Nobody Asked Me

by Mary Burchell

  And, before she could stop him, his mouth was on hers-not lightly, not laughingly, this time, but with an intensity of passion that left her lips feeling bruised and burning.

  CHAPTER VIII

  FOR a long moment there was silence, except for the sound of dance-music coming faintly from the ballroom beyond.

  Then Simon spoke at last.

  ‘Well’-his voice sounded slightly defiant-’have you nothing at all to say to me?’

  He stared down at her as she lay perfectly still now in his arms, her eyes half closed and her cheeks very pale.

  She raised her heavy lashes then.

  ‘What do you expect me to say, Simon?’

  He gave a half-vexed little laugh.

  ‘Reproaches of some sort, I suppose,’ he admitted. ‘At any rate at first.’

  ‘Yes. I shouldn’t think it feels specially nice to know you’ve been so brutal and-beastly.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my darling.’ He spoke eagerly now, and tenderly. Lifting her very gently, he put her back on the settee, piling the cushions behind her and making her comfortable.

  ‘See-I won’t even touch your hand. I know, I always frighten you a little, don’t I? I forget that you’re so young and gentle and unawakened. But I’ll remember now, Alison. I’ll never frighten you like that again Only I had to make you listen to me. You must listen to me now.’

  She made a gesture of protest.

  ‘Haven’t you said more than enough already?’

  ‘No. Because I’ve only said the things that frighten and revolt you. I’ve made you think I can’t be anything but passionate and violent, And it isn’t true, Alison dear. There’s tenderness for you too, and warmth and gentleness.’

  She saw that he was pale with the intensity of his own feelings, and for a moment she felt almost sorry for him. There was something strangely moving in the sight of such burning, suppressed emotion in anyone who was usually so cool.

  ‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m really sorry if you feel so deeply about me, but it isn’t the slightest good. No, wait’-as he made a quick movement to interrupt her. ‘You must understand that it’s Julian I love, and you must please remember that I am Julian’s wife. Do you think it’s quite-decent of you to be making violent love to me now, whatever the circumstances?’

  ‘And do you think I care a damn about the decencies?’ He spoke in a low, rapid voice. ‘I love you, I tell you. I never guessed that anything could be like this-this welter of pain and rapture. I’ve taken everything so lightly before -gambled on every chance and not cared much if I won or lost. But now I can’t do that. I’ve stumbled on something quite different. It matters too much-and it hurts too much -for me to dare to take any chances. I want to be sure of it. For the first time in my life, I want security and reassurance about something. It’s odd, Alison, but for the first time in my life I think I’m afraid.’

  ‘Poor Simon. I’m so sorry.’ She put out her hand and just touched his arm.

  He bent his head quickly at that and kissed her hand, but very gently this time.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t got to hurt you,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Life seems. to be made up of hurting and being hurt nowadays. But if I love Julian it-it’s no kindness for me to pretend anything else, is it?’

  ‘There’s such a thing as bowing to the inevitable-and beginning again.’ He sat there with his head a little bent, not quite daring, perhaps, to meet her eyes. ‘I don’t want to recite unwelcome truths again, but it is Rosalie that Julian wants. If you let the-obvious happen between those two, you would end what can’t be anything but pain and humiliation for you. And you would be free-to begin again.’

  ‘Simon, look at me.’

  Alison spoke sharply, and like someone much older than her years. A little reluctantly he raised his eyes and met hers.

  ‘What you are really suggesting-if you strip off the high-sounding words-is that I should try to force on an affair between Rosalie and Julian, so that I can get rid of him and marry you. Is that it?’

  Simon moved restlessly.

  ‘I don’t care how it’s done,’ he said roughly, ‘so long as you’re mine and not Julian’s.’

  ‘And I don’t care what sort of a fool you think I am to stay with Julian. I will not have Rosalie ruin his life for him now,’ Alison retorted angrily.

  ‘Well then, for God’s sake leave Rosalie out of it, and come down to the bare fact that I want you, and Julian doesn’t. Come away with me. I’ll make you love me, make you happy. And in the end Julian will be more relieved than anything else to find himself free again.’

  ‘I think we’ve said enough on the subject,’ Alison said coldly, and, sick and trembling though she was, she got to her feet with determination. ‘Please don’t suggest any more variations on this-theme of elopements and affaires. They don’t happen to interest me.’

  He made an impatient movement.

  ‘You can’t dismiss it like that. This can’t be your last word about it.’

  ‘No?’ She turned suddenly and looked him full in the eyes. ‘I’ve nothing else to say to you, Simon, except to repeat your own excellent advice. There is such a thing as bowing to the inevitable. I suggest you apply that to yourself.’

  He threw back his head with an angry, defiant laugh.

  ‘I’ve never even recognised the inevitable yet, much less bowed to it,’ he told her. ‘I’ll wait. I can afford to, though God knows I hate doing it. And one day, quite soon, you’ll find that it is best for all of us-including Julian-that you should listen to me again.’

  It was the last sentence which frightened her more than anything that had gone before. For it was Julian’s happiness that she had vowed to herself to protect. And now there was no knowing what sacrifice that promise might involve.

  Her heart was very heavy as she turned away to the ballroom once more.

  She saw Julian almost as soon as she came in. He was standing talking to an elderly man, and Rosalie was dancing again, with someone Alison did not know.

  It touched her and comforted her slightly that Julian noticed her at once, made some excuse, and came over to claim her from Simon.

  ‘You look pale, Alison,’ he said, the moment they were alone together. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’ She was a little surprised at his anxiety, until she remembered that he was probably reproaching himself for having vented his irritation on her.

  She wanted to tell him that it was all right-that he needn’t bother about it: but, remembering the previous snub when she had read his thoughts too nearly, she was afraid to say anything.

  When at last it was time to go, she could scarcely hide her relief. Perhaps Julian. noticed something of it because he glanced at her curiously, and then maintained a tactful silence on the way home.

  ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ he asked, as they came into the white-panelled hall of the flat.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Alison said dutifully, but suddenly she shivered, quite irrepressibly, as she remembered that frightening scene with Simon.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Julian said quickly.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘But you shivered just now. Why?’

  ‘I-I’m a bit cold, that’s all,’ she assured him hastily.

  ‘Cold? You’d better go straight to bed, Alison, and I’ll bring you a hot drink,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, no-really you needn’t. I’ll be all right,’ She spoke eagerly, but he seemed unimpressed.

  ‘Yes-I’d rather. Hurry up, and I’ll go and heat some milk.’

  She thought of telling him that she didn’t like milk, anyway, but it seemed a little ungracious when he was obviously so anxious to do something for her. She would have to drink it somehow.

  By the time he knocked at the door, she was in bed.

  ‘Come in,’ She sat up quickly, and rumpled up her hair with a nervous hand.

  Julian came in. He was in his dressing-gown, and was carrying her glass of milk very
carefully.

  ‘Thank you.’ Alison smiled as she took it, and thought absurdly that she loved him best of all like this-not quite so self-possessed as usual, and with an odd suggestion of anxiety to please.

  He sat down on the side of the bed and watched her drink the milk-which she did with the best grace she could muster.

  When she had finished, he took the glass and put it on a side-table. ‘Feeling better now?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Alison hugged her knees and smiled at him suddenly. ‘Are you?’

  He looked astonished for a moment. Then, without any warning, he leant forward and put his head against her.

  ‘I’m sorry I vented my beastly temper on you,’ he said in a remorseful whisper.

  ‘Why, Julian dear-’ Alison was touched and surprised beyond measure. She thought he was oddly like a child who couldn’t bear to go to bed without being forgiven. ‘It doesn’t matter a bit,’ she told him, and timidly stroked his hair.

  ‘Oh, yes, it does. You’re such a good little thing. It was disgusting of me to be cross with you, when you were only trying to do your best in a miserable situation.’

  Alison laughed gently.

  ‘Don’t think about it any more.’ She lay back and, putting her arm round him, drew him close. ‘It must have been hateful for you. I think you may be allowed a few frayed nerves, in the circumstances.’

  Julian smiled too at that, and moved his head contentedly against her.

  ‘It’s nice like this.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Um.’

  Alison hoped he wouldn’t notice how her heart was beating. But he seemed too intent on something else.

  ‘I don’t know how you contrive to be so marvellously soothing, Alison, at your age. You have all the calm of a much older person, without any air of criticism.’

  ‘Have I?’ Alison didn’t know quite whether to feel flattered or put out at this.

  ‘Yes. That’s why I can tell you things I couldn’t dream of telling anyone else. It’s your wonderful detachment.’

  ‘Oh, is it?’ Alison said helplessly, quite unable to hide her astonishment.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He frowned a little, but it was only a thoughtful frown, she could see. I mean-when I tell you about Rosalie and-how I feel. It’s really rather an extraordinary thing to be able to talk about it to another girl- especially a girl you’ve married, even if it’s only in the unreal sense that we’re married.’

  Alison couldn’t say anything at all. She could only think bewilderedly, ‘Does he really imagine I feel "detached" about him and Rosalie? Really, men are stupid!’ She rather wanted to be angry with him, but when she glanced down at his tranquil face as he lay against her, she thought with sudden tenderness instead; ‘I don’t really mind what he says, if he’ll only look like that.’

  He was silent for a few minutes, and then he roused himself abruptly.

  ‘I must go. It’s very late and you ought to be asleep.’

  She moved her arm at once and then-perhaps because some of the things that Simon had said had sunk deep into her pride and love-she spoke on an incredible impulse.

  ‘If you’d rather sleep here than in your dressing room, you can, you know.’

  She didn’t look at Julian as she spoke. At the back of her mind, she wondered a little grimly whether he would consider that she was maintaining her ‘wonderful detachment.’

  From the half-minute of silence she knew how taken aback he was.

  Then he took her lightly by her chin. There was a rather odd expression in his eyes, which she couldn’t in the least understand.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ he said slowly, ‘but I shall be quite all right in my dressing-room. Good night, bless you.’ And he kissed her on her lips.

  Then he got up abruptly and went out of the room without even a backward glance, leaving Alison to make what she could both of the kiss and of the refusal to stay.

  A week later they moved into their new home, and Alison seriously took up the responsibilities of being a rich man’s wife.

  Perhaps he thought she was a little too serious about it all, because when they had been round the place on a tour of inspection the first evening, he said a trifle anxiously:

  ‘You do like it, don’t you, Alison?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled at him. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh-nothing. Only you looked so very solemn.’

  ‘I suppose I’m feeling a bit awed,’ Alison said slowly.

  ‘Good heavens. Whatever for?’

  She slipped her arm into his at that and gave it a half-nervous, half-affectionate squeeze.

  ‘I’ve never had any place to call my own before, you know,’ she explained. ‘At least, nothing but my bedroom at school and that wasn’t really mine. It seems so strange to think that all this is-is half mine.’

  ‘Half yours.’ He laughed softly. ‘You dear, odd child. You would put it with scrupulous fairness, of course. Why, it’s all yours if you want it.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she interrupted quickly.

  But he didn’t seem to notice, because he went on with sudden, passionate earnestness: ‘I want you to feel it’s all yours-this and whatever else you would like to have. Sometimes, when I realise how little you are getting out of this business, I-’

  ‘Don’t,’ Alison said sharply. She felt she simply couldn’t bear to have him heaping generosities on her like this, when the one single thing she wanted-his love-was so obviously not for her.

  He stopped abruptly at her exclamation, and looked puzzled. ‘Alison, what is it?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’ She gave him a quick, nervous smile in an effort to reassure him. ‘But you make me miserable when you’re so wonderfully generous, and then talk about my having nothing. I am happy and satisfied. Please believe that.’

  ‘Very well.’ He smiled a little too, and touched her hair with an odd gesture of tenderness which suddenly made it very difficult not to cry.

  She hastily went over to one of the windows and pretended to be rearranging a curtain.

  ‘I must get Jennifer to come round here soon,’ she said, speaking at random. There are several things I want to ask her, and she’s so good at arranging things.’

  Julian nodded. ‘That reminds me-they want us to go down to their country cottage next week-end. They’ve got a place in Sussex, you know.’

  He was busy lighting a cigarette and did not see that Alison had gone rigid. She remained with her back to the room, her hand quite still on a fold of the curtain.

  ‘Do you mean that Jennifer asked us?’

  ‘Yes. That’s to say, Simon did. It’s the same thing,’ Julian said.

  Alison thought that it was not the same thing at all. But it seemed impossible to voice any protest, There was no reason in the world why she should object to the week-end-so far as Julian knew.

  ‘You didn’t specially want to do anything else, did you?’ Julian was looking at her now.

  ‘No-oh, no,’ Alison assured him. ‘I’d like to go to the cottage.’

  She hated the idea, really, she told herself fiercely, but she felt helpless in face of the utter impossibility of explaining fully to Julian.

  Why on earth should Simon have chosen just now to invite them down there? He must know how queer and embarrassing it would be for her. Or was it just that he didn’t care?

  They drove down on the Saturday afternoon, through a cold rain-storm which threatened to turn to snow at any minute.

  By the time they arrived at the cottage it was already beginning to grow dark, and the square, fire-lit hall was a very attractive sight.

  ‘You poor dears I Aren’t you simply frozen?’ Jennifer drew them both towards the fire, and kissed Alison, ‘I think it’s too heroic of you to come down here at this time of year. It was Simon’s idea entirely. To my mind it’s just idiotic to go into the country in December unless you absolutely have to.’

  ‘Probably they aren’t such over-civilised, city-softened cr
eatures as you,’ observed her brother equably. ‘This place is just as beautiful in December as in June.’

  ‘All right You can be as rude as you like,’ Jennifer laughed ‘But London remains the only place where I can contemplate the thought of winter with stoicism.’

  ‘Did you have a good journey down?’ Simon was taking Alison’s coat and speaking to her in that half-indifferent, half-caressing voice that was so disturbing.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘And do you think me absurd to ask you here in the winter?’

  Alison felt embarrassed, and glanced at Julian. But he was talking to Jennifer.

  ‘I-I like the country any time of the year, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t quite.’ Simon gave that peculiar smile of his. ‘But it will do.’

  Then he turned to speak to Julian, and a moment or two later Jennifer took Alison upstairs to see her room.

  It was an exquisite place, with little dormer windows set in pointed eaves. The furniture was Queen Anne period, in palest, gleaming walnut, every piece a thing of beauty in itself, while the curtains and hangings were in old-world, rose-spattered chintz.

  On a low table, under one window, stood a huge bowl of pink roses, the living counterparts of the roses in the chintz.

  ‘Why, how wonderful!’ Alison drew a deep breath of admiration. ‘What glorious roses to have in December.’

  Jennifer laughed.

  ‘Simon brought those down from Town specially for you. He was most exercised about getting the right shade. You ought to feel flattered, I can assure you, for I’ve never seen him bother about these little gallantries for anyone else.’

  ‘It-was very kind of him,’ Alison said, and bent down to sniff the scent of the roses a little nervously. She thought, somehow, she would have liked them better if Jennifer had put them there.

  Downstairs again, she tried very hard to be appreciative and to talk easily about the beauties of the cottage. She admired the improvements Simon had made, and praised the marvellous combination of modern comfort and old-world charm. And all the time she wished and wished that she were safely back in her London flat.