by Norrey Ford
"But why do you two have to marry? Couldn't they simply go into partnership or something?"
"They'd go bust in a month. Neither will relinquish a jot of power—to the other. It's an old man's dream, darling. It was never meant to come true."
"She thinks it's true."
"She knows it isn't. If she said so, it was to annoy you, or upset Tom. It wasn't even supposed to come true until old Brown retires."
"He's talking of retirement. Rosemary said so."
He pushed his fingers through his hair. "That'll set Father off! The sooner you and I are engaged the better. That'll cook Sam Brown's goose."
"We can't be engaged. What about Daddy and your father?"
Adam whistled. "I'd forgotten that aspect. There'll be an unholy row. Can you face it?"
"I think so. This is the most important thing in my life and I won't give in. There'll be fur flying, though."
"I know it. I'll tell Dad to-night and to-morrow I'll come and tell your father."
Slowly, she shook her head, the heady excitement dying. "No, it won't do. We must wait."
"Why? Best get it over."
"I know Daddy doesn't mean anything to you, but I'm fond of him and I owe him everything. Until I saw the orphanage, and talked to Jenny, I didn't altogether realize just how much I do owe him."
"What's this? Are you going back on me?"
She squeezed his hand. "No. He'll be angry and I'm prepared to stand up to him for what I hold most dear, but it'll hurt him as well as me, and he's ill, Adam. He had a heart attack the other night. The doctor says he must take things more easily. What is the upheaval going to do to him? It could kill him."
"But don't you realize we might wait for ever? Are you prepared to do that? Are you going to sacrifice your happiness and mine?"
"No, of course not. But he's had a few hard knocks lately. Laurie leaving the firm and leaving home, too. He misses him dreadfully, though he won't say so. Then the strike—you know how hard the Bramhall Line was hit. I can't deal him another blow right now. He seems like granite on the surface, but he's vulnerable."
"Everyone has to stand up to knocks, my love."
"That sounds hard."
"Sometimes one has to be hard, to protect one's own. I'm afraid for you, my heart. I'm afraid Robert Bramhall will demand a human sacrifice. Parents do sometimes. They trade on the obligations children have towards them, demanding repayment a hundred times over for what they've done."
"I owe him a certain gratitude."
"So much, but no more. You didn't ask to be adopted; he did it for his own pleasure, and he's been repaid amply as he went along. There isn't a huge debt of gratitude piled up and hanging round your neck. You say he's given you so much. Haven't you given him anything, each and every day of your life?"
She laid her fingers on his lips. "Don't talk like that. I know it's because you love me and want me, but I can't bear it. I won't make you wait long, I swear. And in the meantime we'll meet often. I'm not a genuine princess in the tower, you know. I can go in and out."
He held her two hands tightly within his. "We belong together. Keep hold of that, my white love. It isn't good for us to be apart, and there are so many forces to keep us from each other, if we let them. We mustn't give the opposition an inch of ground, or it could grow too big, and keep us apart for ever."
She shivered. "Brrh! Cold water down my spine. What are you afraid of, big man? I won't fail you."
"Perhaps I'm afraid of myself."
"Why? You mean—your father will stop you?"
"Nothing between hell and high water will stop my loving you; I'm afraid of hurting you. Believe me when I say I've never loved a woman before—not with my whole heart and soul as I love you. But inside here—" he laid a clenched fist over his heart—"I have such things as black temper, hot pride, pig-headedness—things which make bad partners to love. If Father or Uncle Robert should goad me beyond my enduring, I might do something which would hurt you. My poor little Verity, you stand between the upper and the nether millstone, and I'm terrified you might be crushed between the two."
She wound her arms round him, comforting him as if he were a child. "Not you, my love—not you. Your father and mine, between them, might hurt me terribly, but not you. I trust you completely."
He held her close. "Every night I'll pray to be worthy of that trust, my little blessing. And I'll try hard to keep this black fellow Adam Bramhall under control."
Tears rolled down her cheeks, though she was completely unaware of them. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her wet cheek to his, as if by close contact she could reassure him. "Nothing dreadful will happen. Just a few weeks to give Daddy time to recover—and while we're waiting we'll meet often, almost every day."
"Promise?"
She turned her face a little, till her lips touched his. "That's my token and my promise."
He said in a low, throaty voice, "To-morrow and tomorrow and to-morrow."
She shivered suddenly. "Adam, keep me close to your heart, please. I'm frightened all of a sudden. We'll never be together again just like this, the two of us in a kindly house alone, till we're married and in our own home." She was shaken by the sharp pain and sweet delight of love's beginning.
"Never's a long day, and we'll be married soon."
"We ought to go and tell Laurie and Sally now. We've kept them out of their own drawing-room long enough. Sally will say told you so.' Oh, Adam, what will your father say?"
He gave a bellow of laughter. "Plenty! My ears will ring. But he'll come around, I have no doubt, when he knows that I'm determined. One of us will have to give way, and believe you me," he smiled into her eyes, "it won't be me. Once Dad has seen you, he'll surrender. He has an eye for a pretty girl." His smile teased her. "I guess I take after him—chip of the old block and so forth."
Laurie shook hands with Adam and kissed Verity. "The best thing that could have happened! Now the silly old men will have to kiss and make up. But there'll be the father
and mother of a bust-up first. I hope you're prepared to face the music."
"So long as Adam and I don't quarrel," Verity said contentedly, "I'll face any amount of music."
When it was time to say goodbye, she clung to him. "I can't believe that we're going to meet again to-morrow and to-morrow, and probably every day for the rest of our lives. When I'm here at Springwater, and when I'm with you, I'm real. I know who I am. Whatever my name is, I'm me." She wrinkled her forehead in the effort to make him understand. "But when I go home, I'm another girl altogether. And just now I'm afraid that if I step back into that other girl, I may never escape again. I want to stay this side of the Looking-Glass. I don't want to be trapped on that side."
He kissed the tip of her nose. "Now you're just being silly," he told her firmly. "Whatever you are, you're the girl I love. Keep hold of that."
Back at home, she ran up to her room, to be alone with her secret. Her heart was singing, happiness spilled out of her. She leaned into her looking-glass, her warm mouth curved into an irrepressible smile.
"Adam loves you—do you hear, in there?" She touched her lips with slender curved finger-tips. "Stop looking so happy, you'll give the show away." Her colour was richer, her eyes sparkled; her tremulous lips were too eloquent of warm kisses.
"This will never do," she warned her reflection seriously. "Think of something dreary, like arithmetic."
To-morrow and to-morrow! Every day for the rest of her life, she'd belong to Adam and he to her.
She schooled her feet to walk sedately downstairs, which was fortunate, as Robert Bramhall looked out of the library and called her in. "Come here, Verity. I've something important to say to you."
Nervously she obeyed. He couldn't have discovered anything, surely? Not so soon.
He shook a sheaf of papers at her. "Know what these are? Our reservations in Bramhall Queen. We sail in four days' time."
The blood drained from her face. "F-four days?"
He laughe
d. "Bless my soul, I've knocked the stuffing out of you. You've all been telling me I need a holiday, and this is it. Miss Latimer thought of it—she's a wonder, that girl. We sail with Captain Boxall in the Queen. On her way home she meets Bramhall Star outward bound, at Naples. We tranship there to the Star, and so get two cruises instead of one. We'll be away five months." He was delighted as a boy with his surprise. "It's the first proper holiday I ever had in my life, so I'll make it a good one."
"Five months! But, Daddy—I can't. I've—I've things to do."
"Bosh, you've nothing to do but take your old father away on the holiday of your life. Clothes, eh? Miss Latimer thought of that, too. You're off to London first thing in the morning. See here—wait a minute, here they are. Your train reservation on the Pullman, nine-fifteen in the morning; your hotel booking; and money. Spend as much as you like on pretties; I shan't grumble. Miss Latimer thinks of everything."
"She does indeed!" Despairingly, she took the thick wad of notes, the rail ticket. Robert was waiting for her thanks, her excited acceptance of his surprise. Already his broad smile was fading doubtfully.
In all the blinding happiness of to-day, she thought, I forgot about my promise to go with Daddy. But then the cruise was December, and now I have to go away to-morrow, without a chance to say goodbye to Adam. There's no escape except by telling the whole truth, now.
She couldn't tell now, without consulting Adam. It was his secret as much as hers. Even if Adam agreed, she still couldn't tell. Robert Bramhall was elderly, tired; he needed a long rest out of the English winter.
She couldn't at this point stab him to the heart with what he'd regard as black treachery, the news that she intended to marry the son of his greatest enemy.
She clutched at a straw. "My passport?"
"Valid till next May. It isn't so long since you did that school visit to Paris. Bless my soul, how girls grow up!"
An impenetrable gulf separated her from that schoolgirl self; even from the self of yesterday. "We do, don't we?"
"Well? Haven't you a thank-you for your father? Five months' lovely holiday?"
She swallowed. "You're so kind, Daddy. I'm not ungrateful, I just find it hard to speak. Everything a girl could desire, travel, clothes, money. I—" A lump gathered in her throat. He's given me so much, so generously. And I don't want it. I ought to be ashamed.
He pinched her ear affectionately. "All or nothing, that's me. I don't do things by halves. Don't miss that train, now."
When Robert Bramhall told you to catch a train, you caught it and didn't argue. There was no reprieve.
Dinner was a meal of dust and ashes. Worry went round and round in her head. No possibility of telephoning Adam, and they had made no arrangements about letters.
As soon as the meal was over, Aunt Fidget beckoned her to a window-seat as far away from Robert as they could be without actually leaving the room. "Any news?" She could converse in a practised whisper.
"I'm going to marry Adam. He loves me. All that about Rosemary was a mistake."
"Bless us and save us!"
Robert rustled the paper angrily. "Stop whispering, do. Sss! Sss! You're like a kettle on the boil."
Verity signalled a silent invitation to leave the room to finish. Aunt Fidget nodded and glided out successfully, but as soon as Verity rose, Robert put the paper down and glared over it.
"Can't you women sit still nowadays? Your mother would sit as still as a mouse with a bit of embroidering or something. I'll tell you what, though. She'd have been chattering her head off about this cruise, and you haven't said a word. Has it struck you dumb?"
"Sort of. I wish I remembered her, sitting with her embroidery. I wish she was alive now. There are times when a girl needs a mother."
"An ally, you mean? Why do you want one now?"
"Maybe nineteen is a difficult age to be. I'll be glad when I'm twenty, it seems more important to me somehow. A mother would be useful."
"More useful than a husband? Verity, I'm getting an old man, and Foggin has read me a lecture or two. I'd like to see you married and settled."
The colour came into her cheeks. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Daddy?"
"Tom wouldn't rob me of my daughter, and you'd give me some tiresome grandchildren to bother me."
"I haven't decided to marry Tom."
His lower lip thrust out obstinately. "Why not? He's a good boy. Don't keep the lad hanging around. It's hurtful to him and not becoming to you. Give him your honest yes and have done with shilly-shally."
"Please, Daddy,. don't rush me over Tom. I hardly know him, except as an acquaintance, a good dancing partner or someone to play tennis with." Her heart was almost fainting with fear. She would not allow Robert to force her into a marriage she did not want, but she dreaded the battle royal which must come.
"You must get-to know him better, then."
"How can I, when you're whisking me off for five months, you silly man? I promise you that when I come home I'll give my full attention to the matter and deal with it. Will that do?"
"I suppose so."
It wouldn't do for Tom; she couldn't keep him hanging about for an answer all that time. She'd write to him from the ship.
Already Robert had lost interest in the conversation. His eyes had a far-away look which meant he was planning something. She wondered vaguely if he ever considered the possibility of failure in any of his undertakings, and asked him the question.
"No, I don't. If I thought about failure, I should fail. The secret is to plan your affairs so that success is bound to come Think ahead, look for every contingency, and don't miss a trick. Then you can forget failure."
"Suppose there's a contingency you don't foresee?"
"Then you fail. And you deserve to."
He gathered up the paper and pottered off into the library, where he felt most happy. He muttered something about work to do, and presently she heard him telephoning.
"He's at it again," said Aunt Fidget, returning. "He won't rest. This cruise is his only hope. He'll have to stop working then. Verity, you will go with him?"
"Of course I shall go. But Adam will think I've deserted him. I swore solemnly that I'd see him practically every day. How can I let him know—there's no time at all?"
"Writ him a letter. I'll deliver it somehow."
"Auntie, do you think we're cowards, not having it out with Daddy and Uncle John William at once?"
"I think you're brave and kind-hearted, putting your own inclinations aside for the sake of an old man. I like your Adam for agreeing to it. If he's considerate to others, he'll be considerate to you, remember."
"Five months seems like a lifetime. I hadn't bargained for so long."
"I know, love, I know. Run upstairs and write your letter. I'll tell Robert you've gone to pack."
When the letter was finished, she put her lips to the closely-written pages, thinking, soon his hands will touch it, too. Please, she whispered, love me and go on loving me, Adam. For there won't be any other man but you for me; if you do not love me for ever, I am lost.
*
Once in London, Verity shopped with interest. Five months were not an, eternity, and in a way she was buying her trousseau. It was sweet to wonder if Adam would like her in this dress or that; to picture times with Adam when she might wear the clothes she chose. Dinner by candle-
light in their own home; evenings when they'd dance for hours and go home by moonlight, happy and in love.
She begrudged the money she had to spend on play-clothes for sunlit decks, wanting things more suited to northern skies and Adam's sturdy Seafoam.
Late on her last afternoon, she returned to the hotel to find her sitting-room stacked high with gay boxes. She had a scented, piping hot bath, put on the filmiest of her new undies and held a make-believe dress rehearsal, slipping into one exquisite garment after another, twirling on tiptoe before the armchair by the fireplace. As a little girl, she had always had an imaginary playmate. Now, she had Adam. She
could almost see him settled comfortably in the deep velvet chair, almost smell his pipe.
"Do you like this one, darling? Am I pretty enough for you?" She blew a kiss towards the chair and ran back to her bedroom. "Be prepared, this is my masterpiece. You'll adore it."
She slipped into a long evening gown of tawny coloured silk, brushed her hair back and clipped tiny gold earrings into her shapely ears. There were gold kid sandals, fine as a cobweb, a soft stole to slip over her bare arms on deck. She ran back to the sitting-room, the skirt floating behind her like a sunset cloud.
She had become so engrossed in the game that it was a shock to find the sitting-room empty after all. The glow of excitement, the pretence which had kept her going, died into chilled loneliness.
"Adam—oh, Adam—I'm going to miss you so. Five whole months!"
She sank into the empty armchair, at last allowing herself to think about the separation. Five months, without a proper goodbye, was bad enough. But deep in her heart she was afraid of Robert Bramhall and his habit of being successful. He'd never force her into marrying Tom, or any other man but Adam. But Robert was too clever even to try to use force. Clever enough to get his own way in some roundabout fashion she might not be able to circumvent.
If only she could talk to Adam, tell him about her almost supersitious fear of Robert's genius for success. He'd blow
her fears sky-high with his laughter, his confidence would reassure her. They'd had so little time together.
Her telephone rang. "Reception here. A Mr. Bramhall for you, Madam."
Her father here? Why had he come to London? She had a moment's panic before remembering how often Robert did visit London on business and how much he'd have to get through, too, before leaving England for so long.
"Please send him up."
He mustn't find her tear-stained, or there would be questions. Quickly, she touched up her make-up, and before she had finished the door opened, and Adam came in.
She flew into his arms without a word, and he held her so closely that she could feel the heart hammering in his breast.
