by Susan Barrie
Eve looked up at her in some astonishment.
“What about?' she asked. “Not Treloan, I hope, because I'm not desperately interested in running an hotel to-night.” “No, darling, not about Treloan. At least, not directly. Indirectly, of course, it concerns it.”
Eve’s eyes opened wider. She tried to snatch herself away from the mesmeric influence of the past few hours.
“You sound very mysterious,” she said. “Don't tell me you, too, have had about enough?”
“Well, not enough in fact, I’ve quite enjoyed myself. But.” “You want to go back and live in Surrey?”
“Not Surrey—Twickenham!” Aunt Kate astounded her by replying simply.
Eve sat bolt upright in her chair, and suddenly it was no effort to forget the events of this most unusual day, one of the highlights of which had been tea at the Stark Point Hotel. Aunt Kate was still standing in front of her, and Eve put out her hands and thrust her down gently once more into her chair, so that she subsided with a faint creaking of upholstery and a look on her face that was almost laughably apologetic.
“I can’t bear you standing in front of me,” Eve told her, “and breaking shattering news to me. You’re going to marry Dr. Craig, aren’t you?”
Aunt Kate opened her mouth as if to pour forth voluble apologies, but her niece cut her short.
“And why not?” she demanded. “Why shouldn’t you marry Dr. Craig? I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before one or other of you made an announcement that afternoon when you showed me the pyjamas you had bought for him, and when you admitted that you liked fussing over him. And although you tried to deny it when I teased you . . . You did, didn’t you? Why, I wonder? Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“Well, for one thing, I hadn’t quite made up my mind,” Aunt Kate admitted, “and for another, I wasn’t in the least certain how you would take it.”
“You silly old thing!” Eve chided her. “Of course I’m delighted.”
“Are you?” Miss Barton looked definitely relieved. “But what about Treloan, and all the help I’ve more or less sworn to give you? How will you manage without my assistance? Although I know it’s not anything to write home about. But at the moment you can't afford to employ anyone else, and although I know you’ve got Chris, she can only stick to her own department. If it would make things easier for you, I won’t think about getting married for another year.”
“Nonsense!” Eve exclaimed briskly. “As if I’d allow you to sacrifice yourself.”
“But it wouldn’t be a sacrifice—or not exactly, and I won’t think about getting married for another year.” “John”—she colored quite delicately as she mentioned his name—”John would understand. He realizes what an uphill task there lies ahead of you, and it would hardly be fair for me to tell you to carry on alone, when it was largely through me that you decided to run Treloan as an hotel at all.”
“It was only partly through you,” Eve reminded her. “The other reason was to spite Commander Merlin!”
Her aunt looked at her curiously. Eve had something in her face which she did not quite like—a kind of twisted, forced defiance which would seem to indicate that she was not particularly happy about something at the moment, although she had come in only a short while ago looking positively radiant. Then what had caused the change in her? Her own rather tactless question as to when the Commander had arranged to see her again?
Was it possible that the Commander had said nothing at all about seeing him again, after she had given up an entire afternoon and evening to him, and wore an expression in her eyes which gave away plainly to her sole remaining close relative that she,at least, was very ready and willing to see him again, despite the fact that she had once declared she detested him?
Violent dislike is so often the forerunner of something entirely the opposite, Aunt Kate reflected, especially when it is dislike formed by a young and attractive woman for a forceful and magnetic and demanding male! A male with the somewhat intriguing personality of Roger Merlin, with his dark good looks and brilliant eyes, and his ability to make a success of his life.
“I've been thinking,” Eve confessed, while Miss Barton studied
her, “that trying to run Treloan as an hotel is a mistake, and that it will become a much more serious mistake if I persist in it. And now that you’ve decided to marry Dr. Craig, why shouldn’t I give up the idea entirely, and sell out? I could always find a buyer.” “Who?” Aunt Kate asked.
“Oh, possibly Commander Merlin. I think he still wants it.” “And what will you do then, once you’ve sold out?”
Eve lifted her shoulders lightly.
“I might try seeing something of that world. I could go for one of those romantic round-the-world cruises, taking Chris with me as a companion. The money I’d get for Treloan and its contents would easily make that possible.”
“And after that?” Kate persisted.
Again the little shrug.
“Oh, I don’t know. But I suppose I’d settle somewhere— perhaps a flat in London. London’s a good place to settle in when you’re not quite sure what to do with your life.”
“Don’t be silly!” Aunt Kate reproved her crisply. “You know very well that you love Treloan, and I’m quite sure that you wouldn’t be happy away from it if you were ever unwise enough to give it up—especially to Commander Merlin. And even he would think that you were behaving weakly.”
“Does it very much matter what he thinks?” Eve inquired, with a tiny, bleak smile on her lips.
“Well, as to that, I don’t know! But one thing I do know is that you must carry on here, and if you won’t promise me that you will carry on here, despite possible difficulties, I shall decline to get married. And if I go to
my grave a lonely old spinster it will be entirely your fault, and when you're a lonely old spinster yourself you’ll think how unwise you were.”
Eve couldn't help laughing.
“And what about Dr. Craig? Is he to go to his grave a lonely old bachelor, too?”
“If you’re going to be difficult, certainly!”
Eve got up and gave her an all-enveloping hug.
“You win!” she exclaimed. “You know very well that I’m dying to be a bridesmaid at your wedding; but if I become bankrupt after a year or so of trying to do something impossible with Treloan, I hope you'll take your proper share of the blame.”
“More than that,” Aunt Kate answered. “You can come and live with me at Twickenham. And John asked me to assure you that his home will always be your home if you ever need it. So don’t forget that!”
Eve was quite touched.
“Did he?” she said. “How sweet of him! And how nice,” she added, “to think that you’re marrying a really nice man!’’
C H A P T E R T W E N T Y
THE wedding took place in September—a golden September which almost outdid the splendor of that really perfect summer. For it had been extraordinarily free from any prolonged spell of either rain or mist, for both of which the West Country is famous, and which makes its grass so green and luxuriant, and causes its spring flowers to appear weeks ahead of spring flowers in any other part of the country.
Because it had been such a dry summer the leaves turned quickly on the trees, and the gardens of Treloan seemed to blaze with the hues of early autumn. But the roses which had filled the air with sweetness all summer were as magnificent as ever, and it was roses which decorated the huge table in the dining-room for the wedding-breakfast which followed the simple ceremony in the village church which united Miss Kathleen Mary Barton and Dr. John Edward Craig.
This time Chris had not attempted to make the cake. It had been ordered and created in London, and delivered in time for the Great Day. And in all its magnificence of virginal white and silver, with some real orange blossom cascading from a fluted vase and trailing down the sides of it, it stood in the middle of the table and was the cynosure of all eyes when the party returned from the church.
&nb
sp; That is to say, next to the new Mrs. Craig herself, who was so flustered by the turn of events that it did not need a glass of champagne at the breakfast to confuse her still further. But her eyes shone determinedly all the same, and the sparkle in them was the undoubted sparkle of happiness. Looking at her Eve thought she looked nicer than she had probably ever looked in her life before, for even in her young days Aunt Kate could never have been a beauty.
But today Aunt Kate had certainly discovered something; whether it was a new poise, or a new dignity, or merely the effect of the Cornish air on her rather-more-cared-for- these-days complexion. And her lavender-blue two-piece was so absolutely right for her, and her little hat with the wisp of veiling lent her quite a coquettish appearance. Certainly Dr. Craig seemed more than satisfied with the way she looked, and she could scarcely believe that this sprucely- turned-out old gentleman in the new grey suit, with carefully trimmed moustache, had actually become her husband. Her husband!
“I can’t believe it, my dear!” she said to Eve, when the toasts were over and the laughter and good wishes had died down temporarily, and they were alone together in the room which was no longer her own room at the cottage. She looked around it, with its dainty dimity curtains, and the dressing-table standing in a petticoat of net over a pink taffeta underskirt. It even had a telephone beside the bed, a thing she had never had in her life before. “And I can’t believe that I shan't be sleeping in this room tonight! Oh, Eve, my pet, I really do hate leaving you!”
“Don't be silly!” Eve said briskly, because she was feeling far from brisk herself, and she was going to miss Aunt Kate more than she would certainly ever have confessed to Aunt Kate herself. In fact, she dreaded the thought of saying goodbye to her. She wished her all the happiness in the world, but she wished also that she and Dr. Craig had not decided on Italy for a honeymoon. Italy was wonderful, but it was a long way from Cornwall! “Think what a marvellous time you'll have drifting down the Grand Canal in a gondola, and how you’ll simply love being serenaded by one of those romantic-looking gondoliers! And take a look at St. Mark’s for me— and don’t die when you see Naples! But send me masses of picture post-cards. And remember spaghetti is fattening! ”
“Don't worry, darling,” Aunt Kate replied, with a faint sigh in the words. “I’ve never been in the least fond of spaghetti. I always think it's rather revolting to see Italians trying to push it into their mouths with a fork.”
“But at least they do know how to eat it, which we don't!” “Well, John won’t let me eat it, because I’m quite sure he would hate to see my waistline increasing, and, as a matter of fact, I’m going in seriously for slimming exercises when I get back.” She looked for a moment, fondly,
at her niece. ‘'Darling, you look so nice in that dress.” It was rather more of a delphinium-blue than her own, and soft and filmy-looking, with a finely pleated georgette skirt, and a neat, swathed bodice. Into the bodice were tucked two yellow tea-roses, which had, been extracted from the bouquet she had carried as Aunt Kate’s one attendant in the church, and on her arresting hair was a kind of blown leaf of a hat constructed of honey-colored velvet ornamented with a solitary black velvet marguerite. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look nicer.”
“Thank you,” Eve replied, smiling. “And that goes for you, too, if it's any boost to your morale.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, it is,” Aunt Kate admitted. “Although I don’t suppose many people look their worst on their wedding-day.” She wandered round the room, collecting her gloves, and turning the key in her dressing-case. “I do think it was a pity our nearest neighbor wasn’t able to be present at my wedding.”
“Our nearest neighbor? Oh,” Eve broke off to exclaim, “you mean—Commander Merlin?”
“Yes; and that little French girl who trails around after him.” She gave Eve an apparently casual glance. “She would have been fun, in something quite startling for the occasion, I expect.”
“I imagine she must have persuaded Commander Merlin to take her with him to Switzerland,” Eve said rather quietly. “I haven’t seen anything of her for weeks.”
“Or him?”
“No.”
“And he’s not the kind of man who writes letters— except business letters!” She gave Eve another look, and then dumped her dressing-case beside the piled-up suitcases near the door. “There! That’s everything, I think!” She moved over and took the girl tightly into her arms. “Goodbye, my dear! And God bless you!”
“God bless you”Eve answered in a slightly muffled voice. “You’re sure you won’t marry Martin Pope if he asks you?” “No,” with a half-smothered laugh. “Not even if he asks me!” “Oh, well. . . !” The new Mrs. John Edward Craig took another hasty glance at herself in the mirror, and then decided that it was time they went downstairs.
The final farewells were soon over, and the car that was carrying the newlyweds to the railway station in Truro disappeared down the drive. Mrs. Neville Wilmott, who had been slightly bored by the ceremony, but appreciated the champagne, went indoors to change, after having announced that she would be dining that night at the Stark Point.
“At least it’s a little more lively than this place,” she remarked rather pointedly to Eve, “even if Commander Merlin is still away. And, as a matter of fact, I've been thinking that I’ll spend a week or so there before it closes down for the winter. And after that I may go to Italy, or at least somewhere where I can be sure of some sunshine.” She had decided that there was little hope of Martin Pope offering her another cruise in his yacht, and treated him somewhat distantly these days.
As soon as she could do so, after assisting Chris and the extra staff engaged solely for the wedding to clear up some of the mess in the dining-room, Eve made her escape from the house, and because she was not in the least anxious to enter into conversation with anyone just then, wandered as far away from it as possible. Her favorite haunt, on occasions such as this, was the cliff-top, for there she was always sure of a breeze when the weather was warm, and there she could look out over the sea, and derive curious consolation from the thought of its immensity, as a result of which she so often felt soothed, and the greyness of her outlook received a brighter edge.
But today not even the sea could do much to affect that hollow, lonely feeling inside her. It was a kind of spreading loneliness, and it frightened her a little. Aunt Kate was gone— and not only was she gone from Treloan, she was married! And marriage altered people! Marriage made violent demands and claims upon those who decided to forsake the state of single blessedness, and a husband whose digestive arrangements were not altogether up to standard, and who was helpless about such matters as choosing his own clothes and taking ordinary elementary precautions when he got his feet wet, would surely prove a more demanding one than most. Dr. Craig had his charming side, as Aunt Kate must have discovered, but now that he also had Aunt Kate how much time would she now have to her niece? And a niece who did not even live in Twickenham, but had elected to bury herself in a far-off corner of Cornwall!
Eve thought of their cosy evenings in the cottage and Aunt Kate’s unfailing good-humor, and the heartening something about her which was like a bulwark to lean against. And she even thought of Sarah, waddling about the place in her over-fed manner, and she knew that she was going to miss her, too, although for the present Sarah had been left behind, because she might have been a little awkward on a honeymoon.
There was Chris, of course. Chris, too, was brisk and heartening, but she was not Aunt Kate. And although she had consented to come and share the loneliness of the cottage with Eve, she would not make quite such a good companion.
Suddenly Eve wished that she was on her way to London. She wished that she had never seen Cornwall, or Treloan. Her eyes fixed themselves upon that far corner of the bay where the windows of the Stark Point Hotel shone in the evening light. She wished, above all things, that she had never met a man who called himself Roger Merlin, and who had turned her life complet
ely upside-down because his eyes had the power to melt her bones, and even the most acid tones of his voice beguiled her as the song of a siren had once beguiled the ancient mariners. He had laid some sort of a spell on her. And yet, why? When he was not even interested in her!
Where was he now, she wondered? Having such a nice time in Switzerland with Annette that he couldn’t bear to leave it!
She drew a deep breath, and felt a tear of sheer self pity and loneliness roll down her cheek. And just as it did so, footsteps sounded on the path behind her, and a masculine voice said, when its owner drew level with her:
“I thought I might find you here.” As she refused to turn, he bent his head a little and looked down at her, and
then offered her his handkerchief, which was crisp and immaculate and of very fine linen. “Have this,” he said more gently.
“Thank you.” She snatched at the handkerchief and buried her face in it. To her absolute horror the tears fell faster than ever, and not all the will-power she summoned to her aid to stem their rush did anything at all to abate them until her once delicately powdered nose was red and shiny, and her eyelids looked as if she wore red-rimmed glasses.
She was so shocked at herself that she could only stammer out her concern:
“I never knew anyone so idiotic! I’m so s-sorry! . . .” “Well, don’t be,” Martin Pope said, in his nice, warm, comforting masculine tones. “Don’t be.”
“It must be the ch-champagne!” She endeavored to excuse herself. “I’m not really used to it, and it does have a maudlin effect on some people.”
“Well, it hasn’t ever had that effect upon me,” he replied, with a smile in his eyes, “and I don’t think it has upon you, either. I think you’re a little over-tired, and, perhaps, overwrought.”
She was not prepared to dispute this, and she allowed him to take her arm and lead her back along the cliff path until they came to a secluded seat in a comer of the garden. It was shut in by the high azalea hedges that had flamed in the spring, but now they were merely green and cool, and the scents from the near-by sunken rose-garden reached them. The shadows of late afternoon fell softly across them, and the distant murmur of the sea formed a background as soothing as a lullaby to the consoling little speech he made to her.
