Jane did not answer.
‘What’s up?’ Abbie said. ‘You’ve hardly said anything – though I suppose I haven’t given you much chance, have I?’
With a distracted shake of her head, Jane said, ‘Oh – Abbie – can we get out of here?’
‘What? Why – yes, but . . . What’s wrong?’
Jane was taking coins from her purse. ‘I just – just want to get outside. Do you mind?’
‘Of course not.’
Jane beckoned to the waitress and paid the bill. Then together she and Abbie went out into the air. Side by side they stood on the pavement while the pedestrians and the carriages passed by.
‘What’s wrong?’ Abbie said. ‘Do you feel ill?’
‘No – I simply felt I – I had to get out of there.’ Then quickly Jane added, ‘Let’s walk for a minute, shall we?’
‘If you like.’ Abbie slipped her arm through Jane’s and together they walked along the street and then crossed over into Trafalgar Square. ‘I mustn’t be late,’ Abbie observed as they reached the fountain. ‘Mrs Hayward gets into a panic when I’m not there. God knows what she did before my arrival.’
Jane said nothing, but walked with her head bent, her lips set. At the foot of some wide steps Abbie drew her to a stop, withdrew her arm and said, concern in her voice, ‘Jane, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.’
Jane lifted her hands, bent her head and covered her face. ‘Oh, God . . .’ Her words were muttered, her tone full of anguish.
Abbie laid a hand on her arm. ‘Jane – what is it? Please – tell me. I’m your true friend. There’s nothing you can’t tell me.’
‘You say that now,’ Jane said without looking at her. ‘Oh, Abbie, I’m so afraid you’ll hate me.’
‘Hate you?’ Abbie looked astonished. ‘Are you mad? How could I possibly hate you? I love you. You’re my friend for life. You know that.’
Jane shook her head. ‘Oh – Abbie . . .’
‘Jane, look at me.’
Jane shook her head. ‘I cannot.’
‘Dear God, Jane, tell me what it is.’ Abbie paused. ‘Is it – something to do with me?’
Jane nodded.
‘With you and with me?’
Another nod.
‘What, then? I can’t think of anything that –’
Jane broke in: ‘It concerns a third person, too.’ A moment of hesitation. ‘Arthur.’
‘Arthur?’ Abbie looked bewildered. ‘You mean
my
Arthur? My Mr Gilmore?’
Jane said nothing; did not move.
‘What – what about him?’ Abbie said. And now she suddenly felt her heart beating harder in her breast. ‘You’re going to tell me something dreadful, is that it? Is there some awful news about him?’
Jane looked into Abbie’s eyes, then lowered her gaze. ‘Forgive me, Abbie.’
‘Forgive you? What are you talking about? Jane, what is there to forgive?’
They stood in silence, untouched by the sounds all around, the cooing of the pigeons, the voices of the children who played beside the fountain.
Jane sighed, took a breath and said, ‘I love him.’
‘What?’ Abbie stared at her.
‘Arthur. I – I love him.’
‘You – love him? Arthur? Is this – some kind of joke?’
‘No.’
‘You love him? Do you mean this?’
Jane nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ve seen him? You’ve met him here in London?’
‘Yes.’
Abbie’s mouth was so dry she could barely form her words. ‘Does he know how you feel?’
Jane nodded again. ‘Yes.’ A pause. ‘He – he loves me too.’
Abbie ran her tongue over her lips. ‘I can scarcely believe you’re saying these words.’
‘Oh, Abbie – Abbie . . .’ Jane reached out towards her, but Abbie drew her own hand away.
‘So,’ Abbie said, ‘how long has this been going on behind my back?’
‘Oh – don’t say that, Abbie. We –’
Abbie interrupted, saying: ‘It obviously didn’t begin yesterday. When did it start?’
‘– Last summer. I was in Hyde Park with Anne, my employer’s daughter. And Arthur was there also. We met quite by chance. And the next week he was there again. And the week after that too.’
‘How romantic.’
‘Oh, Abbie – I didn’t plan it.’
‘No? You didn’t go there hoping to see him again?’
Jane said nothing to this. Abbie nodded. ‘I see. After that first time you hoped he’d be there.’ She paused. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘I never wanted to hurt you.’
‘But you never once mentioned it to me – in your letters. You wrote about everything else, but not about that – the most important thing that was happening to you.’
‘How could I?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Well – I was afraid to. I was afraid of hurting you.’
Thank you. I’m touched.’
‘Yes, I was afraid,’ Jane said, ‘even though I knew it was over between you both. You had told me that and so did he. He hadn’t heard from you in a long time. After all, you’d made your decision, and he thought he’d never see you again.’
‘You believed it was all over between us, yet you were afraid to mention the fact that you were seeing one another.’
‘Well – how could I know how you would respond? Though eventually, of course, I knew you would have to know. One or other of us would have to tell you.’
‘That’s very considerate of you.’
‘Abbie, please – don’t hate me.’ There were tears in Jane’s eyes. Abbie watched dispassionately as they brimmed over and ran down her cheeks.
‘You’ve betrayed me,’ she said. ‘After all we meant to one another. You, of all people.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s the truth.’ Abbie shook her head. ‘And you let me tell you how I’d begun writing to Arthur again – that I was renewing our friendship.’ Her own tears, of hurt and anger, were close to the surface. ‘Did it amuse you? Will you tell Arthur about it later and have a good laugh together?’ Abbie took a step away and stood looking out over the square. ‘You’ve betrayed me – and humiliated me into the bargain. I can never forgive you for it.’
‘Abbie . . .’ Sobbing, Jane stepped closer to Abbie’s side. She moved as if she would touch her shoulder but stopped and let her hand fall back to her side. ‘I love you, Abbie,’ she said. ‘And I would not have hurt you for the world. But I thought it was over between you and Arthur. And as I said, he thought so too. God knows I didn’t plan to fall in love with him. Nor did he plan to love me. It just – happened. Please, try to understand.’
‘I understand only too well.’
Abbie stood there for a moment longer, then turned and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Abbie’s preoccupation did not ease over the following days, but grew stronger. She went through the hours in the schoolroom with Mabel and Florence efficiently enough, but it was as if she were working in a fog; not for many minutes at a time did she find herself free of her disturbing thoughts.
On Thursday evening when the girls were in bed she sat alone in her room thinking over the situation. She could not continue as she was and just try to reconcile herself to it. Something would have to be done. In the end, after wrestling with the problem, she decided she must see Arthur and talk to him.
She sat down to write to him that same evening and, after several attempts, finished a letter asking him to meet her at Victoria Station on Sunday afternoon at three o’clock. There would be no time for him to write back so she would simply go there in the hope that he would appear. She would wait for him for one hour, she wrote, after which time she would return to Balham. As soon as the letter was finished she left the house, hurried down the hill and posted it.
She had done the best thing she could, she told herself as she walked back up the hill. If it was indeed true that Arthur had turned to Jane then he must have done so purely in the belief that he had no future with Abbie herself. Knowing that he could have would surely make all the difference.
Sunday arrived wet and squally. After lunch – of which she could eat little – she left the house and made her way to the station while the rain-spotted wind whipped at the skirt of her coat and threatened to turn her umbrella inside out.
As she sat on the train bound for Victoria she looked at her watch a dozen times, feeling as if she would never get there. But at last the train drew in to the station and came to a halt. She got down and saw Arthur standing at the end of the platform. He came towards her as she passed through the ticket barrier and briefly took the hand she offered in his.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for coming to meet me.’
For a moment or two they stood in silence facing one another while the other travellers moved about them.
‘Arthur,’ she said, ‘we have to talk.’
‘Yes, of course. Let’s go and have some tea somewhere.’
At a nearby hotel they sat in a secluded corner of the lounge where they were served by a maid in a crisp, starched uniform. As Abbie poured the tea Arthur asked how her journey from Ballham had been. She replied that it had been quite agreeable, and asked whether he had been waiting long.
‘Not so long. Fifteen minutes or so.’
A moment’s silence, then Abbie said, ‘Arthur, what are we doing? We’re sitting here indulging in small talk as if there’s nothing at all on our minds.’ She glanced at a couple who sat some feet away at the next table, assured herself that they would not overhear her, and added, keeping her voice low, ‘As you must know, I met Jane last Sunday. She’ll have told you what was said. I had no idea that you and she had been seeing one another. The news came as quite a surprise. She had never mentioned it.’
‘Abbie –’ Arthur began, but she went on, ‘I don’t understand Jane at all. She knew it was through no fault of my own that our engagement came to an end and still she –’ She came to a stop and looked down at her fingers as they worked in her lap. ‘Oh, Arthur, this is so difficult. You can’t imagine how hard it is.’
He remained silent.
‘I had to come here to see you,’ she said after a moment, ‘to tell you – that it’s not too late.’
‘Too late?’ He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. ‘Oh, please, Arthur, don’t be obtuse. You know what I’m saying.’
‘I – I’m not sure that I do.’
‘I’m saying it’s not too late for us. For you and me. All those – difficulties are in the past. There’s nothing now to keep us apart. We’re both free and we –’
He interrupted her. ‘Abbie, please. Don’t – don’t say these things.’
She would continue, though. It was as if she were driven to leave nothing unsaid. ‘Don’t be a goose,’ she said, ‘I’m telling you that things are different.’ She paused. ‘Arthur – please give me back the ring.’
‘What?’
‘The ring you gave me – that I returned to you. I want to wear it again.’
A little silence, then he said, ‘I don’t have it any more. And even if I did I . . . Oh, please, Abbie, don’t go on.’
She looked at him in silence for a moment, seeing him lower his glance and turn his face away.
‘Is it too late for you and me? Is that what you’re trying to say?’
‘Yes.’ He gave a brief nod, still avoiding her gaze.
‘That’s not true. You don’t mean that.’ She paused. ‘Are you saying that it really is serious – between you and Jane?’
‘Serious? Yes, it’s serious. Of course it’s serious.’
She gave a deep sigh and briefly closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God . . .’
‘Abbie – I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you but you must know that – well, I love Jane. And she loves me.’
She set down her cup and drew her bag towards her. ‘I can’t listen to this.’
‘But – but you have to know the truth.’
‘But you loved
me
. I was the one you loved, Arthur. We were to be married.’
‘Abbie –’ He shook his head. ‘Abbie, all that is ended. Anyway, you didn’t really care about me.’
‘What? I – I loved you. You know I did.’
‘Did you?’
‘How can you doubt it? You know that I –’ She came to a stop, watching as the couple at the next table rose from their seats and started away. Then she went on, ‘You know I loved you. You must know that.’
‘I don’t know that at all. But whatever I thought – whatever I believed, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter now. It’s all in the past now.’
‘It doesn’t matter? It’s in the past? Can you switch off your feelings just like that?’
‘Abbie, when Jane and I met again last summer, quite by chance, I hadn’t heard from you in ages. You had returned my ring to me and had made it clear that it was finished between us. For all I knew, you had gone out of my life for ever.’
‘I had my mother to care for, Arthur. My life was not my own. I had my work, and I had the responsibility of my mother as well.’
‘Is that truly all it was, Abbie? Was it truly because of your mother’s return that you broke off our engagement?’
‘Of course it was. What other reason could there be?’
‘Well, I thought –’ He broke off, then said, ‘Abbie – all this talk is only making everything more difficult. I don’t want you to be hurt any more.’
‘Are you telling me now that you care how I feel?’
‘Of course I care.’
‘I wish I could believe that.’
‘Abbie, please . . .’
‘I shouldn’t have come here today,’ she said. ‘But I came to tell you that – that I love you.’ She watched for his reaction to her words. ‘Did you hear me?’
He nodded. There was pain and perplexity in his face.
She frowned. ‘Have you nothing to say?’
He shook his head, distress in every line of his face.
‘Arthur,’ she said, ‘why do you think I came to London in the first place? I came because of you. I could have gone anywhere but I came here. Because I thought we could – make things up and – and be happy together. And this time for always.’ She turned from him, looking through the window. Rain was falling now. ‘I know what you must be thinking. You’re thinking, my God, is there no end to the lengths this girl will go to in order to humiliate herself?’