The Lady of Situations (21 page)

"You're really prepared to face the music? It will be very loud, you know. Losing your job and making a thumping scandal. Not to speak of what you'll be doing to that poor minister."

"It's terrible, I know. Don't think I haven't sweated it out. Averhill has meant the world to me. Perhaps too much so. I even wonder if it hasn't been an evasion of life. And here comes life in the form of an innocent baby. I've got to guarantee
his
life. I'm sorry about Tommy, but she's bound to leave him eventually in any case. She's told me so. She can't stand him, really."

"Yet she married him. I don't suppose anyone forced her to."

"Oh, Joel, don't moralize. I'm way past that. What would
you
do in my case?"

Joel got up quickly and reached a hand over his desk for his client to shake. "I hope I'd do just what you're doing. It's a sorry business, but I agree the infant comes first."

"And do you know something else? It's the first great decision I've made in my life. All along I've let things happen to me. I've been what my friend Annette used to call
va-comme-je-te-pousse.
But now I'm taking not only my own life but that of two others into my hands, and I'm damned if I won't make a good thing of it!"

"And you really love this girl?"

"Yes!"

"And she loves you?"

"Yes."

It was no longer the time for doubts. Joel gave a strong nod and reseated himself at his desk. "And now to business. Here is what you and Mrs. Barnes must do."

"Call her Natica, please. She too will be your client, although the bills come to me."

"Natica. She will leave immediately for Reno where she will establish the required residence. If I can induce her husband's lawyer to persuade him to consent to a divorce, so much the better. Obviously, we will not ask for alimony. But hate and jealousy can make people take strange positions, and we have to be prepared for his refusal. A divorce obtained without his consent would not be good outside of Nevada. Very well, you and Natica will marry and live in Nevada. Eventually, of course, with two genuine Nevada residences, the divorce and second marriage will be valid everywhere, but believe me, you will not have to wait that long. Barnes will come around. They always do in the end."

"How soon could we be married?"

"In Nevada? Six weeks. Speed is of the essence. We don't want Barnes claiming that baby."

"How could he do that? There's no way it could be his. Natica told me he hasn't had 'access,' if that's the right word."

"Access is just what he
has
had. Natica obviously doesn't understand the term in law. It doesn't mean that he's had sexual relations with her. It means that he
could
have, while they were living under the same roof. But you tell me he doesn't know she's pregnant. Be sure to keep it that way, as long as you can, anyway. If the child is born seven months after your marriage nobody will have much reason to suspect it was conceived before."

"Oh, Joel, how can I ever thank you?"

"You won't have to. You can pay me. Through the nose, too. Messrs. Saltonstall & Meyers are not cheap. But what's that to your exchequer? And speaking of dough, you had better leave me enough to get your beloved to Reno and put her up in a proper hotel."

When these details had been worked out, Stephen called Natica, and learning she was alone, told her the plan.

"How about it? Are you game?"

Her answer was as strong as he could have wished.

"I
am
game. I've thought of what I'd do if you came up with something immediate, as, thank God, you have. I shall leave Tommy today. Within an hour. He's gone somewhere with Lockwood and won't be back till late. I've already packed two bags which is all I'm going to take. Ask the good Mr. Sapperthwaite to get me a room in a hotel in Boston for tonight. I'll call him from the station. And tell him I'll be ready to leave for Reno on the very first plane."

Stephen was taken aback by such a show of resolution. "You don't think you owe it to him to tell him to his face?"

"No, dear, I'm way beyond that kind of guilt-ridden honesty. When you know exactly what you're going to do, there's no point in anything but doing it. Tommy would just rant and rave. It would be a painful scene, to nobody's advantage. I should never have got into his life and now I'm going to get out of it as quickly and cleanly as possible."

"But what will I tell him when I get back to school?"

"Why should you tell him anything? He doesn't know about us. All he will know and all
you
will know and all the school will know is that I've bolted. It won't come as much of a shock to many of the faculty, at least to the wives. They've pegged me as an oddball from the beginning."

"But when I come out to marry you in Reno, they'll know."

"But that will be later. Then we won't care. That will be your part of the plan. Let's take one step at a time. The first will be mine. I'm leaving Tommy a letter telling him I've gone for good and that he'll hear from me later."

"You won't tell him that..."

"That I'm pregnant? Of course not. What business is that of his?"

When Stephen told Joel, who had been listening, the part of the dialogue he had been unable to hear, though considerably softening the brisk efficiency of Natica's tone, he did not quite like the look in his lawyer's eye.

"Well, it seems we're all set, doesn't it? I like clients who don't dally about making up their minds."

Stephen did not know what to expect when he returned to school, but he was still surprised to find everything the same. Roy Evans had taken over his morning English classes on his plea of a family legal emergency—the awe in which the Hill family was held at school made this perfectly credible—and his absence seemed to have been hardly noticed except by Giles Woodward, who made a grinning allusion to a dentist appointment to which he did not respond. But the next morning, when he was sitting in his empty classroom preparing for the next hour's session on the "Ode on Melancholy," Tommy Barnes, his face crinkled and gray, burst in and slammed the door behind him.

"Do you know where Natica is?" he demanded hoarsely.

"Why? Has she gone?"

"Don't you know where she is? She left me this note." He waved a paper frantically. "She says she's left me. Left me for good!"

"Oh, Tommy!" Stephen rose, hating himself, to adopt a sympathetic stance. "I'm so sorry. But why should I know anything about that?"

"Because you're her friend! Because you've been reading poetry together and God knows what."

"Reading poetry together doesn't mean I know where she's gone."

"Do you mean to tell me, Hill, there's nothing between you and her?"

Stephen, to prepare himself for the ordeal that was bound to come, had resolved to fix his mind on the image of his unborn child. Once the idea had been firmly established that he owed everything, down to his very existence, to the guaranty of a decent start in life for the foetus he had called into being, lies and deviations and disgrace itself would simply fix themselves into the ineluctable pattern of his destiny.

"I don't mean to say I have never felt an attraction to your wife. But she is perfectly innocent of that. There has been nothing between us."

Tommy stared at him blankly for a moment and then collapsed on one of the desk chairs and began to sob. His shoulders shook. He appeared no longer aware of Stephen's presence.

Stephen forced himself to stand there silently and watch. In his mind there arose the image of a blond-haired boy, well made, a quizzical and faintly sultry look on his handsome features.

A sharp knock on the door was immediately followed by the appearance of a very different boy. He stared at Tommy in astonishment.

"Giles, get out of here!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hill, but the headmaster says you are to see him immediately."

"But I have a class in five minutes!"

"He said that didn't matter. That he would send Mr. Sykes to take it."

Tommy, hearing this, seemed to recover himself. "I told Dr. Lockwood about Natica," he explained to Stephen. "I'm afraid I may have got you into trouble. But you can tell him what you told me. I suppose she just hated my guts. Deep down I've known it all along."

The young minister now hurried from the room, leaving Stephen and Giles to stare at each other.

"Is this
it,
sir?"

"This may be it."

I'm very sorry.

Stephen reached out a hand which the boy took. "You've been a real pal, Giles. I'll never forget it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, you may as well call me Steve now."

"It's that bad?"

"I'm afraid it's that bad."

Downstairs in the headmaster's study Stephen faced a Lockwood whose very benignity was ominous.

"Close the door, Mr. Hill. We shall need to be private. Are you aware that Mrs. Barnes has left her husband?"

"Tommy just told me, sir."

"You did not hear it from herself?"

"I did not, sir."

"Stephen, are you telling me the truth?"

"Why should I not, sir?"

"You have been intimate with Mrs. Barnes, have you not?"

"Intimate, sir?"

"You have met her at Mrs. Knight's without her husband. You have read poetry with her."

"That is true, sir."

"Look into your heart, Stephen. I speak to you as your minister. As the man who confirmed you. Have you never entertained unlawful feelings about that woman?"

"I cannot deny that, sir. But Mrs. Barnes's behavior in my regard has been at all times beyond reproach."

"Really?" The bushy eyebrows soared. "How strange. I should never have believed Wilbur Knight to be a liar. Perhaps it was jealousy about your relations with his own fair spouse that drove him to malign you."

Stephen closed his eyes to intensify the image of the blond-haired boy. Lockwood's mocking laugh at his own ludicrous supposition was almost demonic.

"What did Mr. Knight accuse me of, sir?"

"What you know all too well!" came the answering roar. "He said he had promised not to expose you so long as you kept away from Mrs. Barnes. But when I informed him an hour ago that she had fled the campus, he concluded that you had not kept your part of the unholy bargain and he told me all. Now will you deny your criminal relations with Mrs. Barnes?" Stephen was silent. "That's better. For let me tell you that you're a very bad liar. Guilt sticks out of you. Perhaps that's just as well. Perhaps it means that you're still redeemable. Let me tell you what I've decided to do. For the sake of your family and in view of my affection for you and them, and considering that this wretched woman has gone for good, I offer you a renewal of Knight's unholy bargain. If you will give me your word that all is now over between you and Mrs. Barnes, I shall not ask for your resignation. You understand that I am sticking my neck out for you, that I am risking considerable scandal. But Wilbur Knight, I feel assured, will go along with any course I recommend, and I believe I can handle the unfortunate Tommy. It will appear to the world that his wife has simply absconded. Some tattling tongues may mention you as a possible cause, but that will die down in time. And remember this, Stephen." Lockwood's face had now the sternness of granite. "If I do this for you, you must do as much for me. Not only will you pledge never to meet that woman again, but you will give me your solemn oath to have no carnal knowledge of any other woman." Here the headmaster's features were relaxed to something like humor. "At least until your marriage, which I hope, in view of your lusty nature, will not be too long delayed."

"I must tell you at once, sir, that it may not be. Your offer is unspeakably generous. But if Mrs. Barnes should obtain her freedom, it is my firm resolution to offer her myself as a second husband."

The eyes of a grand inquisitor in Toledo in the time of Philip II could not have shone with a more vivid animosity than those he now confronted. Even at such a moment Stephen could still reflect that there must have been an actual pleasure in sending infidels to the fire.

"Very well, Stephen Hill. Have it your way. You will pack your things and be off the campus by nightfall. I shall call your father and tell him of my decision. I have no doubt he will thoroughly approve. My only regret is that I deviated from my principles in even
offering
you an alternative."

"No one need ever learn of that, sir. And I shall always be grateful."

"I don't want your gratitude! Nor do I care a fig whether or not my ill-advised offer becomes known."

"I trust, anyway, sir, that my dismissal will not affect Tommy Barnes's position in the school."

"His position? What position?"

"I mean his future at Averhill."

"Mr. Thomas Barnes has no future at Averhill. What sort of place is there in a church school for a divorced priest? I don't say that he will have to go immediately, but to speak of his future here is a misnomer."

Stephen could not for a moment seem to grasp this new horror. "But it wasn't his fault, sir!"

"Fault?" exclaimed Lockwood haughtily. "You mean because no woman could resist you? Don't add fatuity to your other sins. Barnes has disgraced his church by giving our Roman adversaries a new argument in favor of celibacy of the clergy."

"Oh, sir. Have you no pity for him?"

"Had
you?
To my mind Barnes is lower than an adulterer, which is pretty low. For he has proved himself either a
mari complaisant
or an ass. Take your pick."

Stephen could only gape. "An ass, sir?"

"Why yes. For either he knew of his wife's infidelity and chose to look the other way, or he was the only member of the faculty who did
not
know, which turns him into a long-eared, braying animal, does it not? And now, sir, I suggest you have some packing to do."

Stephen, walking dazedly across the circle to his dormitory, reflected that the knowledge of the harm he had occasioned to Tommy was perhaps not the worst blow he had received in the past hour. For he had suddenly identified the face of the boy he had imagined as his son. It was that of Charlie LeBrun.