The Blue Rose (20 page)

“You don’t think I’d be talking like this if you and Stephen were happy, do you? I’d rather cut my tongue out than come between a devoted husband and wife, especially when the husband is Stephen. But anyway one
can’t
come between a really happy couple. Their very happiness is a kind of inoculation against anyone else’s interference
...
But seeing you as you are, knowing Stephen
...
I may tell you now that I tried to do everything I could to dissuade Stephen from marrying you. I felt it was much too quick
—
that you hadn’t known each other long enough, that you had no idea what Stephen was really like. Oh, I did it for your sake as much as for his. I didn’t feel it was fair on you. I begged him at least to have a longer engagement
—
but I only succeeded in making him angry and telling me to mind my own business. He was so confoundedly sure.”

“But what were you so frightened of?”

“Just what’s happened. That he wouldn’t be able to do without Clare Frenton.”

Rose felt as if her blood had turned to iced water.

“I felt that he was marrying you to get her out of his system,” Robin went on, “using you as a sort of medicine
—
but I knew it would be no good until he was free of her himself. And it’s just as I thought it would be. She’s still there, still running his parties, running his house, managing him in every way. Everything just the same—the same food, the same flowers, not so much as a cushion changed. There’s no more of you in that house than there is of me. It’s a mausoleum to
her.
I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t know yourself. You must be much more aware of it than I am, and no wonder you are unhappy. I don’t know how you’ve stuck it—except that I think I do know. It’s obvious to me now that you don’t really care. That you never really cared any more than he did. That you wanted to get married—which I don’t blame you for
—
and he could give you all sorts of things that you’d never had. Isn’t that it? You couldn’t put up with that woman in your home otherwise. You couldn’t let her do what she’s doing. And now they’ve even gone to America together.” Rose was too stunned to reply. Her head was bowed and she was fighting back her tears, fighting to regain control of herself. No doubt she ought to be angry with

Robin but she knew that it wouldn’t be fair. It was all her own fault: she had brought it all on herself.

“Rose,” he said, and he put his hand over hers. “It’s not too late for happiness—for either of us. You’re being utterly wasted. Let’s go away together. I know I can make you happy
...”

“Please stop,” she broke in, finding her voice at last and snatching her hand away. “You’ve got it all wrong. I love him, I love him. How could you have thought
...
? Oh, how could I have given you that impression? Robin, I’m so sorry
...”

“I simply don’t understand,” he said, and his voice had gone cold. “If you love him, how
can
you put up with things as they are?”

“What things?”

“Clare always there
...
And now their going to New York together.”

“They haven’t gone together. They just happen to be travelling together,” she protested loyally.

He gave a little grunt of incredulity.

“I know they are very dear friends,” she went on, “and I put up with it, as you call it, because I never want to come between him and his old friends. I have tried to love all his friends
...”

“Is that why you have been so very sweet to me?”

“Well, I do like you tremendously for your own sake, but even if I hadn’t
...”

“I see.”

“Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry. What have I done? I’ve been and ruined things for you and Gai
...”

“You needn’t reproach yourself on that score. It’s much better as it is. For Gai too. Particularly for Gai in the long run. I would never have made her happy and our association was keeping other men away. She’s young and terribly attractive. She’ll be all right.”

“But what about you?”

“Oh, I’ll be all right too—in the end. The only thing is that for the time being at any rate I can’t go on seeing you. I can’t go on as if nothing had happened.”

“But what will Stephen think?”

“I shall go abroad. I shall go at once, as soon as I can. I’m fed up with the Bar anyway. I’ll make a clean sweep of everything. I’ve always wanted to travel and fortunately now I’m in a position to do so. I’ve got no responsibilities, no ties, and the money my godfather left me. I shall be all right. If I haven’t actually gone by the time Stephen gets back he can think I have. I’ll write him a note this evening saying goodbye
...
By the time I get back, I expect I shall be able to renew our friendship as if nothing had happened. I’m sorry I’ve made such a blunder, Rose.”

“No, it was my fault—my fault entirely. But is it going to make a difference to your friendship for Stephen? I should hate to feel I have come between you.”

“It won’t make any difference in the end. Stephen and I have known each other far too long and weathered too many storms for that. But I can’t help being furious with him at the moment for making you so unhappy.”

“If I’m unhappy it’s my own fault.”

“How can you say that? It’s that woman’s doing. She’s even more to blame than Stephen
...
Rose, if it’s the last thing I ever say to you, I say: Get rid of her. Thrust her out of your life.”

“But how can I if Stephen is fond of her? If I asked him never to see her again, and he agreed for the sake of our marriage, what happiness would there be for either of us if all the time he was eating his heart out for her?
...
Oh, Robin, what am I to do? I never realized that he loved her, that there was anything like that between them.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I thought she was so happily married for one thing
...”

“That’s just a myth. Clive’s been an indulgent fool all these years. I really blame him more than anyone. He ought to have put his foot down long ago
...”

“Do you mean to say that they—they—that Stephen and she were actually lovers?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I really don’t know how far it went, but when a woman is always there, playing hostess for a man, doing everything for him, one is apt to form certain conclusions. I’ve often talked to Stephen about it but it’s always ended in a quarrel.”

“What did he say?”

“He always said that there was nothing in it, and when I warned him what people' were saying, he said that he didn’t care a damn for public opinion—people could say and think what they liked. But the worst row we ever had about it was when he told me that he was engaged to you
...
Oh, Rose, I’m sorry if all this is news to you. I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world. But I thought you
must
know.”

She shook her head miserably. “No, I didn’t know
...
Robin, I’m afraid I can’t eat anything. I think I’d better go home.”

“I haven’t much appetite either, I must say. I’ll take you home.”

“No, thank you, Robin dear, I’d rather be alone. I’ve got to think this out by myself
...
I hope things will go well for you. Get over me quickly. I’m really not worth being unhappy about
...
Write to us sometimes to let us know how you’re getting on.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WHEN Rose got home she found a long cable from Stephen waiting for her, saying that he was getting back the next afternoon. He gave her his flight number and advised her to ring up B.O.A.C. for the actual time of his arrival.

How excited she would have been if this cable had come before dinner, but now her heart was too sore and her mind too confused to feel anything but apprehension at his homecoming. She was willing to discount anything Clive had said, but she could not ignore what Robin had told her. But what was she to say to Stephen? She would have to have it out with him. She couldn’t go on with this dreadful uncertainty gnawing at her.

She did not sleep one wink that night. She lay there in the dark turning everything over and over in her mind. It all seemed to fit in; everything was explained by Robin’s revelations. Stephen had wanted to free himself from Clare; he had realized the hopelessness of the situation and had clutched at her, Rose, as the proverbial drowning man clutches at a straw. He had wanted to fall in love with her and had no doubt persuaded himself that he was in love with her. Words that she had read somewhere about the poet Burns came into her mind: “He had battered himself into a warm affection.” Yes, that was it: that was what Stephen had done. He had battered himself into loving her. As Robin had said, he had used her as a sort of medicine to try and rid himself of his infatuation—but the medicine had not worked. He had found that he could not do without Clare.

She recalled how Clare had known, ostensibly through Miss Davies, that they were coming home that day and had sent flowers to greet them. Had Clare really got to know of it through Miss Davies? Why shouldn’t Stephen himself have written or telegraphed to her? And then she remembered how the first morning Stephen had rung up Clare from the office to thank her for the flowers. It had struck her at the time that this had been quite unnecessary.

...
Oh, how could she have been so blind? There were a dozen little indications which, added together, made the thing an overwhelming certainty. And then there was everything Clive had said. Clive was not mad and she knew it in her heart of hearts. She had always known it, but had not allowed herself to believe the things he had told her. And now there was Robin
...
Robin was Stephen’s best friend; Robin must know. It was true that according to Robin Stephen had denied it, but why should he have got so angry? The old proverb came into her head: “There is no smoke without fire.”

But what about Clare’s behaviour? Clare’s interest in herself? Had Clare tried to make the best of the situation; tried to like her for Stephen’s sake, realizing that his marriage eased an intolerable situation for her too? Yes, that was it. That was undoubtedly it. And then they had both found that their love was too strong. Perhaps it had taken Stephen’s marriage to show them the strength of their feeling for each other.

But what was she to do, what was she to do? She tossed and turned in bed as this question buzzed round and round in her tired mind like a bluebottle.

Towards morning she came to a definite decision. She would give Stephen a divorce. Then Clare could also get a divorce and they could be married. Before, they had probably been prevented from taking this step because of

Clive, but now Clive had been so hurt that a divorce surely could not hurt him more.

She would be calm and rational and make it as easy for Stephen as possible (what a mercy it was that there was no child on the way. That would have complicated matters dreadfully). Stephen was a kind person and no doubt he was desperately anxious not to hurt her. She, therefore, must take the initiative. She must tell him quite calmly that she felt that their marriage had been a mistake. It had been too precipitate; but thank goodness no very great harm had been done and the sooner they parted the better. Whatever happened she mustn’t let him see what she was really feeling. She would talk to him that evening.

She rehearsed the scene in her mind until it was time to get up.

The first sight of herself in the looking glass that morning gave her a shock. Her face was chalky white and there were deep black shadows under her eyes. She looked as if she had been through hell, as indeed she had. Her first thought was: “Goodness, I look so ugly he won’t love me any more,” and then she remembered that he didn’t love her anyway, and a little choking sob rose in her throat. She had been able to rehearse their parting scene quite calmly in imagination but this recollection of reality almost overwhelmed her.

II

She took the car to the Botticelli that morning, intending to go straight from there to Heathrow. When she got there she first went up to the flat to see Francie, and to her surprise she found her up. The doctor was so pleased with her that he was allowing her to resume normal life. “The danger’s past, anyway for the time being,” she said, “and it’s all due to you for nursing me so well. You’ve been a brick
...
Heavens, how tired you look. Did you have a very late night?”

“I didn’t sleep very well
...
Stephen’s getting back some time this afternoon. Do you mind if I ring up B.O.A.C. from here to find out the exact time? They said they would be able to tell me better at half past nine.”

The information was that the flight was on time and was expected at 15.30 hours. Rose had to work this out. “He’s expected at half past three,” she told Francie.

“It’s lucky I’m all right again,” Francie said, “as I’m sure he won’t want you to work so hard once he’s back. He’ll probably be furious with us anyway for overworking you. I do hope we haven’t tired you too much?” and she looked at Rose rather anxiously.

“No, of course you haven’t,” and Rose turned her head away quickly to hide a sudden rush of tears, but not before Francie’s quick eyes had perceived them.

“What’s the matter, darling?” she asked gently. “Nothing.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, really there isn’t. I’m just stupidly tired, that’s all. I had such a rotten night.”

“I know it’s more than that. Why don’t you tell me? It does help to tell someone, you know, when you’re worried or unhappy, and you know you can trust me.”

“No, really it’s nothing,” Rose said, getting out her handkerchief and blowing her nose hard. She was having to fight for all she was worth against the temptation to fling herself at Francie’s feet and pour out all her misery and uncertainty. She must control herself. Francie, if she knew the truth, was quite capable of going to Stephen and demanding Clare’s immediate expulsion from his life, thinking that it would be for Rose’s happiness. But that was the last thing Rose wanted. If Stephen loved Clare, his renunciation of her could not make Rose happy. She would be far happier—or rather far less miserable—if she renounced him herself. She did not want any sacrifices from him. She could not buy her own happiness at the expense of his. She loved him so much that the thought of his unhappiness hurt her to the quick. If one of them had to suffer she would far rather it were she. That was why she was going to pretend to him that it was she who wanted a divorce. She did not want compunction for her to be a cloud on his eventual happiness with Clare.

III

She gave herself plenty of time to get to the airport, and all the way she was planning how she was going to greet Stephen. Affectionately? Friendlily? Coolly? Brightly? Offhandedly?
...
She was almost there when it suddenly
occurred
to her that Clare might be returning with him. Why had she not thought of that before? And what was worse, Clive might be there to meet her. Clive might have made up his mind that the line he was going to take was to do nothing. He might have decided to go on as before as if he were unaware of what had been happening. That would be the most awkward thing of all. She could have stood it before her conversation with Robin but not now.

She looked out for him as she parked the car and as she walked back to the arrival shed, but there was no sign of him. The transatlantic lines still left from, and arrived at, the old, temporary airport, and the shed was hardly more commodious than a nissen hut. She saw Stephen’s flight number up on the green baize board and the time of its arrival. It was still expected punctually but she was early and there was about a quarter of an hour to wait.

She filled in the time by buying a cup of coffee which she was far too nervous to drink.

Exactly on time letters were put up on the board to say that his aeroplane had landed and she joined the little throng behind the barrier from which one could see the passengers appearing after they had been through the Customs.

“This always takes ages,” she heard a woman saying who was waiting with a friend. “One thinks they are never coming.”

“I know,” the friend replied, “and the person one is waiting for always seems to be the last.”

Rose was glad to hear this or she might have thought that Stephen had missed the plane as the passengers began to straggle through one at a time or in little family groups as they were released by the Customs, and there was no sign of him. They all wore the same expression, a kind of bewildered look which broke into a smile as soon as they saw their friends or relations, but in the case of those who were not being met remained bewildered as they were ushered through the door by the porter carrying their luggage to the waiting bus that was to take them to the air terminus.

Rose had never known anything so nerve-racking as this waiting, especially as she had not yet made up her mind in what manner she was to greet him, and did not know whether Clare would be with him.

As a matter of fact he saw her a split second before she saw him. He waved and his face broke into his enchanting smile and she found herself waving and smiling back. He came up to the barrier. “Have you got the car?
...
Good girl.” He turned to the porter and said: “There’s a car outside,” and then turning back to her, he added: “Do you mind if we give one of my fellow-passengers a lift? An American. We made friends over the Atlantic.”

“Of course not. I’ll go and bring the car round.”

“I’ll come with you. I’ll just wait and tell this chap I
can
give him a lift.”

A middle-aged American soon emerged from the Customs and Stephen introduced him to Rose. “You wait outside with the luggage and I’ll go with my wife to get the car,” Stephen said.

He took her arm as they walked towards the car.

“Clare didn’t come back with you?” Rose asked.

“No, she went back yesterday or the day before, I believe.”

“Her job didn’t take her very long then?” she said.

“No,” he replied shortly, and did not seem to wish to enlarge on the subject.

“Was the business successful that you went over for?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Yes, thank goodness, or I would have resented going more than ever
...
How have you been? You didn’t write,” and there was a reproach in his voice.

“But there wasn’t time.”

“I half hoped to find a letter waiting for me when I arrived in New York
...
Silly of me, wasn’t it? Did you get my flower?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.” He was behaving so normally that it made her feel that everything she had been through, everything she had heard, must be a dream. She didn’t know how to behave in return. Emotion was choking her so that she could hardly speak. “Was it terribly hot?” she heard herself asking rather foolishly.

“Sweltering. Hotter than I’ve ever known it. How’s it been here?”

“Heavenly.” What a word to use. Heavenly? It had been more like hell.

“What have you been doing?”

“Working at the Botticelli,” and she told him about Francie being laid up. He frowned. “No wonder you look so tired,” he said. “You’ve been overdoing it and you promised me you wouldn’t. You look really ill again. You’re a very bad girl and I’m very angry with you.”

“I didn’t overdo it, I promise you.”

“It’s no good your saying that. I can see for myself. You’ve got those lines back again under your eyes. They had quite gone when I left. I shall have something to say to those Earles.”

“No, please not. Please don’t say anything. It wasn’t their fault. You won’t say anything to them, will you? They’d be so hurt. And you’d have done just the same if you’d been me. Will you promise me you won’t say anything?”

“All right. I won’t say anything to them, but I shall say a great deal more to
you
on the subject.”

While they were thus talking they had got the car out of the parking place and were now back at the shed.

Rose sat in front on the way back to London beside Stephen who was driving, but there was no chance of any more conversation between them because she had to turn round all the time to talk to the American who had a very great deal to say.

He was staying at the Savoy and they dropped him there and then drove home along the Embankment. “It’s extraordinary what that journey does to one,” Stephen said when they were alone again. “One seems to leave one’s soul behind and it takes a long time to catch up with one.”

“You must be tired,” she said, trying to keep the tenderness and solicitude she felt out of her voice.

“No, not exactly tired. Bewildered. As I said, soulless.”

“Now I know what all those people looked like when they emerged from the Customs,” she said. “Like lost
souls! A lost soul must really mean someone who has lost his soul.”