In reply to Mary’s inquiries, Doctor Lazenby explained that Mr. Treves’ chauffeur had given him the address of Mr. Treves’ solicitors, and he was communicating with them and that he would come round and see Lady Tressilian and tell her what was going to be done about the funeral.
Then the busy cheerful doctor hurried off and Mary and Thomas walked slowly back to Gull’s Point.
Mary said:
“You’re quite sure you saw that notice, Thomas?”
“Both Latimer and I saw it.”
“What an extraordinary thing!” said Mary.
X
It was the 12th of September. “Only two more days,” said Mary Aldin. Then she bit her lip and flushed.
Thomas Royde looked at her thoughtfully.
“Is that how you feel about it?”
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” said Mary. “Never in all my life have I been so anxious for a visit to come to an end. And usually we enjoy having Nevile so much. And Audrey too.”
Thomas nodded.
“But this time,” went on Mary, “one feels as though one were sitting on dynamite. At any minute the whole thing may explode. That’s why I said to myself first thing this morning: ‘Only two days more.’ Audrey goes on Wednesday and Nevile and Kay on Thursday.”
“And I go on Friday,” said Thomas.
“Oh I’m not counting you. You’ve been a tower of strength. I don’t know what I should have done without you.”
“The human buffer?”
“More than that. You’ve been so kind and so—so calm. That sounds rather ridiculous but it really does express what I mean.”
Thomas looked pleased though slightly embarrassed.
“I don’t know why we’ve all been so het up,” said Mary reflectively. “After all, if there were an—an outburst—it would be awkward and embarrassing, but nothing more.”
“But there’s been more to your feeling than that.”
“Oh yes, there has. A definite feeling of apprehension. Even the servants feel it. The kitchenmaid burst into tears and gave notice this morning—for no reason at all. The cook’s jumpy—Hurstall is all on edge—even Barrett, who is usually as calm as a—a battleship—has shown signs of nerves. And all because Nevile has this ridiculous idea of wanting his former and present wife to make friends and so soothe his own conscience.”
“In which ingenious idea he has singularly failed,” remarked Thomas.
“Yes. Kay is—is getting quite beside herself. And really, Thomas, I can’t help sympathizing with her.” She paused. “Did you notice the way Nevile looked after Audrey as she went up the stairs last night? He still cares about her, Thomas. The whole thing has been the most tragic mistake.”
Thomas started filling his pipe.
“He should have thought of that before,” he said in a hard voice.
“Oh I know. That’s what one says. But it doesn’t alter the fact that the whole thing is a tragedy. I can’t help feeling sorry for Nevile.”
“People like Nevile—” began Thomas and then stopped.
“Yes.”
“People like Nevile think they can always have everything their own way—and have everything they want, too. I don’t suppose Nevile has ever had a setback over anything in his life till he came up against this business of Audrey. Well, he’s got it now. He can’t have Audrey. She’s out of his reach. No good his making a song and dance about it. He’s just got to lump it.”
“I suppose you’re quite right. But you do sound hard. Audrey was so much in love with Nevile when she married him—and they always got on together so well.”
“Well, she’s out of love with him now.”
“I wonder,” murmured Mary under her breath.
Thomas was going on:
“And I’ll tell you something else. Nevile had better look out for Kay. She’s a dangerous kind of young woman—really dangerous. If she got her temper up she’d stop at nothing.”
“Oh dear,” Mary sighed and, returning to her original remarks, said hopefully: “Well, it’s only two days more.”
Things had been very difficult for the last four or five days. The death of Mr. Treves had given Lady Tressilian a shock which had told adversely on her health. The funeral had taken place in London, for which Mary was thankful, since it enabled the old lady to take her mind off the sad event more quickly than she might have been able to do otherwise. The domestic side of the household had been very nervy and difficult and Mary really felt tired and dispirited this morning.
“It’s partly the weather,” she said aloud. “It’s unnatural.”
It had indeed been an unusually hot and fine spell for September. On several days the thermometer had registered 70 in the shade.
Nevile strolled out of the house and joined them as she spoke.
“Blaming the weather?” he asked, with a glance up at the sky. “It is rather incredible. Hotter than ever today. And no wind. Makes one feel jumpy somehow. However, I think we’ll get rain before very long. Today is just a bit too tropical to last.”
Thomas Royde had moved very gently and aimlessly away and now disappeared round the corner of the house.
“Departure of gloomy Thomas,” said Nevile. “Nobody could say he shows any enjoyment of my company.”
“He’s rather a dear,” said Mary.
“I disagree. Narrow-minded prejudiced sort of chap.”
“He always hoped to marry Audrey, I think. And then you came along and cut him out.”
“It would have taken him about seven years to make up his mind to ask her to marry him. Did he expect the poor girl to wait while he made up his mind?”
“Perhaps,” said Mary deliberately, “it will all come right now.”
Nevile looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“True love rewarded? Audrey marry that wet fish? She’s a lot too good for that. No, I don’t see Audrey marrying gloomy Thomas.”
“I believe she is really very fond of him, Nevile.”
“What matchmakers you women always are! Can’t you let Audrey enjoy her freedom for a bit?”
“If she does enjoy it, certainly.”
Nevile said quickly:
“You think she’s not happy?”
“I really haven’t the least idea.”
“No more have I,” said Nevile slowly. “One never does know what Audrey is feeling.” He paused and then added, “But Audrey is one hundred per cent thoroughbred. She’s white all through.”
Then he said, more to himself than to Mary:
“God, what a damned fool I’ve been!”
Mary went into the house a little worried. For the third time she repeated to herself the comforting words, “Only two days more.”
Nevile wandered restlessly about the garden and terraces.
Right at the end of the garden he found Audrey sitting on the low wall looking down at the water below. It was high tide and the river was full.
She got up at once and came towards him.
“I was just coming back to the house. It must be nearly tea-time.”
She spoke quickly and nervously without looking at him.
He walked beside her without speaking.
Only when they reached the terrace again did he say:
“Can I talk to you, Audrey?”
She said at once, her fingers gripping the edge of the balustrade: “I think you’d better not.”
“That means you know what I want to say.”
She did not answer.
“What about it, Audrey? Can’t we go back to where we were? Forget everything that has happened?”
“Including Kay?”
“Kay,” said Nevile, “will be sensible.”
“What do you mean by sensible?”
“Simply this. I shall go to her and tell her the truth. Fling myself on her generosity. Tell her, what is true, that you are the only woman I ever loved.”
“You loved Kay when you married her.”
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“My marriage to Kay was the biggest mistake I ever made. I—”
He stopped. Kay had come out of the drawing room window. She walked towards them, and before the fury in her eyes even Nevile shrank a little.
“Sorry to interrupt this touching scene,” said Kay. “But I think it’s about time I did.”
Audrey moved away. “I’ll leave you alone,” she said.
Her face and voice were colourless.
“That’s right,” said Kay. “You’ve done all the mischief you wanted to do, haven’t you? I’ll deal with you later. Just now I’d rather have it out with Nevile.”
“Look here, Kay, Audrey has absolutely nothing to do with this. It’s not her fault. Blame me if you like—”
“And I do like,” said Kay. Her eyes blazed at Nevile. “What sort of man do you think you are?”
“A pretty poor sort of man,” said Nevile bitterly.
“You leave your wife, come bullheaded after me, get your wife to give you a divorce. Crazy about me one minute, tired of me the next! Now I suppose you want to go back to that whey-faced, mewling, double-crossing little cat—”
“Stop that, Kay!”
“Well, what do you want?”
Nevile was very white. He said:
“I’m every kind of a worm you like to call me. But it’s no good, Kay. I can’t go on. I think—really—I must have loved Audrey all the time. My love for you was—was a kind of madness. But it’s no good, my dear—you and I don’t belong. I shouldn’t be able to make you happy in the long run. Believe me, Kay, it’s better to cut our losses. Let’s try and part friends. Be generous.”
Kay said in a deceptively quiet voice:
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
Nevile did not look at her. His chin took on a dogged angle.
“We can get a divorce. You can divorce me for desertion.”
“Not for some time. You’ll have to wait for it.”
“I’ll wait,” said Nevile.
“And then, after three years or whatever it is, you’ll ask dear sweet Audrey to marry you all over again?”
“If she’ll have me.”
“She’ll have you all right!” said Kay viciously. “And where do I come in?”
“You’ll be free to find a better man than I am. Naturally I shall see you’re well provided for—”
“Cut out the bribes!” Her voice rose, as she lost control of herself. “Listen to me, Nevile. You can’t do this thing to me! I’ll not divorce you. I married you because I loved you. I know when you started turning against me. It was after I let you know I followed you to Estoril. You wanted to think it was all Fate. It’s upset your vanity to think it was me. Well, I’m not ashamed of what I did. You fell in love with me and married me and I’m not going to let you go back to that sly little cat who’s got her hooks into you again. She meant this to happen—but she’s not going to bring it off! I’ll kill you first. Do you hear? I’ll kill you. I’ll kill her too. I’ll see you both dead. I’ll—”