Читать книгу The Hour Before the Dawn - W. Somerset Maugham - Страница 4

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May went to her room. She wanted to collect herself. She wanted to be sure that she would say exactly what she had made up her mind to say. A shiver ran down her spine and her heart seemed to miss a beat as she considered the ordeal before her. But she was determined to go through with it.

At last she heard Roger come in to the adjoining room.

“May,” he called.

“I’m here.”

He came in.

“I was looking for you.”

“Sit down, will you? I want to have a talk with you.”

“That suits me,” he answered cheerily. “Gosh, it’s good to be home again. Mother’s looking grand, isn’t she? And Tommy’s shooting up. He’ll be as tall as Jim when he’s full grown.”

She looked at him steadily, though her heart now was beating fast. Her throat was dry. It was awful to be so scared. The only thing was to set her teeth and make a dash at it. She knew Roger well enough to be aware that it was useless to beat about the bush.

“Roger, I want you to let me divorce you.”

“May,” he cried.

He stared at her with horrified bewilderment.

“Please don’t speak. I want you to listen to me. You’ve always been kind to me. I’ve got no fault to find with you. It’s just that I can’t go on like this any longer. I’m so terribly lonely.”

His eyes were suddenly distressed.

“My dear.”

“I’m not blaming you for that. I know it isn’t your fault.”

“I know I’m away a great deal. I’d take you with me if I could, but I can’t. It’s a very peculiar job I’ve got and I must be completely on my own.”

“I realize that.”

“You must know that I love you, May.”

She gave him a faint derisive smile. The worst was over now and she had her nerves under control.

“I think you really do in your way. But it’s not a way that brings me much happiness. You love me as you love an old suit of clothes, because you feel comfortable in it. You like to think of me sitting in the flat all ready to welcome you when you come back from one of your hush-hush jobs.”

He moved uncomfortably in his chair.

“You make me sound horribly selfish.”

She shook her head.

“Heaven knows you’re not that. I know that your work is important and that you’re very good at it. It’s just my bad luck that there’s no place for me in your life but just to sit and wait. That’s what I’ve been doing for years now, waiting. I’m tired of it.”

He made an odd little movement of his hands and then clasped them together. It was as though he were distraught, but were unwilling to betray himself. May noticed it and thought bitterly how well that instinctive repressed gesture revealed their married life. She looked at him sadly.

“Has it occurred to you that after being married to you eight years I’m still rather frightened of you?”

“Oh, May, what a terrible thing to say,” he cried.

“It’s a fact. Don’t you think it’s rather pitiful? You see, I don’t know you. I only know the side of you you’ve chosen to show me. I’m not sure that there isn’t another side of you that’s hard and ruthless.”

He looked away quickly as though there were something in his soul that he did not want her to see.

“You don’t seem able ever to let yourself go. You’re incapable of intimacy.”

He looked back to her now and there was a good-humoured smile on his lips.

“Aren’t you being rather melodramatic, my dear? I’ve always looked upon myself as a very simple sort of chap. I try to do my duty and I want to do my job as well as I can.”

“And your job is the most important thing in your life, isn’t it? More important far than me.”

“Need I answer that question?” he chuckled.

“I’d like you to.”

“I wouldn’t think much of a chap who let his love for his wife hamper him in the performance of his duty. Would you have me otherwise?”

She sighed.

“I had no idea that you weren’t just as happy as I was,” he went on.

“If you hadn’t been so absorbed in your work you’d have noticed long ago that something was wrong.”

“You can’t expect me to chuck my work.”

“Of course not.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do. I want to live. I want to be happy. I’m twenty-eight, Roger; if I don’t make a break now it’ll be too late.”

She could see that he was deeply distressed and it hurt her to pain him; but at the same time she felt that he thought her unreasonable. He didn’t understand. He gave her a searching look and she coloured.

“Are you in love with somebody else?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated a moment. His eyes seemed to try to pierce her inmost soul.

“D’you mind telling me who it is?”

“Dick Murray.”

“Dick?”

His utter surprise was obvious in his face and tone. Evidently Dick was the last person in the world whom he would have expected her to have any feeling for.

“Is he in love with you?”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a while. She knew that he hated scenes and she knew how great was his self-control. He would have been ashamed to show emotion. He took out a cigarette and deliberately lit it.

“Some fellows have all the luck,” he said at last. “He’s got nothing in the world to do except make himself pleasant.”

The acidity in his tone made her flush and she was on the point of giving him a sharp answer. But she restrained herself; she was determined not to get angry. It would be horrible if they began to say cruel and bitter things to one another. She forced a little smile to her lips.

“He’s the best agent your father ever had. He’s the only one who ever made the estate pay.”

“He’s a very good agent. I knew that. That’s why I got him the job.”

It was her turn now to give him a searching look.

“He’s not my lover, you know.”

“It never occurred to me that he was. I may not know you very well, darling, but at least I know that you’d never be able to do anything underhand.”

“Dick wouldn’t either. It’s not our fault, Roger. We didn’t want to fall in love. We couldn’t help ourselves. He owes everything to you. He knows he’s let you down.”

“He’s a very good chap and he has a lot of charm. You’ve been thrown together a great deal; I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised if you’ve come to care for him.”

“I know he isn’t as intelligent as you are. You’ve got a brilliant future before you. He’s so cosy, Roger. I’m not up to your mark really. Dick and I speak the same language.”

“How do you imagine you would live if you were married to him? He could hardly stay on here as my father’s agent.”

“He could get another job.”

“Have you any idea how hard jobs are to get now?”

“That’s our look-out. We want to be married as soon as you’ll give me my freedom.”

He got up and began to walk up and down the room. He was thinking deeply. He stopped in front of her chair.

“It’ll be an awful blow for my father and mother. I can’t imagine anything they’d hate more.”

“Your people have always been very kind to me, but I should be a fool if I didn’t know I’ve been a disappointment to them. Your father wanted me so awfully to have a son. When they’ve got over the shock, honestly they won’t mind very much. They’ll think you’ll marry again and have better luck next time.”

“You’ve got it all settled, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been thinking of nothing else for weeks.”

“And supposing I come to the conclusion that this is only a passing infatuation and refuse to let myself be divorced?”

“I should go and live with Dick and force you to divorce me.”

She saw him frown and she almost smiled, for she knew very well what he was thinking. The mere idea of the scandal such a step would cause gave him goose-flesh. But when he spoke it was to give her a shock that she had never anticipated.

“I think I should tell you that the Germans are marching into Poland tomorrow and we shall be at war in twenty-four hours.”

She gave a horrified cry.

“I didn’t say anything about it. I thought you’d all know soon enough and I wanted dear Mother to enjoy her birthday. Dick is in the Territorials. He’ll be called up at once. It’s going to be a long and terrible war. No one can tell what’s going to happen to any of us.”

“Oh, how awful!”

“Dick may be killed or I may be killed. This isn’t the time to think of oneself. The French are unprepared and we’re unprepared. The Germans will go all out to snatch a quick victory. We shall all be in it, every man and woman in the country.”

May tried to control herself, but she couldn’t. She began to cry. He put his hand gently on her shoulder.

“It may be that I haven’t been a very good husband. Poor May. I want you to be happy. But don’t you think this is a moment when we should forget our private interests? I am going to ask you for your own sake, for all our sakes, to wait till after the war. Then if you’re still of the same mind I promise I’ll do everything I can to give you your liberty as quickly as possible.”

She sighed deeply. She was shattered.

“Very well, Roger. I’ll wait.”

“You know, darling, you’ll have to do your bit like everyone else.”

“I shall be thankful to help.”

“You might stow it away in the back of your mind that I love you very much and shall always love you and there’s nothing in the world I want more than your happiness.”

“Except winning the war?” she smiled ironically.

“Except that, yes,” he answered gravely.

And with that answer she saw that he wasn’t thinking of her any more. They sat in silence.

“Hadn’t you better go and see your mother?” she said at last. “If you’re going back tonight after dinner you won’t have another chance of talking to her.”

“Yes, I suppose I had.”

He roused himself unwillingly from his reflections and rose to his feet. He looked at May for an instant; his eyes were cold and his lips thin. She knew what he was thinking: he was impatient that just then she had introduced into his life a complication that might be a distraction from the pressing affairs he had to deal with. It wasn’t her fault; if he had only told her before that war was inevitable she wouldn’t have spoken. She would at least have waited to see what happened. She sighed. She supposed it was unreasonable to expect that in such a terrible crisis her happiness should seem of any particular importance to him. And, of course, her happiness wasn’t of any importance to anyone but herself—and Dick.

Roger walked towards the door, but as he was about to open it, turned back. He gave a light laugh and when he spoke it was in the bright, cheery way in which he was accustomed to speak. At that moment it positively startled her.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a little present from Warsaw too. As soon as I saw it I knew it was just the sort of thing you’d like.”

He took out of his pocket a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper and undoing it handed her a long gold chain of curious workmanship.

“Unless I’ve been done in the eye it’s an old one.”

“It’s lovely,” said May as he handed it to her.

And it was. It was either Polish or Russian. May was charmed with its delicate beauty and touched that he should have gone to the trouble of picking out something that was so much to her taste, but at the same time she was grievously embarrassed. It seemed shocking to accept a present from him after what had just passed between them.

“I can’t take it, Roger,” she cried miserably.

“Why on earth not? Of course you must take it. It’s much too good for Jane and I practically snatched it away from the French ambassador’s wife. She was crazy to get it. Don’t be a fool, May.”

He spoke with such good nature, with such a breezy friendliness, that she did not know what to say. She flushed deeply.

“Thank you very much. It’s wonderfully kind of you, Roger.”

“That’s a good girl.”

There was an ironical twinkle in his eyes as he nodded and walked out. May looked at the door he had closed behind him as though she could see him stalking along the passage to his mother’s room. She knew that his manner, almost jaunty at the last, had changed the moment he withdrew from her sight and that his face wore once more the stern, vigilant mien that it always wore when he thought no one was looking at him. But whether he thought of her as he went or of the war that was imminent she could not guess; what she knew was that when he entered his mother’s sitting-room there would be no trace that he was anxious or troubled, and she would find him as ever sweet, sympathetic and tenderly affectionate.

May sighed. She sank into a chair and her eyes stared vacantly out of the open window. She had never really understood him. He was a strange, subtle man. Was he deceitful? No, it wouldn’t be fair to call him that: it wasn’t an act that he had been putting on when with so much pleasant friendliness he had given her the necklace she still held in her hands, he had always liked to give her presents, and he had felt all he seemed to feel; his breezy, chaffing, light manner was natural to him; it inspired confidence because it was genuine. And yet it was only a rind that covered the active, calculating wariness within. He was wrapped up in his work, and when he met people he judged them according to the use they might be to its furtherance. Even when he seemed to be gaily immersed in social pleasures she knew that at the back of his mind he was turning over the tortuous schemes he was always concocting. She sometimes felt that the only pure delight he ever experienced was that of triumph when he had circumvented the scheme of one of Britain’s possible enemies or discovered some crafty plan that might be to the country’s disadvantage. Of course his motives were patriotic, no one could have a more passionate love for England than he, but she had an inkling that there was something in his nature, pitiless and rather dreadful, that made him take a peculiar pleasure in his secret work. Because his motives were pure he allowed himself to revel in the crooked ways in which, setting his wits against theirs, he strove to combat the wiles of his adversaries. It was a game he played of which the stakes were the safety and liberty of England, and he found it so absorbing that he could not stop to consider the feelings of others. It was true what she had said, there was no room in his life for her.

May smiled bitterly when she thought that she had once imagined that she loved him. Now that she knew what love was she realized only too clearly that it was not love that had induced her to marry him. That had come about so naturally that she could not blame herself. Her father was killed in the last war and her mother was left with little more than a pension to support her. She had been a school friend of Mrs. Henderson’s and when May’s mother was widowed the Hendersons had offered her one of the cottages in the village. It was only a mile away from Graveney Holt and the two families saw one another constantly. From a very early age May had known that her mother and Roger’s had set their hearts on her marrying him. They both attached a great deal of importance to family and May’s parents, though poor, were what is known as well-connected; and Mrs. Henderson was too disinterested to care that her prospective daughter-in-law was penniless. Roger grew into a tall good-looking boy, and when he came home for the holidays, first from school and then from Sandhurst, she conceived a girlish enthusiasm for him. They were like brother and sister together. A greater familiarity existed between them then, strangely enough, than ever did after they were married. She worshipped him as his mother worshipped him, but she knew now that there was no love in her feeling for him. It was a schoolgirl’s infatuation for a boy, a young man, five years older than herself.

Mrs. Henderson had always been fond of her and she was pleased with the girl’s admiration for the son of whom she was so proud. She treated her as though it were understood that she was the future mistress of the house. She took pains to instil into May her own feeling for the noble pile. She made her love its beauties. She taught her to appreciate treasured pieces of furniture and told her the stories of the ancestors whose portraits hung on the walls. She filled her with her own dismay when economic difficulties forced the General to sell the Filippino Lippi and the Goya. It could not be expected that a young girl should not be dazzled by the slightly faded splendour that surrounded her when she came up to the great house from the modest cottage in the village. It seemed like her real home and she could not refrain from planning what she would do when she became its mistress. Nor could she be insensible to the general feeling in the county that it had been settled long ago that she would marry Roger. There were in the neighbourhood mothers with daughters who were inclined to think that Roger could do better than marry the penniless girl of a deceased naval officer, but since it looked as though there were nothing to do about it, they decided to take a romantic view of the situation. Sometimes May wondered what Roger thought of it. He was easy and friendly, he made her fetch and carry for him when he was a boy, he played tennis and golf with her when she grew older, he danced with her, he chaffed her playfully; but he never gave any sign that he was aware of the plans his mother and hers had made for their future.

Then her mother died. It was a terrible grief to her and she didn’t know how she could have borne it if Mrs. Henderson hadn’t been so wonderfully kind to her. May had nothing now but her pension as an officer’s daughter, she was nineteen, and she wanted to earn her own living. She had a good figure and the first thing that occurred to her was that she might become a mannequin. But Mrs. Henderson would not hear of it. Jane was married by then and Mrs. Henderson was insistent that she should live with them until her own marriage. It was then that for the first time she came out into the open with the scheme that had before been only vaguely presupposed. She told May that she had always loved her as a daughter and that it was her dearest wish, as it had been her mother’s, that she and Roger should marry. May was too open to pretend to a surprise she did not feel.

“I should be a perfect fool if I hadn’t known that you and Mamma had settled that when I was four and Roger was nine.”

“You like Roger, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Ever since I could walk I’ve thought him wonderful.”

“Then what is to prevent you from getting married as soon as possible?”

“Only Roger. We must let him have a say in the matter, poor brute.”

“Oh, but Roger’s devoted to you.”

“He’s never said so.”

“I suppose he thought you knew. Men are apt to take so much for granted.”

“There are limits.”

“You would marry him if he asked you, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would.” May flushed. “But, darling, you must promise me you won’t suggest it to him. I couldn’t bear to think he was marrying me just to please you.”

Mrs. Henderson smiled.

“My dear, has it never occurred to you that you’re exceptionally pretty? You only want a little more colour to be a raving beauty.”

“You must promise me that.”

“I understand. It’s very natural. I promise you I’ll never say a word to Roger. I think he’s much too clever not to see that if he doesn’t snap you up quickly somebody else will.” She looked at May tenderly. “I’d sooner give my son to you than to anyone in the world. I know how good you are and I know you’re no fool. You’re sweet-tempered and you’re a lady, and I’m old-fashioned enough to think that important. Sooner or later Roger will come into the property and if I’m still alive it will be a comfort to me to think that I can safely deliver the place into your hands.”

“Oh, darling, don’t let us count our chickens before they’re hatched.”

“I’ve had a happy life, and I want nothing now but a grandson to dandle on my knee. You must have beautiful children, my pretty.”

May, young though she was then, knew very well how intense was the desire of the General and Mrs. Henderson to see the succession to the estate assured. The family’s fortunes had been started in no very glorious fashion at the Restoration by a clever and time-serving parson who married a poor connection of the great lord to whom he was domestic chaplain. His patron found him useful and advanced him. In due course he became a bishop and, his wife dying, he very prudently married the heiress of a rich haberdasher in the City. When the son she brought him was of a suitable age he married him to another handsome fortune and it was this son who in the reign of Queen Anne built the house in which the Hendersons had lived ever since. He served in Marlborough’s army and on one side of the chimney-piece in the great hall, a pendant to the portrait in full canonicals of the astute bishop, hung the life-size portrait of him in uniform. From that time the Hendersons had been soldiers and country gentlemen and though none had greatly distinguished himself they had for the most part acquitted themselves honourably. They had been decent people who did their duty by their country. No doubt ever entered their minds that God had intended anything else than that they should look after their property as good landlords should, sit on the bench and sentence poachers to the penalties ordained by law, hunt foxes, shoot pheasants, aid the needy, marry according to their station and hand on to their heirs an undiminished estate. And though with the decline of agricultural values their income was now sadly diminished these were still the sentiments of General Henderson and his wife. May at nineteen had no reason to think them controvertible.

She was little expecting it when Roger at last did ask her to marry him. He was home on leave for a few days’ shooting and one very rainy afternoon he was sitting in the library by himself. May had been living with the Hendersons for several months. She happened to go into the library to replace a book she had taken up to her room. She looked about for another.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“No, don’t bother.”

She found a book and was about to leave the room when he stopped her with another question.

“What have you got?”

“Hajji Baba.”

“What made you think of reading that?”

“You were talking about it the other night.”

“I forgot. You’ll enjoy it. It’s grand fun.” He took out his case. “Have a cigarette?”

“Aren’t you working?”

“I’ve been working for hours. I think I deserve a spell off.”

She took the cigarette and lighting it sat on the arm of a chair to show him that she was only going to stay a minute. He looked at her with the slightly quizzical glint in his eyes that even then somewhat disconcerted her.

“You know, May, you’re awfully pretty.”

“It’s nice of you to say so,” she smiled.

“You were pretty awful when you were thirteen or fourteen.”

“I know I was. Frightful.”

“Funny how girls change, almost from one day to the other.”

She could not think of anything to say to this so tried to make a smoke ring. He watched her.

“Not a very good attempt.”

“Rotten.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time we got married?”

Her heart gave a great thud against her chest, but she continued to try to make smoke rings.

“I hadn’t thought about it one way or the other.”

“Well, will you?”

He got up from the desk and stood in front of her. He was slightly nervous and it touched her.

“I can’t imagine what put the idea in your head.”

“That’s a lie. You know I’ve wanted to marry you ever since I was ten.”

“Even when I was thirteen and hideous?”

“I admit I wasn’t so keen about it then,” he laughed. But all at once he grew serious again. “May, I think you’re far and away the nicest girl I’ve ever known in my life. I’d rather marry you than anyone else in the world.”

There was one thing he hadn’t said and she waited. Her cigarette was finished and he took the butt from her fingers. He turned away to put it in an ash-tray.

“I’m awfully in love with you.”

“You might have said that before.”

“I thought you knew it. It made me shy to say it in so many words.”

She didn’t know why tears should come to her eyes. She felt a little shy too and it seemed vaguely pathetic. He saw the tears and came and sat with her on the arm of the chair. He took her hand.

“Well, what d’you say to it?”

Because she felt a trifle hysterical she laughed.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Roger. I don’t know if it’s ever struck you, but you’re a great catch.”

Laughing he bent over and kissed her. Since he was a boy, on occasion, when he went off to school or when he came back, he had kissed her on the cheek in the perfunctory, meaningless way in which he kissed Jane, but he had never kissed her before on the mouth. It was a curious sensation. It made her flush; its intimacy was slightly embarrassing.

“Come on,” he said, lifting her to her feet, “let’s go and tell Mother. She’ll be tickled to death.”

A shadow of irritation passed through her mind at his eagerness to do this. She would have liked to stay there alone with him for at least a few minutes. But she suppressed the feeling. He was devoted to his mother and it was only natural that he should want to give her at once the great pleasure it would be to her to hear that they were engaged to be married.

They were married in the village church and went to Paris for their honeymoon. May had never been abroad before and she enjoyed herself. Roger knew Paris well and his French was fluent. They went to Montparnasse and Montmartre. They ate in famous restaurants. It was fun to go about with someone who knew all the ropes and of course because she had known him so long and so well she felt very much at home with him. They had so many common memories that they were never at a loss for something to talk about. They had always been good friends. The only difference was that they slept in the same room. May, brought up in the country and a great reader, was not ignorant of the facts of life; Roger was an affectionate, thoughtful lover and she felt very tenderly towards him when he lay by her side and held her in his arms. For the rest she was glad and proud to give him a pleasure she did not altogether share. She was happy. It amused her that he should only now have discovered that she had a lovely body. She thought she loved him.

After eight years she knew that what she had felt for him was admiration, trust, confidence, affection, anything you like but love.

He was already at the War Office and they took a tiny flat in Chelsea. It was fun to furnish it with the superfluous furniture from Graveney Holt that they rescued from the attics. They settled down to married life. Roger went to the War Office every morning at ten, and at six, when his work was over, went to his club to play bridge for an hour or so before coming back to dinner. Sometimes they dined out or had Roger’s soldier friends and their wives to dine with them; sometimes they went to the pictures or to a play; but most evenings they sat at home and May read or played patience while Roger worked. After the first few months, during which the new flat, the new friends and the excitement of living in London had been sufficient distraction, May began to find time hang somewhat heavily on her hands. She set out on a systematic exploration of the city; she went to the galleries and museums; she visited churches. She was not exactly bored; she only felt slightly let down. She had expected a fuller life. But she was a sensible girl and told herself that it would be different when she had a baby; that would give her plenty to do and she wouldn’t feel lonely any more. But unfortunately there was no sign that she was going to have a baby. She knew how much Roger wanted her to have one, and she knew that his parents were anxiously awaiting the news that she was pregnant. When a year passed and nothing happened she discussed the matter with her mother-in-law. Mrs. Henderson told her not to worry, she was very young, it wouldn’t hurt her to wait a couple of years; but she saw that May was worried and to give her peace sent her to a specialist. He told her that there was nothing to prevent her from having children and advised her to have patience. But when a second year passed and a third she was more than worried and went to him again. The specialist suggested that he should see Roger and after an examination announced that there was nothing in him to account for her sterility; he gave them certain advice. They followed it with no result and as the years went on they began to lose hope. They were normal healthy people, but for no conceivable reason nature seemed to have decided that there should be no result of their union in sexual congress. It made May unhappy, not only on her own account, but because, though he never alluded to her barrenness except jocosely and remained as ever kind, tender and affectionate, she knew that Roger was bitterly disappointed; and, her nerves on edge, she thought that the General sometimes looked at her with something close to annoyance. She imagined him talking it over with his wife.

“I’m afraid we’ve been sold a pup, my dear,” she thought of him saying.

And his wife’s reply.

“Well, George, she looked healthy enough. That’s why I encouraged the marriage, I thought she’d have a baby once a year.”

Of course she was unjust. She knew that. They loved her for herself and never by the smallest word made her feel that she had failed them. But it was more than you could expect from human nature that they shouldn’t grieve.

Early in her married life she had tried to interest herself in Roger’s work, but he had not encouraged her.

“Oh, it’s only a lot of routine stuff,” he said when she asked him to tell her about it. “It would only bore you.”

“Won’t you let me be the judge of that?”

He gave her his friendly, playful glance.

“To tell you the truth, practically the only pull I have at the War Office is that I know how to keep my mouth shut, and believe me, the way some of the nobs shoot their faces off is enough to make your hair stand on end. And you know, after I’ve been up to my eyes in work from ten till six, I’m glad to put it out of my mind for the rest of the day. Once I’ve closed my office door behind me I never give it a thought.”

She knew that wasn’t true; she knew that when he sat in a brown study, by the fire, and gazed at the glancing flames his thoughts were busy with the problems that had occupied him during the day. But she did not insist. As time wore on she discovered certain things about him that she had never suspected. On one occasion they met at dinner the ambassador of a foreign power and his wife. Roger was seated next to her and somewhat to her surprise May saw that he was laying himself out to be as charming to her as he knew how. She had never before seen him pay any woman more attention than civility demanded. After dinner he sat again beside the somewhat massive beauty and openly flirted with her. When they got into the taxi to drive home May said rather stiffly:

“You seemed to be getting on very well with the ambassador’s wife.”

He chuckled and even in the darkness she could see the gleam in his eyes.

“Did you think I did my stuff well?”

“Beautifully.”

“The damned fool, she thinks she’s irresistible. I gave her the works.”

“I don’t quite know why.”

“Darling, it’s as plain as the nose on your beautiful face. Her husband had told her to pump me and I let her pump me. She swallowed everything I told her and I bet the wires’ll be busy tonight.”

May was silent for a moment.

“You were wonderfully convincing.”

“I thought I was putting on a pretty good show myself.”

Sometimes, as Roger was given more responsible work to do, they had the military attachés of various embassies to dine with them. He was so frank, so amiable, so guileless that no one could have imagined that there was an ulterior motive in anything he said; and if in that convivial little gathering, flushed with wine and warmed by his own good fellowship, he let fall a hint that was almost an indiscretion only May could have suspected that it was calculated. She did not know then whether to admire his astuteness or be disconcerted by his duplicity.

One morning, opening the paper, May saw that a British officer had been arrested and was charged with espionage on behalf of Italy. It was a peculiar shock to her because Roger had brought him one evening to dine at the flat and she had found him very pleasant. For days people talked of nothing else. It was frontpage stuff. But May had no notion that Roger was in any way connected with it till, meeting his chief at luncheon one day, he congratulated her on the good work her husband had put in.

“I’m not sure that we’d ever have caught the blighter if it hadn’t been for Roger. He worked for months and when he was through we had a cast-iron case. Nice job he did.”

She told Roger that evening what his chief had said.

“I dare say I didn’t do so badly. It wasn’t so easy to get the goods on the fellow; he was as wary as a fox. I had to be careful; one mistake and he’d have hopped over the Channel.”

“I thought him rather nice,” said May.

“He could be very amusing. I saw quite a lot of him. He had no idea we were on to him. You should have seen his face when he was arrested.”

Roger gave a grim chuckle.

“What will they do with him?”

“Give him ten years, I suppose. I’d hang him.”

He said it so fiercely that May looked up at him with a start. His eyes were ruthless. She shuddered. She realized that if need were, and he thought himself justified, Roger would hesitate at nothing.

Gradually May resigned herself to the monotony of her married life. She told herself that she had expected too much. It was silly to complain because her girlish dreams had remained unsatisfied. She thought of them sometimes with a smiling sadness. She had no real reason to complain of her lot. She had a husband who was devoted to her and proud of her; everyone told her he was brilliant and it looked as though a distinguished career lay ahead of him; he was kind and considerate and he was faithful to her. He was very appreciative; on all subjects except his work he talked to her as man to man and he attached weight to her opinions. She had a pleasant, pretty flat, and though they were far from rich, she never had to skimp and save to make both ends meet. In the future lay Graveney Holt, that lovely house with all the treasures it contained, the beautiful gardens and the wide-spreading park; and the numerous activities which the possession of the estate must entail.

After they had been married for four years Roger was sent to Japan as member of a mission and was away for three months. It was the first time they had been separated and feeling more lonely than ever after a few weeks she went down to stay at Graveney. She fell very easily into the life that she had led before her marriage. The following year Roger went away again, to Iran; then he went to Australia, and to Egypt and Turkey. He was plainly delighted to see her, on his return from each journey, but after a day or two fell into his old way of taking her for granted. She had an exasperated feeling that he liked to come back to her with something of the same sort of feeling as he had on coming back to his favourite arm-chair and the comfort of his old golf coat. He was more absorbed in his work than ever. She could not help knowing that to that he was prepared without a qualm to sacrifice her feelings, her comfort, her well-being. He would often stay at the War Office till eleven at night, ringing up a quarter of an hour before dinner to say he wouldn’t be coming home, and she spent the evening by herself. On Saturdays, if he could get away, they would drive down to Graveney Holt, but there he was busy with his family, for which his affection was deep and staunch, and with the estate, in the conduct of which he took a keen interest; she felt herself as unnecessary to him as in London. She retired into herself. She was not a woman to make scenes and she was sensible enough to know that they would only irritate Roger. What had she to complain of? Nothing that could be remedied. She remained gracious, pleasant, a trifle silent, and never by a word disclosed that there was an aching emptiness in her heart.

Then the General’s agent died and Roger strongly recommended him to engage an old friend of his called Richard Murray. He had been at school with Roger, and for a year at Sandhurst with him; but his mother, a widow, suffering a financial reverse he had abandoned the notion of going into the Army and had gone into estate agency. May had never met him till she found him installed in the village. She took a fancy to him, and next time Roger came back from abroad told him how much she liked his father’s new agent.

“He’s a rattling good chap,” said Roger. “He’s got an amazing gift for friendship. He’s as straight as a die and what he doesn’t know about his job isn’t worth knowing. I think Father’s damned lucky to have got hold of him.”

May saw a great deal of him when she went down to Graveney. With Jim at Oxford and Tommy at school the house was very quiet, and Dick brought a welcome gaiety into it. He was a bachelor and he came to lunch every Sunday, but Mrs. Henderson asked him in to dinner once or twice a week, and a day seldom passed without his coming to see the General on estate business and stopping for a few minutes to say a few words to the two ladies. Sometimes May met him in the village and they would stop and talk for a little. During the summer holidays he would often come up to make a four at tennis. It gave May pleasure to see him. He was gay, unassuming and easy to talk to. She found that she could say all sorts of things to him that she had never thought of saying to anyone else. She could talk nonsense with him as it was impossible to do with Roger. She was flattered because he found her amusing, and though she told herself that he laughed at her little jests because he laughed easily it was nice to be appreciated. Of course he had charm, immense charm, there was no doubt about that, and it was no wonder that everybody liked him. She asked herself what it was due to. Well, it was the contrast between his grey, strong, curly hair and his bronzed, smooth face; the thick lashes of his blue eyes, and that warm friendly smile that made you feel that his heart went out to you because he had a natural love for his fellow-beings. She had known him for a full year when, in London for a while and as usual alone, she received a note from him to say that he had to come up to town for a night and couldn’t they dine together and go to some place to dance. She thought it very sweet of him to take pity on her solitariness and accepted with pleasure. They spent a delightful evening. He was an unexpectedly good dancer and she hadn’t danced for months. When he dropped her at her door he suggested that they should repeat the experiment next time he came to London. She agreed without hesitation. It was long since she had enjoyed herself so much.

But when she closed the door behind her, instead of going straight to bed, she went into the empty sitting-room and sat down. She was breathless. When he held her hand to bid her good-bye there had been in his eyes a look so tender, so gentle, so strangely understanding, that it stabbed her to the heart. She knew on a sudden that he had realized how empty her life was and was sorry, wistfully sorry for her. And as suddenly she knew that she was in love with him, and had never been in love before. She was frightened out of her wits. That was the last straw. She had been dissatisfied with life, but resigned and determined to make the best of it, but this was going to be hell. It was bad enough to be starving for bread, and be given a stone, but when the bread was there within your reach and you might not stretch out your hand for it, no, that was too much to put up with. Her strong common sense came to the rescue. There was nothing to be dramatic about. It was only Dick’s charm. Charm? People always said it meant nothing. Roger had often told her that one must be wary of people who had it. Dick was charming to everyone, because he couldn’t help it; it had probably never occurred to him that it had such a devastating effect, and there was not the smallest reason to suppose that he cared two straws for her. He was a naturally friendly soul and had wanted to give her a good time. But what had made him see that she was unhappy and lonely? She was sure that never by a word or sign had she betrayed her feeling, and was convinced that neither Roger nor Jane nor anyone else had an inkling of it. But had he seen it or was that just her fancy, and had she read in the blueness of his eyes a meaning that was not there? She shrugged her shoulders.

“I dare say it’s only because I’m dog-tired,” she murmured. “I shall feel quite differently tomorrow.”

She went to bed and soon fell into a deep sleep. Next day as she had foreseen, she found herself able to consider the matter with calm. It was no good shutting her eyes to the fact; she was in love; but it never occurred to her for a moment that she could do anything but push back into her inmost heart this new trouble as for so long she had pushed back her frustrated hopes. It was impossible never to see Dick, but she made up her mind not to go down so frequently to Graveney as during Roger’s absences she had been in the habit of doing, and should Dick ever ask her again to go dancing with him firmly to refuse. She must try not to think of him. With the world in an unsettled state war might be imminent, Roger told her it was bound to come sooner or later, and to distract her mind she thought it would be a good plan to take up some occupation that would enable her to be useful if it broke out. That very morning she made inquiries about nursing and a couple of days later started upon a course. That had the added advantage that it would give her an excuse not to go down to Graveney except for an occasional week-end. She found that it helped to have work to do and she took it seriously. A month passed without any sign from Dick and she laughed at herself wryly when she thought of the brave resolutions she had made to say no when next he came up to London and asked her to go out with him. She had been right, what she had thought was deep feeling on his part was no more than natural kindliness, and he would be dismayed if he knew the effect it had had on her. But she was angry with herself because she could not but feel a trifle sore.

Then one evening, when she had just got back from the hospital, and was tired and depressed, the telephone bell rang. She answered and the blood rushed to her heart when she heard Dick’s voice.

“I’m only in London for the day; I’m going back tonight. I was wondering if you’d give me a spot of dinner.”

This was so little what she had expected that she lost her head and did not make the obvious excuse that she was engaged.

“There’s nothing much to eat. I was just going to have an egg,” she said.

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll bring in a pâté or something.”

It was impossible to say that he mustn’t come. And she wanted to see him so badly. His voice over the telephone, that warm, caressing voice, took all her strength away.

“You needn’t do that. I’ll manage.”

“I’ll be up at half past seven.”

She sent the maid out to buy a sole and some cutlets, had a bath and put on a very simple dress. She seldom used rouge, but her cheeks were so pale that she felt obliged to put on a little. Then, with one eye on the clock, she read the evening paper. The minutes passed with maddening slowness. When she heard the bell ring she started violently; but when he came in and gave her his cordial handshake there was nothing to show that she was not her usual placid and amiable self. He explained that a sudden piece of business had brought him unexpectedly up to London or he would have written and asked her to keep the evening for him. She gave him a glass of sherry. They dined. He talked in his usual fluent, pleasant way, telling her the news of the estate. He asked her advice on some point that was troubling him and when she gave it told her he thought it first-rate and would act on it. She could not but be pleased and flattered. They discussed his plan to introduce modern methods of agriculture. He was in full agreement with her on the necessity of ameliorating housing conditions for the labourers. Their conversation could have been heard by any one and no one could have found in it anything that was not perfectly natural; and yet she had an uneasy feeling that it was not quite natural. She tried to persuade herself that it was only her fancy that he was talking in order to avoid a silence fraught with danger, and that there was in the tone of his voice something strange. The look in his eyes was anxious and did not accord with the sense of his words. Folly. She was reading into them something that was due only to her own imagination.

They finished dinner and went back to the sitting-room. They drank their coffee and May lit a cigarette. Dick asked her if he might smoke his pipe. He was silent while he lit it and then somehow the silence, like an emanation rising from the depths, dark and terrifying, a thing with a sinister life of its own, seized them, thrusting itself between them and yet drawing them together as in a common danger. Though May was looking down at the floor she knew that Dick’s eyes were fixed upon her. She felt herself trembling. It was absurd that she could not speak. The silence was unendurable. At last she raised her eyes and they met his. That seemed to break the spell.

“You know, a very awkward thing has happened,” he said, still in that strange voice. “I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you.”

She did not say anything. She looked at him and tears filled her eyes and trickled down her face.

“Are you in love with me?”

She still could not speak, she only nodded.

“Bore, isn’t it?”

She laughed through her tears. It was so like him to say that.

“D’you think I ought to go away?”

She gave a gasp. Her face was suddenly twisted with anguish.

“No,” she cried violently. But she made a great effort to control herself. “The Hendersons wouldn’t hear of it. The General thinks you’re indispensable.”

It was a fact that Dick had brought order into the estate which the last agent, old and none too competent, had allowed to fall into poor condition and for the first time in years it was being run at a profit. At that rate it would be possible to start paying off the mortgages.

“It’s serious, you know,” he continued. “It’s not just a passing infatuation that I can get over. I’m in it up to the neck and I’m in it for good.”

“Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. I might get another job as agent somewhere else, or I might emigrate. That’s what fellows generally do when they’re up a gum tree.”

There was another long silence and it was May who broke it.

“Can’t we ignore it?” He did not answer and presently she went on. “Why should you throw up a good job and one that suits you? No one need know anything about it. We’re not going to do anybody any harm. We needn’t even talk about it. It’s just something between ourselves.”

“I don’t think I quite know what you mean.”

“I don’t love Roger, you know, but I’d never do anything that was—oh, you must know what I mean. I think the only thing to do is to go on as we were. After all, we’re both decent people, aren’t we?”

“Roger’s my oldest friend and he got me this job. Of course I wouldn’t do the dirty on him.”

“Well, then?”

With his elbows on his knees and his face on his clenched fists he fell into deep thought. She watched him anxiously. Every now and then he gave her a troubled glance.

“It’s a hell of a situation,” he said at last.

“D’you want to go?”

“God, no. It would break my heart,” he cried.

“Well, then, let’s face it. Surely we’ve got the strength.”

“You don’t understand. You think we’ll get over it. But I don’t want to get over it.”

“I don’t either. It’s all I’ve got to live for.”

They left it at that. He agreed to let things slide and see how they went. She felt that he was prepared to lean on her strength and she exulted in the thought that he was glad to do so. It made her proud and confident.

“Now you’d better go,” she said.

“I suppose I had,” he answered, getting up. “May I kiss you?”

She did not speak. He took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. She had never known that a kiss could mean so much. She threw her arms round his neck.

“Darling, darling, I love you,” she murmured.

“My sweet.”

The kiss shattered her. When he was gone she stood where he had left her, her hands to her breasts, and felt that at last life had meaning. She was so happy that she felt there was nothing more for her to ask.

She was a very innocent woman. She had been persuaded that they could see one another occasionally and, sharing this secret, continue to act as though they were the casual, happy-go-lucky friends they had been before. It never occurred to her that nature could take a hand in the matter. Sex had not been an important matter in May’s life and her relations with her husband had been perfunctory. But now a revolution took place in her. Her imagination would not let her rest and shocking, enchanting dreams troubled her nights. The touch of Dick’s hand sent the blood rushing to her heart. The sound of his voice on the telephone made her knees wobble beneath her. She desired him as much as she knew he desired her. Sometimes he would look at her and the passion in his eyes possessed her with all the violence of carnal possession. She knew now what it was that had from the first attracted her to him, his overpowering virility, it called to her with a terrifying force, and she exulted in it. And because she knew that she had the strength never to yield to her desire she did not even attempt to curb it. She gloried in it. It made her feel more alive than ever before. She had a sense of triumph because she could feel something she had never thought to feel. She was ashamed of nothing now. She would stand in her room, stark naked, and look at herself in the glass and revel in the beauty of her slim figure, her breasts small and virginal, and think of Dick’s body warm against hers and his arms round her. And she would laugh because everyone thought her cold. But it was not only from sexual desire that she loved Dick; she felt herself so much at home with him, so confidentially at ease. It was balm to her soul merely to be in the same room with him. He was the only person in the world with whom she was not a little shy.

Thus things went on. May’s conscience was tranquil because after that first time when Dick told her of his love, he had never even kissed her. Though they had not agreed upon it, by mutual consent, as it were, they took care not to speak of their feelings for each other; and they never said a thing to one another that anyone might not have heard. Of course what made it easier was that May’s work at the hospital kept her much in London and that when they met at Graveney it was almost always in the company of others. They could have counted on the fingers of one hand the occasions during that period on which they had been alone together. There was one thing of which May was quite certain, that there was no one at Graveney Holt, neither Jane with her sharp tongue and sharp eyes, nor that Austrian girl the Hendersons had given refuge to, who had the remotest suspicion that Dick was anything more to her than her father-in-law’s agent.

But when Roger telegraphed that he would soon be coming home they felt that the situation they must face was insufferable. It revolted May to receive him with the pretence that she was still his loving wife. She knew that after a sexual abstinence that had lasted so long he would want a normal gratification; he was a man, young and strong, with healthy appetites, and though sex had never absorbed him he had his natural share of desire and he needed to satisfy it as he needed to satisfy his desire for food at dinner-time. May had never quite overcome the embarrassment with which the sexual act had filled her and now she felt that she could not possibly submit to it. The thought disgusted her and to commit it with him seemed grossly indecent. With Dick it would have been natural, inevitable, sacred. She had an inkling that Dick was thinking of it too. His eyes were worried and he, so frank and open as a rule, was unusually silent, as though he were brooding over a subject he could not bring himself to discuss. A day or two before Roger was due, lying in wait to catch him when he came out of the General’s study, she stopped him.

“What do you say to my coming to your house this afternoon? I think we ought to have a talk.”

“That’s O.K. by me,” he answered.

She had been there two or three times with Mrs. Henderson to see that his maid of all work kept it clean and tidy, but she had never been to it alone before, nor of late at all. It was a pleasant house, with a walled garden, on the outskirts of the village; but it was large for a single man and Dick only used two of the rooms. He ate in the living-room, comfortable with the technical books of his trade and mystery stories, radio, pipes, tobacco, gramophone records, papers, magazines and all the litter of an untidy bachelor. It had a pleasant, lived-in, cosy feel.

“You know what I wanted to talk about?” she said when she sat down in one of the big, shabby chairs.

“I can guess.”

He smiled, but his smile was wan.

“I thought I could go through with it. It seemed possible when Roger was away and wouldn’t be back for ages. But now I know I can’t.”

“God knows I don’t want you to. I love you so much, May.”

“I know. I love you too. I can’t pretend, and I don’t believe Roger would want me to. Wouldn’t it be better to tell him the truth?”

“I’m all for the truth.”

“Heaven knows I’ve given it a good trial.”

“How much in love with you is he?”

They spoke elliptically, leaping over intermediate remarks, for they understood one another so perfectly that you would have fancied they followed one another’s thought without the need of speech.

“I don’t think he’s ever asked himself. He’s taken it for granted that a husband loves his wife and a wife loves her husband.”

“I owe a great deal to him. He’s an awfully good chap. It’s beastly to play him a dirty trick like this.”

“I know it is. He’s a reasonable man; he’ll know we couldn’t help ourselves.”

“You know I haven’t a bob except what I earn here. I’ve got about two hundred pounds in the bank.”

“Does that matter?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

“I don’t see that we’ve got anything to reproach ourselves with.”

“Of course you know what you’re giving up. This place and everything that goes with it.”

“It’s a prison. It stifles me.”

He knew the idea that was in her mind though she had made no mention of it.

“D’you think he’d let you go?”

“He can’t keep me against my will. I don’t think he’d want to; that’s not in his nature.”

“I suppose it would have been better for you if I’d never come here.”

“Oh, don’t say that. It’s not true.”

He pondered.

“I think you ought to know what you’re in for. Poverty.”

“I’ve been poor before.”

“It won’t make a very pretty story, the son’s wife running off with her father-in-law’s agent.”

“Do you care?”

“Not a damn,” he laughed.

“Neither do I,” she laughed back.

“Come and sit on my knee. God damn it, let’s have something we can blame ourselves for.”

She moved over to him and put her arms round his neck. For the second time he kissed her.

“I feel so intolerably happy,” she murmured.

They talked it over and decided that she should ask Roger to allow himself to be divorced and if he refused they would force him to divorce her by going away together.

And now she had done what they had arranged only to receive the shattering blow that in a few hours the country would be at war. What was there to do now except what she had told Roger she was willing to do? Wait. She smiled when she thought how wrong Roger was when he imagined that she could change. It was funny how such an intelligent man could be so stupid. The dinner-bell rang and May roused herself from her reflections. The maid had got her bath ready. May undressed and stepped into it. She inhaled the pleasant smell of bath salts.

“I shan’t have luxuries like this when I’m married to Dick,” she chuckled.

Roger drove back to London after dinner.