Authors: Mary Burchell
“
—in America
”
And he
’
s coming home, after all these years. It has nothing to do with Anya at all because
her
father is dead. Her own mother said so. So she can
’
t have any connection with Martin, can she?
”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
For perhaps half
a minute there was silence in the room. A silence so intense and complete that Anya could actually hear the heavy hum of a bee cruising in the flower-bed just outside the open window.
Then Lady Ranmere spoke—slowly and as though, for once, her usually active mind found it difficult to cope with the immensity of Celia
’
s announcement.
“
Are you trying to—to tell us that Martin didn
’
t die in Russia or Bulgaria or wherever it was? That he went away to America instead, where no one ever thought of looking for him
.
”
“
Yes, of course. That
’
s what I am saying. When he left Russia he went to the United States.
”
“
Then—
”
Lady Ranmere was still groping after the facts and their exact significance
—“
then it was the
other
man who died.
”
“
Obviously.
”
Celia spoke with a sort of impatient yet good-humoured triumph. As though it were silly to have to recapitulate these facts, but as though she did not really mind doing so because they were so infinitely welcome.
“
In other words, it was the other man who was Anya
’
s father, and she has no connection with Martin whatsoever. Or with us,
”
she added, with a bright, cold glance in Anya
’
s direction.
It was curiously like a blow, and Anya felt herself go white. She had not, she tried to tell herself, ever counted too much on Mrs. Preston
’
s eager theories. But, however much she had tried to preserve an objective attitude, the fact was that these people were all she had to depend upon in an alien world. Now, suddenly, she was being told she had no connection with them—not the faintest claim upon
them—and she felt a wave of panic and embarrassment that almost choked her.
Lady Ranmere had gone on asking questions, and desperately, almost stupidly, Anya tried to follow Celia
’
s eager, happy explanations.
It was not, it seemed, entirely coincidence which had brought Martin on the scene, just as his identity had become of such painful importance. In her anxiety and distress over her mother
’
s obstinate claim on Anya, Celia had applied to someone she referred to as Godfrey, who was in the Diplomatic Service.
“
Godfrey said very truly,
”
Celia was explaining, as Anya struggled to the surface again,
“
that it was the proverbial search for the needle in the haystack, but he managed to get some enquiries on foot.
”
“
In America? But why in America?
”
Lady Ranmere wanted to know.
“
No. That part
was
a coincidence,
”
Celia explained.
“
He happened to tell the story to a friend of his who was going to Washington. I
’
m still not quite clear how this other man contacted Martin. I think they knew each other slightly
already, but Martin doesn
’
t say so
—
”
“
You mean he has actually written himself?
”
Lady Ranmere exclaimed.
“
Yes, yes! Didn
’
t I tell you that? It
’
s all so incredible and sudden that I hardly know which way to tell the story.
”
For a moment Celia looked genuinely moved, and Anya thought she could have found it in her heart to be sympathetic, if only Celia were not so determinedly inimical.
“
And what about your mother?
”
enquired Lady Ranmere, rather doubtfully.
“
It must have been a great shock for her, even though a happy one.
”
“
Well—yes,
”
Celia conceded.
“
She is wild with excitement, of course. Crying because she is so happy, and not knowing what to do first to welcome Martin when he returns. She wanted to speak to him over the Atlantic telephone, but he gave no number, so we have to cable instead. It
’
s a wonderful day for us both.
”
“
Yes.
”
The older woman looked thoughtfully at the radiant, triumphant Celia and then, more reluctantly, at Anya.
“I’m
sorry, Anya,
”
she said, with characteristic, but not unkindly, candour.
“
This cannot be very good news for you.
”
“
It was to be expected.
”
Celia spoke quickly, a little contemptuously.
“
I, for one, never believed that far-fetched story about Anya being Martin
’
s daughter.
”
“
Then that was very prejudiced of you, my dear,
”
replied Lady Ranmere drily.
“
The facts pointed to a strong possibility, if nothing else.
”
Celia gave the very faintest toss of her head at this, but she did not answer. And at last Anya found her voice and said huskily,
“
It
’
s a—a disappointment, of course. But I
’
m glad for Mrs. Preston
’
s sake that she has found her son alive.
”
“
Of course, of course,
”
agreed Lady Ranmere rather absently.
Celia glanced at the quiet, pale girl, who seemed to have so curiously little to say for herself in this dramatic moment
“
I don
’
t know quite what you will be able to do now.
”
She did not seem anxious to soften the situation.
“
It was a pity decisions were made so hurriedly. I always said so.
”
“
Anya is not called on to do anyt
h
ing at all at the moment,
”
Lady Ranmere stated crisply. For, however much she might regret the impetuosity which landed her with this problem, Lady Ranmere was certainly not one to allow a guest to be made unwelcome.
“
She came here on a visit, at my invitation, and here she will stay for the duration of her visit.
”
Anya gave a grateful glance at her hostess. But, inevitably, even in these kindly meant words, a term had been set to her all t
o
o temporary security. A visit was something which must have an end. And then what?
She was not the concern of any of these people, after all. The time would come when they must, or necessity, wash their hands of her. She would stand alone in a terrifying world.
In a frightening uprush of mingled nostalgia and loat
h
ing, she seemed to see the barracks again, clearly outlined in every squalid detail. And she did not know in that moment if she feared it or longed for it.
Horrible it might be, degrading, without hope or purpose. But she belonged there, if she belonged anywhere.
She had ventured into the outside world, and the outside world had rejected her. Though she knew it was a denial of all that was best in her, she would at that moment, if she had been given the choice, have elected to go back to the squalor and wretchedness which was all she had ever known as home.
Then the spasm passed, and she found herself trembling. Like someone who had gone to the edge of a precipice and looked over, but somehow drawn back. She tried to force her attention back on what the other two were saying, and she found that Celia was talking once more of their scanty news about Martin.
“
He seems to have made a satisfactory sort of life for himself, though he has obviously been a rolling stone.
”
“
Married?
”
enquired Lady Ranmere succinctly.
“
No. At least he doesn
’
t say so.
”
“
It
’
s the sort of thing most people mention. Even rolling stones,
”
replied Lady Ranmere with dry humour.
“
He was in the American army during the war. He does mention that,
”
Celia said.
“
Over in Europe?
”
“
I—think so.
”
“
But it didn
’
t strike him to look up his own family?
”
“
Apparently not.
”
Celia looked faintly resentful at the tone of these questions.
“
Extraordinary behaviour.
”
Lady Ranmere made no attempt to hide her disapproval.
“
Never to come near his poor
m
other. He must have known what misery he had caused her.
”
“
I think—
”
Celia was inclined to defend him
—“
he assumed we had all long ago accepted the idea that he was dead
—
”
“
But it was a wrong idea.
”
“
Yes, I know. But I suppose the truth was that he quarrelled badly with Mother before he went away, all those years ago
—
”
“
Ah! I sometimes wondered.
”
Lady Ranmere looked pleased over the rightness of her own deductions.
“
Even now, I don
’
t know what it was about. Something to do with my own father, I think.
”
“
Very likely. These things happen in families
,”
Lady Ranmere nodded knowledgeably.
“
But that
’
s all water under the bridge now, I imagine
.”
“
Of course,
”
Celia agreed, and then seemed to think it was time she went
.
“
Mother will be coming over this afternoon
,”
she said, without so much as a glance in Anya
’
s direction.
“
Or, if you prefer, Lady Ranmere, of course we shall be delighted to have you come over to tea.
”
She said nothing about being delighted to have Anya come over to tea also, and Lady Ranmere—no doubt noticing the omission, for few such things escaped her—replied briskly,
“
It would be better if Teresa came here, I think. Tell her I shall be glad to see her round about four o
’
clock.
”
“
Very well.
”
Celia then said a general good-bye which might, or might not, have included Anya, and went away.
For a few moments there was silence between Anya and the older woman. Then Lady Ranmere, who had never shirked an issue in her life, said,
“
It is no good pretending that this doesn
’
t make a great deal of difference to your position, Anya. But I hope you had not been counting too securely on Mrs. Preston
’
s theories. No one expected anything quite so dramatic as this, of course, but I did warn you not to hope too extravagantly.
”
“
I know. I don
’
t think I hoped much—really.
”
Fortunately no one had ever guessed for one moment what ridiculous hopes she had dared to have about David.
“
Try not to feel too dreadfully disappointed, my dear.
”
Lady Ranmere gave a glance of real concern at the unnaturally quiet figure.
“
When David comes down we will have a serious talk about your future. At least we do know where we are now.
”
Lady Ranmere liked to know where she was, and to her it was perhaps less upsetting to know for certain that Anya was their problem than to wonder uncertainly if they or Teresa Preston would have the ultimate responsibility for her.
Anya, however, could not see the situation that way. She visualized herself as an insufferable burden on David, and for once the sound of his name brought no exquisite relief or inner joy. Only a fresh realization of her inadequacy and unbearable nuisance-value.
“
Can I—can I go back into the garden now?
”
In her confusion and distress, she spoke with what Lady Ranmere felt was quite unnecessary humility.
“
Of course, child. You can go anywhere you like in the house or garden,
”
Lady Ranmere said, a little impatiently. And then she turned back to her desk, with an air of relief more obvious than she knew. For whatever problems might be presented to her in her capacity as chairman or president of half a dozen committees and societies, none of them was at all likely to prove half so difficult as this quiet, pale, alien child that David had wished on her.
Anya went back into the garden. But, although the sun shone just as brightly, and the flowers and trees were just as beautiful, the welcoming peace which had been so wonderful half an hour ago was gone. She saw the scene in all its color and radiance still, but as though from a subtle distance. Like the child who was not going to the party, after all, but must cling to the railings and look in through the window instead.
It would have been a relief to cry a few quiet tears, perhaps, but life as Anya had known it had not encouraged self-pity. Her throat ached, but it did not occur to her to do anything but blink back the tears which stung her eyeballs. Tragedy and disappointment and frustration were a natural part of life
—
the larger part of it. It was not even interesting that one would like to cry about it.
Presently she found a charming summerhouse, with a rustic bench and table in it. And here she sat down, leaning her elbows on the table and her head on her hands, while she tried to bring some order to her flying, scattered thoughts, which seemed to rush hither and thither aimlessly like small animals frightened by the sounds of a coming storm.
She was still sitting like that ten minutes later when a shadow fell across her and Bertram
’
s voice said,
“
Hallo! What are you doing here alone? Having a quiet little weep on your own?
”
She let her hands fall and looked at him.
“
No. I
’
m not weeping.
”
“We
ll, you look as though you might.
”
He frowned slightly, in spite of the lightness of his tone.
“
You
’
d better come out into the sunshine, I think, and tell your Uncle Bertram all about it.
”
She came at once, though she got up rather slowly from the seat, as though she were tired from carrying burdens too heavy for anyone as young as she.
“
I thought you were going to town today,
”
she said, quietly and naturally, as they strolled out into the sunshine together.
“
I was. But there was something I had to attend to here, after all. I may go this afternoon, or tomorrow. Now tell me what
’
s been happening in your life.
”
She smiled faintly.
“
I suppose it is something in all our lives. Except yours.
”
She remembered suddenly that he had remained peculiarly unaffected by the drama which had involved them all during the past few weeks.
“
Martin is alive, after all.
”
“
Martin? Martin Deane—the long-lost son?
”
Bertram looked amused and interested.
“
Yes. He has written from America, where he has been living for a long time. He is coming home on a visit.
”
“
You don
’
t say! Well, that
’
s fine for Teresa.
”
“
Yes.
”
“
And rather aggravating for Celia. For, however much she may think she will welcome a brother, she will not, of course, at all like having her attractive nose put out of joint by someone more important than herself.
”
“
She seemed,
”
Anya said carefully,
“
very happy about it all.
”
“
Aha! She brought the good news herself?
”
“
Yes.
”
“
And rather flung it at you?
”
“
She didn
’
t conceal the fact that she was pleased to find I could not be in any way connected with them now.
”
“
And can
’
t you be? I never really follow the ramifications of this family situation,
”
Bertram confessed.
“
No, of course not! My mother said that—that the man she was fond of in the photograph died before I was born. That can
’
t have been Martin Deane. We know that now. Therefore the man she was fond of—the man who was presumably my father—was the other one. There
’
s no question of my possibly being Mrs. Preston
’
s granddaughter now.
”
“
And does that matter so much?
”
Bertram looked at her curiously.
Anya was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly,
“
If you mean in terms of affection—no. I like Mrs. Preston. I could easily be fond of her. If she were my grandmother, I suppose I should come to love her. But I can
’
t pretend that has already happened.
”
“
It
’
s the vision of the comfortable home fading which hurts?
”
suggested Bertram.
“
No. Not even that.
”
She stopped and faced him, her eyes wide and her face pale.
“
It
’
s the terrifying falseness of my position among you all. The possibility of my being Mrs. Preston
’
s granddaughter gave me a—a sort of right here. But now that is gone. I don
’
t belong to anyone here, after all. I
’
m just a terrible embarrassment to everyone.
”
“
Not to me,
”
Bertram assured her with steadying coolness.
“
You don
’
t embarrass me in the least.
”
“
Oh, Bertram—
”
she gave an uncertain little laugh, and the tension in her relaxed
—“
that
’
s because you never took much part in this business anyway. You stool amusedly aloof. But your mother and—and David brought me here, knowing that, even if Mrs. Preston never proved relationship, she would always consider me in some way hers, for lack of any proof to the contrary. No one ever expected there would be proof that I was
not
hers.
”
“
Did you count on that yourself?
”
he asked bluntly.
“
No. I didn
’
t count on it. Maybe I—I dreamed a few dreams because of it,
”
she said, hardly knowing why she told him that.
“
I see. You
’
re very fond of David, aren
’
t you?
”
He still spoke in his usual casual way and took no notice of the startled glance she gave him.