The Judas Kiss (4 page)

"He is a queer fellow," George replied. "He would hate to have things made too easy. He believes in bearing his cross and finding it heavy. I hope he is not heading for a breakdown like he had once before."

"How was that?"

"Working for some exam. He thought it would be too awful if he failed. Actually he passed quite well. I will have a talk with him. But I must show you the new water lily pond."

"I rather want to see Emerald. I believe she is going out for lunch."

"This will not take long."

He led her through the trees to an opening where the pond had been cunningly contrived. It was irregular in shape and some stepping-stones led to a mound in the centre that would no doubt be a blaze of colour later on. A gnarled old man was waiting for them. With his bent legs, stooping shoulders, ugly features and three days' growth of stubbly beard, he might have been a gnome from a fairy tale.

"Ah, Teague," Mr. Michelmore said, "this is your new mistress."

"Marnin', Mum," he muttered, touching his cap. His ferrety eyes took stock of her, not altogether with approval, Adelaide thought.

"Good morning," she said. "You have made a good job of this. Will you stock it with goldfish?"

"Maybe," he muttered.

"You like it?" George asked.

"It is lovely. So is everything else I have seen, but you must show me round properly. I think the great thing about a garden is that you do not see all its beauty at once. New joys at every turning. I wonder if those trees over there would do with a bit of pruning; rather overshadow the flower-bed, don't they?"

She spoke innocently enough, only meaning to show interest. She did not realise that gardeners are in the main of two kinds, those who are too handy with axe and clippers, and those who hate to cut anything down. Both kinds like suggestions to come from themselves and want to do things in their own way.

"Some plants wants shade and some wants sunshine," Teague said, almost malevolently.

"How true that is," she responded gaily. "I shall have so much to learn. I must run in now."

She hurried to the house, and passing Pearl's private door, pressed the bell of the one that adjoined it. A minute later it opened and Emerald stood at the top of the stairs. She had a cord that pulled back the latch without her having to come down.

"Oh, you," she said. "What do you want?"

"Good morning," Adelaide replied. "I have seen the others and I thought I would like to see your little home. It is such a wonderful idea."

"All right," Emerald responded, not too graciously. "Come up, but I haven't much time. If you have seen one you have seen them all."

That was not quite true. In size and shape the apartments might be identical but in appointment they were very different. Pearl's living-room was cosy and dainty; Jasper's was an artist's work-room; the one she now entered was more of a library. There was a big desk in the window, with a typewriter on it. Shelves ran round the walls, filled with books of reference and works of fiction of all kinds. The easy-chairs were leather covered.

"How business-like it looks," Adelaide said. "I hope I did not interrupt you."

"I have just finished a chapter."

"I am glad. May I ask what it is about?"

"It is an historical romance."

"How interesting! What period have you chosen?"

"William and Mary," Emerald said shortly.

"What a clever idea. So many people have written of Charles II and Henry VIII. Both so fatal to women. I have read quite a lot of Regency tales but I cannot recall any of William and Mary."

"There have been some."

"I expect there have. I always think it should have been called Mary and William. She was really the queen, being the daughter of James II. It was only through her that William became king."

"You know quite a lot." The comment was ironical.

"Not really," Adelaide said, "but I did go to a decent school before my father died."

"What was his rank?"

"He was a captain in the Tank regiment."

"I suppose you get a pension?"

"My mother did, but it died with her. They do not give pensions to able-bodied young women, though it is not too easy to get a job without special training. Oh, Emerald! Do you smoke a pipe?"

Again an adroit change of conversation. Her quick eyes had seen a well-bitten briar partly hidden by a photograph on the mantelshelf. Emerald turned an angry red, vexed that she had not concealed it.

"I do not," she said. "It belongs to Victor Gore-Black. He is forgetful and keeps it here in case he has not brought one."

Adelaide also saw a pair of man's slippers under a chair, but she did not mention them. It was of course possible that a writer might have a spare pipe and slippers in a room where he worked, but was there more to it than that? Had Emerald some sort of affair with her co-worker? Did that account for her resentment at the arrival of George's wife? Was she fearing discovery?

"Victor Gore-Black," Adelaide said. "Is he your collaborator?"

"He is."

"I believe I have heard the name. Has he written much?"

"Some successful novels. He is attached to an Ipswich paper. He also does some free-lance work."

"How interesting! He must be very clever. I hope I shall meet him some day."

"You probably will."

"He must think a lot of you, too, to want you to help him."

Emerald did not reply. Adelaide got up.

"I must not keep you," she said. "I know you are in a hurry. Do you cycle?"

"I have my own car."

"How jolly! One of them said something about cycling."

"The others do. I lend them my car sometimes."

"Very good of you. If I can ever help you in any way, please let me know."

"In what way?"

"Well, reading proofs, looking up dates or quotations. I know it takes a long time."

"Thank you, but I prefer to do such things myself. And, I hope it does not sound rude, should you think of coming again, would you use the house-telephone? I might be busy."

"Of course," Adelaide said. "I did not know you had one."

As the weeks went by Adelaide appeared to settle down happily in her fresh surroundings. She had little reason not to. Nan was efficient in the house and Teague did his duty outside, so, although they remained slightly resentful of the newcomer, things worked smoothly. George adored her and she did her duty by him. He took her to see many interesting places in Suffolk and Norfolk and not infrequently Pearl accompanied them, to her no little delight. Pearl became really fond of Adelaide and was always her champion in any family discussions. Yet the young stepmother realised she did not enjoy the girl's entire confidence; perhaps it was too soon to expect it.

She perceived that Pearl, young as she was, had two admirers. One, Peter Skelton, the son of the local doctor, had just qualified and joined his father in the practice. He was a big fellow, good-natured if not particularly good-looking. Pearl liked him well enough, but she had known him all her life and there would be no thrill in marrying him. He on the other hand had always regarded her as his destined mate and was content to wait. His allegiance never wandered.

About the other admirer, Arthur Dixon, there was too much thrill. A little older than Peter, he was more assured in his manner, more adroit in his wooing and he had plenty of money. But, it is a very big But, he was married. He and his wife Esme had been separated for nearly two years. There had been no grounds for a divorce; she had just left him. He was romantically handsome, of the Byron type, and possessed a pleasant voice and a persuasive manner. It is possible that in her father's absence Pearl saw more of him than was good for her.

As the summer approached, the Michelmores had frequent tennis parties and the two young men came to most of them. Adelaide watched the affair with regret but felt she must not interfere. She hoped Pearl would trust her and come to her before it was too late.

There was little doubt about Emerald's affair; the girl practically admitted it. Victor Gore-Black also played tennis and so was introduced to the new hostess. How often he called in connection with the literary work, or how late he stayed, no one knew. Adelaide did not like him but she realised he was of a type that would attract some women, what is called the he-man type. Rather short, with a big head and long hair, he was, she imagined, arrogant, aggressive and sensuous. No doubt he had ability and a girl like Emerald might pay heavily to get her name linked with his and so see her work in print. He was obviously surprised by Adelaide's youth and beauty and she realised she must keep him at a distance if she wished to continue on reason ably good terms with his fellow-worker.

"You and Emerald are writing a novel of the time of William and Mary?" she remarked when he was presented.

"That is so," he said, eyeing her boldly.

"Lucky for her to have so notable a partner."

"I don't know about that, but I generally succeed in what I undertake." His tone was complacent. "Do you write at all?"

"Never," Adelaide replied. "Not even letters if I can avoid it. But I am interested in your period. I have always wondered how it worked. A king and a queen. If they wanted different things, whose will prevailed?"

"Which will do you think should prevail?" he challenged, with an assured smile.

"Hers. She was the rightful queen."

"Have you never heard of the gallant husband who told his bride that married happiness was a matter of give and take? So when they agreed they would always have her way; when they differed, his."

"All take and no give "

"But a good working arrangement," he smiled. "Our story, however, concerns the times rather than the persons of their majesties."

"Victor, are you ready? They have just finished." It was Emerald returning to claim him for a set.

It was later that Adelaide put her question to the girl.

"Are you thinking of marrying Mr. Gore-Black?"

"No," Emerald said. "Victor does not believe in marriage. Neither do I."

"Why not?"

"I do not suppose you will understand. A writer must not be bound. He must be free to enjoy all the experiences and emotions life has to offer."

"The woman too?"

"Of course."

"Suppose one of them tired of the experience before the other did?"

"That is the advantage of freedom."

"A dangerous doctrine, my dear."

"Would you expect a creative genius to observe the rules of a domesticated clerk or shop-keeper?"

"I believe many a creative genius has been glad of a good wife to see to his creature comforts," Adelaide said.

"When genius has to obey the dinner-gong, creation dies," Emerald retorted.

Adelaide saw that Emerald loved Victor and accepted him on his own terms. That he would be constant to her was extremely unlikely. She might have put the problems of both his daughters to their father, but that would assuredly lead to trouble, possibly a family break-up. He had taught independence and she must wait. She did not want the trouble to be ascribed to her.

With the sons things were less difficult. Jasper started on her portrait in the frock she had worn on the first evening. He made more demands on her time than she could grant and that led to an indiscretion on her part. If indiscretion it really was.

When a morning sitting ended she told him she could not come again for a few days but she would leave the frock and he could get on with that.

"I will slip it off," she said. "I brought a coat to go back in. Don't look."

She expertly undid some fastenings and stepped clear of the garment. He did look. He saw her in her flimsy but alluring underwear. He dashed at her, seized her in his arms and kissed her shoulders.

"You are beautiful, Adelaide," he whispered. "A beautiful devil."

"Don't be silly," she said coolly, pushing him away. "You told me your model was only an empty shape. I trusted you. If I cannot I will never come again."

She picked up her coat, slipped her arms into it and left him. She did come again but that episode was never repeated. If she had to change her attire she did it in the adjoining room.

Of Garnet she saw but little; he was absorbed in his work. She and George gave him money to help with the new surplices and she went twice to his church. On the first occasion the vicar preached, the second time he did.

The Rev. Forbes Fortesque was a remarkable-looking man. He must have been nearly eighty years of age; his hair was white but his clean-shaven cheeks were fresh and shiny like a well-polished apple. It was not true that he mumbled. His voice was soft and it was probably only audible in the front pews. But his discourses did ramble. He preached ex tempore and it was no unusual thing for him to start on one text and finish on another quite different.

On the morning Adelaide heard him he started with the River of Life. He drew a vivid picture of the rower striving against the tide and showed the importance of his keeping to the main stream lest he got lost in one of its branches. Talking of branches reminded him of trees and in the trees, God's gracious gift, the birds of the air made their nests. But not all birds were good birds. There were the birds that swallowed the seed that fell by the wayside. And some fell in stony places. So naturally he concluded with the parable of the sower.