“Really?” Bert changed his tone a little. He had taken Bertha’s measure and thought it safe now to temper respectfulness with geniality. “ That’s funny, that is. Because that was the very thing I wanted to see him about.”
“The Ramblers?”
“That’s right. Quite a coincidence.”
“Are you wanting to join, Mr.…?”
“Vines. Bert Vines. As for joining, yes, well, I thought I’d like to make inquiries, seeing Mr. Bates is the secretary.”
“He’s the president too,” said Bertha. “ And the founder, as a matter of fact.”
She looked at Bert Vines with new eyes. Harold was keen on the Rambling, believing it to be Good for People ; and she knew there was a shortage of young men. She wondered whether she should ask young Vines in for a moment; because one didn’t ought to be snobbish, did one?
“It was Miss Elver put me on to it,” remarked Bert, cautiously angling.
A gleam of excited interest showed in Bertha’s eyes. “ Lily Elver?”
“That’s her, yes.”
“Do you know her?” Bertha asked. Lily’s confidences, still very fresh in her mind, had been painfully indefinite on certain points. Was it possible that this young fellow…? “ I mean,” she amended, “ do you know her well?”
“Pretty well,” admitted Bert. He looked shy and interesting. “ One way and another, we’ve seen a good deal of each other, Lil and me.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know.”
“She told me she knew you, Mrs. Bates,” Bert confided. “ You’ve been very good to her, I believe. She needs friends, that girl.”
If this was the man in the case, thought Bertha, he’d got a pretty cool nerve, she must say.
“1 don’t know what you mean, I’m sure,” she said carefully. “ But some people”—her voice swelled—“ought to be ashamed of themselves.” Seeing his perplexed smile she added darkly : “ Treating a girl like that.”
“Like what. Mrs. Bates?” Bert asked quickly. “ And who?”
“ I expect you know more about that than I do,” said Bertha. But her truculence was not quite sincere, for she began to fear that she had made a mistake. “ Anyhow, I can’t stand here talking, Ramblers or no Ramblers.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” said Bert, “ but I wish…”
“Mr. Bates will be home at eight o’clock,” said Bertha firmly, “ if you care to call back about then.” Making no secret of her intention to shut the door against him, she buttered the incivility with a smile. “ Better make it half-past, to be on the safe side.” I’m too impulsive, she said to herself. I get it from Ma. Hope I haven’t said too much.
She had not said too much. She had said just enough : just enough to confirm a suspicion and strengthen a resolve in Bert. He was still in some doubt how to proceed, but his objective was clear enough, and when, on his way to call on Lily, he caught sight of Lily herself disappearing into the underground station, the temptation to begin work here and now was more than he could resist. He did not like what he was doing, and he knew he wouldn’t like what she would say if she caught him at it. Moreover, he was taking a chance that might lead to nothing.
So, for that matter, was Lily herself. After a series of visits to Mrs. Parzloe, Lily was on her way to see Adam Swinford. She had reason to believe that something decisive would happen before the day was out; and it suited her notion of justice that Adam should be given A Last Chance. Up till now, she reflected, he had had scarcely any chance to show for certain whether he was as good as she tried to hope or as bad as she feared ; for though lavish of hints, she had told him nothing explicit, since that day, back in the spring, when he had sounded the first alarm and been playfully snubbed for it.
Flushed, and beginning to be frightened, she took her seat in the train, leaping back with shut eyes and thinking how nice it would have been to be taken real care of by someone rand to have the baby after all, poor little thing, because someone wanted it. Somewhere, someone, dreaming and scheming for me. But this Someone did not mean Just Anyone. It did not, for example, mean Bert Vines, who stood strap-hanging within ten yards of her, keeping his face turned away (except at stations), and hoping, for the first time in his life, that Lily would not catch sight of him.
§ 7
Adam’s device for getting himself invited to Radnage succeeded, but not so quickly as he had imagined it would. Dr. Hinksey’s answer did not arrive till twelve days after the posting of Adam’s letter, and when it did arrive it was found to contain no invitation. Adam was obliged, therefore, to continue the correspondence to the point at which an invitation became unavoidable on Hinksey’s part. He liked old Hinksey none the better for putting him to this trouble, but was prepared to take him back into favour if the visit should yield the desired result. It occurred to him, as a passing thought, that Mary might possibly be away for that particular week-end ; but he refused to consider the possibility seriously. Her image was by now extremely dim in his memory ; he could not, in fact, have undertaken to recognize her had she appeared in an unlikely setting ; but he remembered the effect on her, and he had just enough curiosity left to make him persist in an enterprise which might yet, as he felt in moments of irritation, prove to have been more trouble than it was worth.
Dr. Hinksey’s invitation, arriving on a Saturday morning, had not been in Adam’s possession for many hours when he received an unexpected visit from a young woman whom he had no present desire to sec, though he had not yet made up his mind to be rid of her altogether. - It was the first time Lily had come to see him without his being consulted : there was an understanding, which amounted to a rule, that she should telephone first. The telephoning was a cumbersome process, because, as there was no connexion to his apartment, it meant his being disturbed by one of the hall porters in person, who would then switch the call through to the general call-box on the first floor landing ; but Stevenage (it was generally Stevenage) was a patient fellow, and Adam freely forgave him for the trouble he put him to. Nor did he give much time to wondering what construction Stevenage put upon these visits of Lily’s : his curiosity did not extend to hall porters, though in his irritation at being unexpectedly confronted by Lily he came near to blaming the fellow for letting her pass without challenge. This, as cooler counsels told him, would have been absurd, since Lily must by now have been a familiar sight to Stevenage. Moreover, since each of the hundred and fifty flats in this man-warren was self-contained and independent, it was no part of the porter’s duty to hinder the entry even of strangers, provided they looked presentable : only the poor and needy were turned away, to be hustled back through the revolving door by which they had insolently entered.
Answering the ring at his door, Adam found Lily there, breathless with the exertion of climbing the stone stairway.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” Adam said.
“Right first time. Do you mind if I come in? Those stairs take anyone’s breath away.”
He stood aside to let her pass. “ Why didn’t you let me know?”
“Thanks,” said Lily. “ My word, you are pleased to see me, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am, my dear child.”
“Don’t let your raptures get the better of you, dear.” Lily dropped into a chair. “ You needn’t worry. I’m not staying.”
“My dear Lily, what’s the matter with you today? I only asked a simple question.”
“Yes, didn’t you? Ever so simple. Why didn’t I telephone, so that you could have told Stevenage to say you were out?”
“As a matter of fact, I was just going out.”
“Don’t let me keep you, dear,” said Lily, with calculated impudence. “ I’ll wait.” She rose, feigning to yawn. “ In fact I think I’ll go to bed. You don’t mind, do you?”
These tricks were new to Adam. He supposed she had picked them up from American films, and he forced himself to answer playfully, in the same convention.
“Getting fresh, huh?”
Half-t
urned away from him, she said, with a sudden change of mood : “ Hullo! So she’s come back, has she?” She had just noticed that the bronze Phryne was back in its place.
“Who?” Adam asked.
“Oh, nothing. A friend of mine.”
“You’re very mysterious, darling,” he said, coming ne^r to her, wanting to make peace.
“Am I?” She looked up at him, smiling in her old way. The touch of his hand brought her a moment’s illusion of happiness.
He judged that a kiss would help to keep her ductile, and as he bestowed it he caught himself wondering why he had ever supposed her to be pretty.
“Do you still like me?” she asked, taken off her guard.
“But of course! How can you ask?”
His tone was shocked, his smile deprecating. But this time she was not deceived.
“That is a good job, isn’t it?” she said, sharpening her smile against him. “ Because it looks like I’m going to have a baby, see?”
The remark shook him, but he tried to persuade himself that it was bluff.
“Are you sure?”
“Am I sure!” she said. “ Oh, no, it’s just a fancy.” With no wish to spare his blushes she gave him a list of symptoms. “ Better start saving up for the pram, hadn’t you? You’ve got four or five months yet.”
Adam smiled, but not at what she said. His smile was mechanical : it hid, imperfectly, the beginning of panic.
“But wasn’t that,” he said with a drawl, “ rather careless of you, Lily?”
“You’ve got a nerve, I must say,” she said admiringly.
“And aren’t there… ways and means?” he suggested.
“Yes,” said Lily. “ And I’ve tried them, you bet.” Not for the world would she mention Mrs. Parzloe to him.
He assumed a faraway, considering look. “ I suppose you’ve no idea who the father is, have you?”
She stared at him, ready to be amused. But his “ frozen face made it clear that no banter was intended. Hate flashed out of her eyes, and Adam, hurt to find himself no longer adored, instantly modified his tactics. He didn’t want Lily; in view of her inconvenient-condition he wanted nothing so much as to be rid of her; but it would be uncomfortable, and possibly dangerous, to let her go away nursing bitterness. Adam hated to think of anyone’s disliking him, and a romantic resignation to the inevitable parting was the emotion he designed for Lily.
“Don’t misunderstand me, my dear girl,” he said. “ I’ll help you in any way I can. If it’s money you want, why of course, gladly!” he cooed. “ But one thing I insist on. You must keep me out of it. You must find someone who’ll put things right for you, and I’ll foot the bills like a…” Like a what? Like a gentleman? Like a hero? “ And I’ll,” said Adam, finding no simile worthy of him, “ foot the bill.”
There was silence. And he did not at all like the way Lily was looking at him.
“But,” said Adam, feeling that generosity was thrown away on this young woman, “ my name must be kept right out of it. That’s an absolute condition.”
Lily’s silence was maddening, almost unnerving. It goaded him to further speech.
“Whatever I do I shall do as a friend, you understand. Considering everything, I’m not at all sure what to think about this… misfortune of yours. But so long as you promise me ... so long as it’s clearly understood that I’m not concerned in it, you can depend on me to ask no questions.”
Still Lily said nothing. Her face, which a moment ago had been burning red, was now grey and drawn, and her wide eyes had a tortured look. With some apparent difficulty she got out of her chair and walked carefully to the door.
She opened the door and went out, not turning her head, not saying a word. Bluff? Or something worse? Adam watched her go. He didn’t like the look of things. Was she ill? Was she planning a scene? Keeping his distance he followed her to the stairhead and watched her slow descent. He had been prepared for argument, entreaty, even abuse. But he had not been prepared for this strange stubborn silence. That was the worst of these little pick-ups : you never knew where you were with them. Suppose she takes it into her head to collapse on the stairs!—that would be a pretty fine thing, wouldn’t it?
He had an idea, an inspiration. With a sudden access of self-solicitude he overtook her, seized her arm, and said : “ You’re not well, Lily. You’re tired. I’ll send you home in a taxi.”
He began helping her downstairs, and sighting Stevenage in the hall below he called out briskly : “ Stevenage, get a taxi, will you? As quick as you like.”
If she did think of starting anything, he was ready with his counterstroke. Neat work, he thought. But just below the surface of his mind was a suspicion that he was in danger of liking himself less after this episode than he had done hitherto, and he looked forward to paying a large taxi-fare by way of a pourboire to his self-esteem.
Stevenage, after one startled glance at Lily, dashed into the street and was back again before Adam had had time to miss him.
“All ready, sir. Lady ill, sir?”
Removing her arm from Adam’s grasp, Lily opened her handbag and took out a folded sheet of notepaper.
She said to Stevenage, with a wan smile : “ Give the man this It’s where he’s to take me.”
“Yes, miss,” said Stevenage.
“And this,” said Adam, producing a ten-shilling note.
He held out the note to Stevenage, but it was Lily’s hand that took it. Adam glanced at her with surprise, and with the beginning of gratification. Since she was going to be sensible at last he was almost inclined to forgive her.
“ I’ll take you as far as the taxi,” he said cosily.
Staring at him fixedly, Lily screwed the note into a little ball and dropped it at Adam’s feet. Adam could feel the docile Stevenage watching him with an unaccustomed light in his eyes. And Stevenage, though seeming to look at Adam for instructions, was quick enough to see that Lily was in danger of falling. He put an arm round her and piloted her gently through the revolving door.
“You want a good lie-down, miss : that’s what you want.” Lifting her bodily into the waiting taxi, he unfolded the paper she had given him. “ There you are, mate,” he said to the driver. “ The Women’s Hospital, see? Kerslake Road. And better look lively if you ask me.”
Adam had followed them out, propelled by a new and unpalatable decision. Damned nuisance. Precisely what he had wanted to avoid. But she’d been one too many for him. It’d look bad if she arrived at the hospital alone, like that. It would start tongues wagging. Well, they’d wag enough anyhow.
“I’ll go with her,” said Adam. “ She can’t go alone.”
Stevenage pushed him aside. “ That’s all right, sir. I’m seeing to that.” Even if it means the sack, said Stevenage to himself, as he bent his head to get into the cab.
Bert Vines, watching from the shelter of a shop-door opposite, saw the cab drive off. Scowling thoughtfully, he came across the read, arriving just in time to see Adam Swinford push his way back into Orkney House.
§ 8
Conscious that all his comings and goings were noted, remembered, and resented, David now held himself on a shorter tether. The situation was not to be endured; but endure it he did, and must, until some light from heaven should show him the way out. Three weeks after that night on Bledlow Down, which remained a solitary peak in his life, Mary said to him, on a note hp had not heard in her voice before : “ How much longer are we going on like this?” It was a question he could not answer; and he could not so much as attempt to answer it without mention of Lydia, whom even now he was infinitely reluctant to discuss with another woman, even with Mary, especially with Mary. If ever there was need for decision and resolution it was now. But what could he do? Mary’s hand was in his; they were sitting together in a narrow strip of woodland between two parallel roads, enjoying the music and colour of a July afternoon; and Lydia, he knew, was watching the clock at home, bitterly grudging him every minute of absence. The one
thing clear to David was Lydia’s unalterable resolve never to open her lips on the question of Mary again : she was apparently content to wear her life out, and his, living in bland estrangement in the same house with her husband. What could he do? And what could he say to Mary, in whose sight, he began to fear, his inaction was becoming despicable?
“It’s not so easy, Mary. It’s… Lydia. I’m afraid of what she may do. There’s Paul to think of, you know.”
How lame they sounded, these excuses! How impossible that Mary should understand his indecision!—unless he were to confess flatly that Lydia had outmanoeuvred him by seeming to threaten madness. He had told Mary nothing, except in general terms, of what had happened on his return from Bledlow; he could not, for shame, bring himself to speak of Lydia’s breakfast-table mummery; and he could only hint at his fears for Paul, fears which in daylight seemed somewhat hysterical. He felt that his load of domestic care made him a ridiculous figure, anxious and prudent, instead of the unthinking impetuous lover he wished to appear in Mary’s sight.
“Paul? Why Paul?” Mary asked.
The question chilled him a little. It did not square with his conception of Mary that Paul’s significance in his life had not only escaped her notice but was even, apparently, beyond the scope of her conjecture, so frankly puzzled did she seem. As if in search of an excuse for not answering her, his glance strayed over the sunfreckled scene before him and rested for a moment on Duke, her chestnut mount, who at a little distance, sleek and beautiful, moved with innocent stateliness from tuft to tuft of edible grass, within the circle of his tether. Against the tree to which the horse was fast stood David’s bicycle, the recent purchase of which had created a great stir in Paul’s young breast. Seeing them together, horse and machine, David was suddenly struck by their incongruity, and by a derisive symbolism which he chose to see in the fact that while Mary rode to these lovers’ meetings elegantly, on horseback, he, being the man he was, and unwilling to make himself noticeable and add to Lydia’s wrongs by using the car, must come sweating and puffing on two wheels. Brief and tantalizing their meetings now were. It was a poignant delight for David, at the end of a snatched hour, to see Mary mount her horse and ride gallantly away, with only a wave of the hand and a swift smile for parting. He watched her with the lover’s unique mingling of humility and pride, feeling himself royal in the possession of her, yet wondering that anything so lovely could be his. And every such meeting, every such parting, sharpened the point of the question she had asked him just now : how much longer were they going on like this?
A Man of Forty Page 13
