There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Jessica said, rather uncertainly:
“I don’t quite understand.”
“No. That’s what I wanted to explain,” Mary said. “You see, whether you marry Ford Onderley or not, you’ll be leaving The Mead soon, won’t you?”
Jessica nodded.
“David and I haven’t quite worked things out yet, but—we think we’d probably like to make our home here when we get married. It’s near Father, it’s a place we both know and love and it would suit us in nearly every way. What I want to make clear is that, if you didn’t marry and had to have a job instead, David and I would like the twins to stay on in their own home and—”
“Mary!”
Jessica turned quite pale, staggered by the generosity of the offer, well though she knew her friend’s warm and impulsive heart.
“Now, don’t start exclaiming and objecting,” Mary interrupted quickly. “You know I couldn’t be fonder of Tom and Judy if they were my own brother and sister, and David thinks they’re grand kids too-. I know some people would think it odd, starting married life with a couple of kids nearly in their teens, but we don’t feel that way at all. They just seem part of The Mead, anyway. And you wouldn’t have to get a job so very far away, and could see them at week-ends and that sort of thing. It’s not a bad idea, you know.”
“It’s the most fantastically generous idea I ever heard,” Jessica said in a rather low voice.
“But one which anyone might accept from such an old friend as I am,” Mary pointed out. “That is”—she paused—”if you want to accept it. There’s no need for you to say anything right away, pet. Just think it over. But I want you to have it firmly fixed in your mind that there is no reason—no reason at all—for you to marry anyone unless you love him. Now show me that coat.”
Dazedly, Jessica went over to the wardrobe and, more by chance than design, lifted out the right garment.
She knew she had not expressed her thanks to Mary. She knew she had not said any of the dozen phrases of gratitude and astonishment which crowded into her mind. But, if she said much, she thought she would cry. And then Mary would be quite sure she was weeping with relief.
“I’ll explain to her afterwards,” Jessica thought almost incoherently. “I’ll tell her that no one ever, ever had such a wonderfully generous and understanding friend. No one but Mary—and David—would have thought of such a thing! It isn’t that I want an escape— at least, do I? But to know that I can make my own decision, without being torn this way and that by the thought of the happiness or distress of the children —that’s something I’d never dared to hope for.”
“It’s a sweet coat,” Mary was saying with genuine admiration.
“Yes, isn’t it?” murmured Jessica absently. Then suddenly she tossed the coat down on to the bed and flung her arms round her friend. “Oh, Mary, I do love you very much!” she exclaimed.
And Mary laughed and hugged her very tightly in return, and quite obviously understood all the things which Jessica had wanted to say, but which would probably remain for ever unsaid.
“All right, I know.” Mary said comprehensively.
And then the twins came rushing upstairs to bed, and Mary said it was time that she and David were going.
Jessica strolled as far as the gate with them when they went, and, after she had waved them goodbye, she walked idly round the garden, pinching off an occasional dead blossom or stooping to pull up a weed, but without much real consciousness of what she was doing.
The only thing of which she was acutely conscious was the warm, familiar hush of her own garden on a late summer’s evening. It had been a hot day, and, as the light faded and the brilliant colours of daylight began to fade into the delicate monochrome of evening, a faint breeze drifted over the garden, reviving the drooping flowers and plants and drawing an intensified fragrance from them.
“How lovely it is,” thought Jessica. “How lovely and peaceful it is—and I’m free! At least—what was it that Mary had said? That there was no reason for me to marry anyone, unless I loved him.”
She stood on the smooth green lawn, looking away across the country towards Oaklands. She need never go there as Ford’s wife—unless she loved him. Shorn of all the secondary considerations, the harrowing attendant responsibilities, her decision could be made, simply and clearly, on the basis of what she really wished.
With a sensation as though a physical weight rolled from her shoulders, Jessica stretched out her arms with a little laugh of happiness and relief.
And, in that moment of freedom and clear vision, she knew suddenly and inevitably that Ford was the man she wanted.
Not as the sarcastically indulgent landlord, not as the kind and protective person who would stand between her and the ever-growing financial troubles, not even as the universal provider for herself and the twins. But, quite simply, as the man she had, almost unknowingly, grown to love.
“I never saw him quite clearly until this moment,” Jessica thought. “I always had to see him in some special light or another, because I needed him. It isn’t like that any longer! I don’t have to marry him. I just want to marry him.”
She was so enchanted and excited by the discovery that she felt she could have run all the way to Oaklands now, to tell him of it.
But, apart from the absurdity of arriving there a second time in one evening for no better reason than that she wished to tell him that she loved him, Jessica realised, with something of a disagreeable shock, that she was not really at all sure how Ford would take such a declaration.
That he was fond of her she knew. That he wanted— indeed, had been quite determined—to marry her she also knew. But declarations of passionate love had not entered into their relationship at all.
Slowly Jessica retraced her steps across the lawn.
If Angela’s statements were to be trusted though, of course, they were not, thought Jessica, angrily recalling the lie about David—Ford’s affection for herself was of a very temperate and well-balanced variety, and he would be more likely to be disconcerted than enraptured by any romantic confession of hers.
“Not that one can go by what Angela says,” Jessica assured herself impatiently. “She’s quite capable of telling me a lot of poppycock about Ford, just as she did about David. She simply arranges facts to suit her own purpose.”
But she had definitely thought it worth while to bring Paula into Ford’s vicinity again. And Ford had looked as near put out as she had ever seen him, at the prospect of Paula’s coming to Oaklands.
“There’s something in it.” Jessica reluctantly admitted. “Even if it’s not quite what Angela wants to make out.”
And she wished very much that Paula’s visit were over, or that she could have some tangible proof that Ford no longer cared for the glamorous original of that photograph in Angela’s room.
But, in spite of her anxiety and the first stirrings of jealousy which she had ever experienced, Jessica could not help feeling excited and happy as she lay in bed that night, watching the long streak of moonlight from the window travel slowly across the carpet.
She loved Ford and she was going to marry him, and surely—surely every other consideration faded into insignificance beside that?
The next day happened to be a busy one for Jessica, and, presumably, for Ford too, because by teatime he had still not put in an appearance. Inexplicably, she felt in a mood of nervous expectancy, as though at any moment she might receive some significant news— either good or bad. And, when Judy dashed into tea and cried dramatically, “Guess what!” Jessica felt her heart give an uncomfortable lurch.
“What has happened?” she asked, rather breathlessly.
“You’ll never believe it,” declared Judy, prolonging the agony unnecessarily. “But that extraordinary geometry answer was right, and I got full marks, and I was the only one in the class that did. Fortunately, Miss Dobson didn’t ask me to explain how I got it, because I couldn’t possibly have done it again. It w
as just a fluke the first time. Still, it was a nice fluke, wasn’t it?”
Jessica said it was, and knew it was mean and unreasonable of her to feel so profoundly irritated as her little sister babbled on about the interesting reactions of Miss Dobson and the rest of the class.
But later on she decided, just as she had the previous evening, that she would go over to Oaklands herself. She felt she must see him—look at him with her newly opened eyes—judge for herself what his real reaction to her might be. Perhaps if she called him “darling” again. . . . He had been genuinely pleased and moved when she had done so before.
But that had slipped out quite naturally. Now she understood why. She couldn’t deliberately arrange to call him “darling” in advance. That wouldn’t be the same thing at all. But, anyway, she must see him.
It was a Friday—that blessed evening when homework can be safely shelved until the next day—and so the twins were rolling the lawn, and only paused to wave to her as she left the house.
She hoped that this time too she would meet Ford before she reached Oaklands. But she arrived at the house without having seen anything of him, and. to her chagrin, when the servant ushered her into the lounge, only Angela was sitting there.
“Hallo, Jessica.” Angela sounded quite affable. “Did you drop in to see Ford?”
“Yes.” Jessica hoped she sounded just as affable in her turn. “But it looks as though I must have missed him on the way.”
“Oh, no,” Angela explained easily. “He’s somewhere about the grounds with Paula. You know, my friend, Paula Dryden. She’s come here to stay for a while.”
Jessica controlled the angry impulse to ask why she was not running around the grounds with her friend Paula Dryden, and said as casually as possibly, “Then I’ll wait.”
She sat down, finding, to her dismay and annoyance, that she was trembling slightly.
Paula had certainly not wasted any time in answering the telegraphed invitation! And now here she was, firmly established at Oaklands—the romantic subject of a broken engagement, with something of a claim on Ford’s sympathetic attention, if only for the sake of old friendship.
There could not have been a situation which she would have detested more heartily, Jessica thought angrily. But because it was important that Angela should not guess how deeply depressed she was by it, it was necessary to make some sort of effort at bright conversation. And. more with the idea of hiding her own discomfort than of creating it in Angela, she said:
“I suppose David has told you about his engagement?”
“Yes, I must say I was surprised.”
“You must have been, considering your own theory,” replied Jessica dryly, and with what she felt to be excusable irony.
Angela laughed, but looked quite unabashed.
“Oh, I didn’t mean only because of that,” she said. “I’m surprised that anyone as ‘fly’ as David should be caught by Mary Skelton. But, of course, she meant to have him.”
Jessica felt the furious colour rush into her face.
“Mary happens to be my best friend,” she reminded Angela curtly, “and I certainly won’t sit here and hear anyone speak of her like that. There was never any question of her trying to ‘catch’ him. David is very much in love with Mary, and they are obviously as happy and well suited as it’s possible to be.”
“Very generous of you,” murmured Angela with a slight and altogether infuriating smile.
“It’s not generous. It’s just a statement of fact,” Jessica retorted sharply. “And, of course, I’m very happy about it because I happen to be extremely fond of them both.” And then, as her anger got the better of her: “I’m afraid the trouble with you, Angela, is that you just don’t like other people to be happy. You’d rather have things go wrong than see them work out happily and pleasantly.”
Angela raised her eyebrows, but more in protest at Jessica’s indecent candour than anything else.
“And I’m afraid that you really don’t like me at all, Jessica,” she said mockingly.
“No,” Jessica said slowly. “I think you’re detestable.”
And then she felt very much ashamed of herself, and added quickly, “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
It’s a little difficult to take back,” Angela remarked dryly.
This was so true that Jessica was dismayedly silent.
She could, of course, have told Angela just why she thought her detestable—upbraided her for having deliberately tried to make trouble over David, told her she suspected her of trying to use Paula’s presence for further trouble.
But suddenly it all seemed very trivial and undignified. And she wished quite passionately that she had not allowed herself to be betrayed into such an unequivocal statement of feeling.
After a moment she got up.
“I think I’ll go and find Ford,” she said rather stiffly.
“As you like.”
Angela’s air indicated that she could not have cared less what Jessica did with herself. And, feeling oddly shaken by the disagreeable encounter, Jessica went out of the room.
As she reached the door, Angela called after her:
“You’ll probably find them round about the garage. Ford took Paula to see your car.”
Another spasm of indignation assailed Jessica. Why on earth did Ford want to take the girl to see her car? It was something between her and Ford. Nothing to do with Paula. Why couldn’t he have shown her the grounds, or the view, or something equally innocuous?
“Don’t be silly,” Jessica admonished herself. “You’re just looking for trouble. Probably Angela mentioned the car, and Paula said she’d like to see it. He could not do less than show it to her then, could he?”
With this thought determinedly in mind, she crossed the wide yard to the garage, noticing, as she did so, that the big sliding door was partially pushed back, which suggested that there was someone in there.
Instinctively, she braced herself almost physically for this first encounter with Paula Dryden, pausing for a second in the doorway as she did so.
Then, at the sight which met her eyes, she stepped back again immediately, so that the corner of the garage concealed her. She had had only a second’s glimpse of what was happening in the garage, but that second was sufficient.
Ford and Paula were not standing there casually admiring the car. Paula—slim and appealing in a glamorous red suit—had her arms round Ford’s neck and her face half hidden against him. And, in that one moment, Jessica had seen that he had his arms round her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VERY quietly Jessica withdrew from the spot where she had been standing and, rather blindly, made her way towards the wicket gate which led from the grounds of Oaklands into the wood.
If the encounter with Angela had left her shaken, the sight which she had just witnessed left her feeling sick and cold.
“It’s not true!” she murmured to herself, in a sort of angry dismay. “I don’t believe it! I—I ought to have looked more thoroughly and made sure.”
But—made sure of what? Of what was she in doubt? One glance had been quite sufficient to identify the two figures and establish the fact that they were in each other’s arms. What more did she want?
This was not something which Angela had arranged. At least—she had provided the setting, of course, and arranged the dangerous propinquity which was to batter down all Ford’s recently built defences. But the situation would have been harmless if he had not really cared.
Jessica opened the wicket gate, passed through, and closed it carefully after her, taking time about all her actions, as though she were performing something of importance which might conceivably distract her attention from her maddening thoughts.
Then she left the path which would have taken her straight back home, and plunged into the green, shaded byways of the wood, where she could feel alone. She did not want to go home. She did not want to go back to Oaklands. Not ever, she felt at that moment.
&n
bsp; All she wanted was to get away by herself. Only that was no escape from her thoughts.
‘It’s partly my own fault.” she thought painfully. “I’ve held him so lightly, shirked any statement that I loved him. But I didn’t know until yesterday!”
Suppose she had been able to tell him in the beginning that she loved him—that she found him thrilling and amusing and dear and wonderful? Would they not have built something lovely and substantial between them, which would have withstood any petty onslaughts of a mere Paula?
But there had never been anything like that. He had been kind and indulgent, and she had been grateful and conscientious. What sort of basis was that for a romance? How could that compare with the passionate wave of emotion with which Paula no doubt had enveloped him?
And, at the thought of Paula hanging round his neck, Jessica experienced a hot, blind wave of jealousy which was the most primitive feeling she had ever known. It left her scared and shocked. As though some protective, civilised veneer had been stripped from her and left her rough and crude and elemental.
“I hate Paula,” Jessica thought starkly. “I could kill her.” And though she murmured aloud, “Don’t be silly,” she knew that that impulse had risen from the very core of her being.
But he didn’t hate Paula. He loved her still, it seemed. And, that being so, what must he be thinking now of the horrible predicament in which he had placed himself?
Engaged to one girl and tied to her by every claim which need could make on a generous nature—and yet loving someone else.
“That is, if he does really love her,” thought Jessica, snatching for a moment at a straw of hope. “Perhaps it’s just infatuation.”
But no momentary infatuation would cover the facts. No one denied that Ford and Paula had known each other for years, and he had undoubtedly been put out at the thought of her coming to Oaklands. Angela might have lied shamelessly about David, but Jessica was afraid that her statements about Ford and Paula were substantially correct.
And there was nothing he could do about it. He had committed himself to the task of providing a home and future, not only for the girl to whom he was engaged, but for two entirely dependent children, too. There was their future to be considered, apart from the three actors in the “triangle” drama themselves. Unless . . .
The Brave In Heart Page 17
