Part 19 (2/2)
They were crossing the Wanhope lawn as he spoke, on their way to the open French windows of the parlour, gold-lit with many candles against an amethyst evening sky. Laura, in a plain black dress, was at the piano, the cool drenched foliage of Claude Debussy's rainwet gardens rustling under her magic fingers.
Bernard was talking to Mrs. Jack Bendish, for the sufficient reason that she disliked him and disliked talking to any one while Laura played. Her defiant sparkle, her gipsy features, her slim white shoulders emerging from the brocade and sapphires of a sleeveless bodice cut open almost to her waist, produced the effect of a Carolus Duran lady come to life and threw Laura back into a dimmed and tired middle age. Jack's eyes glowed as they dwelt on her. His marriage had been a trial to his family, but no one could deny that Yvonne had made a success of it, for Jack wors.h.i.+pped her.--Lawrence, leaning forward in his chair, his forehead on his hand to s.h.i.+eld his eyes from the light, looked exceedingly tired, and probably was so.
”Queer chap Hyde,” said Bendish to Val as they waited on the gra.s.s for the music to finish. ”Can't think what he's stopping on for.”
”Oh, Jack, for heaven's sake don't you begin on that subject!”
”Hey? Oh! No, by Jove. Seems a shame, doesn't it?” returned Bendish, taking the point with that rapid effortless readiness of his cla.s.s which made him more soothing to Val than many a cleverer man. ”It all says itself, so what's the good of saying it? All the same I shan't be sorry when Hyde packs his movin'
tent a day's march nearer Jerusalem.” And with a casual wink at Val he stepped over the threshold. His judgment, so vague and shrewd and sure of itself, represented probably the kindest view that would be taken in Chilmark.
Their entrance broke up the gathering. Jack carried off his wife, and Barry appeared to wheel Bernard away to bed. With a word to Laura, Val followed the cripple to his room. The Duke was pressing for an answer, and long experience had taught Val that for Bernard one time was as good as another: it was not possible to count on his moods. And there was not much to be said; all pros and cons had been thrashed out before; the five minutes while Barry was out of the room fetching Bernard's indispensable hot-water bottles would give Val ample time to secure Bernard's consent.--Laura had scarcely finished putting away her music when Val came back, humming under his breath the jangled tune that echoes night in the streets of Granada. Laura glanced at Lawrence, who had gone into the garden to smoke and was pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing the open window: no, he could not hear.
”Well, Val?”
”Let me do that for you, shall I?” said Val, lightly smiling, at her. ”Your ottoman has a heavy lid.”
”Have you spoken to Bernard?”
”I have.”
”And it's all right?”
”Yes” said Val, deftly flinging diamond-wise a glittering Chinese cloth: ”is that straight?--that is, for me. I shan't take the agency.”
”Val!”
”Bernard agrees with me that the double work would be too heavy.
Of course I should like the money and I'm awfully sorry to disoblige Lord Grantchester and Jack, but one has one's limitations, and I don't want to knock up.”
”It is too bad--too bad of Bernard,”. said Laura, lowering her voice as Lawrence lingered near the window. ”He doesn't half deserve your goodness to him.”
”Bos.h.!.+” said Val laughing. ”Where do these candlesticks go? In my heart of hearts I'm grateful to him. I'm a cowardly beggar, Laura, and I was dreading the big financial responsibility. Oh no, Bernard didn't put any pressure on me: simply offered me the choice between Etchingham and Wanhope.”
”They would pay you twice what you get from Bernard. Oh, Val, I wish you would take it and throw us over!”
”That's very unkind of you.”
”Is this definite?”
”Quite: Bernard had thought it well over and made up his mind. I shouldn't speak to him about it if I were you.”
”I shan't. I couldn't bear to.”
”Bosh again--excuse me. I must go home. Good-night, dear.” He held out his hand, wis.h.i.+ng, in the repressed way that had become a second nature to him, that Laura would not wring it so warmly and so long. In the first bitterness of disappointment--so much the keener for his unlucky confidence to Rowsley--Val could not stand sympathy. Not even from Laura? Least of all from Laura.
He nodded to her with a bright careless smile and went out into the night.
But he had still one more mission to perform before he could go home to break the bad news to Rowsley: a trying mission under which Val fretted in repressed distaste. He came up to Lawrence holding out the gold cigarette case. ”You dropped this at our place when you were talking to my sister this afternoon.”
”Did I?” Lawrence slipped it into his pocket. His manner was perfectly calm. ”Thanks so much.--I hadn't missed it.” He had no fear of having been betrayed, in essentials, by Isabel.
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