Nobody Asked Me

by Mary Burchell

  Alison looked slightly put out, but Julian said with admirable composure:

  ‘It was very kind of you to think of Alison’s entertainment.’

  ‘Well, one never knows,’ Audrey remarked, helping herself to another cake.

  ‘No,’ Julian agreed gravely, ‘I must admit-one never does know.’

  Alison flushed and laughed.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Audrey.’

  ‘It’s not silly, really,’ Audrey assured her. ‘I’ve noticed-nice people like you nearly always have a baby quite quickly. People like Rosalie are quite different.’

  Alison felt unable to find an answer to this at all, and even Julian’s sangfroid failed him for a moment. It was left to Theo to remark sagely:

  ‘I shouldn’t think Rosalie would ever have any.’

  ‘Well, suppose we leave that to the future,’ said Alison with great firmness, while Julian pushed back his chair abruptly and, fumbling nervously for his cigarette-case, strolled over to the window.

  ‘Anyway, she’ll have to find a husband first,’ observed Audrey uncharitably.

  ‘Audrey, you’re not to talk like that about your sister,’ Alison said sharply. ‘It’s extremely rude and not at all clever, as you seem to think. Besides, you know quite well, in any case, that Rosalie is engaged.’

  ‘Oh, but didn’t Mother tell you?’ Audrey didn’t appear very seriously dashed. ‘It was broken off last week. The engagement, I mean. I don’t know which did the breaking, but, anyway, it’s done.’

  ‘Rosalie’s-broken-’ Alison’s voice died in her throat Without even looking at him. she was overpoweringly aware of Julian’s tense stillness.

  Then Audrey gave a squeal of protest.

  ‘Oooh Julian, you’ve dropped a lighted match on the carpet. Look, it’s scorching it!’

  ‘All right don’t get excited. It’s out now.’ Julian spoke quietly, but with a little thread of hoarseness in his voice.

  ‘It’s made a mark, though,’ Audrey said inexorably.

  ‘Never mind, Audrey dear. Finish your tea now. It doesn’t really matter,’ said Alison.

  And it was true, of course. The whole carpet could have been burnt up and, in a sense, it would not have mattered. It was something that could be remedied.

  There were other things that could not.

  Later that evening, when the twins had been sent home perfectly happy in the car, Alison wondered if there were anything that she could-or should-say to Julian. But he was in one of his silent, absorbed moods, and she decided in the end that it was best to let Rosalie’s broken engagement pass without comment.

  She could only hope nervously that neither she nor Julian need see Rosalie for some while, and that perhaps, by then, her cousin’s fickle affections would have fastened on someone else.

  Christmas came and went without incident, except for the frequent visits of the twins, who seemed inclined to make a second home of the flat. From them Alison learned casually that Rosalie was still at home. So that when Aunt Lydia made a half-hearted suggestion that she and Julian should spend Christmas with them, Alison had a polite but firm excuse ready.

  And, as only the most perfunctory concession to duty lay behind the invitation, her aunt did not press it.

  Alison was sorry when the school holidays came to an end. She was warmly fond of both the children by now, and she knew that Julian, too, found them amusing and lovable in a way that was good both for him and for them.

  ‘Holidays are quite different now we have you and Julian,’ Audrey told her artlessly, and Alison thought it was one of the nicest compliments she had ever received.

  The following Saturday afternoon Julian had an unexpected business engagement and, knowing that her uncle was quite likely to be at home that afternoon, Alison went along, a little fearfully, to Aunt Lydia’s house; she was uncomfortably aware that she had hardly seen Uncle Theodore since the wedding, and she trusted to luck that Rosalie at least would be out.

  The servant who opened the door to her was one who had known and liked her in the old days, and she gave Alison a very friendly smile.

  ‘Is Mr. Leadburn at home?’ Alison asked as she came into the hall.

  ‘I think so, Miss Alison. Shall I go and see for you? I expert he’s in the little drawing-room.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, thank you,’ Alison told her. ‘I’ll go along myself, And Mrs. Leadburn-is she in?’

  ‘She went out just after lunch, Miss Alison, and won’t be back until late.’

  Alison hoped profoundly that Rosalie had gone with her, but, feeling she could not prolong her enquiries further, she just nodded pleasantly and went along the passage leading to the little drawing-room.

  Alison used to think afterwards how strange it was that one was never in the least prepared for the most overwhelming shocks of life. She was conscious of nothing more than a mild nervousness in case she should meet Rosalie, and a pleasant sense of anticipation because she was to see her uncle.

  She opened the door, expecting to find him there, perhaps reading or writing letters. But her uncle was not in the room. Two other people were, however. One was Rosalie, and the other was Julian. And both were completely oblivious of anyone but each other.

  With a distinctness that burnt itself on her consciousness, Alison saw that Rosalie’s arms were round Julian’s neck. her fair head pressed against his shoulder. He was speaking to her in low, urgent tones, and the arm which was round her was obviously holding her tightly.

  This, then, was Julian’s unexpected business engagement.

  In absolute silence Alison withdrew, closing the door behind her.

  She felt terribly sick, and there was a high, singing noise in her ears. She wondered for a moment if she were going to faint, and then, with a tremendous effort, she pulled herself together.

  There was no one in sight. The servant who had let her in had gone away once more to the back of the house, and the hall was quite empty. There was no reason why anyone should know about her visit. The only important thing seemed to be to get away.

  Slowly and deliberately, as though it were difficult to make her muscles obey her, Alison let herself out of the front door.

  It was only a matter of minutes since she had come in from the quiet square outside, but somehow it all looked quite different now, like some place she had only seen in a dream.

  She walked along slowly, feeling a little better now that she was in the open air, but without much idea of what she was really doing.

  Julian and Rosalie. Julian and Rosalie. It was like some dreadful jarring refrain that kept on repeating itself in her life. She would imagine for a while that she had escaped from it, and suddenly, without any warning, there it would be again, shattering the quiet harmony which she had so foolishly supposed was hers.

  ‘What can I do? What can I do?’ she kept repeating to herself. And then she found that she was saying it aloud in a hoarse little whisper.

  She must get a better grip on herself. People would think she was mad. Perhaps she was a little mad. She felt strangely light-headed.

  It was impossible even to think of going home to the flat. She didn’t think she ever wanted to go there again. But she couldn’t go on walking for ever. If only there were somewhere, somewhere.

  Presently she found she had turned into Knightsbridge. Mechanically she quickened her steps, so that she should not look quite so strange and wandering, for it would give such a queer impression if she just crept along aimlessly as she had been doing for a long time now. Every now and then she paused to stare at shop windows. Not that she saw anything that was in them, but at the back of her aching mind was the conviction that she must pretend to do as other people were doing.

  Only she wished she could have sat down somewhere instead of walking and walking.

  And then someone spoke her name.

  ‘Alison!’

  She looked round, vaguely scared, and saw that a slim black Alvis had drawn up beside the kerb. At the wheel was
Simon Langtoft.

  ‘How are you, Alison? I thought it must be you, but you didn’t hear me the first time I called.’

  ‘Didn’t I? I’m sorry.’ She felt dull and stupid, and unable to think of anything to say.

  ‘Can I give you a lift?’ he asked.

  But she didn’t much want to go in Simon’s car and perhaps be questioned.

  ‘No, thank you. I-I’m shopping, you see.’

  ‘Shopping, dear?’ His expression changed his voice was suddenly extremely gentle. ‘But you can’t be shopping, you know. It’s Saturday afternoon. The shops have been closed for hours.’

  She gave him a nervous little smile.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. It’s Saturday afternoon,’ she repeated. and slowly her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Alison, won’t you get in and let me drive you home?’

  ‘No-oh, no, thank you. I couldn’t go home.’

  There was a second’s pause.

  ‘Then will you just let me drive you somewhere-anywhere-until you’re feeling better?’

  She didn’t answer that in words. She slipped silently into the seat beside him.

  He leaned over and banged the door. And the black Alvis slid away into the stream of traffic once more.

  There was silence except for the hum of the motor. Then presently Alison began to cry quietly. Simon still didn’t say anything, but she knew he must know what she was doing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I’ll stop in a minute.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. And don’t bother to talk. Just lean back and take it quietly.’ He pushed a rug towards her with one hand. ‘Tuck that round you. It will keep you warm.’

  She obeyed him mechanically, and presently she closed her eyes.

  At last she opened them. It was dark outside, and for a bitter moment she was reminded of that strange drive with Julian on the first day of their honeymoon. But this time it was not Julian who was beside her. It was Simon. And there seemed to be a curious significance in the similarity- and the difference.

  ‘Simon, where are we?’ she asked a little huskily.

  ‘Somewhere quite near the coast, but that isn’t as far away from London as it sounds. If you feel you can manage some food, I think we ought to stop and have some dinner soon. It isn’t good for you to go so long without anything.’

  ‘Very well,’ Alison said listlessly, and they relapsed into silence again. She felt dully grateful to him for that, for it was extraordinarily kind and tactful of him to remain silent when all the time there must be a hundred questions he longed to ask.

  ‘But perhaps he knows I’d just cry again if he asked them,’ thought Alison.

  ‘This will do, I think.’ Simon drew the car to a standstill outside a country hotel. It had an air of solid comfort about it, without any suggestion of loudness or too much liveliness.

  He helped her out of the car, and kept his hand round her arm in firm support as they went into the hotel.

  A long panelled dining-room-with high-backed, carved settees which shut off the tables from each other-promised some measure of privacy, and, after one glance at her, Simon proceeded to order the meal without reference to her.

  Again she was thankful to him for not troubling her with questions, and gradually, as she ate, she felt a little strength and coherence of thought coming back to her.

  He made her have a dash of brandy with her coffee, and after that a faint colour came back into her cheeks, and she managed to smile slightly at him.

  ‘Thank you. You’re really being most awfully kind.’

  ‘No, I’m being kind to myself too,’ he told her a little curtly.

  She glanced down. ‘I mean-it was kind of you not to ask questions.’

  ‘I didn’t need to. Only one thing would make you look like that.’ He spoke with the faintest touch of bitterness, and then seemed to make an effort to conquer it, for he added gently, ‘I suppose Julian has-’ He stopped.

  ‘He can’t help loving Rosalie,’ Alison said quickly, and then she too stopped, because it was strange to be defending him for something which had hurt her so terribly.

  ‘Rosalie has broken off her present engagement, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’ Alison bit her lip.

  ‘So that-’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Alison broke in sharply. ‘If he hadn’t rushed into this absurd marriage, he would be free to-to go back to the woman he really wants. You needn’t put it into words, Simon. I know all the arguments backwards.’

  Simon remained quite silent.

  ‘It would be almost-simple, if Rosalie were anything different.’ Alison spoke slowly, as though she were thinking aloud.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Simon’s voice was quiet still, but a certain quality of urgency had crept into it.

  ‘She’s so cruel, Simon So cruel and mean and petty. Don’t think I’m saying this because I’m jealous. I was once, but I’ve got a long way past that now.’ Alison pushed back her fringe wearily and leaned her forehead on her hand. ‘Rosalie hasn’t really forgiven him one atom for marrying me, and she doesn’t love him in any deep sense at all. She’d enjoy taking it out of him.’

  ‘Isn’t that rather his own affair?’ Simon said, a trifle drily. ‘You can’t live his life for him, you know.’

  ‘No, but I might stop him from ruining it,’ She sighed. ‘I wish I knew if I were being really honest about this. It’s so hard to know.’

  There was silence for a moment or two, and then she said, ‘What time is it, Simon?’

  ‘Latish. Between eight and nine.’

  She looked horrified.

  ‘So late? Oh, we must get back. Julian will wonder what on earth has happened.’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘Well, of course.’

  ‘Suppose you didn’t go back.’ Simon spoke slowly.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Alison made an impatient little movement. ‘One can’t solve things like that. It wouldn’t be my way, in any case. Whatever I decide to do, I must have it out frankly with Julian, and all the cards must be on the table.’

  ‘All the cards, Alison?’

  She dropped her eyes.

  ‘Perhaps not quite all,’ she admitted in a low voice.

  He didn’t say anything to that. And then he settled the bill and they went out to the car once more.

  ‘Will it take us very long to get home?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Not very long.’

  They drove for a while in silence. Then: ‘Where are we now?’ Alison said nervously. ‘It’s so dark I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Don’t you recognise the outline of that mill over there against the sky?’

  ‘No. Ought I to?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re quite near my cottage.’

  ‘Your cottage? Then we still have quite a long way to go.’

  ‘No,’ he told her. ‘It’s not more than an hour’s run in this car.’

  ‘Even so-’ she began.

  ‘We were so near that I thought it best to stop for ten minutes. You’ve looked so cold and tired for the last half-hour: you must have a hot drink of some sort.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Alison said quickly. ‘Oh, no, I don’t want it, Simon, really.’

  ‘My dear’-Simon spoke quietly but firmly’-’it wouldn’t take very much at the moment to make you really ill, I insist on our stopping, if it’s only for a few minutes. I can’t risk your getting a chill when you’re in this state.’

  Alison gave up the argument, but when they drew up outside the cottage and he led the way up the path, her heart was full of misgiving.

  He switched on the lights as they came in, and put a match to the log fire.

  ‘Simon, it isn’t necessary. We shall only be here a few minutes,’ she protested.

  But he only smiled and said:

  ‘Sit down and get warm I’ll not be a moment,’

  ‘Are the two-I mean-are your housekeeper and her husband not here?’

/>   ‘No. They’ll have gone home by now,’ Simon said calmly, and went off into the kitchen to see what he could find.

  Alison drew near the fire and sat down. She pulled off her hat and ran her hand over her hair. She wished very much now that she had insisted on starting for home much sooner. It would be so terribly awkward having to explain to Julian. Almost impossible to do it without going into the whole miserable question of himself and Rosalie, and she felt utterly incapable of doing that to-night.

  Suppose that scene with Rosalie had been only an irrepressible impulse of which he was now ashamed. Oh, it wasn’t likely, of course-but just suppose-

  Alison gazed into the fire that was beginning to glow warmly now, and the light on her face made her look a little less strained.

  Simon came back, carrying a tray with two steaming glasses.

  ‘Here you are.’ He handed her one of them.

  ‘What is it?’ She sniffed it doubtfully.

  ‘Never mind. Drink it up. It will do you good.’

  Alison drank it obediently. It seemed to make the blood run more easily in her veins and to melt a little of the frozen despair round her heart.

  ‘Thank you. That’s much better.’

  She looked up with a little smile at Simon… And suddenly he was kneeling beside her, his arm lightly round her waist.

  ‘Oh, Alison, I’ve thought of you so often like this. Sitting here smiling at me, with the firelight on your face.’

  ‘Simon, please-’ She moved nervously. But he went on as though she had not spoken.

  ‘I was a fool last time, I know. I thought Julian was so unimportant that it scarcely mattered his being here. I was wrong, of course. It was just plain hell having him near you in the place I love so much. But it’s different now. There’s no Julian to spoil things this time. Just ourselves-alone.’

  Alison drew back as far as his arm would allow her.

  ‘You mustn’t talk to me like that, Simon. I don’t want it. Won’t you understand? Please, please let’s go now. It’s so late already, and we’re still a long way from home.’

  And at that Simon raised his face to hers with a smile. For the first time, she saw, his eyes were brilliant and sparkling; that strange opaque quality was gone. He spoke quite gently, with a little under-current of amusement in his voice.