“Is that the train from Liverpool?” he asked a porter.
“Yes, sir. Number five platform.”
Wakefield hurried through the crowd. He reached the iron gates of number five and looked right into his eldest brother’s face.
It was so extraordinary to see him here, yet so natural to see him anywhere, that Wakefield stood smiling and saying nothing. Renny kissed him as naturally as though he were a little boy again.
“Hullo, Wake! Here’s Adeline.”
Wake bent and kissed her.
“How she’s grown! What about your luggage?”
“That fellow over there.”
They found a taxi. Renny looked his young brother over approvingly.
“You look fine, Wake. How’s Finch? Why didn’t he come?”
“Practising. Lord, I get tired of it! But the recital is in a few days and our first night is next week. So you’re in for an exciting time. I don’t know whether or not Finch and I are glad to have you for those occasions.”
“Well, it will put you on your mettle.”
Wakefield gave his gay laugh. “Renny, you’re just the same! You never change. If ever you do, I shall feel that my world has come to an end.”
“Lots of sailors and soldiers. A Colonel Somebody in Ireland says war is bound to come soon. What do they think here?”
“Everybody asks everybody else what they think. No one knows. But I don’t believe we shall. I hope not. It would be too irritating with our play on.”
Renny gave him an amused look. He put his hand on Wake’s knee and squeezed it. “It’s good to see you looking so fit. How are Finch and Sarah getting on?”
“So far it’s a success. Finch isn’t so nervously tired as he was. But he works too hard.” He glanced toward Adeline. “I’ll tell you more later.”
Adeline was staring out of the window of the taxi.
“Look, Daddy, isn’t it splendid? Far better than Liverpool. What place is that?”
She asked questions so fast it was not possible to answer them. They went straight to Brown’s Hotel where the family was well known. Wakefield would have liked to have a long talk with Renny. He wanted to tell him all about the play and, even more, about Molly Griffith.
“Couldn’t we stay here,” he asked, “and send for Finch to come over? Then you needn’t see Sarah at once.”
“I may as well get that over with,” returned Renny. “Anyhow I want to see what sort of place you’re in.”
“But I think Adeline ought to rest.”
Adeline declared she was not tired. In truth she could scarcely hold her eyes open but she was determined to see all that she could, and with no delay.
Renny sent her to the bathroom to wash.
“She’d better come to us,” said Wakefield. “You can’t play nursemaid in London.”
“That is what Alayne worried about.” It had all seemed so easy in Ireland. Now he thought doubtfully of a small daughter on his hands. “Who would look after her?”
“Well, there’s Henriette. She’d do anything for a little extra money. I think Sarah would take Adeline out and she could come to rehearsals with me sometimes.”
“Good!” said Renny. “The very thing.”
They set out for Gayfere Street.
Renny had managed it all with such expedition and authority that Wakefield, once again in a taxi with him and Adeline, felt no older than the little girl. He sat relaxed, smiling, expectant, sunning himself in the moment’s recapture of the childhood he had so relished.
Henriette opened the door to them and achieved a wan smile, for she had been assured that the visitors were only temporary.
Finch was practising. They had had a glimpse of him from the window, bent above the piano, his hands chasing each other across the keys. When he turned on the seat at their entrance, his face was flushed. He had to make an effort to keep his lips from trembling. But Renny greeted him with reassuring warmth, then glanced about the room somewhat disparagingly.
“Rather a stuffy little place,” he observed. “But I suppose you couldn’t do better.”
“We love it,” said Wakefield. “And Henriette too. She’s a treasure. I must go and tell her you’re staying for lunch. Come along, Adeline, and I’ll show you the kitchen.”
Finch knew that Wake was giving him an opportunity for a word alone with Renny but he did not want to be alone with him. He had no words to justify what he had done, in Renny’s eyes. Renny had gone through a great deal to free him from Sarah’s hold and he had returned to her of his own will. It would take a lot of explaining. In truth he could not explain it to himself. There were moments when he still shrank from Sarah’s nearness, when the clasp of her arms made him shiver and turn away his head. But there were other moments of a deeper ecstasy than he had ever before known with her. She was two women, he felt, the one whose very touch repelled him and the one who had so woven herself into the fabric of his life that to be separated from her was to be torn and bleeding. Or was it perhaps that he was two men, the artist who could not endure the violation of his own secret world and the sensualist who willingly sacrificed his flesh as fuel to passion? To have spoken to Renny of either of these states would have been to embarrass him. How lucky Renny is not to have such feelings, Finch thought in spiritual arrogance, knowing nothing of his brother’s inner life or that his emotions might be equally piercing, though less complex.
He gave Renny a troubled smile. “I suppose you think I’m a fool,” he said.
“Yes, I do, rather. But then I’ve never understood your relations with Sarah. If you want to live with her again it’s your own affair. I hope it will turn out better than the first time, that is all.”
“It will. I’m sure it will. I’m not like I was then. I’m stronger. Don’t you think I look stronger?”
“I think you look very well indeed.” He smiled rather maliciously. “Can Sarah be civil to me, after the encounters we’ve had?”
“She said only this morning that she was willing to forget.”
“She may be willing but I’ll bet she doesn’t!”
Sarah had entered unheard.
She asked, “Is the she you’re talking about, me?”
“No — Henriette,” answered Renny. He held out his hand.
She laid her soft cool one in his. She looked at him out of her eyes, which were set like jewels, with no white showing about the iris. She gave him a long, searching look, but found nothing to reward her search. He was invulnerable where she was concerned.
“I ought to hate you,” she said, “but I don’t, because keeping Finch and me apart has made us love each other all the more.”
“That’s good news,” he returned coolly.
A silence hung between them which none of them could break. Then Adeline and Wake returned to the room. Wakefield talked volubly, the strain passed. There was so much to talk about. The play, Finch’s recital, the visit to Ireland. Adeline was encouraged to be forward by her uncles, then put in her place by her father. But nothing could keep her in her place. She overran boundaries as the wind.
Henriette was approached on the subject of Adeline’s visit. The remuneration offered by Renny for her services seemed princely. Wakefield had never seen her so vivacious.
“She’s positively bouncing!” he exclaimed. “Whatever have you done to her?”
“Been just moderately generous. How does the poor old thing live down there?”
“Buys her own food and lives on buns and tea. She’s as honest as the sun. I love her.”
“So do I!” cried Adeline. “When can I go to a rehearsal?”
Wakefield leaped to his feet. “Good God, I ought to be off now! Renny, when shall I see you again?”
“Aren’t you having lunch here?”
“I haven’t time. I had coffee and a sandwich at Euston while I waited.”
He gave Renny a coaxing look and his elder followed him into the hall. While putting on his coat Wakefield said: —
�
�I’ve made a friend, Renny. I want you to meet her. I think I’ve spoken of her in letters. She’s an actress — Molly Griffith. When and where could I bring her to meet you?”
“To dinner at my hotel tonight, you blasted little fool.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Well, I can see that you’re gone on her.”
“No, no — it’s just friendship, pure and simple. But you’ll like her. She’s just the sort of girl you’d like. She’s as different from Sarah as a mountain is different from …” he hesitated, then added — “a slug!”
“A neat comparison,” said Renny. “If you feel like that about Sarah it must be hard living in the house with her.”
“Oh, I’m getting used to it.”
Sarah appeared in the doorway.
“Talking about me again!” she exclaimed. “I knew how it would be, Renny. I knew as soon as you arrived there would be talk about me.”
He was lighting a cigarette and looked at her across the flare of the match. “Wake was just comparing you with a girl he’s gone on.”
“To my great disadvantage, I’m sure.”
“No — he was just saying that you are softer and more clinging.”
She stood rigid, her head turning from one to the other, her mouth thin and small. “By George,” thought Renny, “that girl’s nose and chin will meet by the time she’s fifty! She said: —
“I wish I could know what is in your heart.”
He inhaled the smoke of his cigarette. Their eyes met in a swift encounter.
“You ought to find me easy to read,” he said. “I’m not complicated.”
“Not complicated!” she echoed. “You’re the deepest of all. I could feel with Eden. I can understand Piers and Wake. But you’re as deep as the sea.”
“You read far too many stories,” he said. “You should take a course in real life.”
She had a beautiful speaking voice. Even when she raised it in anger, as she did now, it had a strange sweetness.
“Heavens, how I pity Alayne!” she cried.
“I’m writing to her today. I’ll send her that message.”
Finch had heard Sarah’s raised voice. He came into the hall.
“Tell him how happy we are, Finch,” she said. “Tell him not to torment me.”
“Good God, girl!” interrupted Renny. “Have sense!”
Wakefield opened the door into the street.
“I must be off,” he said.
“I’ll go to the corner with you.” Renny followed him bareheaded.
In the street Wakefield exclaimed — “That woman drives me mad! It seems hard that I haven’t had a moment yet when I could talk to you of Molly.”
“Never mind. I shall meet her at dinner.”
“But I wanted to tell you about her first.”
“Tell me about her now.”
Wake answered petulantly — “I can’t set out to describe a girl, on a street corner, with just a few seconds to do it in. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters so long as Sarah and Finch have sufficient space to spread themselves in. Goodbye.”
Renny watched him stride through Smith Square. He was half amused, half annoyed by Wake’s petulance, yet he had a satisfaction in it. The boys still clung to him, were jealous for his attention. Neither of them was really changed by living in London. He stood pensive, the cigarette between his lips, the grey shape of St. Mary’s Church rising before him. On the shining pavement lay the reflections of old houses. A tug on the river was making thick foggy noises, comfortable, rich-sounding noises, the very heart of London communing with itself. He heard steps scampering along the pavement. Adeline had run down the street after him. Now she stood with an arm about his waist.
“Isn’t it funny, us being here together,” she said, “so far from Jalna?”
Wakefield was late at the theatre. He had held up the rehearsal of his best scene with Molly. She was tense from waiting.
“Whatever kept you?” she asked. “Mr. Fox has been in a perfect stew. Miss Rhys is in a temper. We’re all at sixes and sevens.”
“I’ve been meeting my brother from Ireland. He wants us to have dinner with him tonight at his hotel. Will you come?”
“Did you ever know me to refuse an invitation?”
“But you will like coming. I can tell you, he’s a very nice fellow.”
“The worst is that I haven’t anything proper to wear. No — I can’t go.” She looked at him ruefully. “I haven’t a decent dinner dress.”
“Never mind. I’ll tell him we had to rehearse to the last moment and had no time to change. He’ll be glad.”
“I’m dying to meet him!”
They were called to take their place in the rehearsal.
It was an afternoon of hard work. Robert Fielding was in his most meticulous mood, making the actors repeat scenes again and again. In his own part with the leading lady they had an open quarrel as to how he should support her when she fainted. She fainted repeatedly — getting angrier all the while. At last it came to the point when she fell in one direction and he reached for her in the opposite. She would have fallen to the floor had not Ninian Fox caught her. She broke into a storm of weeping and left the stage. Wakefield went with her to her dressing room.
“Help me on with my coat,” she sobbed.
“Please don’t go, Miss Rhys,” he pleaded. “You were doing so splendidly.”
“What does that man Fielding think I am?” she demanded. “A dummy, to be thrown here and there! No, I can’t stand it!” She wound a green chiffon scarf repeatedly about her neck as though to strangle herself in her despair.
Ninian Fox came to the door.
“Miss Rhys,” he pleaded, “please don’t upset everything by going.”
“I’m tired out,” she said. “I’m a complete wreck.”
“I know, my dear — I know. But I’m quite sure Mr. Fielding will let you faint as you please from now on.”
“It’s too late.” she said grimly. “I’m going.”
Fox came into the room and took her hand. “Come into my office and have a drink.”
“You can write a letter to him,” she said, “on my behalf, and tell him that if he does not show more consideration for me, I’ll throw up my part.”
Fielding came into the room. He no longer wore the long topcoat but a natty grey suit and blue tie. His clever sallow face was deeply concerned, though how sincere the concern was, Wakefield could not guess. It might be simulated merely to pacify Miss Rhys.
“Phyllis,” he began.
“There has been enough talk,” she said, with a tragic wave of her hand. “I’m going home.”
“Phyllis — you can’t do that!”
“I can and will.” She jammed a becoming green toque on her head at a rakish angle and made for the door.
Ninian Fox intercepted her.
There was another door and she turned passionately toward it. There Fielding awaited her with outstretched arms and the selfsame expression he wore when she fainted in the play. It was too much. She struck at him. She faced both men like a tigress at bay. There was a moment’s terrible tension. Then they advanced on her and put their arms about her. She laid her handsome head on Fielding’s shoulder and sobbed — but suffered herself to be divested of her outer garments and led back to the stage.
The rehearsal began again.
One of the most emotional scenes was that in which Catherine accused her mother of having been a bad influence in her life. Molly could not do her part to please Ninian Fox. He listened to her with a smile of suffering on his ascetic mouth, then interrupted her with a staccato — “Miss Griffith!” Each time the colour fled from her face and she started like a sensitive child.
“Again, please,” he would say. “Miss Rhys, will you please say that bit beginning — ‘Cathie, you’re still a child to me.’”
“‘Cathie, you’re still a child to me. You’re still my own dear child. If you say such things, you’ll kill me.’”
Miss Rhys’s magnetic voice pierced Molly to the heart, yet her response never satisfied Mr. Fox. He would exclaim: —
“Miss Griffith, I wish you could hear yourself saying, ‘But why did you bring Captain McArthur to the house, Mummie?’ It’s just as though you were saying, ‘But why can’t I have jam with my blancmange, Mummie?’ You must remember this is a moment of high emotion on your part. Now let us try it again.”
In the taxi on the way to Brown’s Hotel Molly said, in a small, controlled voice: —
“He hates me. I shall never do my part to please him. I’m getting worse instead of better. I know Miss Rhys thinks so. If it weren’t for you, I should wish I’d never got the part.”
Wakefield looked tenderly at the pale profile turned to him. “I’d like to bash his head in,” he said. “I think you say your lines beautifully and so does Trimble. So do Robert Fielding and the others. Keep your courage up. You’re going to be a success. Especially in the scenes with me. Look round, Molly.”
She turned her face to him and smiled. She laid her thin hand impulsively on his.
“You’re so sweet to me,” she said, then added — “I wish we were going to be alone. I’m not in a mood to meet strangers. Your brother will think me stupid.”
“Don’t worry about meeting Renny. I’m glad he’s married. Otherwise you’d be casting me off for him.”
He spoke teasingly. She laughed and with childlike swiftness she turned to a happier mood. She took out a vanity case and made a few swift dabs at her face.
“Is that better?” she asked.
Books 9-12: Finch's Fortune / The Master of Jalna / Whiteoak Harvest / Wakefield's Course Page 125
