Roberta Leigh - In Name Only

by Roberta Leigh

  "No," Mrs. Roberts said, answering the last question first. "She doesn't want to see you, but she did talk about you quite naturally. She was eating a biscuit and suddenly remarked they were your favourites."

  "What did she do?" he said bitterly. "Throw the biscuit in the fire?"

  "Don't torment yourself," Mrs. Roberts put her hand over his. "At least she's admitted you're still in her life. That's the first step forward."

  "And the next step?"

  "I'm taking her on a cruise. Dr. Major suggested it. We leave on Friday."

  "So soon?"

  "The sooner we go, the sooner we can return. I'm sure she'll be much better when she comes back."

  "What's the chance of my seeing her before she goes?"

  The pleading in his voice filled Mrs. Roberts with compassion, but remembering the specialist's advice, she shook her head. "Leave her be, Nicholas. Try and be patient a bit longer."

  "What ship are you leaving on? If I can't talk to her, I'd at least like to get a glimpse of her." He jotted down the name of the ship and the time of its departure from Tilbury, answering Mrs. Roberts' unspoken question by promising he would make sure that Jane did not see him.

  True to his word, Jane caught no glimpse of Nicholas as she and her parents walked along the quay to the graceful white liner which was to be her home for the next four months.

  "I wish you were coming too," she said to her father. "It seems awful leaving you alone for such a long time."

  "I could have come if I'd wanted to." Mr. Roberts looked quickly at his wife and then said: "Nicholas was more than willing to get me a ticket, but I didn't want to be away from the house so long. Anyway, it'll do me good to live like a bachelor again!"

  "I hope it'll make you appreciate me more," his wife said.

  Feeling her parents would like a few moments alone together, Jane pretended to occupy herself with the luggage, watching as their steward supervised it aboard. She was still standing near the gangplank when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and with a shudder she turned, the fear dying on her face as she saw it was John.

  "I couldn't let you go without coming to say good-bye." He thrust a huge bouquet into her arms.

  Jane bent her head quickly to the blooms, her tears mingling with the dew that lay on them. But it was not too quickly for John, and he put his arm around her shoulders again. "Don't cry, darling. You have a lovely holiday."

  "I'm not crying," she lied. "It's just that I keep getting emotional over nothing."

  "Over nothing!" he said in mock consternation. "Those flowers cost me a fortune!"

  As always he had the ability to make her laugh and she gave him a warm hug, "You've been so good to me these last months," she whispered. "I don't know why you've bothered. I couldn't have been worse company."

  "It's all investment for the future." Although he still spoke humorously, his eyes were serious. "I still love you, Jane, and when you're free -"

  "Don't!" Again she gave a convulsive shudder. "I can't think that far ahead."

  Behind them the whistle blew and though Jane knew there was a long time before they were due to depart, she used it as an excuse to say good-bye, unable to bear the emotion of protracted farewells.

  It was not until she stood at the rail of the ship watching the docks slip past that she really felt free and at peace: as though she were leaving behind all the problems that had made the last year so traumatic. But though she knew peace of mind could only be hers if she concentrated on the future, she could not stop herself from one last fleeting memory of the recent past, when she had gone to see Mr. Trupp to discuss her future.

  If he had been surprised to see her he had hidden it very well, greeting her as though she had not arrived unexpectedly without an appointment.

  "No one knows I'm here," she began without preamble. "But I had to talk to you - in confidence. I want to know what I must do to be free."

  "You mean to obtain a divorce ?"

  "Yes. I know I'll have to wait the three years, but when the time comes -" She stumbled, paused and then continued : "I mean, should I write you a letter officially saying I won't go back to my husband ?"

  "But why?"

  "So that it's on record. It will give him grounds for saying I deserted him. It's the least likely reason to cause gossip."

  "That wasn't what I meant by the question," Mr. Trupp said. "I wanted to know why you won't return to Mr. Hamilton."

  Not since her illness had anyone asked Jane such a direct question, and the shudder that went through her brought the lawyer to his feet.

  "A glass of water," he said. "I'll get you a glass of water."

  "No!" she gasped, "I'll be all right." She drew deep breath. "I'm never going back to him. Never !"

  "I see." Mr. Trupp sighed. "I understand Mr. Hamilton has already written asking you to return to him. From the Court's point of view, your refusal to do so will make desertion quite obvious."

  "Is there anyway of expediting it?"

  "No. Your husband doesn't want to marry again, so unless you yourself had a reason to apply to the Courts, you'll have to wait the statutory three years."

  Now, with the damp sea spray on her face, she thought back to that meeting, wondering how long it would take before Nicholas returned to Carole; that he would eventually do so was obvious. He was too easily swayed by his passions to remain true to one woman for long.

  "Jane, you'll catch cold." Her mother's voice drew Jane to her cabin, which gave directly on to the sun deck. The cases were already unpacked and she looked at them guiltily.

  "Why didn't you let me help? You shouldn't go on treating me as an invalid."

  "This is the last time," her mother agreed. "From tomorrow, I hope you'll be the Jane I used to know."

  But it was not easy to return to a normal life and for the first few weeks Jane preferred the solitude of her cabin. But as the ship entered warmer waters she began to participate in the entertainments arranged for the passengers' amusement, and in the invigorating air, sparkling sunshine and gay companionship her restlessness disappeared.

  At every port of call there were letters from John and occasionally from Aunt Agatha. His were full of hopes for her health with occasional references to his longing to see her, while Aunt Agatha's were brief reminders to get well and come and live with her in Cornwall on her return to England.

  Yet England seemed a world away and only the vivid, sun-washed present held reality.

  It was difficult for unhappiness to linger in the face of the new things she was absorbing, and though there were moments when the sight of a man's dark head or the sound of deep laughter would bring Nicholas heartbreakingly close, for most of the time she was enthralled with the scenes unfolding around her: the vivid green of Jamaican sugar plantations with their rows of waving fronds on bamboo-like canes; the small West Indian ports where music and laughter and fights made up a melee of confusion from which they were glad to depart; the glittering splendour of Buenos Aires and the unexpected dullness of Rio de Janeiro, whose concrete horror was only redeemed by the lush beauty of the surrounding countryside.

  The weeks merged one into the other until they became months, and until the blue waters of the Pacific gave way once more to the grey waters of the Atlantic, and then the choppy waters of the Channel and England.

  "We're nearly there, Mother! We'll be docking in a minute."

  At the excitement in Jane's voice Mrs. Roberts moved over to the rail and looked at her daughter. She bore no resemblance to the pale, thin girl who had come aboard four 'months ago, though Mrs. Roberts knew there were many times when Jane's gaiety was a pretence. But what of her daughter's future? It was a question that - as always - she could not answer, and with a little sigh she looked at the dock that was slowly drawing nearer.

  "There's your father," she said suddenly.

  "Where?" Jane asked.

  "In the front line. He can see us. Wave!"

  "Can you see anyone else ? "

  "I
think John's with him——-Yes, he is." Mrs. Roberts looked at Jane. "Would you like me to ask him to come home with us?"

  "No, darling. I'll let you know when I want you to become a match-maker!"

  "There's no need to be that with John," Mrs. Roberts said drily. "He's already matched!"

  Jane sighed. "I know. He's just waiting for me to say yes."

  There was a slight jerk beneath their feet and she clutched the rail. "We've docked," she said happily. "I'm so glad to be home."

  It was a thought she echoed as, later that night in the quietude of her bedroom, she looked through her window at the moon-drenched garden. But what could she do now she was home? To go on living with her parents would be a sign of defeat, yet to return to London and take a job might create problems for Nicholas. How strange that she could think of him without her heart beating faster. The realisation filled her with irony as well as with thanks, proving that no matter how deep the emotion, the passing of time could always dim it to a point where, if it were not completely forgotten, it could at least be remembered without pain.

  On the bedside table lay a letter from Aunt Agatha, asking her to live in Cornwall, and she wondered whether to accept the invitation or to go to Canada or Australia and find a job. At least both these countries were far enough away for her to work without anyone knowing she was Nicholas Hamilton's wife. Yet the thought of leaving England was too disturbing for her to consider, and acknowledging that she was not yet ready to put so great a distance between her few dose friends and herself, she decided to go to Cornwall instead. At least it would avoid the chance of her meeting Nicholas by accident; something which could always occur if she stayed in or around London.

  When told of her decision to go to Cornwall, her parents were delighted, though surprised that she was leaving immediately.

  "Birds shouldn't stay in the mother nest too long," she grinned.

  "This is your home," Mr. Roberts said gruffly. "Much more permanent than a nest."

  She laughed, and promising to remember it, went upstairs to do her packing.

  Aunt Agatha's home was an old manor house fifteen miles from Plymouth, and Jane was enchanted by the magnificent scenery: the rich red earth and the vivid green grass that looked as though they had been developed by Technicolor. Unreal too was the beauty of Newton Manor as she first saw it, with its grey walls and turrets washed in the pink and gold of a Cornish sunset. But unreality faded as the car came to a stop in front of the shallow steps that led up to the massive oak door where Aunt Agatha stood, like a glittering, bejewelled parrot, her arms open wide to receive Jane.

  "You're still too thin," was the greeting, "but we'll soon fatten you up here."

  The dinner she was given within moments of arrival warned Jane that the threat was no idle one, and tired by the journey and too much food, she went to bed, too bemused by exhaustion to notice her surroundings.

  Early spring sunshine warmed the slight breeze that came in through the window and, blowing coolly-on Jane's skin, woke her to the present. For a moment she lay looking around the bedroom with its soft rose carpet and flowered pink chintzes, then she jumped out of bed and padded over to the window. The sky was a pale, clear blue, and vivid green lawns still touched with dew rolled down to the cliff top. In the distance came the soft, unceasing murmur of the sea, giving the air she breathed a damp-, refreshing tingle.

  With a little shiver she closed the window and started to dress. She felt no strangeness here, only a sense of having come home that augured well for the rest of her stay.

  The downstairs of the house was deserted, but as Jane came into the hall the same girl who had served her at dinner appeared from the back of the stairs with a tray.

  "I was just taking up your breakfast, madam," she exclaimed in a heavy Cornish accent. "But I'll put it in the breakfast-room now."

  This turned out to be a pretty oval-shaped room overlooking the terrace, and after she had finished the warm rolls and coffee, Jane set out on a tour of the house, admiring the gracefully proportioned rooms and the lovely antique furniture which set off the delicate china vases and bowls which were obviously, from their profusion, Aunt Agatha's pride.

  Mrs. Carew did not come down till mid-morning, in time to join Jane for coffee which they sipped on the terrace, wrapped against the cool breeze with large rugs.

  "I feel as if I'm still on the cruise," Jane said.

  "Turning your life into one long holiday, eh?"

  The remark made Jane brace herself for what was coming, and she did not have long to wait.

  "How long are you going to continue running away from life?"

  "I've only just arrived here," Jane protested.

  "I'm not sending you away, child. You can make this your home if you want. I'm just interested in knowing if it is what you want."

  "For the moment. Later on I'll take a job abroad."

  "And Nicholas?"

  "It's over, and I don't want to talk about him."

  "You're the most obstinate -"

  The peal of a telephone cut across Aunt Agatha's words and she waved a hand towards the drawing-room, indication for Jane to take the call, which she did a moment later, slightly out of breath.

  It was a breathlessness that changed to an exclamation of pleasure as she heard John's voice. "You sound so near," she exclaimed, "I am - as the crow flies. I'm living in a cottage near the harbour."

  "Down here? I didn't know you had a place in Cornwall."

  "It belongs to a friend of mine and he loaned it to me while he's abroad. I've a one-man show coming up in a couple of months and I came down here for some peace and quiet." His voice deepened. "And to be near you. When am I going to see you? Can I come up now?"

  "I'll come down," she said promptly. "I want some exercise, but I couldn't face the thought of walking around aimlessly."

  "Amble in my direction, then. I'm the last cottage on the harbour wall as you go out of the village."

  Jane returned to the terrace and Aunt Agatha looked at her questioningly, giving her inimitable snort when she learned who the caller had been. "Still chasing you, is he?" she said. "It's good for my ego," Jane laughed. "Care to come along?"

  "Walking at my age? Be off with you! And if you're not coming back for lunch, telephone and let us know."

  Following John's directions, Jane walked through the small fishing village down to the harbour, turned left by a low grey stone wall that protected her from the half sandy, half pebbly beach. She paralleled its winding course, charmed by the fishermen's cottages that �bordered the entire peninsula. It was not until she reached the last cottage that she stopped. No doubt that this one did not belong to a fisherman! She stood admiring it for a while, amazed by the profusion of flowers already blooming in the little garden and enjoying the blue-painted door and windows and the white clapboard front.

  "Come on in!" John's voice called, and she looked up to see him peering down at her from the topmost window.

  Waving her arm in greeting, she walked up the straggly path and found herself immediately in the main room of the cottage. It was sparsely but comfortably furnished with a settee and easy chairs, but she ignored them and climbed the narrow stairs to the first floor, where John was waiting for her.

  He was wearing the paint-daubed sweater she remembered from the time he had been painting her own portrait, his hair longer than when she had last seen it, but his face as warm and kindly as ever.

  "Jane," he said happily. "It's wonderful to have you here." He led her into the room which, although half the size of the one downstairs, seemed larger because of its emptiness. In one corner was an easel and an old table cluttered with paints and brushes, while around the room stood several canvases of abstract landscapes in the deep colours for which John was noted.

  "So this is where you're churning out the masterpieces?"

  "Some of them! My best one is yet to come - provided you're willing."

  "What have I got to do with it?" She turned from the win
dow where she had been enjoying the view of boats bobbing on the sea and thinking how clean and antiseptic they looked when seen from a distance, giving no indication of their grimy hulks and smelly interiors.

  "How can I help?" she reiterated.

  "By letting me paint you."

  "You already have."

  "It isn't finished, and I don't want to finish it either."

  "But it was beautiful."

  He shrugged. "It was stereotyped. No better than a dozen other portraits of pretty girls." He came over to her, hands in the pockets of his scuffed trousers. "But you're more than that now - you've got character as well as beauty - and I'd like to paint it."

  "Are you sure you're not saying that as an excuse to see me?" she asked bluntly.

  "Would it be so terrible if I were?"

  "It wouldn't be fair to you. I told you before, John, that I-"

  "Don't jump to conclusions," he interrupted, laughing, and pulled her in his arms to give her a hug. "Of course I want to see you every day, but I wouldn't paint your portrait if I didn't feel the need to do so. Your face haunts me, Jane, and I've got to set it down on canvas."

  "You make it difficult for me to refuse."

  "Then you'll do it?"

  She nodded and he gave her another hug and released her. "We'll start at once."

  "What do you want me to wear ? "

  "Nothing." He saw her expression and chuckled. "Not actually, darling, but your clothes don't matter. It's your face I'm interested in. The rest will come later."

  For the next month Jane went each day to the cottage and soon it was as if their months of separation had never been. He was the only one with whom she felt completely at ease, able to talk about the past with no embarrassment and no fear that he was trying to make her go back to Nicholas.

  Work on the portrait took up most of each morning, but after lunch, which they either had at the cottage or in one of the small local cafes which served lobster fresh from the Cornish seas, they would explore the surrounding countryside, either by car or ob foot, but sometimes they would just sit on the narrow harbour wall outside the cottage itself, watching the boats being cleaned on the sands and delighting in the pungent smell of the dark green nets that lay like thick cobwebs on the golden sands.