Love Is My Reason (22 page)

“
I am going to bed too. Mary is right. All this excitement is very exhausting, and although one feels happy, I for one am almost dead. But I daresay you want to ask Martin more about your father, darling. You have him to yourself for a while, if you want.
”

There was, in her estimation, no greater pleasure she could have offered Anya, and Anya
’
s grateful good-night kiss acknowledged the fact. Then Mrs. Preston bade her son an affectionate good-night and went away upstairs.

For a while there was silence in the room. The fire, which had been lit because of the coolness of the evening, flickered and stirred in the grate, and the coals fell together, sending up a shower of sparks.

“
Well,
”
said Martin, who was sprawled comfortably in an armchair, smoking,
“
what do you want to ask me, Anya?
”

“
I don
’
t know.
”
She looked across at him and smiled in the firelight.
“
I don
’
t know where to begin. It
’
s so extraordinary to hear about someone as close as one
’
s father and yet to have to ask about the smallest detail. In a way, it
’
s like hearing about a stranger. For most of my life, I thought
of someone else as my father
—
”

“
Did you?
”
Martin shot her a curious glance.

“
Yes. My mother married again very soon. A Russian. He was a good father to me all my life, in good times and bad.
”

“
And most of them were bad times?
”
suggested Martin.

“
We spent years in various camps, as refugees. But that was no fault of his. And, even in the most wretched existence, there are ways of making things better, you know, if people are good and kind and loving.
”

“
I suppose there are. What happened to your mother in the end, Anya?
”

“
She died—in a camp in North Germany.
”

“
Because of the wretched conditions?
”

“
More or less.
”

“
It seems impossible! I knew her as a gay, determined, resourceful girl, living a reasonably normal existence as a language teacher. I remember her on her wedding day. She was very pretty. Strictly speaking, prettier than you are.
”

“
I am sure she was.
”
Anya smiled.
“
Tell me some more about her.
”

“
I didn
’
t know her very well. I knew your father much better, of course. I liked her, but—you mustn
’
t mind my
saying this, Anya—I strongly suspected that she married my friend as much for the chance or becoming British and escaping, as for anything else.
”

“
It
’
s possible. Do you blame her?
”

“
No. Not as the world has been for many years now. There was a Russian fellow I saw her with once or twice
—
he didn
’
t come to the wedding—I always thought she was really fonder of him than of Edcombe. Perhaps that was the man she married afterwards.
”

“
Perhaps.
”

“
His name was Ivan. I forget the other name.
”
He looked across at Anya enquiringly.

“
Half the men in Russia are called Ivan,
”
replied Anya with her secret smile. And her companion did not press the point.

“
I wonder why your mother didn
’
t apply to the relations of her English husband.
”
Martin frowned consideringly.
“
It would have been difficult for them to do anything, of course. It always is difficult to do anything for anyone on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. But it would have been worth trying.
”

“
She married again so soon after the accident,
”
Anya said.
“
Perhaps she decided to marry for love, rather than nationality, that time. She had the chance of escaping to Prague with my—my stepfather. I imagine she preferred to do that, rather than make a forlorn attempt to contact unknown English relations, who probably would not have wanted her in any case.
”

“
I guess that
’
s it,
”
Martin agreed.
“
And so poor old Edcombe would have been as though he had never existed
—
except for you,
”
he added musingly.

“
Except for me,
”
Anya repeated slowly. And, for the first time in her life, she had the most extraordinary sensation of belonging to something which had continuity.

Somewhere, back there in the mists of the half-forgotten past, there was a man who was responsible for her existence. And here she sat—safe in the harbour of a conventional, English drawing-room, after indescribable experiences
—
sole evidence of the fact that he had once lived and loved and walked the earth.

She felt the link, like an almost physical tug at her wrist, and for a moment the firelight blurred before her eyes in
a mist of tears.

“
He was very young to die, wasn
’
t he?
”
she said softly, and there was tenderness in her voice Because he was real to her at last.

“
Very,
”
Martin agreed briefly.
“
But he lived every minute of his life, I think, while he had it. Perhaps none of us can ask more than that. But—I wish he could have seen you.
”

“
Seen me?
”
She repeated the words curiously.
“
Why?
”

“
Any man likes to see his daughter,
”
Martin said with a slight laugh.
“
And you were so clever and enchanting this evening. He would have been proud of you and happy
.”

“
W-would he?
”

“
Why, of course. And I expect he would have asked you what I
’
m going to ask you now. What do you propose to do with your life, Anya?
”

There was a pause. Then she said,

“
You ask me what
I
propose to do. Perhaps that
’
s the first sign that I am someone in my own right at last. Before, everyone made suggestions of what
they
should arrange for me. It gives one a strange feeling. You can
’
t imagine how strange!
”

“
Perhaps I can.
”
Martin smiled.
“
Tell me what you plan to do.
”

“
I want to follow out the scheme of work that Bertram Ranmere has drawn up. I have faith in his judgment and in his powers of development. I am going to try, with everything I have, to be a success in the world of the theatre—in the way he wants and expects. And after that
—”
she hesitated, became withdrawn suddenly, and said almost formally
—“
after that—I don
’
t know yet.
”

“
Is he in love with you?
”

“
Bertram?
”
She was astonished.
“
Certainly not.
”

“
All right. He might have been, you know. You
’
re the kind of girl men do fall in love with. But it
’
s just as well if he is not. That means there are no strings to the offer he has made to help you?
”

“
I don
’
t think there are. No, of course there aren
’
t. He is just interested in me as a stage artist.
”

“
Hm.
”
Martin sounded slightly sceptical, but did not actually query this assertion.
“
Then it
’
s the other fellow. David Manworth.
”

“
In—in what way do you mean that?
”

Martin Deane laughed not unkindly.

“
I
’
m old enough to be your father, Anya. I believe I
was
a few months older than your father, which is a sobering thought. So you mustn
’
t mind my speaking to you in a slightly paternal way. I
’
m used to observing people, and I saw perfectly well this evening that you and my rather
p
roblematical sister are both in love with the same man.
T
hat
’
s right, isn
’
t it?
”

“
It—it could be.
”

“
Well, it
’
s never very wise to interfere between women in love, I guess. But—I say this quite objectively, for though blood may be thicker than water, I am not greatly drawn towards my new sister—you would make a better wife for David Manworth than she would.
”

“
You think that?
”
Anya clasped her hands together and stared at him.
“
You
really
think that?
”

“
I do.
”
he looked amused.
“
Is it so astonishing?
”

“
Yes—no—I don
’
t know.
”
She put her hands up to her cheeks for a moment.
“
But you couldn
’
t have said anything nicer to me at this moment. Not if you
had
been my father.
”

“
Is that so?
”
He laughed then, though he looked very faintly moved.
“
Well, I
’
m glad to know I deputized not unworthily for an old friend. And now—
”
he got up and stretched and yawned
—“
perhaps my dear mother is right. All this drama certainly exhausts one a little. Suppose we leave all the other questions and discussion until tomorrow.
”

She would have liked to go on then, for she felt at ease with him, and a dozen things she wanted to know about her father had now come to mind. But she had long ago been schooled to do in
s
tinctively what others wanted. And so she obediently accepted his suggestion, and together they went slowly upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, when he said good-night to her, he unexpectedly kissed her and said,
“
That
’
s from your father.
”

He spoke lightly, and he even laughed a little as he said it. But Anya experienced such a rush of emotion at the words that she could only give him a brief smile in reply. Then she ran along the passage to her room, and, once she was safely in there, with the door shut, she flung herself on the bed and wept. But whether it was because she had never known her father or because she had just found him, she was not really very sure.

* * *

The next few days were curiously peaceful and uneventful, after the hours of concentrated drama. Celia was out a good deal, and both Mrs. Preston and Martin were kind and undemanding where Anya was concerned.

She even had time to be a little bored and wish that she could begin on her scheme of work. Then Bertram telephoned one evening to inform her that he would take her to London the following day.

“
The man I want you to study with is back from Paris,
”
he informed her.
I’ll
take you to his studio tomorrow and get you started. I
’
ll call for you at ten tomorrow morning
—”
he didn
’
t seem to visualize her as having any plans of her own which might conflict with his
—“
and we
’
ll go up to town by car.
”

Anya thought fleetingly of what Celia had said about the inadvisability of driving around with David or Bertram. But nothing which Cel
ia
had said seemed to have quite the same poisonous significance now. She said she would be ready at the appointed time. And then, to her disappointment, Bertram rang off before she could make even the most casual enquiry about David.

The next morning, which was fine and sunny, Bertram arrived punctually for her. And, with the feeling that at last she was about to embark on the first stage of her longed
-
for career, Anya said good-bye to Mrs. Preston and took her place in the car beside Bertram.