Beggar’s Choice (19 page)

XXIV

When she heard the knock on her door, Fay Everitt turned slowly without the least suspicion that she was turning to meet a reckoning. She had spent a lazy afternoon—first a hot bath; then a little sleep; then a novel, chocolates, and some of those cigarettes which Car so unreasonably disapproved of. She was one of those people who could be desperately unhappy or desperately frightened at one moment, and the next forget, for the time at least, that there was anything to be unhappy about. She could come to the surface of her thoughts and move about there with, as it were, a thin sheet of ice between her and the things that moved darkly below. At any moment the ice might break. It was breaking now, though she did not know it.

She turned, blew a little puff of smoke into the already hazy air, and called,

“Come in!”

Even when the door opened and Car stood aside to let Corinna Lee pass him, her only feeling was one of sharp annoyance because he was not alone.

They came in, and Car shut the door. Corinna spoke at once. She had no intention of shaking hands with Fay. She stood a yard from the door, small, determined, purposeful, with round gray eyes that were very brightly aware. They took in the room with its green curtains—the bed, low and couch-like, with a green spread which was just out of key; the shabby carpet; the old chair, with one very new cushion, gold and green with a black spider embroidered on it; the mantelshelf, dominated by a large framed photograph of Peter. Peter's eyes in the photograph looked straight at Corinna.

She spoke at once in a little composed voice:

“I'm very pleased to find you in, Miss Everitt, because there's something I want to ask you. And I don't think I'll sit down, thank you”—this as Fay waved her towards a chair—“because it won't take you any time at all just to answer what I want to ask.”

Fay stiffened. She was standing in the middle of the room with her book in her left hand and the right at her lips replacing her cigarette. She paused, stared, lifted her eyebrows at Car, and remarked,

“Americans are always in a hurry, I suppose.”

“Well, I'm in a hurry,” said Corinna briskly. “I'm in a hurry to know whether it is true that you say you are Mrs. Peter Lymington.”

The book fell out of Fay's hand with a crash. She jerked round to face Car on Corinna's right.

“You told her! How dare you?” And then and there she stopped, choked down the anger that was carrying her out of her depth, and faced Corinna again. “I have never called myself Mrs. Peter Lymington!”

“Have you ever said you were married to him?” The hand with the cigarette fell to Fay's side. “Did you tell Car Fairfax you were married to Peter?”

There was no answer.

Corinna did not move. Her small gray-gloved hands rested one on either side of the big lump of rose quartz which covered the catch of her gray lizard bag. Her small gray-shod feet were planted firmly. Her stern young gaze never left Fay's frightened face. It had been angry at first, but it was frightened now. The ice had broken and let her down amongst all those dark fears which sometimes came out at night and brought a reign of terror with them.

Corinna spoke again in the same clear voice:

“Did you tell Car Fairfax that you were married to Peter? Car says you did. Is he telling a lie?”

Fay looked at Car. For three years she had looked to him whenever there was anything unpleasant to be done. She looked to him now.

He came forward and put a hand on her arm.

“Haven't you got anything to say, Fay?”

She shook her head.

“You're not married to Peter?”

She shook it again.

“Why did you say you were?”

Fay moved back a step, freeing herself. She spoke for the first time since the questions had begun; and she spoke to Car, not to Corinna:

“Tell her to go away,” she said only just above her breath.

“Well, I don't want to stay,” said Corinna soberly. She turned and went out of the room without another word.

Car followed her down the stairs.

“Do you want a taxi?”

“No—I guess I'd like to walk.”

“I must go back. This has got to be cleared right up.”

She nodded, and on an impulse put her face up to be kissed.

He kissed the soft round cheek, and both of them felt a certain comfort. The kiss seemed to bring the pleasant ordered ways of family affection into sight again. He patted her shoulder, and she went out, her eyes not stern any longer but vaguely troubled. Why should any one tell stupid lies like that? Why should they?

Car went back. He was shocked, and he was beginning to be angry. He didn't understand what had happened, or why it had happened. He felt rather as if some one had struck him in the face; he would be angry as soon as he got over the first shock of surprise.

He found Fay just where he had left her, standing in the middle of the room staring at the door, waiting for him to come back. The end of her cigarette had scorched her thin green dress. A faint smell of burning crept through the smell of her cigarette.

Car was glad enough to have something to be angry about.

“Good Lord, Fay, what are you doing? You'll be on fire in a minute!”

She dropped the cigarette then, as she had dropped the book, just opening her fingers and letting it go.

“Now!” he said. “What's the meaning of this? What did you do it for?”

Fay began to cry. Quite gently and slowly the tears brimmed up in her eyes and began to trickle down her cheeks. It was an immense relief. Car was always sorry when she cried, and if he would only be sorry, it would be all right. The worst of being very frightened was that you couldn't always cry.

“What on earth did you do it for?” said Car in an angry, puzzled voice.

“You,” said Fay with the tears running down her face.

Car made a violent movement.

“What are you talking about?”

“You,” said Fay again.

He actually shook her a little then, lightly, and let go of her in a hurry because the impulse came on him to shake her harder, harder, harder.

“What are you talking about? What in heaven's name made you do such a thing? Were you engaged to Peter?”

She shook her head dumbly.

“Did he ever make love to you?”

She shook her head again.

“But, good heavens—are you mad? It's sheer raving lunacy! What was the good of telling me you and Peter were married—what was the point? It's so utterly crass!”

Fay shook her head again. She gathered her hands up under her chin. She stood there drooping, weeping, not saying a word.

Car felt a primitive desire to beat her. He took a hasty step back towards the door. It was beastly to be so strong and to want to beat people.

“Why did you do it?” he said in an exasperated voice.

Fay, seeing him recede, found her voice. She was still frightened, but there was a sort of delicious thrill about being frightened of Car. She didn't at all want him to go away. In a voice full of tears she said,

“I did it for you.”

Car felt as if he had been struck again.

“For me? I suppose you're mad.”

She shook her head.

He thought if she shook her head again, that he would probably throw something at her. He drove both hands deep into his pockets and glowered.

“Will you kindly explain—all right then, I'm going.”

Fay sprang forward.

“Don't go, Car! I did it for you—I really did! I don't care twopence for Peter! He asked me to go out with him, and I went, because sometimes you were there too. It was the only way I could get to see you. And when the smash came and Peter went to the States, I thought I should never see you any more.” The words came tumbling out half choked with sobs.

“That's enough,” said Car. “Don't talk like that!”

He reached for the door handle, but she caught his arm with both hands.

“Car—listen! Don't be angry. It was for
you
. I thought I'd never see you again, and I was desperate. And I knew you'd look after me if you thought I was Peter's wife, so I said I was.”

“Yes,” said Car—“beautifully simple! I see. Let me go, Fay.”

“Car!”

“You'd better let me go. I might”—he took a deep breath—“I might—hurt you.” Then with a sudden jerk he had the door open, pulled free of her, and was gone.

She heard the front door slam so violently that the house shook. She put her hand on her own door and pushed it to. She was sobbing as she whirled round and ran to the hearth.

Peter's photograph looked down at her. She snatched it and flung it across the room. It struck the window-sill and fell with a tinkle of broken glass.

Fay began to laugh.

XXV

Car Fairfax's Diary:

September
23
rd
—I think Fay's mad. She's simply been lying all this time. She's no more married to Peter than Mrs. Bell is. She must be off her head, because it's the most absolutely pointless show. They weren't engaged—he didn't even make love to her—they just went about together a bit. And when he'd gone, I suppose she thought she was going to be at a bit of a loose end, so she said they were married. She said she thought I'd look after her if she was Peter's wife. It's absolute lunacy.

Corinna and I went to see her. She gave the whole show away at once. After Corinna had gone, I lost my temper and came away too.

I've been looking through Peter's letters. He says things like, “You and Fay seem to be seeing quite a lot of each other,” and, “Fay says you're looking after her.” I can see now that he must have thought I was getting keen on Fay myself. Of course he'd think that, when I kept writing about how she looked and what she was doing. It makes me boil to think of the rot I've written to poor old Peter just because I thought he must be dying to know everything I could tell him about Fay. I used to think how grateful I should feel if any one would write to me and tell me all the little everyday things about Isobel, and then I used to fire away. Poor old Peter must have been bored stiff.

Well, I slammed out of Fay's room and out of the house, and went for a walk to get myself in hand. I've got a beastly temper.

On the way home I began to think about Fay. I'd been a bit brusque with her, and it worried me in case she got worked up to the point of doing something silly. She must be a bit mad, and it's no good going off the deep end because a crazy person does a crazy thing. I wasn't a bit keen on seeing her again, but I thought I'd better just blow in and make sure she was all right. After all, I've been looking after her for three years, so it's got to be more or less of a habit.

I knocked at the door, and nothing happened. It was getting darkish, because I'd been a good long way. I could hear Mrs. Bell striking a match to light the hall gas, but I couldn't hear anything from Fay's room. I got the most awful panic and fairly banged on the panel. And then I felt like a fool, because the door opened, and there was Fay, got up to the nines and all ready to go out. She'd drenched herself with scent, and she'd made up her face till she looked like one of those dummy figures they put clothes on in shop windows.

“Were you coming to see if I was dead?” she said.

I said, “Don't be an ass, Fay!” and she laughed.

“Have you come to console me for being divorced from Peter? Have you, Car?”

“I wish you'd talk sense, Fay,” I said.

Well, that just seemed to set her off. You wouldn't have thought any one could talk such rot, even if they were balmy. I felt as if my temper might go again, so I thought it would give it a safety-valve if I put it across her a bit about the harm she might have done Peter, and the mischief she might have made by pretending to be married to him like that.

She jerked and flounced, and lit cigarettes and threw them about, like she does when she's annoyed. She kept trying to speak too, but I was determined to let her have it, so I just went on. When I stopped, she asked me if Corinna was going to marry Peter. It's extraordinary how women's minds work. I said I didn't know, but I hoped so.

“I don't mind if she marries
Peter,”
she said. She edged up to me.

One of the things that has always annoyed me about Fay is the way she tries to flirt. It drives me wild. She does it because she thinks she can get round me that way. It's a most extraordinary thing that most women seem to think that they can get their own way by wriggling their shoulders and doing tricks with their eyelashes. I suppose it gets round some people. It makes me angry. Fay's most awfully bad about it.

“I shouldn't like her to marry
you
. Are you in love with her, Car?”

I said, “No, I'm not,” and I scowled.

Fay did tricks with her eyelashes.

“No—it's Isobel you're in love with—isn't it? She's engaged to some one else. She's going to marry Giles Heron. He's awfully good-looking—much better looking that you, and much better off. She'll marry him, and what will you do then? Car, don't look like that. Oh—ooh—you frighten me! I only wanted to know. I don't believe you're in love with any one really. Are you? Are you in love with Isobel?”

“Yes, I am,” I said, and I went out of the room, because, honestly, I felt as if I should murder her if I stayed there another second.

That's enough about that.

I wrote yesterday to Z.10 Smith to say I couldn't go on like this. Another fifty pounds dropped in by registered post this morning. I can't possibly take about a hundred pounds a week for doing nothing. I said if he'd really got a job for me to do, I'd like to know what it was and get down to it. I've thought till my head goes round, and I can't arrive at any possible reason why any one should throw money at me like this—which looks as if it might be a lunatic, because if you're mad, you
are
liable to do things without having any reason for doing them.