Everyone laughed, and Barbara went on: “Well, you are supposed to keep moving, anyway. If you meet anyone you may try to escape if you can, but if you’re challenged by your name you must answer to it. That makes you the challenger’s prisoner, and you must come back here. If you’re challenged wrongly
you needn’t reply and are free to move on
,
and of course everyone travels alone except”—with a smile she indicated Carol who was holding Victor by the hand—“except the inventor of the game, who likes to be escorted
!”
While she and Sara went off to open up all the doors and to ensure the required density of darkness, the finer points of the rules were discussed by the others.
Did one make a bold bid for prisoners? Or was it better to slink about, trying not to be challenged? Oughtn’t a preliminary survey of the layout to be allowed? And how often in practice could one take cover? Everyone seemed to be talking at once, but beneath her own share of the babel, Kathryn was aware of the undertones of another conversation going on near by.
Between lips that scarcely moved, Thelma was murmuring to Adam Brand: “I hadn’t bargained for fourth-form antics of this sort!”
“You can’t make yourself conspicuous by refusing to join in.”
“You mean you are going to?”
“Yes, why not?”
“But why?”
“No doubt from a suppressed hankering for cloak
-
and-dagger stuff. I daresay the psychologists would have a word for it. Meanwhile you should be thankful that we haven’t been asked to black our faces too
!”
At which Thelma shrugged impatiently and walked away, leaving Kathryn to envy her the glance of tolerant amusement with which Adam Brand’s eyes followed her as she went.
Certainly the quality of darkness which Barbara had achieved was most daunting, and it seemed strange
that so many people could apparently be swallowed up by it. Here and there were some suppressed giggles, and a laboured breathing followed Kathryn up the stairs. But once she had reached the first landing
—
there was also an attic storey—the silence about her was complete.
How did one bag a prisoner if everyone else kept out of the way? She turned round once or twice, listening for some likely prey, and found, when she came to take her bearings again, that she had no idea of them. The head newel-post had been here—no here—and now it was nowhere at all!
Trying not to betray her whereabouts by laughing aloud, she bit her lip and stretched both hands before her in search of a tallboy, the position of which she knew she would recognise as soon as she touched it.
She took a blind step or two forward, becoming bolder, began to walk ahead fairly steadily—and found her outstretched hands gripped in a clasp which, though she wrenched back in dismay, imprisoned them tightly and did not let go.
She wanted to protest, but, since she would have to give in, she would wait for the challenge of her name! She stood rigidly, frozen into silence, waiting, as, beyond the darkness between them, her captor waited too.
Then: “Is that you, Thelma?” The challenge came in Adam Brand’s voice as, at the first sure touch of his hands upon hers, she had instinctively known it would. But he had challenged her wrongly, and now she need not answer
...
He spoke again: “Thelma?” The single word was a question, and then, before Kathryn could resist, he had released her hands and had drawn her close to
him, so that now his tall figure was vaguely but unmistakably set against the surrounding darkness.
Surely he could see her, too, know who she really was? But seemingly his conviction that she was Thelma held. For as his hands took her about the shoulders, his head was bent above hers and his lips, seeking and demanding an answering passion from her, came down upon her mouth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Adam’s
kiss lasted for a bitter-sweet instant of time,
a
dreamed-of moment now cheated of joy. Then Kathryn
tore free
.
“
You—you’ve
—
” she began, but her
voice broke upon a panic that threatened to engulf her.
She waited for him to speak, to say anything that would reveal he knew the cruel mistake he had made. But he did not speak, and she turned about, praying he would not follow. A blind, imperative instinct drove her to the head of the stairs without faltering, and she almost ran down them towards the shelter of the hall.
She stood there, gripping the balustrade, fighting for control, searching for a balance that might help her to laugh off the incident. But for the moment she could not. He had thought she was Thelma. But how could
he—How could he
?
Surely between lovers there existed an unspoken magic that could not brook such a mistake? Surely there was a secret linking thread that needed neither touch nor sight to warn when it was not there?
Loving Thelma, Adam Brand
could not
have mistaken Kathryn for her! Beyond all reason. And yet the deep passion of his kiss—and her lips still burned with the savour of it—must have been for Thelma, not for Kathryn Clare, nor for anyone but the woman he loved. Thelma, she remembered, was wearing a dress of fine cashmere, high-necked and long-sleeved like her own. They were much of a height, and if Adam’s eyes had discerned any d
im
silhouette, her
hair-style was similar to Thelma’s own.
Yes, however incredibly, he must have thought she was Thelma, and so had known he had the right to take her in his arms. Kathryn straightened, wearily pushing back her hair, taking a grip on herself. Yes, that was what she must believe, even though every true instinct cried out against a love that, at the touch of lips and encircling hands, had not recognised its own.
What now? If she had escaped in time, if he had not known her by her voice, she need say nothing, need make no sign. Later, no doubt, Thelma and Adam might laugh about it together, but she would not be there to hear, and the shameful, rankling thought of their laughing at her would remain her secret. Somehow she believed that she could trust Adam not to make a public spectacle of his mistake.
And now, she supposed wryly, she must take up this disastrous game where she had left off. Not, however, that she was to have much choice in the matter, for at that moment she was confronted, not by a single challenger, but by two.
Carol squeaked: “It—it’s Kathryn!
Isn’t
it?” just as, from beyond her left shoulder, Steven’s voice said: “It is. But I claim her. She’s mine.”
Carol’s hand tugged imperiously at her escort’s sleeve. “Uncle Victor
—we
had her first, didn’t we?”
“We did indeed. Hands off. Carter. And into the lounge with Kathryn. Off you go.”
“
And
Dr
.
Carter. I bag him too,” claimed Carol, striking while the iron was hot.
“Oh, all right ” Steven gave in and joined Kathryn in the lounge, against the bright lights of which their eyes flinched blindly.
It was seconds before Kathryn made out Thelma
standing by the fire, one slipper stretched towards the blaze.
With an attempt at ease Kathryn said: “I suppose we must be the first shameful captures?”
“I
was
the first,” returned Thelma indifferently, and Steven added:
“Yes, she was mine. I found her skulking by the umbrella-stand. I had to accuse her of not really trying.”
Thelma shrugged. “I’m afraid I have more respect for my limbs. I’m not a cat.”
“You mean you’re deficient in Vitamin A,” commented Steven pouring drinks as Barbara had invited anyone to do.
“Vitamin A?”
“Yes. It helps you to see in the dark. You get it from carrots.”
“I loathe carrots,” murmured Thelma, her tone effectually dampening anything further to be had from that particular discussion.
Gradually they were joined by other members of the party, each ruefully bent on recounting the story of their capture. Sara and Simon came in together, arguing loudly as to who had bagged whom. Adam entered later, and last of all came Carol and Victor, claiming victory which was willingly conceded to them.
After that it was time for Carol to go to bed, and she went round saying her grave good nights, Kathryn watched Adam, who had joined Thelma by the fire. She saw them talking earnestly, heard Adam laugh once, saw him look round. Across the room his eyes, amused but impersonal, met her own before he turned again to Thelma.
Did he know now? Was Thelma telling him that she had been eliminated from the game during its first few minutes? Did that brief amused survey of the room mean that until that moment he had not known, and was actually questioning where he had bestowed the kiss that had so clearly been meant for Thelma?
Soon he would guess, and then he and Thelma could laugh together at her expense. Kathryn’s cheeks were hot with shame at the thought. Strangely, it did not occur to her that Adam might have told Thelma of his unsuccessful challenge, but had stopped short of telling her about the kiss that had found someone else’s lips. For Kathryn’s innate honesty had not measure of the wariness of a man with a woman like Thelma, however beloved.
When an hour or so later, the party broke up, Sara came to ask if Kathryn would mind if Simon drove her back to hospital.
“No, of course not,” said Kathryn at the same moment as Steven put in: “You’ll let me take you back, won’t you?”
She agreed willingly enough, for she felt safe now with him. Steven had braced himself to accept her decision, and they were well on the way to forging a friendship that was valuable to them both. They might, Kathryn thought a little bitterly, have been left by other people to achieve it long ago.
When their guests had gone, Barbara and Victor returned to their ravaged lounge and surveyed it ruefully.
“Let’s shut the door on it and leave it till the morning,” suggested Victor, taking the male way out.
“Coward,” retorted Barbara, beginning to plump up cushions and to empty ash-trays. “I couldn’t bear to face it in the morning. Besides, I want to talk about the party. That’s half the fun of giving one. How
do you think it went? Did they enjoy themselves?”
“They ‘ate hearty’, anyway,” commented Victor. “Did they leave any at all of those shrimp patties? I don’t see any, and I’m starving.”
“I kept a few in reserve in the larder. I’ll fetch them, and you can finish the sherry if you’ll stay and talk while I clear up.”
“Your generosity is unmatched,” murmured her husband, tilting the decanter to drain its thimbleful of sherry into a glass. “And what is there to talk about, anyway?”
“Why, just about the party. What the women were wearing and who said what about anything at all. And how do you think they matched up? After all, we did try to arrange them two by two, didn’t we? There were the husbands and wives, of course, but there were Thelma Carter and Dr
.
Brand, and Steven Carter and Kathryn, and Sara and her Simon Glenn.” Barbara picked up a cushion and swung it thoughtfully by its ear. “Victor, are those two children falling in love, do you suppose?”
“By all the ancient signs, I’d say so. What of it? It’s something that happens to the young, you know.”
“Yes, but
—
” Barbara broke off, wisely recognising that Victor, dear and understanding as he was, saw nothing for discussion or concern in a boy-and
-
girl romance. Men were like that, she supposed. They seemed to be able to let love happen around them without worrying about it, without wanting to further it or hinder it unduly. The thought brought her up sharply against something else. She said: “You know, I’m worried about Kathryn.”
“Why?” queried Victor, lifting the lid of a patty in order to inspect its contents.
“Well—she told me that she didn’t love Steven Carter and would never consider marrying him, though he asked her before he went abroad. But now they’re going about together again. They left together this evening.”
“Well? Carter is evidently a persistent young man. And you’ve heard of the effect of water dripping upon a stone.”
Barbara shook her head. “Kathryn wouldn’t react to persuasion if her heart wasn’t in it.”
“But why shouldn’t her heart be engaged by now? Women change their minds.”
“If Kathryn had changed her mind and was falling in love with Steven Carter she would be happy about it, because she’d know he was hers for the asking, as he always was. But she isn’t happy, don’t you understand? She hasn’t been happy for a long time, since before Steven came home again
—and I don’t know why
!”
Victor went over to her and with a gentle finger beneath her chin tilted her troubled face to his. “Is there any reason why you should want to?” he queried.
“Only,” she hesitated, “because, next to you, I think I love Kathryn more than anyone. And
because
of you I want as much happiness for her as you give me.”
“But you’re not content to let Kathryn work out her own? Did we take advice or help from anyone in
our
time?”
“We didn’t need to. We were equally in love. We hadn’t any difficulties!”
“Only,” Victor reminded her drily, “that I was an assistant master, really too poor
to
support a wife, that all term-time you were at the other end of England, caring for your mother; that we had no house and no
furniture or curtains when we did get one.”
“But all those things were
outside
us, don’t you see? A—a sort of challenge to us, the two of us. But I believe Kathryn is unhappy
inside
—and alone!”
Victor gave up. He put an arm about his wife’s waist and drew her firmly towards the door. “If Kathryn’s difficulties are of the heart, and she hasn’t confided in you, there’s not a thing you can do about it until she does—
if
she does. Come to bed,” he said.
What a pity, thought Barbara as she brushed her hair, that men should so pride themselves on “taking the long view”, as if it were a virtue to let things be. Why, a heart could break in loneliness over a trifle
—
for an imagined slight, for a misunderstanding, even for a looked-for letter that did not come! Was it silly to believe this? Or was it that, being a woman one knew it for certain and longed to help?
Simon slowed down at the spot, just short of the hospital gates, where they usually said good night. But as Sara stirred and reached for the door-handle he said almost sharply: “Don’t go yet. You’re not late and I—want to ask you something.”
Sara’s hand dropped back into her lap and she sat very still. The suspense of waiting was sweet until, instead of speaking, Simon turned and took her by the shoulders, staring at her in the semi-darkness until her eyes fell before his.
He said at last: “Sara darling, you do, don’t you? Love me, I mean? Nearly as much as I love you?”
She nodded—vigorously, like a child. “Oh, Simon, I do, I do. I’ve wanted to tell you for such a long time
!”
“Bless you.” He bent to kiss her lips, but only lightly, as if kissing could wait. “How long have you known?”
Sara fingered a button of his jacket. “It seems ages, but not so long, really. Since—since that day when I hit you with a hammer.”
“Only since then?” Simon sounded aggrieved. “And to choose the one day when I would have dearly loved to smack you!”
“I know. But I was all prickly because of Sister and the exams, and everything. I expected you, of all people, to make allowances when I was clumsy. And when you didn’t and just sort of looked
through
me, I
—
loved you for it. That was when I knew.”
“When I hadn’t made allowances for something I knew nothing about? Oh, Sara, you’re sweet. Go on being as illogical as that all your life, and I’ll love you for it. As for me, I knew long before.”
“When did you?”
“When you skated out of that bathroom clutching your scouring-powder and with your cap a-straddle. Remember?
“But that was the
first
time
!”
“I can’t help that. Take it or leave it—that was when. Perhaps for the merest split second you were ‘a’ girl. But before you were back on the ward you’d become ‘the’ girl—as you’ve been ever since.”
“Oh, Simon
—
”
He kissed her then, differently, searchingly. And when they drew apart he threw back his head and thrust clenched fists upward towards the car-roof. “Well, that’s that,” he said with satisfaction. “Now we can talk about getting married.”
Sara’s heart dropped leadenly within her. “Married, Simon? But I
can
’
t
marry you yet! You didn’t mean yet, did you?”
He turned to stare at her. “Of course I mean ‘yet’. Just as soon as we can fix it, in fact.”
“But—but I can’t, Simon!”
“Why on earth not? I’m to get my registrarship in a month or two, and there isn’t any question of my not being able to keep you.” He bent forward to look more closely into her face. “Sara, you’re not serious about this, are you?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Simon crossed his arms on the steering-wheel and stared into the darkness, instead of continuing to look at her. “Then I just don’t know what we’ve been talking about,” he said dully. “Certainly we haven’t been using the same language. But perhaps you’d explain?”
“It’s—well it’s that so far I’m still only in my first year of nursing, and I vowed when I took it up that nothing, nothing at all, should interfere with my finishing my training. I know it was only a promise made to myself, but don’t you see that I can’t break it just because I love you? I love nursing too, but I still couldn’t break my vow even if I loathed it. And there’s Carol too. She’s my responsibility, and I’ve
got
to know that I can keep her by my own work if I have to. And I can’t know that if I throw up my training in my first year. That makes me just a dabbler, and nobody would employ me.”