"Valerie," she said weakly. "I cannot continue this conversation. Perhaps, if I knew my Shakespeare better, I should be in a position to compete. As it is..."
Valerie picked up the instrument.
"Is that Sir Andrew Plague?"
"Get off the line!" raved Sir Andrew. "Get off the line! I'm engaged. Lady Touchstone! Where's Lady Touchstone?"
"I'm speaking for her," shrieked Valerie. "I'm her niece. Please will you come back at once?"
"Back?"
"Yes. To Hill Street. And bring your secretary?"
"Was it you who rang up just now?"
"Yes."
"Ah," said Sir Andrew relievedly. "What's the matter with your aunt?"
"Nothing," said Valerie, laughing. "What's the matter with your secretary?"
Sir Andrew smothered a grin.
"You must excuse him," he said. "He's lost his memory."
ANTHONY LYVEDEN proceeded to Hill Street alone. Alone Valerie French awaited his coming. Their respective supporters had failed— for the same reason. Neither felt equal to facing the other again. Later, perhaps, when the monstrous tide of confusion had had time to subside.... So Lady Touchstone girt up her loins and fled to the hairdresser, in ignorance that Sir Andrew had sent his secretary packing and then withdrawn to his chamber and pulled down the blind.
It follows that Jack and Jill had a couple of hours together— very momentous hours.....
As in a play, the servant shall take up the curtain.
"Mr. Lyveden."
Valerie's heart leaped.
Anthony passed into the room.
"How d'you do?" he said, smiling.
The girl tried to speak, vainly. As in a dream, she shook hands....
It was he ... Anthony ... her darling. It was his blessed voice ... his eyes ... his hair.... She wanted to hang on to his hand— kiss it— hold it against her breast. She wanted herself to sit down and him to kneel, so that she could draw his head down into her lap.... Her wonderful, dazzling lover had been restored to her. She wanted to hold and be held by him.... It was her right.
Almost she swayed towards him. The desire to put her arms about his neck was almost irresistible ... almost ...
'Very pleasant hast thou been unto me.'
As for Anthony, he was profoundly moved. It was, of course, a tremendous moment for him. He had stepped over the threshold into another life, through which— at first, at any rate— this glorious, shining creature was to be his shepherdess....
Little wonder that they stood for a minute like two beautiful children— shy, tongue-tied, colouring.
Then—
"You must forgive me," said Lyveden.
"What for?" whispered Valerie.
"For this embarrassment. It's of my making, of course. I gather we used to know one another well— you used my Christian name.... But, as I heard Plague tell you, my memory's gone. Why, I don't know." He spread out his hands. "I know nothing."
"You're well?"
"Perfectly."
"Well ... let's sit down," said Valerie. "One moment." She picked up a frame. "Look."
Curiously Lyveden inspected his own photograph. It was an enlargement of a snapshot— a very good picture. He saw himself seated upon a sunlit lawn, with Hamlet at ease in his lap.
"Where was this taken?" he asked.
"You were staying with us in Hampshire, three months ago."
"Only three months?"
"That's all," said Valerie.
Anthony set down the frame with a laugh.
"Three centuries or hours," he said. "What does it matter? When you've dropped your brain into a bottomless gorge, the breadth of the gorge doesn't count." The girl sat down, and he took his seat by her side. "Do I make you feel dazed?"
Valerie smiled.
"You do a little," she admitted. "It's awfully hard to grasp. You see, you're just the same— exactly. And it's almost impossible to realize that you— well, that, for instance, you can't remember that photograph, there, being taken."
"You do, obviously."
"I took it."
Anthony laughed.
"You're clearly an artist," he said. "It's the image of Hamlet."
"Hamlet?"
"The dog."
Valerie cried out with joy.
"Patch? Have you got him still? Oh, I'm so awfully glad. To— to tell you the truth, I thought it was hopeless to ask."
"He's as fit as a fiddle," said Anthony. "And a very great friend of Plague's. They're together now. He wouldn't come, you know. He said he'd wrought enough havoc for one afternoon.... Which brings me to my affairs. Shall I tell you my story— at least, as much as I know?"
"Do," breathed Valerie.
The six weeks' tale was told quietly, without emotion. The girl listened spell-bound....
"And there you are," concluded Anthony. "It's been a wonderful experience— intensely interesting, amazingly happy. It's been an Arabian Night. And now— the dawn's come."
"Are you sorry?" said Valerie.
Anthony turned and looked at her.
"May I speak frankly?" he said. "Remember, I'm not a man. I'm a shade— feeling its position acutely and very anxious to do the right thing."
"I'm sure you'll do that," said Valerie, smiling. "So please don't be anxious. Still, if it'll make you easier, we won't count to-day. Say what you like, please."
"Well, then, I think you're just the most wonderful thing I ever saw." The girl gasped. "Until I entered this room I was wretched— growing more gloomy and scared every step that I took. You see, I loved my interlude— -my backwater. I'd been so happy in my Arabian Night. And the cab that brought me here was rushing me out of my happiness into— I knew not what. I only knew that it couldn't ever be so jolly as what I was leaving behind. Then I saw you.... Don't think I'm being impertinent, or making love. I'm not. I'm stating facts. I'm a shade. I say— I saw you.... On the day I die, I shall see you, standing as you stood when I came into this room, and the sight will comfort me.... The cold, grey dawn I was so afraid of, you made golden and rosy. You cast out my fear. When I touched your hand, I felt glad to be alive.... And all at once, looking back, my interlude seemed very cold, very dull, very empty." With a sudden movement, he rose and picked up her hand. "I should be a graceless fellow if I didn't praise God that I had such a very sweet friend." He stooped and kissed the slight fingers. "You see," he added, letting fall her hand, "I've taken you at your word and spoken out. If I wasn't a shade, this would be a declaration of love. As a matter of fact, it's just pure gratitude. You've lifted up my heart."
Her eyes like stars, Valerie rose to her feet.
"I told you you needn't be anxious," she said tremulously. Abruptly she turned to a bookcase, disordered two or three volumes and then pushed them back into place. "The duster is mightier than the pen," she explained, over her shoulder. "I— I have to do this every day." She whipped a tear from her cheek and turned to her guest with a smile. "Let's go to the morning-room, and I'll give you some tea."
Anthony followed her thoughtfully out of the room....
He would not eat, but was glad of a cigarette.
"I'm so excited," he said ingenuously. "You would be if you were me."
"I am," said Valerie.
"That's very nice of you."
"It isn't," cried Valerie. "It isn't. I can't help it. You see, you— we knew you so well. You were staying with us when it happened, and—"
"What?"
Valerie put a hand to her head.
Straining her mind's eye, she was hunting for some indication of the course she must shape. Two things stood out of the water— the race down which she was sweeping, was being swept. One was a wreck— the rotting tackle of an old nightmare, which might be no longer dangerous, but must be avoided. This was the fact that Lyveden had been insane. The other was a bank of yellow, inviting sand stretching beside her channel for as far as ever she could see. This was the fact that Anthony and she had been betrothed. Of the two, Valerie w
ould sooner have driven upon the wreck....
Come what might, never, save of his own memory, must Anthony Lyveden learn what their relations had been ... never....
"You disappeared," said Valerie. "Quite suddenly— for no apparent reason. We traced you to the Cotswolds, and there a body was found. They said it was yours.... A month ago you were seen going into the Temple. We've been searching for you ever since."
Anthony stared upon the floor.
"I think your construction of the laws of hospitality is very handsome. Have I no— no people?"
Valerie shook her head.
"No one?"
"No one," said Valerie.
"What am I?"
"A man of considerable means, of no occupation, a Major and a D.S.O."
"Un-unattached?"
"Yes."
"Thank Heaven for that," said Lyveden fervently. "I had a terrible fear that I might have a wife. That was one of the things which made me cling so fast to my Arabian Night. It would have been very awkward, wouldn't it?"
"It might," said Valerie, laughing.
"It would," said Anthony positively. "You know it would. Talk about a one-sided affair..."
"You’d 've forgotten all her shortcomings," said Valerie.
"And her virtues."
"Oh, she’d tell you all those."
"But what about me? Love's very sensitive. Force Love's hand, and however sweet the fruit you take from him, it's bound to be a bit sticky."
"How do you know?"— mischievously.
"Instinct," said Lyveden promptly. "Besides, I've a dog called Hamlet. And now you're evading the question. What about me?"
"I hope," said Valerie, "you’d remember a certain appropriate proverb— about ignorance and bliss, and thank the good St. Luke for the nice, warm summer he was providing."
"I hope so, too," said Anthony. "But, after this afternoon, I fear the good St. Luke would go empty away. You see, I'm sure my wife wouldn't have stars in her eyes." Valerie laughed joyously. "We agreed that to-day shouldn't count, and it shan't. I promise you that. But I’d like you to know that you'll always stand alone. Your niche— — "
"I'm human enough," said Valerie. "Don't make a statue of me. As to-day doesn't count, I can tell you it's meant— a good deal to me."
"You're awfully sweet," said Lyveden.
"No, I'm not. I mean what I say. When you walked into that room— I nearly cried."
"That's because of your very sweet nature. I felt embarrassed, overwrought. Out of your gentle pity, you felt the same."
"But I don't pity you. Why shouldn't I be glad?"
"Glad— yes. If you please. But it wasn't the sort of gladness I was expecting. You weren't boisterous. I'd often pictured my recognition. I always assumed I should be found one day. I saw myself being stopped— perhaps in the street. I saw people wringing my hand, slapping me on the back, stamping.... And I dreaded it all. I knew that I couldn't respond, and I dreaded it terribly. But you did none of these things. You seemed to feel my trouble— to understand. You were so quiet, but you seemed so very pleased."
"I was. I am," cried Valerie. "It's the biggest ... surprise I ever had," she concluded tamely.
Anthony fell upon the substantive.
"I know. But you never showed it. That's my point. You might have been waiting and watching, with your precious eyes riveted upon the door through which you knew I should pass. And when I came stumbling out, there was your little, firm hand to hold me up." He threw back his head and put his hands over his eyes. "You must forgive me. I— I can't get you out of my head. I ought to be asking all manner of questions, I know. I ought to be wild to hear all about myself. But I'm not. I don't care. I don't want to know." He let fall his hands and leaned forward with burning eyes. "I want to make the most of to-day. The rest can wait. I've all my life to listen to the mistakes I've made. But to-day ... I feel I'm standing with you, looking down on the world. To-day our position is sublime, because I'm a shade. I can exult in your company ... stare at my exquisite guide ... open my heart, because— to-day doesn't count. To-morrow you'll be Miss French and I shall be Mr. Lyveden. To-day I'm a child, and you're— just Valerie. You've seen a child run to its betters, cling to their knees, look up into their faces. If you asked it why, it couldn't tell. Neither can I. But I think it's because it— knows— they— understand."
Valerie crossed to the hearth and stood by his side. "I'm not your better," she said, "but I— understand. Take hold of me, if you will. To-day the clocks have stopped. There is no time."
Very gently he took her in his arms.
"You wonderful creature," he breathed. "You glorious, wonderful thing. How can you understand? Why am I not afraid to take you like this? Why do I dare to lay my cheek against yours? Why do you suffer me? Convention's not dead. But you.... to-day ... We're out of the world; we must be. I hardly know your name; yet we speak the same tongue. I've called and you've answered— and nobody else would have heard. We're alone on the edge of some cliff overhanging the earth.... I was alone ... and now you've come to my side." He turned his head sharply and peered into her eyes. "Am I mad?" he demanded. "Do I speak as a fool?"
"No," said Valerie quietly. "You've spoken the absolute truth. I let you hold me like this because it's my will that you should— because I have need of your arms. I hoped that you’d put them about me, and then you did."
"Why? Why did you hope it? What's this astounding language that only you and I speak? It isn't love. It can't be. I haven't been here half an hour.... I throw an invisible ball— you catch it and throw it back. I lose my head, to find I've not lost it at all. I flounder, to find I'm on rock. What does it mean? ... Never mind. I don't want to know. I'm a king— for an afternoon."
"Listen," said Valerie. "What made you want to— to set your cheek against mine?"
"I don't know. I don't care. I—"
"Try to think."
She felt his temples contract.
"It sounds absurd," he said, "but it seemed— it seemed so natural. The moment I saw you, you filled the whole of my brain. The questions I've asked, I've asked with difficulty. Up to just now I was acting, Valerie. Now I'm myself. I feel at— at ease, somehow. Why don't you mind?"
"I feel at ease, too."
"I know, I know. Why? You don't know. You can't say. It's natural and yet unnatural. It's out of order, yet right. It's like a fairy tale, where the poor boy kisses the beauty he's never set eyes on before. And nobody minds, and even Convention approves." He held her off firmly. "But this is Life— where there aren't any fairy tales and where this sort of thing isn't done."
Her eyes upon his, the girl was thinking furiously. Should she tell him the truth ... explain that his heart had thrown back ... shatter the brilliant bubble which he had blown? The time seemed ripe. Surely no harm could result. And the bubble would not be shattered, but rather turned to crystal. Yet ... 'Love's very sensitive. Force Love's hand, and...' The jest rang in her ears. Her imagination turned it into the bell of a buoy, swinging to mark that yellow, inviting sandbank she had determined to shun.
"I know," she said gravely. "I know that as well as you. Yet I'm not cheap in your sight."
"Cheap? You're the finest gold that ever gladdened man's eyes."
"Then why do you frown so, Anthony? To-day I can read your fairy tale and share your dream."
He drew her head down on to his chest.
"I love your hair," he said simply. "It smells so sweet. You can't be a princess, or it 'ld be all golden. And so you must be a queen."
"For an afternoon," she whispered.
He put a hand under her chin and raised her head.
"For ever," he said, smiling. "We're in the land of Oxymoron. To-day doesn't count, yet it will last out Time. It's not in the almanac, yet it's gold-letter. I've lost my memory, yet I can never forget. And heresy's orthodox, and fairy tales are fact.... D'you think, if I kissed your mouth, it’d turn into a flower? It's awfully like one."
"I— I d
on't think it would."
He kissed her tenderly....
Presently she put up a hand and touched his hair.
ANTHONY WALKED back across the Park with his head in the air.
The man was exalted. The dog had just had his day. And, while all days are as grass, the splendour of this afternoon would never die. That he had been born again was nothing at all. His heart had leaped and had been caught and held at the very top of its bent— so held that it would never come down— sink any more. Of this he was quite certain. No disaster could alter his state. Not even the sudden production of a duly accredited harem could shatter this illusion. He had been given the original— the model after which illusions are made. Like fire, it had been filched out of Heaven.
That he did not perceive what any fool could have told him, is not surprising. His memory was gone. It lay like a silent pool, walled up with rock. Upon this pool, for more than forty days his eyes had been riveted. And nothing— no sight, or sound, or scent had stirred its waters. Then had come Valerie.... The moment he saw her he knew that if ever the pool was to be troubled, now was the appointed time. Peering at its surface, he found it motionless as death. She whom no man, having seen, could ever forget, with whom he had once been familiar, had failed to wake the faintest ripple upon those silent waters. Therefore Anthony knew that the strange exhilaration he had felt was not out of Memory. And if it was not out of Memory, neither was it by Love. That was obvious. Love was a slippery fellow, but he was not so swift as all that. Besides, it was to be hoped that he (Anthony) had not lost all control. As for the lady.... Oh, indubitably it was not love....
His mental arithmetic was, I think, sound. Anthony had done his sum right and had got the wrong answer. Any fool could have got the right answer without doing the sum at all. But that is because lookers-on see the best of the game. And if anyone but a fool had done the sum, he would have seen instantly that the error lay in the premises. Whereupon he would have worked backwards, with the result that in about two seconds he would have located the mistake. This was that, while the surface of the pool of Remembrance was motionless as death, its depths were considerably troubled. Still waters run deep.
It was as he was approaching Kensington Palace Gardens that Anthony Lyveden realized with a shock how very slight was the report which he was prepared to render. Sir Andrew would naturally expect to be regaled with a wealth of crisp information regarding the former existence of his protégé.... Anthony began to wonder what on earth he should say. He could not explain that he had been in Paradise. For only one thing, not to put it too high, the knight would hardly appreciate such a translation....
Valerie French (1923) Page 11
