Away Went Love

by Mary Burchell

  There was a short silence, and then she said quite simply:

  “I knew you’d know what was the best thing.”

  He flushed slightly.

  “You like the idea, then?”

  “Yes, Errol, And thank you. I think you’re the fairest-minded person I’ve ever known.”

  He got up.

  “Thank you, my dear. You couldn’t have expressed more sweetly the fact that you’ve forgiven me for what I did.”

  “What you did?—Oh, somehow it doesn’t seem to matter now. In fact, of course, it doesn’t matter, Errol, because, in a way, you’ve turned back the clock.”

  He smiled.

  “Then, in that case, I suppose you’d better take off that ring.”

  “My ring!” She glanced down at it quickly. “Do you—want me to?”

  “Not specially.” He contrived to look rather expressionless. “But I suppose, in absolute fairness—”

  She drew the ring off her finger and handed it to him without a word. And without a word he took it and put it in his pocket.

  “I think I’ll go now. There’s nothing else to arrange, is there?”

  “N-no.” Hope said. “No, I suppose not.”

  Everything suddenly seemed rather flat and tasteless. “Will you be able to get away in the next day or two?”

  “Yes. There’s an aunt of Enid’s who has a lovely little place in Wiltshire. I can go down there quite easily. It—it will be lovely there just now, and I can be quite alone. Can you arrange so that I don’t need to come into the Lab. at all?”

  “Yes. I can arrange that.”

  “And I’ll see Richard—no, telephone him—and explain what I’m doing.”

  “Yes.” At the mention of Richard’s name he looked even more expressionless—or perhaps that was her imagination. “Good-bye, Hope. Have a good time.”

  He picked up his hat and gloves, without even looking at her. She might have been going on a short shopping expedition, instead of probably out of his life for ever.

  “Don’t worry about the twins. I’ll look after them.—No, don’t bother to come to the door. I’ll let myself out.” She took a step forward, expecting him to take her hand at least—perhaps even to kiss her. But he didn’t seem to notice that. He nodded to her casually and went out of the room.

  Hope stood there, looking after him, and a moment later she heard the front door open, and then close again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “FOUR—five—six—seven. There, look every one of them laid this morning. I wish I could tell you what heaven it is to go and collect your own eggs from a nest instead of pleading with an indifferent grocer.”

  Hope stood at the open kitchen door in the sunlight, gay and smiling, while Aunt Lena (for Enid’s aunt was the aunt of everyone who came within her orbit) smiled approvingly in return.

  “Of course. The idea of buying eggs from a grocer! How many people have handled them first, I’d like to know? An egg should be handled by two people only. The one who collects it and the one who eats it. And if you can reduce that to one, it’s all the better.” She chuckled. “That’s what we’ll do with you, my dear. You’ll have one of those for your tea today.”

  Hope made a contented little sound of agreement, and went to put the eggs in the larder.

  That was how it had been ever since she came here, ten days ago. She was always assenting contentedly to small, pleasant plans, which amounted to nothing, but somehow filled the day deliciously.

  Aunt Lena’s small house, standing in a garden more reminiscent of samplers and seed-packets than anything Hope had ever seen before, had an atmosphere of mildly busy contentment, in which crisis and agitation simply refused to flourish.

  When she had first come there Hope had thought it impossible that she could leave behind her worry and the misery of the past few weeks. But almost immediately the quiet and the sunshine, the placid routine and the wonderful sense of rest, began to have their effect.

  She felt like some madly over-strained motor that was being allowed at last to run down into quieter and saner rhythm.

  ‘I’d like it if life could go on like this always,’ Hope told herself. And though she knew that was not strictly correct, it was the measure of her relief and enjoyment that the idea rose instinctively in her mind.

  The last couple of days before she left London had been trying in more ways than one. She felt oddly deserted and chilled by the way Errol had simply walked out leaving her, as though the whole situation had become just a bit too tense and he felt constrained to leave her to her own silly devices.

  Then when she had gone to see Enid and ask about arranging to come down here to Aunt Lena, Enid had taken it upon herself to argue all over again and tell Hope she was “ridiculous to go to all this scrupulous fuss to make sure Errol Tamberly’s treated with what you’re pleased to call justice.”

  “This hasn’t got anything to do with justice for Errol,” Hope had explained rather wearily. “I just want to get away by myself and not be”—she borrowed Errol’s words—“harassed and badgered.”

  “Well, if you’d just send Errol Tamberly about his business, who would there be to harass and badger you?” Enid had wanted to know. “You could get on with your interrupted engagement and marry Richard, who’s now become one of the most eligible young men in London. Really, Hope, talk about looking a gift-horse in the mouth! I should think you’ve seen this one’s tonsils. Most girls would be pretty pleased to have quarter of a million left to the man they’re in love with, without creating all sorts of trouble out of nothing.”

  But Hope had persisted in her determination, and after a while Enid, who was essentially good-natured, suddenly saw that there was really no reason why Hope should not go down and stay with Aunt Lena if she wanted to.

  “I’m sure you’re just ran down and nervy, darling, and I expect what you need is a holiday,” she conceded generously. “Once you’re yourself again, you won’t be able to get back to London and Richard fast enough.”

  Hope permitted Enid to cling to her theory since it meant avoiding further argument. Besides—who was to say she was not right?

  Only when everything was ready, and a telegram from Aunt Lena, bidding her come when she liked, had arrived, did Hope telephone to Richard.

  He was obviously delighted to hear her voice, and returned her rather grave greeting with:

  “Darling, this is wonderful! You don’t know what self-control I’ve exercised in not ringing you up before this.”

  She had laughed, her heart warming to him because of the gay good-humor in his voice.

  “Well, you’re going to have to exercise that self-control a bit longer,” she had told him, and then, a little diffidently, she had explained about her going away by herself for a while.

  “But I don’t understand.” He was genuinely puzzled. “What is so difficult to decide? Since Tamberly has agreed to stand down—and I’ll give him credit for behaving more handsomely over that than I’d expected—the whole problem is solved. Why not marry me next week?—this week, if you like?”

  “Because, Richard”—her voice had trembled a little as she said this—“I’m not perfectly sure that I want to marry you.”

  There was a very slight pause. Then he said:

  “And will going away make you sure?”

  “I’m hoping so.” It had been impossible to explain how she had arrived at this conclusion. Unlike Errol, he just didn’t understand. But at least she persuaded him to let her go.

  “And the understanding is, Richard, that neither of you try to see or write to me.”

  “All right.” He sounded depressed. “I can’t, anyway, if I don’t know where you’re going, can I?”

  “No. That’s true,” Hope agreed.

  “I hate it, Hope dear. It’ll be a hell of a month. But if that’s what you want—well, you shall have it.”

  It had been the old generous, easy-tempered Richard speaking then. The Richard she had known and loved so w
ell before all this trouble happened. And she had been so moved and thrilled by her rediscovery of him that she had nearly capitulated then and there, and told him there was not the slightest reason to go away and think things over by herself, because she knew all she wanted was to marry him.

  But instead she had said good-bye to him—perhaps with the old thrill in her voice too—and then had come down here to Aunt Lena and peace.

  At first she had been faintly self-conscious, wondering whether Enid had written a detailed and highly personal account of the position to Aunt Lena.

  But she need not have worried. Enid, who could have given anyone points when it came to verbal indiscretions, was too indolent to put much on paper. Her idea of a long letter was one which sprawled on to the back of the first sheet, and her part in the correspondence which finally landed Hope in Wiltshire, had been a short note stating:

  “My best friend Hope Arning would like to come and stay with you for a week or two. Paying guest, you know. You’ll like her. She will write you herself about terms. Isn’t this weather lovely? I hope you are well. I am. Lots of love.—Enid.”

  Aunt Lena, judging most young things by her niece, believed that when anything young and pretty desired to tear itself away from London, the only reason was a breakdown in health and the necessity of being what she called “built up again.”

  Consequently, she regarded Hope as a convalescent who required a great deal of sleep, a great deal of rest, and a great deal of the more wholesome and appetizing forms of country food.

  Without being a convalescent, Hope found this was indeed very much what she did need. At any rate, she greatly enjoyed the regime.

  Also Aunt Lena was exquisitely lacking in curiosity. She at least showed no desire to know what Hope intended to do with her life, what she had done with it up to the time she arrived at the cottage, or whether she had one, two or fifty men in her life. Possibly she speculated a little to herself when Hope looked over-thoughtful, but, if so, she maintained a reticence which her nice would have regarded as the first sign of senility.

  This was perhaps what Hope valued above every other advantage or life with Aunt Lena.

  For ages now—or so it seemed to her—she had been driven to hide her feelings from one person or another. Even with the children it had been impossible to be entirely natural. Bridget noticed things very quickly and, being tender-hearted, worried inordinately about anything which she identified as “something wrong,” while Tony, with his taste for cheerful and outspoken question and comment, was quite capable of creating a major contretemps out of an unguarded remark or ill-timed signs of worry or melancholy.

  Ten days of leisurely, undemanding, uneventful life with Aunt Lena had restored Hope’s peace of mind to something like its own level. And if, in her inmost heart, she knew that her problems still remained unsolved, at least it was also possible to leave those same problems largely in abeyance while one considered the really important matter of living tranquilly, making the most of perfect weather, and discussing with Aunt Lena such fundamental questions as—how many people should handle an egg before one ate it?

  Hope carefully pencilled the date on her eggs that afternoon, put them in a bowl and then strolled out into the garden again.

  It was a soft, warm afternoon, with clear sunshine and a faint, rather languid breeze. She sat down in the hammock seat and lazily swung herself to and fro, just touching the ground with her foot sufficiently often to keep up the slight motion.

  Richard had been a darling that last time she spoke to him. Her mind drifted over thoughts of him lazily—tenderly.

  Those had been good days together before the trouble about the money ... If he had made money on his unlucky investment instead of losing it, none of this would ever have happened. She would just have been happily engaged to him, and Errol would have had no chance of even telling her he loved her.

  The thought of Errol broke the rhythm of her lazy reflections, and for a moment she stopped swinging. Then she struck the ground rather smartly with her foot. It was not Errol she meant to think about just now. It was Richard.

  Of course, Richard shouldn’t have done what he did about the money. But then she had forgiven him that—understood about it at the time—there was no need to rake that up again. And then when he felt he couldn’t face married life on his small salary—well, that wasn’t very admirable, of course—but so understandable. Besides, it was partly for her sake. And, anyway, did you marry a man for his admirable qualities, or just because you loved him?

  Admirable qualities? Errol had rather a lot of those, of course. At least, the children thought so, and funnily enough, children were often good judges.

  He’d have the children. That would help him to get over things a bit.

  Or would it? Wouldn’t they be a perpetual reminder of her?

  But he had said she was free to choose. She was to consider it only from her own point of view. He wanted—her happiness.

  The hammock was hardly swinging at all now, not because Hope was deep in thought, but because she was more than half asleep. It was no good falling asleep in the middle of the most important decision of her life. Only it was so warm—and quiet—and peaceful.

  And then Hope shut her eyes, and presently the hammock stopped swinging altogether.

  She dreamt she was walking through a long meadow with a high hedge all along one side of it. She could smell the thick sweet scent of the clover, warm in the sunshine, and far overhead an aeroplane was humming. With the inconsequence of dreams she knew there was someone important to her in that aeroplane—Her parents? Errol Tamberly? She was not sure.

  And now the aeroplane was going to land in the field on the other side of the hedge.

  She didn’t actually see it land, but it must have come down, because there was Errol the other side of the hedge, and he was beckoning to her and smiling.

  With a sensation of the utmost pleasure she began to run towards him. And then suddenly Richard was there—right in the way. And he too was smiling. And as she ran towards Errol, it was Richard who caught her in his arms and kissed her.

  It was the kiss which woke her. And then for a moment she wondered if she were still dreaming after all, because there was Richard beside her, laughing and kissing her just as he had in the dream.

  “Why, Richard!”

  “Surprised to see me?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment because indignation and dismay were struggling to the surface of her mind.

  “Wake up!” He shook her gently and laughed. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

  And then she found her voice.

  “No, Richard, I’m not. What are you doing here? We agreed that you were not to come.”

  “Oh, but that’s all rot.” He laughed. “And don’t pretend you’re not delighted that I found my way to you after all, like a story-book lover. You don’t know the trouble I had to worm the address out of Enid, but—”

  “You were not intended to worm the address out of Enid.” Hope’s voice was small and cold and sounded rather far away to her own ears. “You—and Errol—were both on your honor not to try to affect my decision one way or the other.”

  “On our honor! Darling, don’t be absurd. You make it sound like a pact between school-kids. You don’t settle the future of grown-up people that way. If you don’t know where your happiness lies, I do. And I’m down here to tell you, and you shan’t put me off this time. I’ve got a special licence in my pocket—How’s that for tempestuous wooing?” and he laughed and kissed her.

  But Hope straggled away from him, exerting so much indignant strength that she thrust him back on to the hammock seat while she herself jumped to her feet.

  “You promised, Richard! You gave me your word to leave me alone until I’d come to my own decision. Errol gave me his word too, and he kept his. He’d never dream of breaking it. He might be wild to come down here to me and stampede me into doing what he wanted, but he wouldn’t go against his given word.
You simply don’t know what it means to stand by a promise. You never have. To you a promise is something you give because it’s convenient and break when the convenience ends. I’ve never seen it so closely before and—and it makes me sick.”

  “Hope!” He was not laughing now, but was white and more than a little angry. “You’re exaggerating the whole thing ridiculously. It’s true I agreed to leave you alone here while you thought things over. I didn’t take it very seriously—thought the idea a bit childish, to tell you the truth—but I agreed to it because you wanted it. But you’ve had ten days alone to think it over. A day or two one way or another can’t make any difference. Besides, you must have come to some sort of decision by now and—”

  “Yes,” Hope said slowly and very distinctly, “I’ve come to a decision at last. I’m not going to marry you, Richard. I should never be either safe or happy with you. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you my answer sooner, but I honestly didn’t know it myself. I do know now. I think you’re charming and delightful, and I shall always remember you kindly and a little romantically. But marry you I could not. I’ve never been surer of anything else in my life.”

  “Hope!” He jumped to his feet. “You can’t possibly mean it! You can’t go off and marry Tamberly, in a fit of—of heroic pique—because I didn’t keep strictly to some rather silly bargain.”

  “Don’t, Richard. We’re not even talking the same language now. But, anyway, I’m not going to marry Errol either. I’m sick of the whole thing. I don’t want either of you. He said I might feel like that—and I do. I thought I wanted to marry you. I know now that I don’t, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the only alternative is to rush off and marry Errol. I’ve turned you down—Do please accept that. What I do afterwards really doesn’t concern you.”

  “He’s been writing to you—’phoning to you—keeping in touch with you somehow!” Richard cried angrily. “I won’t believe that you’d have come to this preposterous decision any other way.”