Читать книгу The Black Cabinet - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 7

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Michael wrote that night to his mother:

“Darling Mum,—

“I’m feeling so virtuous that I must blow my own trumpet. Instead of skulking in byways, I boldly accosted the Tank in the High Street—absolutely walked into her very jaws and said, ‘How d’you do?’ And of course she asked me to tea. After a frightful struggle with myself, I went; and we looked at school albums for two solid hours, sitting side by side on the sofa. There were some perfectly appalling photos of you. My hat! What clothes women wore in the nineties! I’m glad you don’t look like that now—only please don’t shingle your hair, or I shall go back to Africa, and never come home any more.

“I’ve practically made up my mind to put Uncle Horace’s money into the firm I’m working for now. I like ’em better than the other people, and you do get to know the ropes a bit when you’re behind the scenes. I shall carry on as cabby for a bit longer though. As I shall probably never have any more capital than this, I’m going to be horribly cautious. It was frightfully decent of the old fellow to think of me.

“By the way, there was a most awfully pretty girl at the Tank’s—an old pupil like you, but a little more recent. At present I feel as if I should fall hugely in love with her if I was to go on seeing her. Don’t be alarmed. My old horror takes the road on Tuesday, so that only leaves Monday for me to get into mischief. I don’t suppose I shall see her again, and perhaps it’s just as well. I haven’t felt so romantic since Lillah Blake gave me the chuck when I was eighteen. There’s something for you to have heart-throbs over. Calm yourself by remembering that I shall be out of danger by the time you read this.

“Tons of love,

“Michael.”

On Monday evening Chloe Dane left the house with the green railings half an hour later than usual. She had stayed behind to finish a dress which had been promised without fail by Monday night. She was glad to get out into the air after sitting still for so many hours.

The shops were shutting in the High Street. That was a nuisance, because she really had planned to do some shopping. She stood for a moment, hesitating, outside Baker’s. They were still open, but it was such a shame to rush in at the last minute and delay some girl who was putting stock away. Chloe knew how it felt to be kept back at the last moment after a long day’s work. She moved on; and as she did so, some one behind her, said:

“How do you do, Miss Dane?”

Chloe stopped, swung round, and saw Michael Foster.

“How did you know it was me?”

“I—well, I just knew it was,” said Michael.

They stood, looking at each other; Michael very angry with himself because he felt shy and tongue-tied; Chloe amused.

“I’m going home,” she said.

Without a word Michael began to walk down the High Street beside her. Chloe’s amusement became tinged with embarrassment. What was one to do with an almost totally strange young man who, like Felix, kept on walking?

“I’m going away to-morrow,” he said at last.

“Are you?” said Chloe. She looked up at him suddenly with laughing eyes. “I do hope Toto is quite well. Why do you keep me in suspense? You must know that I’m simply longing for news of him.”

“Toto will live for ever,” said Michael gloomily. “And so will Mrs. Howard. However, I shan’t have to live with them—that’s one comfort. To-morrow I drive them to London and shed them, also, I hope, for ever. Er, Miss Dane, do you ever go to the pictures?” Michael turned bright red as he jerked out the last sentence.

“Sometimes.”

There was a pause.

“Miss Dane—I say, would it be awful cheek? I mean, if you weren’t doing anything else, would you—would you come to the pictures this evening?”

Chloe bowed to Bernard Austin who was glaring mournfully from the other side of the street—she had refused him for the sixth time about a week before—; then she smiled at Michael.

“I’d like to awfully. Rose Smith who lives with me is going with her fiancé. They wanted me to go too; but I was going to be tactful and mend stockings at home. I do loathe mending stockings and being tactful,—don’t you?”

“I can’t mend stockings—at least—well, I did in a sort of way when I was in Africa. And my mother was most frightfully rude about them when I came home, and scrapped the whole lot—perfectly good some of them were too.”

“Can’t you be tactful either?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t very tactful just now. But I say, will you really come to the pictures?”

Chloe considered. She liked Michael Foster; she liked him a good deal; and he was leaving Maxton next day. It was perfectly safe. “Rose will probably scold, but I don’t care,” she thought. Then she said aloud:

“Yes, I’ll come. I’m just going home to tea. You’d better come with me and meet Rose and her fiancé.”

Rose did just raise her eyebrows when Chloe walked in with a strange young man; but the tea party in Mrs. Jones’ sitting-room, lent for the occasion, was a cheerful and friendly one. As they walked to the cinema, Chloe asked:

“Were you long in Africa?”

“Two years. I didn’t like it, and my mother simply hated my being out there. I didn’t get demobbed till two years after the Armistice—I was in Palestine and Egypt. And then I was crocked for a bit; And then I went to Africa orange farming. I hated it like poison.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know—I did. I like people. I loathed the veldt, and Kaffirs, and waiting for orange pips to grow into forest trees. And when a great-uncle I’d never seen left me his little all, I threw my hat in the air and came home——”

“And spent it?” There was horror in Chloe’s tone; she looked at him severely. “How could you?”

“I didn’t—not much. I bought my car, and ran round having a good time for a bit. Then I made up my mind to go into the motor business. I like cars better than anything, really; and I’ve got one or two ideas of my own that I want to work out. But of course you can be most awfully had, so I thought I’d get to know the ropes a bit before I parted with any of Uncle Horace’s money. I shall probably go into the firm I’m driving for.” He laughed. “It’s quite good fun, and I’ve learnt a thing or two.”

“It must be lovely driving people like Mrs. Howard,” said Chloe.

“They’re not all like that. After all, you meet people you can’t stand almost anywhere. There’s a man here now that I simply bar; I’m always running across him.” He broke off, and Chloe said:

“You’ll be glad to leave Maxton.”

“I don’t know.” His tone was strictly non-commital. “I shall probably butt into him in town.” He frowned, and then laughed. “I can’t think why I began to talk about him. It’s a frightful mistake to talk about people you bar.”

Two hours later they walked home together. Edward Anderson and Rose had dropped behind. Michael did not say a single word until they turned into the quiet street where Rose and Chloe lodged. Then he burst into speech:

“Do you believe in telling the truth?”

“I always tell the truth,” said Chloe. She laughed because Michael was so solemn. “I was very nicely brought up—by Miss Tankerville. She’d be simply horrified at your asking such a thing.”

Michael went on being serious.

“I don’t mean telling lies or—or untruths in the ordinary sense. I mean, this is such a beastly conventional world, and we’re all brought up to behave in a conventional way; one can’t really speak the truth bang out; but sometimes one would like to frightfully. That’s what I meant.”

“There’s a game where you have to speak the truth,” said Chloe. “Last time I played it, one girl left the room in tears, and a man I used to know rather well has never forgiven me, and probably never will. It doesn’t always answer.” She paused. Discretion bade her pause, but curiosity urged her on. She turned innocent eyes on Michael, and added, “Of course it depends on what you want to say.”

Michael said nothing. He also was wrestling with discretion.

They reached the street lamp by Mrs. Jones’ door, and stood there. Rose and Edward were not in sight.

“You see,” said Michael, suddenly finding words, “I’ve only seen you twice, and it sounds such awful cheek if I say what I should like to say.” He became furiously red and plunged on. “If we weren’t all so frightfully conventional, I should say I like you better than any girl I’ve ever met, and I’d like most awfully to be friends, and see you again; only of course you’d think it most frightful cheek if I did.”

Chloe’s laugh shook a little.

“You—you haven’t said it, of course.”

“No, but I’d like to say it. Would you—would you be angry if I did?”

“Furious!” said Chloe. “Absolutely furious, of course.”

“Then I won’t say it; but—I say, you’ll remember that I would have liked to say it, won’t you? And—and if you ever want anything done for you, or anything like that——” He broke off.

Rose and Edward came slowly into the circle of lamplight.