Country Cousin

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  ‘I have no wish for us to appear any sillier than we already do,’ she responded icily.

  ‘Good. Then in we go,’ said Edward, adding a sardonic aside: ‘and mind you blush happily, my love!’ as he pushed open the door.

  ‘Are you tired?’ Edward’s voice broke the silence between them.

  Eleanor, laying her aching head back against the seat, replied ‘a little’ in an uninterested voice, hoping to quell further conversation, and to underline her feelings, she turned to gaze out of the side window. The Jensen sped swiftly along the almost deserted streets, the smooth note of the engine changing slightly as Edward slowed for a corner. The night was particularly black, and cold, with low hanging clouds. Although it was warm in the Jensen, Eleanor felt frozen, in mind and body. Her face, as well as her head, ached—ached with the effort of smiling so much. Smiling! When that was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Edward began to hum tunelessly beneath his breath and she moved her head to look at him, wishing she could know what he was thinking. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to cause him much concern. He was driving with his customary ease, the collar of his coat upturned, hands firm on the steering wheel, gaze impassive on the road ahead.

  She felt a quick stab of resentment and closed her eyes, taking the image of his profile with her. No doubt, in time, the last two hours would fade away, diminish, so that it could be looked back upon as part of a crazy dreamy a foolish memory. No doubt, in time.

  ‘Things seemed to go well,’ observed Edward.

  ‘Yes.’

  Eleanor purposefully remained with her eyes closed to discourage talk. Most of her troubled thoughts were of her own making. As Edward said, it had gone well—too well, showing her how it would have been had the engagement been authentic. Thinking how people would react in no way related to living through it. Thinking could not compare to feeling, and for her, what they were doing made a mockery of everything, and she hated herself. But once they had begun there was no going back:

  Edward, as might be expected, had given a superb performance—beautifully controlled and in character, wearing the slightly whimsical air of a man renowned for his cynical views on marriage, finally succumbing. It was here in her thinking that Eleanor admitted the enormity of their deception in relation to him. No wonder, initially, he had been so angry, but no one would have known his true feelings as they circulated among friends and relatives, receiving their congratulations. Even Eleanor’s outraged feelings had been lulled and smoothed. There was a point during the evening when Edward pulled her close in his arms for a slow, dreamy waltz. Her head fell naturally upon his shoulder, the lapel of his jacket smooth to her cheek. Their steps became smaller and smaller and his hand stroked the back of her neck gently, soothingly. When the music stopped she lifted her head and smiled dreamily. It was the cynical gleam in Edward’s eyes that brought her back to her surroundings, that and the awareness of how close they were standing together, how thin her dress was, the very intimacy of contact bringing a disturbing vulnerability, and Edward looking down at her with a curious expression on his face.

  ‘No need to overdo it,’ he murmured.

  Eleanor peeled herself from him. ‘I was pretending you were someone else,’ she said coldly, between smiling lips, and was rewarded by his sardonic smile.

  Remembering this episode she wondered bleakly, was it so easy, then, to learn to say hateful things? and blinked away a stupid tear that threatened to spill over, giving herself a mental shake. Okay, so you’re out of your depth, she told herself sternly, then you’ll just have to learn to swim.

  She gathered together her resources and said in a controlled voice:

  ‘You needn’t have brought me home, Edward, I could have gone with your parents,’ but even as she said it, she knew she could not have borne their delight. At least with Edward she didn’t have to pretend.

  ‘Have you no soul, no imagination? That wouldn’t have done at all,’ Edward answered coolly. ‘We shall be expected to arrive home much later than the others, having stopped on the way to talk—as lovers are apt to do, among other things,’ and suiting action to words, he pulled into a quiet side-road and slowed to a halt. When the engine note died and the lights were dowsed, he turned a mocking face to her. ‘We mustn’t disappoint them.’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘What do we talk about?’ she asked indifferently, pulling her coat more securely round her, not liking his nearness, nor the meaning of his words.

  Edward swivelled in his seat so that he could look comfortably at her, one arm on the steering wheel, the other on the back of his seat, leaning his body lazily against the interior of the door. His teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness.

  ‘You’re being deliberately obtuse, Eleanor,’ he replied equably. ‘Surely you can guess at the form? For instance, we can say how surprised Hugh was, did you notice? or we can reflect on how disappointed my young and handsome cousins were that you had been plucked right beneath their noses. We can laughingly amuse ourselves with the thought that my dear mama already sees herself a proud grandmother, cooing over a baby or two. There’s endless things we can talk about. And we end up by saying, rather smugly I fear, that apart from the outsmarted cousins, everyone seemed very pleased.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ said Eleanor flatly, and then wished she’d held her tongue. Edward raised a brow.

  ‘Oh? Who wasn’t?’

  She moved restlessly beneath his probing look and replied shortly: ‘Your girl-friend, Felicity.’

  There was silence for a few seconds and then he said evenly: ‘Why do you say that?’

  She shrugged again. ‘I just had that impression.’ Some impression! she thought grimly, remembering the fury in the green eyes as Felicity took the chance to whisper: ‘Don’t think you’ll be able to hold him with your stupid, old-fashioned innocence, because you won’t—he’ll soon tire of you!’ Eleanor had felt like saying that she fully agreed.

  ‘There’s no need for you to worry about Felicity.’

  ‘I have no intention of doing so,’ she said, ‘I’ll leave that to you, but don’t forget our bargain of silence,’ and she deliberately turned her shoulder to him and gazed steadily out of the window.

  After a moment Edward asked casually: ‘What are you thinking?’

  With an effort she moved her head, the smell and feel of the leather seat close to her cheek. ‘I was thinking how well you took your part,’ she answered, ‘and how painstaking you are to follow it through.’

  If Edward noticed the edge of bitterness in this last remark he did not comment on it, and that was as well, for Eleanor could not have justified the bitterness. He said musingly:

  ‘As a boy I came into contact with a very good drama teacher at school, who roped me into a play and gave me my first taste of acting, which interested me right through university. I remember this teacher telling us that to be a successful actor you had to think further than the words and action written down, that the mind and body needed to be submerged completely into that of the person portrayed, until you knew exactly how he would react in any situation. My ambitions in that direction faded, but his advice didn’t.’

  ‘How cold-blooded and efficient you are, Edward. Don’t you ever allow yourself the luxury of an unpremeditated act?’

  ‘Not often,’ he answered, ‘and whenever I do, I mostly live to regret it—hence the mess we’re in now.’ He watched the tinge of red flush her cheeks and added consideringly: ‘You didn’t give such a bad performance yourself, Eleanor, allowing for the fact that you’d had no rehearsals. It was a most praiseworthy effort ... sweet young girl, basking in the glory of getting her man—the tremulous smile, the maidenly blush, the downward, shy curve of eyelash—all very commendable.’

  He was too near the truth for comfort and it frightened her. Not the cynical observations, but the way, once her initial anger had dissipated, she had slipped so easily into her part, the extraordinary blissful sensation of being part of Edward—a loving Edward. Such
feelings were lunatic and incomprehensible.

  She swallowed hard. ‘May we go now, please?’ She felt rather than saw him glance at his watch.

  ‘I think we may.’ Reaching for the keys, he paused. ‘Ah! Here’s the snow, I thought it would come.’

  Eleanor opened her eyes and watched the windscreen becoming more and more spotted with thick white flakes until it was gradually covered over with a translucent layer. She sat up, suddenly stirred.

  ‘Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas? How lovely if we do—Dodie will be so thrilled!’ She turned to him. ‘It’s ages since we’ve had snow at Christmas, isn’t it? There’s a hill at the back of the Rectory that’s just right for sledging.’ She peered into the darkness. ‘Do you think it’s settling?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ commented Edward absently, ‘and according to the forecasts, the North has already been hit, so Dorothea will be able to sledge.’ He was staring at her and making no move to start the engine. ‘Would you like to go home for Christmas, Eleanor?’

  ‘Go home?’ she repeated stupidly, after a stunned silence.

  ‘Yes. You miss them, don’t you? If you want to go. I’ll take you.’

  Home! Suddenly, home was the one place she wanted desperately to be. All the familiar faces came instantly into her mind’s eye, becoming immediately more dear and precious, and a longing for their warmth and love swept over her, leaving her physically shaken. There was a huge ache in the back of her throat and she could barely answer. .

  ‘It’s very kind of you to suggest it, but ... no, thank you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It ... it would be better if I didn’t,’ she managed, and turned her head away, blinking rapidly. She almost jumped out of her seat as his hands touched her, forcing her round to face him.

  ‘You want to go,’ he said brusquely, searching her face, and then giving an exasperated sigh, added: ‘If it’s my presence that stops you, then go alone.’

  ‘That would make it worse.’

  ‘Really? I rather imagined that you disliked my company.’

  She pulled away from him and said angrily: ‘Oh, you’re being obtuse now, Edward! We’re supposed to be in love, remember? My parents would think it most odd if I went home alone, and if we went together...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be long before they knew something was wrong.’

  Edward switched on the engine and it sprang to life. Without speaking he flicked the wiper switch and as the headlights burst through the darkness, snowflakes could be seen, hurtling to the ground. With deliberation he engaged gear and edged the Jensen away, gradually gaining speed. After a while he said:

  ‘You really aren’t cut out for this sort of charade, are you? My dear girl, people are getting in and out of engagements all the time these days.’

  ‘But not you. As you said earlier, this is no watery emotion—those were your words. Doesn’t that make nonsense of what you’ve just said?’

  ‘Perhaps, but mistakes have been known to happen, and even hard-bitten bachelors and innocent parsons’ daughters make them. For goodness’ sake, stop eating your heart out for other people! Your parents and mine will soon get over it—yours certainly, you’ll soon provide them with the genuine article.’ He gave her a quick glance. ‘Well, if you won’t go, you won’t. I suppose it would be asking too much at this early stage. Later you’ll no doubt be more used to the idea and able to be blasé about it.’

  ‘I thought we were going to break it off as soon as we could?’ exclaimed Eleanor in alarm.

  He looked pointedly at the dash clock. ‘We’ve been engaged exactly one hundred and thirty-three minutes, Eleanor. I think we shall have to allow a little more time to elapse before we do that.’ He took his left hand from the wheel and placed it over her own, staying them from turning the evening bag over and over in her lap. ‘I quite realise that the whole thing is abhorrent to you, but you’re not the only one who suffers. You’ll just have to be patient.’ When he felt her hands relax he took his own away.

  ‘How can you take it all so calmly, Edward?’ she asked.

  ‘I know initially you were angry, but now you seem so matter-of-fact.’

  ‘That’s the difference between us, my dear. You’re a romantic and I’m a realist. I was angry, I don’t like being fooled, but what’s done is done and we might just as well resign ourselves to seeing the thing through, with the minimum amount of fuss. You’ll come out of it better if you can think that way too.’

  Nothing more was spoken between them until they reached the house.

  ‘You’ll have to ring your parents tomorrow,’ Edward said thoughtfully, ‘and it won’t be an easy thing for you to do, I’m afraid.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps you’ll be able to piece together the whys and wherefores—not that it matters now, but it would be interesting to know.’ He heaved open the door and ran round the car, snow settling starkly on his dark overcoat and hair. He opened the passenger door and helped her out and through the snow into the house, half carrying her up the steps to save her evening shoes from becoming wet. Everywhere was silent and in darkness.

  ‘Goodnight, Eleanor.’ Edward contemplated her gravely, brushing some flakes from her hair, and lifting her face to his, so that she had to look at him. ‘Try and sleep. Things won’t seem half so bad in the morning.’ He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist gently, and then turned on his heel and was gone.

  Eleanor went slowly up the stairs, undressed and made ready for bed, purposefully keeping her mind a blank, but the minute she collapsed between the sheets her thoughts ran riot over the events of the evening. Only when the sky began to gradually lighten, did she fall into an exhausted sleep.

  Eleanor left the telephone call to the Rectory until after lunch. She steeled herself for the happy congratulations and gave a creditable account of herself, asking some pertinent questions in return, and by the time Edward returned later in the day, she had worked out some idea of what had happened. She was giving Henry, the tortoise-shell cat, some milk, when he came in with Sykes at his heels.

  ‘Hullo, Edward,’ she said quickly, hardly looking at him. ‘Henry’s so much better, don’t you think? His fur is improving daily and he’s much fatter,’ and she concentrated on pouring the top off the milk.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ remarked Edward dryly, ‘the amount of food you give him. I bet he hasn’t thought of a mouse for days.’ He took in her pale face and smudged eyes, but didn’t comment.

  ‘He’s always hungry,’ murmured Eleanor, stroking the cat, who was rumbling with a self-satisfied purr. ‘And everyone thrives on a bit of love,’ she added firmly. She followed Edward into the office and began a stumbling explanation of her telephone call home, which he broke into.

  ‘Come up to the flat, we’ll be more private. Ron can take over in here.’ Once upstairs, he threw off his jacket and loosened his tie, saying: ‘Do you mind if I get out of these first? Make a pot of tea, there’s a good girl, and by then I’ll have showered and changed.’ He walked swiftly through to the main bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, and while Eleanor foraged in the unfamiliar kitchen for the tea things, she could hear him moving about, hear the noises of a drawer opening and shutting, the splashing of the shower—all homely, ordinary sounds, giving her a glimpse of Edward in his own environment which was oddly comforting. As she waited for the kettle to boil the telephone rang. The sounds from the bathroom made it obvious that Edward could not hear it, and Eleanor answered it after some indecision. She was just about to give the number when a female voice said tersely:

  ‘Edward, I must speak with you.’

  It was Felicity, there was no mistaking the voice. Eleanor was aware of a sharp stab of shock and then said quietly: ‘I’m sorry, Edward is in the shower at the moment, can I, take a message, or have him ring you back?’ Afterwards she realised how provocative the words were, but there was nothing she could do about it, it was, after all, the truth.

&nb
sp; There was a distinct intake of breath and then the line went dead.

  Eleanor slowly replaced the receiver and went back into the kitchen. As she carried the tray into the room, Edward came through, hair wet, skin glowing. He draped his jacket round the back of a chair and began to fix his watch-strap.

  ‘Edward. There was a phone call while you were taking a shower.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘I ... think it was Felicity, but she put the phone down ... when she knew ... when I answered it.’

  His actions froze for an instant and a shutter came down over his face, and then the moment passed and he was saying easily:

  ‘I intended ringing her today. I’ll do it later.’ He sank into an armchair and Sykes followed and sat heavily on his feet. ‘Now, how did your call home go?’ He lifted a brow. ‘Was it as bad as you expected?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Eleanor, pouring out the tea.

  ‘You don’t sound too sure. Never mind, you’re over the worst hurdle. Thank you.’ He accepted his cup of tea. ‘What did you find out?’

  Eleanor took her own cup over to the window, her back to him, and sat on the chair there, looking pensively out. She made herself talk slowly, but still stumbled over the words which had seemed relatively easy back there in the kitchen as she had rehearsed them.

  ‘I found out enough to know that it wasn’t any one person or thing, rather a series of events, almost an inevitability about the whole thing. Of course, the beginning was Kate, nothing can alter that, and the fact that the Slades know your family—we should have done something, there and then, with Margot, we really should have, Edward.’