Authors: Mary Burchell
“Yes, please.” Leila’s voice was firm and confident, for she did, she realized in that moment, want very much to see Simon’s mother.
“Is that Simon and Rosemary?”
It gave Leila the strangest sensation to be actually named in her new identity for the first time. But it was she who answered, without hesitation:
“Yes. May we come in?”
And it was she, she was surprised to remember afterwards, who went first into the room, ahead of Simon and Frances, and crossed to the charming, bright-eyed woman who was lying propped up in bed.
“Dear child! How glad I am to see you.” Mrs. Morley looked up at her with an eager, friendly curiosity which had something almost childlike about it. And again without hesitation, and as though the role came to her quite naturally, Leila bent and kissed her.
“Oh, Simon”—Mrs. Morley turned her head to receive his kiss too—“how pretty she is! Take off your hat, dear, and sit there, on the side of the bed, where I can look at you.”
Smiling, Leila complied.
“I’ve just been telling her that she isn’t at all as I expected her to be,
”
Frances said.
“No. She isn’t as I expected either,” Simon’s mother murmured consideringly. “I didn’t expect you to be so
accessible,
dear.”
Leila was on the very point of assuring them that Rosemary was at least as accessible as herself when fortunately Mrs. Morley went on:
“Some people can be completely charming and gay and informal, but somehow you never really reach them. Or else there is nothing in them to reach, perhaps,” she added reflectively.
“Don’t be uncharitable. It isn’t becoming in an invalid,” Simon told her, sitting down at the other side of the bed, and smiling fondly at her.
“I’m not an invalid!” His mother rejected the description with energy. “As soon as this wretched operation is over, I shall be as hefty as any of you.”
They all agreed, with the emphasis and haste of the unconvinced, and Leila sensed the tragic impermanence of the happy family scene. It was necessary to say something quickly, to prevent them all following a forbidden line of thought, and so she asked, almost at random:
“Is your doctor satisfied with things up to the present?”
“Yes. So far as Dr. Brogner is ever satisfied, that is. He is an exacting creature,” Mrs. Morley declared.
“What a curious name.” Leila was still manufacturing conversation. “It’s very uncommon, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I have never come across it before. Have you?”
“Only once,” Leila said. “That was what made me remark on it. I thought it was unique. The senior partner in the firm where I work is called Brogner, and—”
She saw her slip the moment she had made it,, and made a desperate attempt at recovery.
“I mean, I
used
to work for them,” she amended hastily.
“Yes. Don’t you forget that I’m the only boss now,” Simon put in, with a
c
areless,
amused air which reminded her that at least she had an able ally.
She felt so grateful to him for the rescue that she could have kissed him. She could have kissed him for other reasons, too, but they didn’t enter into the present situation. So she gave him a brilliant smile instead, and kept her head very well when Frances remarked:
“I didn’t know you ever had a job. I thought you just lived at home with your parents and brother.”
“Oh, no. I was for a—a short while in a solicitor’s office,” Leila explained, feeling that, since she had unfortunately made half a statement on this point, the rest of it might as well be accurate.
No one commented further on this, and Mrs. Morley enquired, with not entirely concealed eagerness:
“How long can you stay?”
“As long as you like,” replied Leila promptly and recklessly.
“Oh, my dear child”—Simon’s mother gave a pleased but protesting laugh—“you can’t postpone your honeymoon indefinitely. I’m not so unreasonable as to expect that, you know. You haven’t actually cancelled any of the arrangements, I hope, Simon?” And she glanced enquiringly at her son.
“We’ve postponed them indefinitely,” Simon assured her, with composure. “We decided we should enjoy the whole thing better later, when we felt less worried. Didn’t we, darling?” He appealed to Leila.
“Yes,” Leila agreed rather faintly, and saw why it had been something of a shock to Simon when she had used that term to him.
“You’re good, kind children.” Mrs. Mo
r
ley glanced from one to the other and, though she smiled, Leila saw t
h
at she was moved. “But you won’t have to wait so very long. Dr. Brogner has made all the arrangements for me to go into the nursing-home on Monday. He is coming in some time this evening, Simon, so you will be able to have a word with him then.”
They stayed only ten minutes longer with Mrs. Morley, who obviously tired easily. And then Simon went downstairs on affairs of his own, and Frances said to Leila:
“I’ll show you your room
.
”
As they went along the wide, sun-filled corridor together, she continued:
“I’ve given you and Simon the room my parents used to have. It’s a nice big one, with a dressing-room attached, and has quite the best view in the house.”
“Oh—thank you—very much,” stammered Leila, unappreciative of views at this moment, because the full force of her equivocal position was just coming home to her.
It was stupid of her, she felt, not to have thought about the practical difficulties of the situation before. She had merely assumed that Simon would be able to see they didn’t arise.
“We’ll have to explain to Frances,” she thought rather angrily. “It was ridiculous to suppose we could carry this thing through without her knowing.”
There was nothing to do at the moment but praise the room—which was certainly a very delightful one—and assure Frances that she had everything she could want, and would come down again as soon as she had freshened up.
The last thing Frances said before she left the room was:
“I think your going-away outfit is charming.”
Then Leila was left alone and, not unnaturally, the first thing she did was to regard her reflection in the glass, and decide that the smoke-grey two-piece which she had intended to wear at Rosemary’s wedding did, indeed, serve very well as a “going-away” outfit.
Presently, when she was ready to go downstairs once more, she went to the window and looked out.
It was true that the window provided a very beautiful view of the Surrey hills. But—which interested Leila much more—it also provided a good view of Simon strolling in the garden below.
She stood there for several minutes, watching him, with something between loving concern and exasperation in her glance. She was slightly frightened now at what she had taken on, and she wished Simon were not so much wrapped up in his own concerns that he showed no worry for her problems. Not just her problems as the substitute for Rosemary. But as Leila, whom he had probably hardly ever noticed as an individual.
She had just reached this rather sobering conclusion when he looked up and saw his bride looking down at him from the window—“aren’t you coming down to me? I’ve been quite long enough without you.”
She knew, in her heart, that this must be a piece of playacting for the benefit of Frances—or anyone else—who might be watching. But at that moment she felt like Juliet looking from the balcony upon her Romeo. And when she said, softly and eagerly, “I’m coming,” her voice was not pitched for any possible audience, but simply for Simon himself.
The excitement and magic of that moment stayed with her, even as she ran downstairs to join him. And it was by a sort of instinct, more than any reasoning, that she found her way out of a side-door into the garden.
He was standing there on the small terrace, waiting for her. And when she came to him, he drew her arm through his and said: “You’ve managed wonderfully up to now.”
“Have I?” She laughed, happy in the feel of his arm against hers, happy in his friendly approval, and happiest of all because he seemed just now to be enjoying playing his part.
They strolled round the garden together, and presently she said
gently:
“I think your mother is a darling. I’m glad we did this.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Perhaps he thought it better not to drop into the habit of calling her “Leila” again. “I’m glad we did, too. And I hope you know how grateful I am to you.”
“There isn’t any question of gratitude,” she began eagerly.
But he stopped her with a slight pressure of his arm on hers. “Oh, yes there is. What sort of hole should I have been in now, if you hadn’t come to my rescue?”
She didn’t answer immediately, partly because she was savouring the sweetness of his expressed gratitude, and partly because she felt it necessary—though a pity at this delightful moment—to draw his attention to the different kind of “hole” in which they now found themselves.
“Simon,” she said at last, “I’m afraid we are going to have to let Frances into this, after all—”
“Indeed we are not!” he assured her, good-tempered but emphatic.
“But I hardly see how we can keep her out of it, for purely—practical reasons, if nothing else. She has the domestic arrangements of the household in her hands, and she’s not unnaturally given us a double bedroom,” Leila told him a little dryly.
“Good lord!” Simon said, and laughed, which was not quite the reaction Leila had expected. “Which room has she given us?”
“The big one at the back—where I was looking out of the window.”
“I know. With the dressing-room attached.”
“Yes, but I don’t think—”
“All right. Don’t worry,” He was still smiling, but he put his arm round her, with a half-protective air which had nothing to do with his pretending to be her husband. “I’ll look after your reputation better than that. I wasn’t going to suggest any dressing-room compromises in any sense of the term. Leave it to me. I do know how to look after you properly, you know, even though I am supposed to have married you only this afternoon.” She made some slight, rather inarticulate sound, which she hoped might pass for an intelligent reply. But she
felt as though her very heart sang within her. For, for the first time he was aware of her as herself. A glow of happiness out of all proportion to Simon’s action pervaded Leila, an
d
it was only with difficulty that she maintained a smiling air of composure, while she groped for something light and casual to say.
Perhaps it was as well that there was a diversion just then. The sound of a car drawing up at the front of the house caught their attention, and Simon exclaimed:
“That will be the doctor. Let’s go in.”
She was sorry that her moment had to be over so soon, but at least it had given her some courage for her encounter with the doctor. And as they crossed the hall together, she caught Simon’s hand in hers and swung it lightly, so that they made a very pleasant and convincing picture of an affectionate young couple when Frances opened the door.
“Evening, Miss Morley.” Leila heard the doctor’s deep, slow, rather solemn voice before she even saw him. “I’ve brought my brother along with me this evening. Staying with us for a couple of days. I’ve told him you’ll let him have a sight of the best show of chrysanthemums in the county, bar none.”
“How nice!” Frances sounded cordial, and was already leaning forward to shake hands with someone who blocked out as much of the light from the doorway as the massive doctor did. “My brother, too, arrived only an hour or so ago with his wife. Do come in.” Simon came forward to greet the visitors in his turn, and so did Leila, with as friendly and unperturbed an air as she could manage. But, as her gaze travelled beyond the doctor to his brother, she caught her breath on an almost audible gasp of dismay. The man accompanying Dr. Brogner was her own solemn, rather pompous employer.
For one who had never had to deal with dramatic crises, Leila did rather well in that moment. She shook the astonished Mr. Brogner’s hand with great cordiality and said:
“I thought it must be you, when I heard the name, Mr. Brogner. I think I am the one who should be allowed to show you the chrysanthemums and—and—explain things to you, at the same time.”
“Bless my soul, Miss
Lorne
!” Her employer actually took out his spectacles and popped them on his nose, the better to confirm that one of his secretarial staff had indeed materialized in this astonishing manner. “Where did you spring from? And did I understand Miss Morley to say you are her brother’s
wife
?”
Before Leila could either confirm or deny this rather biblical description of herself, Frances chimed in once more.
“They were just married today,” she explained, glancing curiously from Mr. Brogner’s solemn red face to Leila’s determinedly smiling, pale one.
“We had to postpone our honeymoon on account of my mother’s illness,” Simon put in, evidently sensing that it was time he came to the rescue with something. “Suppose you take Mr. Brogner and show him the garden, darling. And Frances and I can have a—family chat with the doctor.”
“Yes, of course.”
In her eagerness to get him away, Leila almost took Mr. Brogner by the arm. But a certain growing reserve, and air of suspended disapproval, about her employer warned her not to indulge in any unusual familiarities. As it was, he was slightly annoyed to find himself hustled off into the garden without having his own preferences consulted.
“Well, Miss
Lorne
, this is an extraordinary business,” he began, in anything but a congratulatory tone. “We do expect a certain amount of
”
—he cleared his throat—“preliminary notice when our staff get married, you know. We are not in favour of employing married women.”
“Yes, I know. I’m awfully sorry. But I really must explain. It isn’t at all—as it seems—”
She hesitated, but Mr. Brogner looked as though she had not improved the situation.
“What does that mean exactly?” he enquired. “Are you trying to tell me that you are not married to Mr. Morley, in actual fact?”
“Yes,” said Leila, looking into the future and seeing it was going to be impossible to keep up this masquerade much longer—certainly it was impossible to keep it up so far as her employer was concerned. “I mean—yes, I am trying to tell you that I’m not married to him.”
“But you are passing yourself off as his wife.” Mr. Brogner’s tone made that a statement, rather than a question, and his expression added that it was a most discreditable state of affairs.
“It was a desperate expedient—so that Mrs. Morley shouldn’t be upset and shocked, just at a time when it was essential that she should be quiet and unworried.”
“Miss
Lorne
,” retorted Mr. Brogner, who was not without a reputation for sarcastic repartee, “you have a strange idea of the best methods of obviating shock and distress. I must say that your story appears more—curious to me every minute.”
“I haven’t told you the actual story yet,” Leila replied rather crossly, because she saw that when he said “curious
”
he
meant either “incredible” or “disgraceful” or both. And then she determinedly launched into the best description she could achieve of the tangle in which she had invo
l
ved
h
erself during the last thirty-six hours.
Mr. Brogner listened with an air of increasing gravity which was not encouraging, and which tended to make Leila—in spite of all her efforts to the contrary—adopt an increasingly defensive tone.
“And, of course, as soon as ever possible, we shall explain the real situation to Mrs. Morley,” she finished earnestly, when she felt she had put Mr. Brogne
r
in possession of as much of the story as Simon would approve.
“At that point, I should imagine Mrs. Morley will receive a much greater shock than anything which the real facts could give her,” Mr. Brogner commented severely.
“She will be in a better condition to sustain any shock by then,” Leila retorted rather curtly. “If,” she added rather sadly, “she recovers at all.”
“It is never wise to gamble on the possible decease of another person, Miss
Lorne
,” Mr. Brogner stated heavily.
“We weren’t
gambling
on any such thing!” cried Leila angrily. “We only hope and pray that she recovers. But, don’t you see that if—if she isn
’
t going to recover, it’s so much better that her last days should be happy and free from anxiety?”
Mr. Brogner thrust out a doubtful under-lip and shook his head. “I am old-fashioned enough to think, Miss
Lorne
, that truth is the best policy at all times, and that deception, however well meant, is a most undesirable thing. It is not my business, of course, to advise you on the conduct of your private affairs. But you seem to me to have acted in a most irresponsible manner, an
d
to have succeeded in placing yourself in a highly invidious position. I am willing, of course, to accept your own explanation of the position myself. But uncharitable people would not do the same. Any young woman who leaves her home to pose as the wife of, and live under the same roof as, a man friend must not be surprised if a rather—peculiar interpretation is put upon her actions.
”
Mr. Brogner cleared his throat loudly, to give point to what he had said.
D
uring the first half of his address, Leila had found herself uncomfortable in sympathy with what he said about the desirability of truth at all times. But—though she was by nature a reasonably gentle and peaceable creature—her nerves and her temper had been rather sorely tried during the last few weeks. And when he reached the bit about any young woman posing as the wife of a man friend, she felt anger and indignation well up.
“You have no right to speak to me like that,” she cried. “I have told you the exact truth because—because—”
“Because you really had no choice, Miss Lorne, since to remain silent would have made your position even more questionable than if you explained,” Mr. Brogner put in dryly.
“It wasn’t that,” declared Leila, uncomfortably aware that it probably was. “But, in any case, I
have
told you—I have been quite frank with you, and now perhaps the subject
can be closed. As you yourself said, my private affairs are not really your business.
”
Mr. Brogner took off his spectacles, polished them carefully, and put them back again.
“That was not exactly what I said, Miss Lorne,” he corrected, not unkindly but rather weightily. “What I said was that it was not my business to advise you on the conduct of your private affairs. Strictly speaking, of course, your private affairs are not my business. Unless, that is to say, they seem likely to affect your position as an employee of our firm.”
“But—all this can’t possibly affect my usefulness, or otherwise, in the office,” protested Leila, astonished, indignant, and just a little frightened.
Mr. Brogner looked at her as though he thought her slow in grasping the obvious.
“My dear Miss Lorne, you know as well as I do that we are a long-established, highly-respected, perhaps old-fashioned firm. We deal with a very special type of client, and we take considerable pains to preserve a very particular kind of reputation. I am not going to suggest, for one moment, that the private affairs of our typing staf
f”
—she noted, in passing, that he had already reduced her office status in his own mind—“would affect the—ah—standing of the firm. But I am not at all sure that we should wish to have in our employ someone whose conduct outside the office was of a highly questionable character.”
Leila felt herself flush angrily again.
“My conduct has never been questionable, Mr. Brogner, and I very much resent the suggestion,” she said shortly.
He seemed unmoved by this.
“Posing as a man’s wife is usually regarded as highly questionable.”
“But in the special circumstances—”
“My dear child,” interrupted Mr. Brogner, from the depths of his rather disillusioning experience, “there are always special circumstances. In this case, I feel sure, you acted from kind, though extremely misguided, motives. But the net result is that you have landed yourself in a position which is unpleasant for you and most undesirable from our point of view. In this world, people are apt to pronounce first and enquire—if they enquire at all—afterwards. No young woman of good sense and discretion, therefore, puts herself in a position where she can
seem
to have acted discreditably, any more than she puts herself in a position where she
has
acted discreditably. And in our firm, Miss
Lorne
, we require young women of good sense and discretion.”
Leila bit her lip.
“Are you trying to tell me”—she employed Mr. Brogner’s own phrase, but with less effect—“that you wish me to leave the firm?” she asked coldly.
“No.” With a movement of his large hand, Mr. Brogner indicated that he didn’t wish to be hurried in his decisions. “I am only showing you how your behaviour must necessarily appear to me, and considering whether, in the circumstances, we can ignore your regrettable foolishness—or not. If this silly business can be quietly shelved—”
He stopped, and following his glance Leila saw Frances standing in the doorway and beckoning to them.
“There’s a long-distance call for you, dear. Your mother wants to speak to you.”
“My mother—” began Leila, in stupefaction. Then, as she remembered her supposed identity, her heart almost stopped beating. “But—”
“She hasn’t got used to thinking of you as Mrs. Morley yet,” Frances added, with a laugh. “She said it was Mrs. Lorne speaking, and was Miss Lorne there? That’s the telephone over there, by the front door.”
Slowly, and with indescribable reluctance, Leila crossed the hall and picked up the receiver.
“Hello—” she said, in a voice not much like her own.
“Hello, hello!” replied Aunt Hester’s voice, sharpened by anxiety and prolonged waiting. “What on earth has happened? Who is that speaking? Leila, is it you—or Rosemary?”