CHAPTER XII
It was the soft purring of a car engine that awakened Lucy. For a few seconds she lay motionless, then memory returned, and with it, pain. Dragging herself out of bed, she walked over to the window and was in time to see the silver Rolls-Royce disappear down the drive. Tears filled her eyes. She might have known that events which had shaken her life to its foundations would not be enough to keep Paul from his City commitments. What strength and iron determination he must have. Or was he merely heartless? She tried to hate him, but hate would not come; only sorrow and hurt and a bitter regret that she had given way to such anger at his lack of faith in her.
What a fool she had been! If she had understood him as well as she had believed, she would have realized that faith had been too much to ask of a man as emotionally unsure of himself as Paul, particularly in the face of such overwhelming evidence. A silver-blonde girl in a chinchilla coat. Would Paul have believed it was her if he had not received Murray's letter? Bitterly she recalled how she had set herself up as Murray's champion, the many times she had defended him, the many times Paul had come on them together, seen Murray's hand on her arm, heard her laughter at his ironic comments. All these things in Paul's eyes could only have justified the truth of Murray's accusations.
Wearily she turned away from the window and began to collect her belongings, stuffing them haphazardly into her suitcases. She took only those things with which she had arrived at Charters, leaving behind all the magnificent gifts Paul had showered on her since their engagement: the dresses and suits, the hand-embroidered lingerie, the chinchilla coat she had never wanted and which had finally helped to condemn her.
Her packing completed, she telephoned for a taxi. There was half an hour's delay and, waiting for it to arrive, she wandered for the last time around the beautiful rooms. Yet though she knew she would never bee them again, she felt no sense of loss, only despair in the knowledge that a hundred houses, each as beautiful and luxurious as Charters, would never matter to her compared with the loss of the only man she would ever love.
Strange that nothing could alter her feelings for Paul, not even the fact he had thought her a thief. What would happen if the door opened and he suddenly walked in and told her it was all a mistake? Would she be able to forget that he had doubted her? But the answer eluded her, possibly because she knew it was something that could never happen. Once he had made up his mind, Paul was not the sort of man to change it. He had believed her to be a thief yesterday and would go on believing it today and tomorrow and for all the endless tomorrows that lay ahead.
It was impossible to leave Charters without saying goodbye to Aunt Beatrice, and though the thought of having to explain the reason for it filled her with horror, she knew it would be cowardly to leave without a personal farewell.
But when she entered Aunt Beatrice's bedroom she could tell from the look on the old lady's face that explanations were unnecessary. Paul had obviously been in to see her.
' My dear,' said Aunt Beatrice, holding out her hands, ' I'm so terribly sorry.'
With a little cry Lucy ran forward and rested her head on the thin shoulder.
' I don't know what to say,' Aunt Beatrice murmured. 'Paul must be mad. That's the only thing that can account for his behaviour.'
Lucy raised her head. ' You mean you don't think I'm a thief?'
' If you're a thief then I'm Marie Antoinette! I don't care what Murray wrote or what other evidence there is, all I know is that you're innocent!'
' Paul says—— '
' Paul be blowed! Even if you told me this minute that you'd taken the jade, I wouldn't believe you.' The old lady caught Lucy's hand. ' I suppose you're leaving here?'
' Yes. I'm waiting for a taxi.'
' Where are you going?'
The question took Lucy by surprise, for until this moment she had forgotten that Meg had left England on Friday.
' I don't know,' she admitted. ' I was going back to the flat, but I've just remembered Meg has let it for the year she's away. I suppose I'll find a furnished room somewhere.'
' You must let me have your address as soon as you know it.'
Lucy shook her head. ' It'll be better for everyone concerned if I make a clean break.'
' But I must know what happens to you I'
Lucy smiled shakily. ' Don't worry, I'll be perfectly all right. In these days girls don't die of broken hearts.'
' You heart is broken, isn't it ?' Aunt Beatrice's faded eyes were full of compassion and Lucy turned away to hide her tears.
Suddenly a hooter sounded in the drive and hurrying over to the window she was able to make out the front of a taxi.
' The car's here,' she said breathlessly. ' I must go.'
Not trusting herself to turn round, she ran from the room.
* * *
It was raining when she arrived in London and the grey skies befitted her mood. For most of the day she wandered around looking for accommodation, and it was not until late evening that she found a bed-sitting-room off the King's Road. It was a far cry from Charters with its sumptuous magnificence, liveried footmen and uniformed maids, but it was going to be her home for the next year and she knew she must stop thinking of the past and think only in terms of the future, otherwise her life would be intolerable.
For the first few days she remained closeted in her loom, too miserable to do more than prepare the simplest of meals. But at the end of the week the knowledge that her funds were running out forced her to look for a job. Your heart might be broken, she admitted wryly, but you had to be rich to enjoy a nervous breakdown and, short of suicide, the poor had no alternative but to go on living.
For the first time luck was with her and she found a job close at hand, in a bookshop off Sloane Square.
Though she wanted to forget the past she remained anxious about Cindy and each day scanned the newspapers to see if there was any news of her. But all she found was a brief announcement saying Paul Harlow's engagement was broken, and she wondered how he had managed to keep the news from hitting the headlines. What would her fellow-workers say if they knew that the girl behind the stationery counter had been going to marry one of the richest men in England I How they would exclaim if she told them the engagement ring she had once had could have bought this shop and its entire contents! But to think this way was to hark back to the past and this she had determined not to do.
It was not difficult to keep this vow during the day, for her job was a busy one, but during the night, in the loneliness of her room, she could not keep her thoughts at bay, and every one of them led to Paul.
For fear she might be recognized—during her brief engagement her pictures had been splashed all over the tabloids—Lucy attempted to disguise herself. She pulled her bright hair back into an uncompromising bun and hid her eyes behind plain glass spectacles. But it was not so much the disguise that made her unrecognizable as the droop to her shoulders and the gradual loss of weight that put hollows beneath her cheekbones and lilac shadows on her lids.
Slowly the days dragged past and apart from a brief note to Meg explaining why her engagement was broken, she made contact with no one. One day perhaps she would be ready to start living again; for the moment all she could manage was day-to-day existence.
But suddenly fate took a hand, and one evening six weeks after leaving Charters she was at the back of the shop getting ready to leave, when she heard a man asking for a copy of a new book on photography. Involuntarily she looked up, drawing back into the shadows as she recognized Barry Davis. But the movement she had made caused him to look in her direction and he came a step nearer.
'Can you help me?' he asked. 'I've been looking for an assistant for the last five minutes.'
' We're closed,' she mumbled. ' I'm just leaving.'
She moved further away, but as she did so a light shimmered on her hair and Barry gave an exclamation.
' No, you don't I' he said and, striding over, seized her arm.
' Leave me a
lone!' she cried.
' Don't be silly! I'd recognize that hair anywhere.' His hold tightened. ' What on earth have you done to yourself? You look like a ghost.' His keen eyes took in her dark overall, her pale face and glasses. ' Or a penitent!'
' I'm neither,' she said with a sudden return of her old spirit. ' I dress like this because I don't want to be recognized.'
' It'd take more than that get-up to fool me.' His hands dropped to his sides and she took the opportunity of stepping behind the counter.
' What sort of book were you looking for, Barry?'
'Forget the book! It's you I'm concerned with. I want to talk to you.'
'Talk to a thief?' She regretted the words the moment they were out, but she could not draw them back and she stared at him defiantly. ' I suppose Paul's told you I took the jade?'
' Yes, he did. But no one in their right senses would believe it.'
' Paul does.'
' From the little I've seen of him since I got back to England I'd say he was in anything but his right senses I Come on,' Barry continued impatiently. ' Let's get out of here.'
She saw by the obstinate look on his face that he would not leave without her, so she removed her overall, collected her bag and coat and followed him out of the shop. He held her arm tightly, as though afraid she might run away, and did not loosen his grip until they entered the studio of his Knightsbridge flat.
In silence he helped her off with her coat, then standing in front of her he removed her glasses, pulled out the pins that secured her hair and ran his fingers through the silky tresses, tumbling them free to her shoulders.
' That's better,' he said. ' Now you look more like the girl I know. Make yourself comfortable while I mix some drinks.'
Trembling, she sat down. One part of her wished she could tip-toe from the room and run away, but the other was glad that someone from the past had found her and forced her to take stock of herself. After all, she was too young to go on running for ever. She must stop and face the future, and the sooner she did so the better.
'Now,' Barry said, handing her a Martini, 'tell me the whole story.'
' Hasn't Paul—— ?'
'I'm not interested in his version. I want yours.'
Without any further prompting the words tumbled from her lips with all the pent-up intensity of the long, lonely weeks of brooding. She half expected Barry to make some comment, but he listened quietly, his face unchanged, and when at last she stumbled to the end, his first action was to refill her glass,
' There's nothing like a couple of Martinis for putting trouble into perspective,' he said.
She smiled wryly, knowing it would take more than a few drinks to do that. ' Thanks for still believing in me. The evidence is pretty damning.'
' Not to me I The thing I can't understand is how Paul can believe that rotter's accusations—especially when he was the one who never trusted Murray in the first place!'
' It wasn't the letter so much as the dealer's statement. The man swore that the woman who sold him the vase was me. She had the same colour hair and was wearing a chinchilla coat.'
Barry set down his glass and paced the room. ' Have you done anything to defend yourself? I can understand you feeling bitter towards Paul, but surely for your own sake you must want to prove your innocence? After all, the only thing you had to do was to show you hadn't been in London the day the vase was sold.'
' Unfortunately I was. Paul had flown to Paris that day and I went to London to do some shopping.'
' I see,' Barry looked glum. ' And were you wearing the coat?'
'No.'
' Well, someone wore it. Someone masquerading as you.'
' Try telling that to Paul.'
' The moment I mention your name he dries up on me.'
'I didn't expect otherwise,' Lucy said bleakly. 'How does he feel towards Cindy?'
' He won't have her name mentioned either.'
Lucy sighed. ' How cruel he is. The only consolation I've had is that if he believed Murray's letter, it would at least make him feel kinder towards him.'
Barry shook his head. ' Paul's opinion of Murray hasn't changed at all.'
' I was stupid to think anything would change him,' Lucy said bitterly. ' He's cruel and rigid.'
' Even rigidity has its other side,' Barry commented. ' Paul still loves you.'
' He never loved me. If he did he wouldn't believe me to be a thief.'.
'That's where you're wrong,' Barry interrupted. ' You've got to understand the sort of man Paul is. His love for you made him feel vulnerable and weak, and because he felt weak he became afraid. Many men are when they fall deeply in love.'
' What was he afraid of ? That I'd hurt him ?'
'Yes. You know yourself how little confidence he has. Outside he's the big tycoon, but inside he's a scared man who never dared believe that a girl like you could want him for what he was and not for what he had.' Barry picked up his glass and drained it. ' That's why he was so quick to condemn you. It came from
Bis lack of faith in himself—rather than lack of faith in you.'
Irritably she shook her head. ' I'm not in the mood to listen to psychology. Paul believed I stole the jade, he believed I was lying when I said I loved him. That's all I can think of at the moment.'
' Then in your way you're just as rigid as he is.'
' Let's not talk about it any more. It's over and done with.'
' But you've got to prove you're innocent.'
'What for? Or perhaps I should say who for?'
' Yourself.'
' I don't care about myself,' she replied. ' My life is over. Paul is dead for me, and I'll never love anyone else.'
'You mustn't say that. You're young and———— '
'Young! I feel a hundred years old.' She pushed back her hair with a determined gesture. ' We've talked enough about me. Let's talk about you. Have you finished your special assignment yet?'
'Which one? I'm working on three!'
' The one you were doing for an American magazine —photographing the capital cities of Europe.'
'Oh, that,' he shrugged. 'That's almost over and done with.'
' It must have been exciting.' She knew she was making conversation, but she was determined not to let it revert to Paul.
As though realizing this, Barry started to talk of his work, and for the next hour entertained her with a droll account of his tour of Europe.
' You make it sound like all play and very little work,' she said with a smile.
' It could have been all play if I'd the right model! That offer I once made to you is still open!'
She laughed. ' Once your new series of pictures are published you'll be swamped with beautiful women clamouring to work for you.'
' I hope so,' he grinned. ' I must say these pictures are the best thing I've done. I've aimed at contrast. You know the sort of thing—barrow boys with debs; the Flea Market and a group of Dior models; Arab women carrying baskets on their heads watched by lounging American G.I.s.'
' It certainly sounds gimmicky,' she acknowledged. I'd love to sec them.'
' I'll let you know as soon as they're all developed.'
'Are you sure you want to see me again?'
' What a ridiculous question!'
' I don't see why. If Paul knew you were in touch with me '
' Forget it,' Barry scowled. ' I know I'm Paul's friend, but I'm your friend too.' He leaned forward and caught her hands. ' I'm your friend, Lucy, and don't forget it.'
That night Lucy slept better than she had done for a long while, helped by the knowledge that there was one other person apart from Aunt Beatrice who had not judged her guilty. If only Meg were here too, how much easier things would be.
Despite Barry's assurance that he would keep in touch- with her she did not expect to hear from him again soon, for she knew he was busy, but to her surprise she received a telephone call from him at the shop three days after their first meeting.
I've something to
show you,' he said without preamble. ' Hop in a taxi and come over.'
' I can't. I'm working.'
'This is important, Lucy. Tell the manager your aunt's dying or something! But come over at once.'
'What for?'
' To see some photographs. They might be the proof you're looking for.'
With a shaking hand she replaced the receiver and hurried to find the manager. He did not find it difficult to believe her stammering excuse that a relative had been suddenly taken ill, for excitement had robbed her face of all colour and her body was shaking so much that she could hardly manage to stand upright.
' Would you like one of the girls to go with you?' he asked kindly.
' No, no,' Lucy said. ' I'll be able to manage.'
Wishing she had not needed to lie to him, she left the shop and, hailing a taxi, gave the driver Barry's address. What photographs could he have that would help to prove her innocence? The question hammered in her brain with urgent insistence and she leaned forward and pulled back the glass behind the cab driver's head.
' Hurry, please I' she begged him. ' Hurry!'
CHAPTER XIII
When Lucy reached the black-painted door of Barry's studio flat, he was waiting for her on the threshold.
' Good!' he said abruptly. ' Come and look at these.'
He led the way across the lounge and into his studio. All the lamps were on, casting a bright glow over the white walls and painted backings. At the far end a trestle table was set up next to a radiogram, and on it were a set of glossy prints still gleaming wet from the developing tray.
' Look at these,' he ordered.
Gingerly she peered at them, unable to restrain a murmur of pleasure at the superb shots of Paris, Vienna and New York.
' Not that side of the table,' Barry said impatiently. ' Over here!'
She moved to where he was standing and looked down at a row of pictures of London. St James's Park, the bustle of Soho, the rough crowds in Petticoat Lane, the quiet elegance of a Mayfair back-street all jostled each other in absurd juxtaposition.
'They're wonderful,' she breathed.
' I didn't get you here to show you what a marvellous photographer I am' he burst out. ' I wanted you to look at this.'
Rachel Lindsay - Love and Lucy Granger Page 17
