Orphan Bride (23 page)

It had never occurred to her that she would be consulted. She said, trying to make an effort:

“I don’t really mind where I live. Would it be here?”

“In this flat?” He considered. “A little small for two, but we might have to make a start here.
”

She got up suddenly and went to the window, opening the curtains and staring out at the lights on the river. Julian watched her straight, slender back with a little puzzled fr
o
wn.

“Come here,” he said abruptly.

She came at once and stood beside his chair, and he slipped an arm round her waist.

“Don’t you want to marry me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she
s
aid, and repeated: “I don’t know.” He pulled her down on to the arm of his chair.

“You know nothing very much, do you, darling?” he said with tenderness, and it was the first time he had ever
used any endearment to her. He felt her tremble, and drawing her face down to his, kissed her with great gentleness.

“That’s the first time,” she said.

“The first time you’ve been kissed? What about that young man on the moor?” He was laughing at her, dismissing Frankie’s kisses as something which did not count.

“No, the first time you’ve ever done it. You never even kissed me good night—you or Aunt Emily
.
”

“A good night kiss,” said Julian with humor.
“Yes, we might have given you that. Will you sing for
m
e, Jennet?
Will
you sing ‘Searching for Lambs
’ ?
”

She did not feel like singing. There was an uncomfortable lump in her throat and confusion in her mind. But the habit of obedience was strong, and Julian so rarely asked a favor. It was the least she could do for him
.
He got up and went to the piano, switching o
n
the light. Her voice sounded tired, and once or twice she stumb
l
ed over a phrase, but he did not interrupt. But for Jennet all
t
he meaning the song had ever had for her seemed to crystallize in each loving line, leaving
her empty in its terrible simplicity.

“For I am thine and thou are mine,

No man shall uncomfort thee:

We’ll join our hands in wedded bands—

She broke off and hid her face in her hands, shaken with tears.

Julian finished the verse, ending on a soft chord, then he reached up a hand to her.

“Jennet, my dear, what is it?” he said. “That song’s
always upset you. Why?”

“I can’t—I can’t—” she said, and finished forlornly: “It’s meant for lovers.”

He pulled her down beside him on the music-stool, and as once before, he drew her head back on to his breast and held her closely.

“And you feel cheated,” he said gently. “Is that it
?
”

“No, no, not exactly. But it’s not mea
n
t for me.”

“I think it is. Do you remember when you got lost on the moor, you talked a lot about the song and the china fawn that was somehow mixed up together and stood for something you wanted from life? I didn’t altogether understand then, but I think I do, now.
”

She turned to him with a little sigh.

“It wasn’t just Frankie so long ago,” she said, “it was the children—the sense of belonging they all had. Frankie was only part of it and I was part of it, too.”

“I see.” He touched her with gentle fingers. “Yes, I see. I was very stupid, wasn’t I? But why couldn’t you have told me at the time?”

“You wouldn’t have understood. If you’d only been like this before,” she said, reaching up to touch his face, “I could have explained myself so much better.”

He laughed and kissed her wet cheek.

“You never
were very good at explaining, were you, my silly dear?
”

“No,” she said, and sighed. She could not explain now that this strange, unlooked-for tenderness was new and sweet, but that at any minute he might turn back again into that other being who pounced and snubbed.

“I’m going to take you back to Piggy now,” he said, and got up, drawing her gently with him. “You’re overtired. To-morrow I’ll come and see you, and we’ll discuss further arrangements. In the meantime, dry your eyes and blow your nose. You look more like an orphan than the real
thing.”

She sniffed, searched in v
a
in for a handkerchief, and he gave her his, remarking

“I always told you women never have enough clean handkerchiefs. Run along and get your coat.”

It was not until she was dropping off to sleep in Piggy’s spare room that she remembered, she had, left Luke’s manuscript in Julian’s flat.

CHAPTER
F O U R T E E N

Julian was to come round after breakfast, and half the morning, Jennet stood at Piggy’s window watching for his car.

Piggy, observing her, smiled a little dryly to herself, and hoped that this ridiculous farce was about to end. If Julian had not been so clumsy and so stubbornly dictatorial, long ago the child might have worn that eager expectant air for his arrival. Well, she was thankful it wasn’t Luke.

“He’s late,” came Jennet’s voice from the window.
“He said eleven o’clock.”

“Well, that won’t hurt him for once in a way. I must go out and get the joint now, Jennet. If you are not here when I get back, I will know that Julian has taken
you out to luncheon.”

Jennet turned and looked at Piggy.

“You are a dear,” she said impulsively, and would have liked to give her a hug, but Piggy, like the
Danes, did not encourage embraces.

She watched the little figure walk away sedately in the
direction of Gloucester Road, then she saw Julian’s car turn the corner of the street and draw up in front
of the house. She was waiting with the front door open long before his dragging steps had brought him to the head of the stairs. She had wondered if she might kiss him in greeting without risking a snub, but the first glance at his dark, unsmiling face as he stopped on the landing made her clasp her hands behind her back and say rather blankly:

“Hello
!
”

He went into Piggy’s sitting room without speaking, and she followed him, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“Is—is anything the matter?” she asked him nervously. He peeled off his gloves and threw them on a chair with his hat and overcoat before replying, then he said without preamble:

“Has Luke
been making lov
e
to you?”

She was completely taken aback and said indecisively: “I—I think so.”

He made the old impatient gesture with his stick. “You think so—don’t you know? Either a man makes love to you or he doesn’t. Can’t you be, more definite?”

“We
l
l, yes—yes, he has,” she admitted.

The room was still full of Luke’s flowers. Julian’s eyes rested on them for a moment, then came back to Jennet’s face.

“And you?” he asked then with a quietness which deceived her. “You let him make love to you?”

“I—She was confused and unsure. Love-making—the love-making of subtle phrases from someone like Luke just happened. “I suppose I did.”

He turned away from her, and began prodding at the fire with his stick, that old trick he had when he was most disturbed.

“It’s all there in the book, isn’t it?” he said. “I read it after you’d gone last fright. Do you like the idea of your poor little emotions being set down in cold print?”

Her eyes were fixed on his back.

“No,” she said, “I don’t. I didn’t realize at the time that I was just—copy.”

“And the last chapter—the one that’s unfinished—was that just copy, too?”

“
I don’t understand.” She tried to remember where Luke had left off and could not.

Julian spoke, still without turning.

“If you remember, the heroine was about to accept her first lover. It had already been proposed that the two should sleep together
.
”

“Oh,
no,
Julian, we never—I never
—
” Jennet’s
voice was horrified.

Suddenly he wheeled round on her and she realized that his quietness had misled her from the beginning. He was furiously angry.

“And this is the one man I trusted you with—the one man who, knowing my intentions, would not, I thought, betray my trust. What a fool I was
!
What a god-almighty fool!”

She made a little timid gesture towards him. It was Luke, she thought, who had hurt him most.

“Julian, please—let me explain
—
” she began, but he
cut her short.

“Be quiet! You don’t need to explain anything. It’s all too plainly written down—fo
r
anyone to read and understand. Oh, I suppose I can’t blame you, you poor little fool.
I should have k
n
own better than to turn you loose with someone of Luke’s charm and experience. It’s not surpris
ing
your head was turned.”

“I don’t think,” said Jennet with dignity, “that my head was turned. But Luke was the one person who treated me as an adult—the one person who ever considered my feelings, made a fuss of me, yes, and made love to me, even if it was only to see how I’d react.”

Some of Julian’s own anger was beginning to take possession of her, driving out her fear of him.

Julian looked at her, his eyes hard and bitter.

“Do you think I couldn’t have made love to you
with more right and justification than Luke?” he said.

“
Why didn’t you, then?” she retorted.
“
If you had ever, once, been as you were last night, do you think I would have listened to Luke?”

There was a small silence.

“Why didn’t I?” His voice was very bitter. “Because, like a fool, I thought it wasn’t fair. You were very young, and you were in my care. What I wouldn’t allow to others, I certainly wouldn’t allow to myself.”

“No,” said Jennet, “that’s not true. You didn't need me as a person—you don’t need anyone. I was just an experiment. Oh, I know I owe you gratitude. You’ve thought for me, planned for me, you’ve sheltered me from everything that might spoil your experiment for you, but you never for one moment gave me what I wanted.” Her voice rose. “I’m sick of having my clothes and my friends chose
n
for me, my opinions—even my thoughts vetted—do you hear? I want to live my own life, be my own self. I’m still grateful to you, Julian, but I don’t want to marry you.”

“Go on,” he said quietly.

She turned away with a tired little gesture “That’s all,” she said.

The anger went out of her as quickly as it had come, and Julian controlled his own with an effort.

“Now you’ve got that off your chest, we’ll have no more nonsense,” he said. “Now you’ll listen to me. I’ve wired Aunt Emily that I’m sending you back to Pennycross tomorrow, so you’d better spend the rest of the day packing. We’ll forget about this unfortunate affair, which, as things have turned out, can’t be very flattering to your self
-
esteem. You’ll stay at Pennycross until I can make arrangements to marry you, and,
if you prefer it, I won’t see you between now and that time, to give you an opportunity to readjust yourself.”

“I told you,” said Jennet unhappily, “I don’t want to marry you.
”

“You were quite acquiescent last night. What do you suppose you’ll do if you don’t marry me?”

“Work—the same as anyone else out of an orphanage.
”

His eyes were more kindly.

“You seem to forget Aunt Emily adopted you. You’re her legal responsibility until you’re of age, and that’s a long way off yet. Now, don’t let’s have any more of this nonsense. Get your things packed, and tell Piggy I’ll come round and explain things to her this afternoon.”

He began to put on his overcoat and collect his hat and gloves.

“Julian
—
”

He paused at the door.

“Well?”

“You can’t force me.”

He pulled on his gloves impatiently.

“Of course I can’t force you. But you’ll see things quite differently once you’re back in the country. I made a great mistake in bringing you to London before you were read
y
.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to behave like an adult.”