Authors: Mary Burchell
Dear Leila [the letter informed her quite simply],
I can’t marry Simon after all, and I’m going on with Jeremy.
When you get this, I shall be on my way to London where I’m going to be married to him. I know it
’
s not the right way to break off an engagement, and I’m very sorry to hurt Simon like this. But it woul
d
be worse if I went on with the marriage and made us all unhappy.
You’ve been so sweet about everything in the last few weeks—just as you always have, really—an
d
I want you to do something very difficult for me, Leila. I quite admit I’m a coward not to be able to do it myself, but I couldn’t face all the reproaches and fuss there would be. Please explain to Mother and Daddy, and tell them that I’m
really
happy with Jeremy, and I’ll get in touch with them as soon as everything is satisfactorily settled. And then [Leila turned over the sheet, with gathering dismay, fatally sure of the next sentence even before she read it] will you tell Simon for me? He’ll take it better from you than from Mother. She’d be so upset and emotional. These things always come best from a stranger. And, though of course you and Simon aren’t strangers, you aren’t anything to each other, whereas I suppose he looks on Mother almost as a relation.
I’m dreadfully sorry about all this, but it was the only thing to do. And when all the fuss is over, life
will
go on quite normally again. One just has to remember that. Thank you most awfully,
Leila, for doing this for me. You’ll do it better than anyone else.
My love to you, and you must come and see Jeremy and me when all the upset is over.
Rosemary.
Leila sat down slowly on the side of her bed, curling a corner of the letter nervously in her hand. And the sensation that was uppermost in her shocked mind was now surprise that she had not seen what was coming.
Why had she not realized that Rosemary’s absences and generally absorbed air could only be explained by interest in another man? Why, she had even told Leila of Jeremy’s presence. And for an angry, remorseful moment, Leila wondered if she had herself contributed to the danger of the situation by so emphatically rejecting any idea of Rosemary meeting Jeremy in the safer atmosphere of her own home.
“But how
could
I know she would do this?” Leila exclaimed out loud. And her gaze dropped again to the letter in her hand, and odd phrases started out at her once more. “I couldn’t face all the reproaches and fuss
...
” “I’ll get in touch with them as soon as everything is satisfactorily settled
...
” “when all the fuss is over
...”
“when all the upset is over
...
Alas, that had
always been charming Rosemary’s way! She created this appalling situation, she appealed to her cousin to handle it for her. And “when all the fuss was over,” she would drift back into the picture and, in her own optimistic phrase, life would go on quite normally again.
Leila knew she ought to feel very angry with her cousin. Indeed, she did feel very angry with her when she thought of the hurt she was inflicting on Simon. But she also felt pity and alarm for her. What sort of mistake might she not have made over this Jeremy? “If I hadn’t been so absorbed in my own affairs—”
But she had been absorbed in them. .And there was no reproach to her in that. There was her life to live, as well as Rosemary’s.
And suddenly it came fully home to Leila, with all the force of a delayed shock, how vitally this action of her cousin’s would affect her own affairs.
Simon was not to be married tomorrow after all. But—and the second realization was more than enough to check any wild uprush of happiness she might have experienced—he was to receive the kind of blow that would make him regard with distaste, and even repulsion, everyone connected with it.
“I can’t tell him—I won’t,” Leila exclaimed. She was beginning to dress now, almost without knowing it. “Aunt Hester will
h
ave to do it. I’ll tell Aunt Hester, and then she must tell him. I’m sorry, and it’s a horrible task for her, too. But I can’t do it. Why should I? It’s not fair. Why should I make him hate me?”
She knew she was not arguing very coherently with herself. But she didn’t feel very coherent. It was
g
oing to be bad enough to have to tell her uncle and aunt. But tell Simon she would not.
Not until she was dressed and ready to go downstairs did Leila realize that she had got up an hour earlier than usual.
In the kitchen, Doris, Aunt Hester’s maid, was already at work, singing “I’m in love with you” in a rather subdued way and with a certain disregard for key.
She looked surprised as Leila came in, and broke off her somewhat doleful statement of love to say: “You’re early, Miss Leila.”
“Yes. I—I woke early. It seemed too beautiful a day to stay in bed.”
Doris nodded.
“If it’s like this tomorrow, Miss Rosemary won’t have cause to complain. Happy the bride that the sun shines on,” quoted Doris with relish.
“Ye-es,” Leila agreed, feeling a fraud, but not quite knowing how to deal with this small initial difficulty. “Can I help you, Doris?”
“No, thank you, miss. I have my method,” explained Doris, who had. “But you might go and cut some flowers, if you like. We’ll need some for the sitting-room.”
So Leila went into the garden, where the dew was already drying from the grass and flowers, and she wandered about and picked a few flowers at random, and wondered how she was going to break the news to Aunt Hester.
Then she experienced sudden panic in case her aunt should go to Rosemary’s room for any reason and discover signs of the night before she had been prepared. She turned to retrace her steps.
As she did so, Doris opened the side door which led into the garden and called:
“Here’s an early visitor, Miss Leila. I’ve told him you’re the only one up.”
Then she stood aside, and Simon came out of the doorway and along the garden path towards Leila.
CHAPTER II
LEILA was ashamed to remember afterwards that, in a moment of unreasoning panic, she quite literally turned to run away. But common sense reasserted itself almost at once, and she knew she could not do anything so foolish.
So she stood there, waiting for him to come up to her. And as he came, she saw suddenly how tired and strained he looked, and she remembered that she was not the only one with troubles.
“Oh, Simon,” she exclaimed impulsively, “is it bad news?”
“It isn’t good,” he replied briefly. “Where’s Rosemary?”
She stared at him in silent dismay. But he was too preoccupied to see that anything was wrong, and almost immediately answered his own question.
“Of course—Doris told me. You’re the only one who is up. I’m glad, Leila. I want a word with you first. You’re so practical and understanding.”
She allowed herself a modified glow of pleasure over that, in spite of everything. Then she said:
“Come and sit over here and tell me all about it.”
She led the way to a garden bench at the end of the path, and after a moment he came and dropped down beside her.
“It’s about your mother, of course,” she prompted him gently after a moment or two, as he seemed inclined to relapse into his own thoughts.
“Yes.” He roused himself, and leant forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands lightly clasped. “I think I told you that she will have to have an operation. There’s very little chance of her surviving it, but it’s one of those cases where one must take the chance. She wants to see Rosemary first—”
“Oh!”
“Well, she’s never seen her, you know,” he said impatiently, apparently under the impression that he was explaining away some objection of Leila’s. “It has been a fairly short engagement, you see, and there was never a good opportunity. But now it’s—essential. Mother has set her heart on seeing my
fiancé
e—my wife. And she knows as well as we do, though no one has put it into words, that it will probably be the—only time.”
“Oh—Simon!” Leila exclaimed, overwhelmed not only by the sadness of the position, but by the knowledge that what she had to tell him would make the situation so much worse.
“I’ve got to explain the position to Rosemary, and I want you to
help me. I can’t have her great day spoilt”—an expression of affectionate tenderness brightened his face for a moment—“and, if possible, I’d rather she didn’t know the exact details. But we’ll have to show her that it’s serious enough to justify our postponing our honeymoon for a few days. After the we
d
ding tomorrow, instead of our going off to Paris, as we had planned, we shall have to go to my home for a few days at any rate. Do you think I ought to explain everything to her now, or after the actual wedding, so that at least will be cloudless—and how much should I tell her? You’ll
kn
ow so much better than I do how a girl feels about these things.” He raised his head and looked at Leila with anxious dark eyes. And because she had never imagined his needing help in solving any problem, and certainly never imagined his looking at her with an air of appeal, she first of all felt her mind go a complete blank, and then everything that was warm and strong and loving in her came to her aid.
“Listen, Simon,” she said, and she was surprised by the strength and steadiness of her own voice, “this is only part of a much bigger problem that’s arisen since you went away. I’ve been wondering and wondering how I was going to tell you, but now I see the only way is to put it as simply as possible and—and assure you that anything I can possibly do to help you—Well, you only have to ask.”
She hesitated a moment, groping in her mind for just the right words. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a bad shock for you, but—Rosemary has changed her mind about marrying you tomorrow—”
“
Rosemary
has? But, good heavens”—his expression became almost hard and withdrawn—“isn’t it for her to tell me that?”
“She can’t, Simon. She isn’t here,” Leila stated baldly.
“Isn’t
here
?”
He repeated her words again and, in the intensity of his anger and feeling, he got to his feet and stood looking down at Leila,
w
ho was holding on to her new-found courage at this moment with a good deal of difficulty.
“But—I don’t understand. Has she had an attack of nerves, or something? Does she resent my having left her so near the wedding? Or—what?”
“I’m sorry, Simon,” Leila said, quietly, though she felt rather like crying, with excitement a
n
d nervousness and pity. “There was much more to it than that. She found she wanted someone else.”
He sat down slowly on the bench beside her again, and she had the curious impression that he grew a little older before her eyes. “When did you know this?” he asked rather quietly at last.
“This morning. Not much more than an hour ago. The others don’t know yet.” Suddenly it was a terrible relief to pour out all the details, now that she had told him the one salient fact which mattered. “She—left me a letter. She asked me to tell you.”
He glanced at her, and Leila thought she saw in his face that impersonal distaste which she had feared he must attach to the instrument of such misfortune. She winced slightly.
“I—didn’t like the task,” she said.
“No. Of course not. What did Rosemary say in the letter?”
“She—apologized for all the trouble she was causing”—he smiled slightly and ironically, so that Leila hurried on—“she was truly sorry and distressed, I am sure of that. But she said she had found out that it was Jeremy she loved—”
“Who on earth is Jeremy?” he interrupted harshly.
“Oh—” She tried to explain Jeremy in a couple of sentences, and found that she was merely disclosing the fact that he was a shadowy figure whom she had never really seen.
“Never mind about him,” Simon interrupted impatiently. “Go on.”
“Rosemary said that she knew she was behaving very badly to you and that she felt miserable about hurting you”—she hadn’t said that, Leila remembered suddenly, it was merely what she herself would have felt in the circumstances—“but that it was better she should find out her mistake now than go on with the marriage and—and make everyone miserable.”
Leila relapsed into silence.
“You say the others don’t know?” he asked abruptly at last.
“No. Oh, I must go and tell Aunt Hester!” Leila jumped up anxiously, remembering her other responsibilities. “I don’t want her to find out, without preparation.”
“Wait!” He put his hand round her wrist, and drew her down sharply beside him again, and she was surprised and slightly dismayed by the almost painful grip of his fingers. “Your aunt doesn’t matter at the moment.”
“She’s Rosemary’s mother!” exclaimed Leila rather indignantly.
“I’m not thinking of Rosemary’s mother. I’m thinking of mine,” he retorted brutally. “A great deal depends on her being tranquil and happy in the next few days. If she is going to die”—Leila saw he was past dressing stark truths in optimistic phrasing—“I’m not
going to have her last hours clouded by worry and unhappiness about me. And any chance she has of surviving the operation will be halved if she has a shock like this. I’ve promised to bring my wife to see her tomorrow evening, and I’m going to do it. Where can I find Rosemary? She’s got to play the part, even if I never see her again.”
Leila gasped.
“I don’t know where she is.”
“Didn’t she say
anything
in that letter of hers?”
“Only that she would be on her way to London with Jeremy by the time I read the letter.”
“What’s this fellow’s other name? You say he’s in the theatrical world? It shouldn’t be impossible to trace him.”
“I don’t know his other name.”
“Then your aunt will know.”
“I don’t—think so. She couldn’t recall it when she was first telling me about him.”
“Good God!” cried Simon in exasperation. “Is this man a stranger to you all? Don’t any of you know anything about him?”
“Not very much,” Leila murmured, feeling that they had somehow failed Simon by not knowing more about Jeremy.
“In any case, Simon, even if you traced them by tomorrow, I—I don’t think Rosemary would agree to do what you want.”
“If I explained—” he began, and then stopped. They looked at each other in reluctantly shared comprehension. There were some things one couldn’t explain to Rosemary.
“No, you’re right,” he said, grim with the acceptance of an unpalatable truth. “She wouldn’t agree.”
He leant forward again and put his head in his hands. Not dejectedly, but as though concentrating fiercely on some other solution. And as Leila looked down on his dark hair—a little tumbled now because he had thrust an anxious hand through it—she longed to have the right to smooth it, and the wit to suggest some form of comfort.
She loved him so much in that moment that she told herself she ought to be able to think of something. She
ought
to be able to. That was what loving meant, wasn’t it, rejoicing when things went well, and helping when they went ill?
And then she thought of something. And it was so fantastic—so preposterous—that one either had to reject it immediately, or else put it into practice on the crest of the wave of ridiculous inspiration.
“Did you say your mother had never seen Rosemary?”
He nodded without looking up, as though her seemingly irrelevant query hardly reached his consciousness.
“Then it need not necessarily be Rosemary who goes with you tomorrow. I’ll come with you,” Leila said.
For at least ten seconds he remained completely motionless, so that she began to wonder if he had even heard her, or if her suggestion seemed so absurd to him that it hardly merited a reply.
Then he raised his head and looked at her, and she saw hope and a sort of relieved astonishment dawning in his face.
“My God, Leila! I believe you’ve got the answer,” he exclaimed. “It’s quite—fantastic, of course.”
She was breathless with mingled triumph at the reception of her scheme and alarm that she should have committed herself to so much. “But—”
“It’s not. It’s almost simple,” he countered, impatient at the slightest sign of retraction. “If she—dies, she need never know. And if she lives, I can explain it all to her, much later, when it doesn’t matter.”
“Ye-es,” Leila agreed, trying hard not to think what other complications might arise. “If you think it’s the best way to keep her mind tranquil and untroubled—”
“It’s the only way. You’re a good child.” He gripped her hand, and Leila rather nervously returned the pressure.
“We’d better go and tell Aunt Hester now.”
“About Rosemary, you mean?”
“About—everything, I suppose.”
“Not this latest decision,” he countered quickly. “The fewer people who know about this, the better. I don’t want any well-meaning letters giving the show away.”
“Oh, but—”
He ignored her interruption and went on, planning aloud:
“I should be returning home today or tomorrow anyway. You must invent some reason for leaving tomorrow, too. We will meet somewhere—we might even travel together. Yes, that’s the best idea! I shall quite naturally give you a lift to London.”
“But I wasn’t leaving for another week,” Leila objected suddenly. “Aunt Hester was relying on me to help clear up all sorts of things after the wedding.”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding,” he reminded her, so harshly that she realized how wrong had been her impression that the anxiety about his mother had partially blotted out the angry pain at what Rosemary had done to him. “I presume there will be very little to ‘clear up.’
”
Leila resisted the impulse to explain that there would probably be much more “clearing up” after a cancelled wedding than after one which took place. Instead, she told herself that she would manage somehow.
“We’ll arrange something,” she promised.
“And without explaining to your aunt what we intend to do,” he insisted.
“If you want it that way. But I don’t see—”
“It’s no good practising a—a benevolent deception of this sort if half a dozen people are in the secret,” he explained impatiently. “It is simply between you and me. There is no need to tell anyone of your acquaintance. And, for my part, I shall introduce you to my mother and sister, and the doctor, as my wife, which will obviate any possibility of anyone giving the show away by playing their part poorly.”
“Very well,” murmured Leila, apparently overborne by the weight of his reasoning. But she had, in fact, capitulated completely at the moment when he said it was simply between him and her.
They went into the house then, to tackle the unwelcome task of explaining to the rest of the family about Rosemary’s flight.
It was all very painful and upsetting.
Her uncle kept on saying over and over again:
“I can’t understand Rosemary! We scarcely even
knew
the fellow.”
While her aunt, who hardly ever cried shed tears now and said that Rosemary must have taken leave of her senses.
But Leila knew her cousin hadn’t taken leave of her senses. She was merely being dear, irresponsible Rosemary to the
n
th degree.