervously. "I'm not kidding myself, Loris—I know I'm young and spoilt and that I've never had to face up to things, but if I don't understand anyone else, I do at least understand myself, and you know as well as I do that I wouldn't make an ideal wife for Dickson if he didn't get better."
"No one could be expected to make an ideal wife under those conditions, Melanie. But I don't think Dickson is looking for an ideal wife. I can't tell whether or not you'd be happy with him if you were married, but I don't think he'd expect you to marry him unless he got better."
"I've thought about that as well," Melanie replied slowly. "I know he loves me, and it would be a great sacrifice to give me up. But do you think I'd be right to accept such a sacrifice even if he made it? How do you think I'd feel if I agreed to do it and took the easy way out?"
Loris was surprised that Melanie had given so much thought to her problem. "I can't answer that for you, my dear. It's something you'll have to work out for yourself."
"But what would you do if it happened to you? If it were—"
She stopped, and Loris realized she had been about to mention Brett's name. If Melanie had been surprised that what had seemed the beginning of a lasting love had petered out so dismally, she had been tactful enough never to speak of it.
"If it had happened to—to the man I love, then I—well, it wouldn't make any difference," Loris said quietly. "But that's nothing to go by, darling, because no two people are alike. What I'd find easy, you might find difficult, and there are lots of things you could do which I'd never even attempt. If Dickson doesn't get better, I'd be the last person in the world to urge you to marry him if you didn't want to. It would be far better to tell him before, than marry him and make him even more unhappy afterwards." She took Melanie's hand. "But why talk about such morbid things? There's no point in crossing your bridges until you come to them, and at the moment we can still hope he'll be all right."
"But there doesn't seem to be much hope, Loris. Some of the best specialists in America have seen him, and they can't even find out what's the matter. Martin Abel saw him the other day, and even he was in the dark."
They both fell silent, Melanie remembering the eminent nerve specialist's remarks to Dickson's family after he had come from examining him. His face had been kindly and non-committal as he had explained to them that as far as he could tell there was nothing to stop the patient from walking again.
"There's no damage to the nerve tissues, and it's my belief that his paralysis is the result of shock. There is a form of shock treatment we could try, but it often has violent effects—the patient might go into convulsions while under treatment, or the shock of the electric impulses might cause a broken arm or strained muscle." He paused, then went on: "Today, however, we administer the minutest dose of curare, which, as you may know, is a poison the Indians used to put on the tips of their spears. It's very deadly and only the smallest amount can be injected, but it helps the patient to relax so that the shock he receives has a less drastic effect. We could try it, of course, but it's usually only used where there is known to be a mental anxiety, and personally I wouldn't advise it in this case, I think if a shock were to do the trick, the patient must be conscious when it occurs, and this form of treatment makes that impossible. My advice is to wait a little longer and then, if nothing happens—perhaps you'll get another opinion."
"But we understand you are the foremost authority on cases of this kind," Edward Loftus said, his face strained.
Mr. Abel inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Mrs. Loftus interposed: "Are you suggesting that if my son received a severe shock, be might recover?"
"That might be the case," the specialist conceded, "but of course, by shock I don't mean somebody making a sudden noise or throwing col
d water over him. It would have to be a shock sufficient to impel the nervous system to react in a violent manner."
"And if he never gets such a shock?"
"Then I cannot say what will happen."
Loris watched the changes of expression flit across Melanie's face, mirroring her unhappy thoughts, and was filled with sympathy for her.
"Try not to worry too much about it," she said gently. "I'm sure things will work out all right in the end."
Melanie sighed. "I wonder. Sometimes I think it would have been better if Dickson and I had never met." Then, with a lightning change of mood: "I must go and get dressed now. Mr. and Mrs. Loftus are taking me to the opening of the Golden Slipper Club, so I mustn't be late." She bent and kissed Loris and then stood up. "I'm glad you didn't go back, darling. Although I haven't seen much of you lately, just knowing you're here and I can talk to you has made all the difference."
"Always come to me if there's anything you think I can do, darling. I'll try to understand."
"Oh, Loris, you sound so grown-up and worldly-wise that you make me feel like a baby." With a sigh she went into her own bedroom and shut the door.
Loris did not wish to be in bed when Brett called to see her and although she found it extremely difficult to dress herself, decided to manage as best she could. But it was a slow and tedious process and Melanie and the Loftuses had already left the house before she was ready. Negotiating the stairs Was even worse, and she had to restrain a desire to sit down and shuffle from stop to step, afraid that Brett might walk in and discover her making this indecorous descent. It took some time before she gained the hall and when she reached the lounge door she was longing to sit down and rest her feet.
She turned the knob and then halted in consternation. Dickson was lying on the couch, propped up by cushions, his head buried in his hands in an attitude of abject misery.
Loris hobbled over to him as quickly as she could, and did not speak until she was kneeling by his side.
"What is it, Dickson? What's the matter?"
The boy raised a ravaged face. "I guess I've reached the end of my tether, Loris. I can't go on like this any longer. I've tried to be cheerful, hoping I might suddenly wake up and find it's all a bad dream, but there doesn't seem to be any future for me."
"Don't say that, Dickson. You've got Melanie. She's your future."
He laughed shortly. "I haven't got her, Loris, and you needn't pretend otherwise. You don't have to be kind when you know as well as I do that I've lost her."
"But you haven't! Melanie loves you. Only this afternoon she told me so. She…"
"Don't string me along," he broke in bitterly. "I wouldn't expect her to marry me as I am now, and the longer we go on together like this, the worse things will get. Even if she still wanted to marry me we wouldn't stand a chance of happiness. No, my only hope is to send her away and try to make a life without her, although God knows how I'll bring myself to do it." He covered his face again and his body was racked with sobs.
It was the first time in her life Loris had seen a man cry and she was more moved than she would have believed possible. Filled with an overwhelming desire to comfort him she drew his head on to her shoulder, stroking his fair hair and murmuring soft, incoherent words of sympathy.
Slowly his weeping subsided, but his head remained on her shoulder, as if he drew comfort from her gentleness and calm. Loris did not move for a long while, afraid of disturbing him, and was so engrossed that she failed to hear the door open, or see Brett standing there looking down at them.
Brett saw her hand moving over the fair head again and again and listened to her soft murmurings. Then, hardly conscious of what he was doing, he closed the door softly behind him and stood with his back to it, trying to regain his self-control.
When they had been together the day before, he had sensed Loris's eagerness to see him alone this evening and would have staked everything he possessed that she was as anxious as he to clear up the misunderstanding between them. To discover her now with Dickson in her arms was so incredible that if he had not seen it with his own eyes he would never have believed it.
With heavy tread he walked through the hall and had just reached the front door when he heard his name called. He looked up dazedly and saw Elaine coming down the stairs, dressed for the evening.
"Why, Brett, what are you doing here?"
He did not answer, and as she came nearer she was shocked at the greyness of his face and his distraught expression. Putting a hand on his arm, she drew him into the library, went to the sideboard and without speaking poured him a stiff whisky and soda.
He drank it at a gulp, then set the glass down and made as if to go.
"No, Brett, don't leave yet. You haven't got a date, have you?"
"No," he said dully.
If Elaine was surprised at his manner—for he was acting like an automaton—she made no comment. "Got a cigarette for me?"
Without a word he offered his case. "Thanks." She took one, lit it and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "I'm going to a party tonight," she went on casually. "If you're not doing anything, how about taking me somewhere for dinner and then coming along to it with me afterwards?"
He poured himself a liberal glass of whisky and took a gulp. "I'm certainly in the mood for gaiety!" he said bitterly. "But what the hell? O.K., Elaine, I'll stake you to a dinner—and go to your party with you."
He strode out of the room and by the time Elaine had fetched her wrap was sitting at the wheel of his car, staring straight ahead of him. She got in with a thrill of elation at the thought of the evening ahead, and put one hand affectionately beneath his unyielding arm.
Loris heard the sound of a car and jerked her head up, but the noise faded into the distance and she thought with a pang of disappointment that it could not be Brett arriving.
Dickson moved his head and looked up at her sheepishly. "I'm sorry I've made such a fool of myself, Loris."
"You've nothing to apologize for, Dickson. Anyone might have done the same." She stood up and hobbled over to a chair.
"Gee, I'm a selfish brute! I forgot to ask you how you're feeling after your accident."
She smiled. "Oh, I'm all right. In fact, I'm so much better that I feel a bit of a fraud limping around like this."
There was a knock at the door and she gave a nervous start, but it was only the maid to announce that dinner was ready and to inquire whether Miss Cameron would have it in the dining-room or with Mr. Dickson.
"I'll have it with you, Dickson, shall I?"
"I'd be mortally offended if you didn't."
They chatted without embarrassment over their trays, although Loris jumped so obviously at every sound that Dickson asked if she was expecting anyone. She was saved from having to answer his question by the advent of the maid bringing in the sweet, and did her best after that to conceal her feelings. But by nine o'clock her anxiety was difficult to hide and she pictured Brett lying ill or having been involved in an accident, and was full of fear lest Melanie's question might find an answer in her own life. She was thankful when the nurse appeared and wheeled Dickson away to bed, for the effort of maintaining conversation was beginning to tell on her, and after he had gone she sat on alone in the lounge, unable to concentrate either on her book or her sewing.
Then with a faint sigh her thoughts reverted to Brett and why he had not called until, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the comfort of her chair, she fell asleep.
Awakened by the slamming of a car door, Loris sat up with a start and glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was nearly one o'clock. Painfully she got to her feet and reached the door just as Elaine let herself into the house.
"Hallo, Loris, you still up?" she asked indifferently.
"I fell asleep in front of the fire," Loris explained.
"Oh." A speculative gleam came into Elaine's green eyes. "I thought maybe you'd been stood up on a date or something. You look about as tired as I feel." She slipped off her wrap and stoo
d there yawning, vivid in a sheath-like gown of emerald green, her hair gleaming like copper beneath the light.
"Did you have a nice time?" Loris inquired, more out of politeness than interest.
"Swell, thanks, although Brett was so tight, poor pet, I didn't dare let him drive home himself. I dropped him off at his house and came home in his car. He'll have to send someone to fetch it in the morning."
She chatted on gaily, but Loris was not listening, for her brain seemed powerless to absorb anything except the fact that Brett had spent the evening with Elaine.
"Lord, I'm tired," Elaine stretched gracefully. "I'm going to bed and from the look of you that's where you should be, too." With a wave of her hand she walked upstairs and Loris went mechanically into the lounge to collect her book.
She hobbled slowly up the stairs to her room and undressed in a state of torpor. Only when she was lying between the sheets did she give way to the misery and hurt, of contempt not only for Brett but for herself for still loving him, in spite of what she knew him to be.
CHAPTER TEN
When Brett opened his eyes the following morning, sunshine was already flooding the room. He turned his head to look at the clock and a sharp stab of pain made him wince and put his hand to his temples. With a groan he sat up, then slowly and carefully reaching for the bell he rang for Dorcas, and when the butler appeared, ordered coffee—"as black and strong as you can make it."
The Widening Stream Page 9
