Ann moved over to the drinks and poured herself out a glass of gin. As she drank it she murmured to herself:
‘How dare he – how dare he … And Laura – she’s against me too. They’re all against me. It isn’t fair … What have I done? Nothing at all …’
Chapter Two
1
The butler who opened the door of 18 Pauncefoot Square looked superciliously at Gerry’s ready-made rough suit.
Then, as his eye was caught by the visitor’s eye, his manner underwent reconsideration.
He would find out, he said, if Mrs Steene was at home.
Shortly afterwards Gerry was ushered into a large dim room full of exotic flowers and pale brocades, and here, after a lapse of some minutes, Sarah Steene came into the room, smiling a greeting.
‘Well, Gerry! How nice of you to look me up. We were snatched away from each other the other night. Drink?’
She fetched him a drink and poured herself one, and then came to sit on a low pouf by the fire. The soft lighting of the room hardly showed her face. She had on some expensive perfume that he did not remember her using.
‘Well, Gerry?’ she said again, lightly.
He smiled back.
‘Well, Sarah?’
Then with a finger touching her shoulder, he said: ‘Practically wearing the zoo, aren’t you?’
She had on an expensive wisp of chiffon trimmed with masses of soft pale fur.
‘Nice!’ Sarah assured him.
‘Yes. You look wonderfully expensive!’
‘Oh, I am. Now, Gerry, tell me the news. You left South Africa and went to Kenya. Since then, I’ve heard nothing at all.’
‘Oh, well. I’ve been rather down on my luck –’
‘Naturally –’
The retort came swiftly.
Gerry demanded:
‘What do you mean – naturally?’
‘Well, luck always was your trouble, wasn’t it?’
Just for a moment it was the old Sarah, teasing, hard-hitting. The beautiful woman with the hard face, the exotic stranger, was gone. It was Sarah, his Sarah, attacking him shrewdly.
And responding in his old manner, he grumbled:
‘One thing after another let me down. First it was the crops that failed – no fault of mine. Then the cattle got disease –’
‘I know. The old, old sad story.’
‘And then, of course, I hadn’t enough capital. If only I’d had capital –’
‘I know – I know.’
‘Well, dash it all, Sarah, it’s not all my fault.’
‘It never is. What have you come back to England for?’
‘As a matter of fact, my aunt died –’
‘Aunt Lena?’ asked Sarah, who was well acquainted with all Gerry’s relatives.
‘Yes. Uncle Luke died two years ago. The old screw never left me a penny –’
‘Wise Uncle Luke.’
‘But Aunt Lena –’
‘Aunt Lena has left you something?’
‘Yes. Ten thousand pounds.’
‘H’m.’ Sarah considered. ‘That’s not so bad – even in these days.’
‘I’m going in with a fellow who’s got a ranch in Canada.’
‘What sort of a fellow? That’s always the point. What about the garage you were starting with another fellow after you left South Africa?’
‘Oh, that petered out. We did quite well to start with, but then we enlarged up a bit, and a slump came –’
‘You needn’t tell me. How familiar the pattern is! Your pattern.’
‘Yes,’ said Gerry. He added simply: ‘You’re quite right, I suppose, I’m not really much good. I still think I’ve had rotten luck – but I suppose I’ve played the fool a bit as well. However, this time is going to be different.’
Sarah said bitingly:
‘I wonder.’
‘Come, Sarah. Don’t you think I’ve learned a lesson?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Sarah. ‘People never do. They go on repeating themselves. What you need, Gerry, is a manager – like film stars and actresses. Someone to be practical and save you from being optimistic at the wrong moment.’
‘You’ve got something there. But really, Sarah, it will be all right this time. I’m going to be damn careful.’
There was a pause and then Gerry said:
‘I went and saw your mother yesterday.’
‘Did you? How nice of you. How was she? Rushing about madly as usual?’
Gerry said slowly: ‘Your mother’s changed a lot.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘In what way do you think she’s changed?’
‘I don’t quite know how to put it.’ He hesitated. ‘She’s frightfully nervy, for one thing.’
Sarah said lightly: ‘Who isn’t in these days?’
‘She used not to be. She was always calm and – and – well – sweet …’
‘Sounds like a line of a hymn!’
‘You know what I mean quite well – and she has changed. Her hair – and her clothes – everything.’
‘She’s gone a bit gay, that’s all. Why shouldn’t she, poor darling? Getting old must be absolutely the end! Anyway, people do change.’ Sarah paused for a minute before adding with a touch of defiance in her voice: ‘I expect I’ve changed, too …’
‘Not really.’
Sarah flushed. Gerry said deliberately:
‘In spite of the zoo,’ he touched the pale expensive fur again, ‘and the Woolworth assortment,’ he touched a diamond spray on her shoulder, ‘and the luxury setting – you’re pretty much the same Sarah –’ He paused and added: ‘My Sarah.’
Sarah moved uncomfortably. She said in a gay voice:
‘And you’re still the same old Gerry. When do you go off to Canada?’
‘Quite soon now. As soon as all the lawyer’s business is cleared up.’
He rose. ‘Well, I must be off. Come out with me some day soon, will you, Sarah?’
‘No, you come and dine here with us. Or we’ll have a party. You must meet Larry.’
‘I met him the other night, didn’t I?’
‘Only for a moment.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t time for parties. Come out for a walk with me one morning, Sarah.’
‘Darling, I’m really not up to much in the morning. A hideous time of day.’
‘A very good time for cold clear thinking.’
‘Who wants to do any cold clear thinking?’
‘I think we do. Come on, Sarah. Twice round Regent’s Park. And tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you at Hanover Gate.’
‘You do have the most hideous ideas, Gerry! And what an awful suit.’
‘Very hard wearing.’
‘Yes, but the cut of it!’
‘Clothes snob! Tomorrow, twelve o’clock, Hanover Gate. And don’t get so tight tonight that you’ll have a hangover tomorrow.’
‘I suppose you mean I was tight last night?’
‘Well, you were, weren’t you?’
‘It was such a dreary party. Drink does help a girl through.’
Gerry reiterated:
‘Tomorrow. Hanover Gate. Twelve o’clock.’
2
‘Well, I’ve come,’ said Sarah, defiantly.
Gerry looked her up and down. She was astonishingly beautiful – far more beautiful than she had been as a girl. He noted the expensive simplicity of the clothes she was wearing, the big cabochon emerald on her finger. He thought: ‘I’m mad.’ But he did not waver.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We walk.’
He walked her briskly, too. They skirted the lake and passed through the rose garden and paused at last to sit in two chairs in an unfrequented part of the park. It was too cold for there to be many people sitting about.
Gerry took a deep breath.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘we get down to things. Sarah, will you come with me to Canada?’
Sarah stared at him in amazement.
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Just what I say.’
‘Do you mean – a kind of trip?’ Sarah asked doubtfully.
Gerry grinned.
‘I mean for good. Leave your husband and come to me.’
Sarah laughed.
‘Gerry, are you quite mad? Why, we haven’t seen each other for nearly four years and –’
‘Does that matter?’
‘No.’ Sarah was taken off her balance. ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t …’
‘Four years, five years, ten, twenty? I don’t believe it would make any difference. You and I belong together. I’ve always known that. I still feel it. Don’t you feel it, too?’
‘Yes, in a way,’ Sarah admitted. ‘But all the same what you’re suggesting is quite impossible.’
‘I don’t see anything impossible about it. If you were married to some decent fellow and were happy with him, I shouldn’t dream of butting in.’ He said in a low voice: ‘But you’re not happy, are you, Sarah?’
‘I’m as happy as most people, I suppose,’ said Sarah valiantly.
‘I think you’re utterly miserable.’
‘If I am – it’s my own doing. After all, if one makes a mistake, one’s got to abide by it.’
‘Lawrence Steene isn’t particularly noticeable for abiding by his mistakes, is he?’
‘That’s a mean thing to say!’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s true.’
‘And anyway, Gerry, what you suggest is quite, quite mad. Crazy!’
‘Because I haven’t hung round you and led up to it gradually? There’s no need for that. As I say, you and I belong and you know it, Sarah.’
Sarah sighed.
‘I was terribly fond of you once, I’ll admit.’
‘It goes deeper than that, my girl.’
She turned to look at him. Her pretences fell away.
‘Does it? Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
They were both silent. Then Gerry said gently:
‘Will you come with me, Sarah?’
Sarah sighed. She sat up, pulling her furs more closely about her. There was a cold little breeze stirring the trees.
‘Sorry, Gerry. The answer is No.’
‘Why?’
‘I just can’t do it – that’s all.’
‘People are leaving their husbands every day.’
‘Not me.’
‘Are you telling me that you love Lawrence Steene?’
Sarah shook her head.
‘No, I don’t love him. I never did love him. He fascinated me, though. He’s – well, he’s clever with women.’ She gave a faint shiver of distaste. ‘One doesn’t often feel that anybody is really – well – bad. But if I felt that about anybody I’d feel it about Lawrence. Because the things he does aren’t hot-blooded things – they’re not things he does because he can’t help doing them. He just likes experimenting with people and things.’
‘Then need you have any scruples about leaving him?’
Sarah was silent for a moment, then she said in a low voice:
‘It’s not scruples. Oh,’ she caught herself up impatiently, ‘how disgusting it is that one always trots out one’s noble reasons first! All right, Gerry, you’d better know what I’m really like. Living with Lawrence I’ve got used to – to certain things. I don’t want to give them up. Clothes, furs, money, expensive restaurants, parties, a maid, cars, a yacht … Everything made easy and luxurious. I’m steeped in luxury. And you want me to come and rough it on a ranch miles from anywhere. I can’t – and I won’t. I’ve gone soft! I’m rotted with money and luxury.’
Gerry said unemotionally:
‘Then it’s about time you were hauled out of it all.’
‘Oh, Gerry!’ Sarah was halfway between tears and laughter. ‘You’re so matter-of-fact.’
‘I’ve got my feet on the ground all right.’
‘Yes, but you don’t understand half of it.’
‘No?’
‘It’s not only – just – money. It’s other things. Oh, don’t you understand? I’ve become a rather horrible person. The parties we have – and the places we go –’
She paused, crimsoning.
‘All right,’ said Gerry calmly. ‘You’re depraved. Anything else?’
‘Yes. There are things – things I’ve got used to – things I just couldn’t do without.’
‘Things?’ He took her sharply by the chin, turned her head towards him. ‘I’d heard rumours. You mean – dope?’
Sarah nodded. ‘It gives you such wonderful sensations.’
‘Listen.’ Gerry’s voice was hard and incisive. ‘You’ll come with me, and you’ll cut out all that stuff.’
‘Suppose I can’t?’
‘I’ll see to that,’ said Gerry grimly.
Sarah’s shoulders relaxed. She sighed, leaning towards him. But Gerry drew back.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to kiss you.’
‘I see. I’ve got to decide – in cold blood?’
‘Yes.’
‘Funny Gerry!’
They sat silent for a few moments. Then Gerry said, speaking with rather an effort:
‘I know all right that I’m not much good. I’ve made a mess of things all round. I do realize that you can’t have much – faith in me. But I do believe, honestly I do, that if I had you with me I could put up a better show. You’re so shrewd, Sarah. And you know how to ginger a fellow up when he’s getting slack.’
‘I sound an adorable creature!’ said Sarah.
Gerry insisted stubbornly:
‘I know I can make good. It will be a hell of a life for you. Hard work and pigging it – yes, pretty fair hell. I don’t know how I’ve got the cheek to persuade you to come. But it will be real, Sarah. It will be – well – living …’
‘Living … real …’ Sarah repeated the words over to herself.
She got up and began to walk away. Gerry walked beside her.
‘You’ll come, Sarah?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sarah – darling …’
‘No, Gerry – don’t say any more. You’ve said it all – everything that needs to be said. It’s up to me now. I’ve got to think. I’ll let you know …’
‘When?’
‘Soon …’
Chapter Three
1
‘Well, here’s a nice surprise!’
Edith, opening the door of the flat to Sarah, creased the sour lines of her face into a dour smile.
‘Hullo, Edith, my pet. Mother in?’
‘I’m expecting her any minute now. I’m glad you’ve come. Cheer her up a bit.’
‘Does she need cheering up? She always sounds frightfully gay.’
‘There’s something very wrong with your mother. Worried about her, I am.’ Edith followed Sarah into the sitting-room. ‘Can’t keep still for two minutes together and snaps your head off if you so much as make a remark. Organic, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Oh, don’t croak, Edith. According to you everyone is always at death’s door.’
‘I shan’t say it of you, Miss Sarah. Blooming, you’re looking. Tch! – dropping your lovely furs about on the floor. That’s you all over. Lovely they are, must have cost a mint of money.’
‘They cost the earth all right.’
‘Nicer than any the mistress ever had. You certainly have got a lot of lovely things, Miss Sarah.’
‘So I should have. If you sell your soul, you’ve got to get a good price for it.’
‘That’s not a nice way to talk,’ said Edith disapprovingly. ‘The worst of you is, Miss Sarah, that you’re up and down. How well I remember, as though it was yesterday, here in this very room, when you told me you was hoping to marry Mr Steene, and how you danced me round the room like a mad thing. “I’m going to be married – I’m going to be married,” you said.’
Sarah said sharply: ‘Don’t – don’t, Edith. I can’t stand it.’
Edith’s face became immediately alert and knowledgeable.
‘There, there, dearie,’ she said soothingly. ‘The first two years is always the worst, they say. If you can weather them, you’ll be all right.’
‘Hardly a very optimistic view of marriage.’
Edith said disapprovingly: ‘Marriage is a poor business at best, but I suppose the world couldn’t get on without it. You’ll excuse the liberty, no little strangers on the way?’
‘No, there are not, Edith.’
‘Sorry, I’m sure. But you seemed a bit on edge like, and I wondered if that mightn’t be the reason. Very odd the way young married ladies behave sometimes. My elder sister, when she was expecting, she was in the grocer’s shop one day and it came to her sudden like as she must have a great big juicy pear as was there in a case. Seized it, she did, and bit into it then and there. “Here, what are you doing?” the young assistant said. But the grocer, he was a family man, and he understood how it was. “That’ll do, sonny,” he says, “I’ll attend to this lady” – and he didn’t charge her for it, either. Very understanding he was, having thirteen of his own.’
‘How unlucky to have thirteen children,’ said Sarah. ‘What a wonderful family you have got, Edith. I’ve heard about them ever since I was a little girl.’
‘Ah, yes. Many’s the story I’ve told you. Such a serious little thing as you were, and minding so much about everything. And that reminds me, that young gentleman of yours was round here the other day. Mr Lloyd. Have you seen him?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen him.’
‘Looks much older – but beautifully sunburnt. That comes from being so much in foreign parts. Done well for himself, has he?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Ah, that’s a pity. Not quite enough drive to him – that’s what’s the matter with him.’
‘I suppose it is. Do you think Mother will be coming soon?’
‘Oh, yes, Miss Sarah. She’s going out to dinner. So she’ll be home to change first. If you ask me, Miss Sarah, it’s a great pity she doesn’t have more quiet nights at home. She does far too much.’
‘I suppose she enjoys it.’
‘All this rushing around.’ Edith sniffed. ‘It doesn’t suit her. She was always a quiet lady.’
Sarah turned her head sharply, as though Edith’s words had struck some chord of remembrance. She repeated musingly:
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