Julia gave her a reflective look.
'I take my husband's advice more often than he takes mine,' she smiled.
When they left the dressing-room so that Avice Crich-ton might change for the third act, Julia caught the questioning glance she gave Tom as she said good-bye to him. Julia was conscious, though she saw no movement, that he slightly shook his head. Her sensibility at that moment was extraordinarily acute and she translated the mute dialogue into words.
'Coming to supper afterwards?'
'No, damn it, I can't, I've got to see her home.'
Julia listened to the third act grimly. That was in order since the play was serious. When it was over and a pale shattered author had made a halting speech, Tom asked her where she would like to go for supper.
'Let's go home and talk,' she said. 'If you're hungry I'm sure we can find you something to eat in the kitchen.'
'D'you mean to Stanhope Place?'
'Yes.'
'All right.'
She felt his relief that she did not want to go back to the flat. He was silent in the car and she knew that it irked him to have to come back with her. She guessed that someone was giving a supper party to which Avice Crichton was going and he wanted to be there. The house was dark and empty when they reached it. The servants were in bed. Julia suggested that they should go down to the basement and forage.
'I don't want anything to eat unless you do,' he said. 'I'll just have a whisky and soda and go to bed. I've got a very heavy day to-morrow at the office.'
'All right. Bring it up to the drawing-room. I'll go and turn on the lights.'
When he came up she was doing her face in front of a mirror and she continued till he had poured out the whisky and sat down. Then she turned round. He looked very young, and incredibly charming, in his beautiful clothes, sitting there in the big armchair, and all the bitterness she had felt that evening, all the devouring jealousy of the last few days, were dissipated on a sudden by the intensity of her passion. She sat down on the arm of his chair and caressingly passed her hand over his hair. He drew back with an angry gesture.
'Don't do that,' he said. 'I do hate having my hair mussed about.'
It was like a knife in her heart. He had never spoken to her in that tone before. But she laughed lightly and getting up took the whisky he had poured out for her and sat down in a chair opposite him. The movement he had made, the words he had spoken were instinctive and he was a trifle abashed. He avoided her glance and his face once more bore a sulky look. The moment was decisive. For a while they were silent. Julia's heart beat painfully, but at last she forced herself to speak.
'Tell me,' she said, smiling, 'have you been to bed with Avice Crichton?'
'Of course not,' he cried.
'Why not? She's pretty.'
'She's not that sort of girl. I respect her.'
Julia let none of her feelings appear on her face. Her manner was wonderfully casual; she might have been talking of the fall of empires or the death of kings.
'D'you know what I should have said? I should have said you were madly in love with her.' He still avoided her eyes. 'Are you engaged to her by any chance?'
'No.'
He looked at her now, but the eyes that met Julia's were hostile.
'Have you asked her to marry you?'
'How could I? A damned rotter like me.'
He spoke so passionately that Julia was astonished.
'What are you talking about?'
'Oh what's the good of beating about the bush? How could I ask a decent girl to marry me? I'm nothing but a kept boy and, God knows, you have good reason to know it.'
'Don't be so silly. What a fuss to make over a few little presents I've given you.'
'I oughtn't to have taken them. I knew all the time it was wrong. It all came so gradually that I didn't realize what was happening till I was in it up to my neck. I couldn't afford to lead the life you made me lead; I was absolutely up against it. I had to take money from you.'
'Why not? After all, I'm a very rich woman.'
'Damn your money.'
He was holding a glass in his hands and yielding to a sudden impulse, he flung it into the fireplace. It shattered.
'You needn't break up the happy home,' said Julia ironically.
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that.' He sank back into his chair and turned his head away. 'I'm so ashamed of myself. It's not very nice to have lost one's self-respect.'
Julia hesitated. She did not quite know what to say.
'It seemed only natural to help you when you were in a hole. It was a pleasure to me.'
'I know, you were wonderfully tactful about it. You almost persuaded me that I was doing you a service when you paid my debts. You made it easy for me to behave like a cad.'
'I'm sorry you should feel like that about it.'
She spoke rather tartly. She was beginning to feel a trifle irritated.
'There's nothing for you to be sorry about. You wanted me and you bought me. If I was such a skunk as to let myself be bought that was no business of yours.'
'How long have you been feeling like this?'
'From the beginning.'
'That isn't true.'
She knew that what had awakened his conscience was the love that had seized him for a girl who he believed was pure. The poor fool! Didn't he know that Avice Crichton would go to bed with an assistant stage manager if she thought it would get her a part?
'If you're in love with Avice Crichton why don't you tell me so?' He looked at her miserably, but did not answer. 'Are you afraid it'll crab her chances of getting a part in the new play? You ought to know me well enough by now to know that I would never let sentiment interfere with business.'
He could hardly believe his ears.
'What do you mean by that?'
'I think she's rather a find. I'm going to tell Michael that I think she'll do very well.'
'Oh, Julia, you are a brick. I never knew what a wonderful woman you were.'
'You should have asked me and I'd have told you.'
He gave a sigh of relief.
'My dear, I'm so terribly fond of you.'
'I know, and I'm terribly fond of you. You're great fun to go about with and you're always so well turned out, you're a credit to any woman. I've liked going to bed with you and I've a sort of notion you've liked going to bed with me. But let's face it, I've never been in love with you any more than you've been in love with me. I knew it couldn't last. Sooner or later you were bound to fall in love and that would end it. And you have fallen in love, haven't you?'
'Yes.'
She was determined to make him say it, but when he did the pang it gave her was dreadful. Notwithstanding, she smiled good-humouredly.
'We've had some very jolly times together, but don't you think the moment has come to call it a day?'
She spoke so naturally, almost jestingly, that no one could have guessed that the pain at her heart seemed past bearing. She waited for her answer with sickening dread.
'I'm awfully sorry, Julia; I must regain my self-respect.' He looked at her with troubled eyes. 'You aren't angry with me?'
'Because you've transferred your volatile affections from me to Avice Crichton?' Her eyes danced with mischievous laughter. 'My dear, of course not. After all they stay in the profession.'
'I'm very grateful to you for all you've done for me. I don't want you to think I'm not.'
'Oh, my pet, don't talk such nonsense. I've done nothing for you.' She got up. 'Now you really must go. You've got a heavy day at the office to-morrow and I'm dog-tired.'
It was a load off his mind. But he wasn't quite happy for all that, he was puzzled by her tone, which was so friendly and yet at the same time faintly ironical; he felt a trifle let down. He went up to her to kiss her goodnight. She hesitated for the fraction of a second, then with a friendly smile gave him first one cheek and then the other.
'You'll find your way out, won't you?' She put her hand to her mouth to hid
e an elaborate yawn. 'Oh, I'm so sleepy.'
The moment he had gone she turned out the lights and went to the window. She peered cautiously through the curtains. She heard him slam the front door and saw him come out. He looked right and left. She guessed at once that he was looking for a taxi. There was none in sight and he started to walk in the direction of the Park. She knew that he was going to join Avice Crichton at the supper party and tell her the glad news. Julia sank into a chair. She had acted, she had acted marvellously, and now she felt all in. Tears, tears that nobody could see, rolled down her cheeks. She was miserably unhappy. There was only one thing that enabled her to bear her wretchedness, and that was the icy contempt that she could not but feel for the silly boy who could prefer to her a small-part actress who didn't even begin to know how to act. It was grotesque. She couldn't use her hands; why, she didn't even know how to walk across the stage.
'If I had any sense of humour I'd just laugh my head off,' she cried. 'It's the most priceless joke I've ever heard.'
She wondered what Tom would do now. The rent of the flat would be falling due on quarter-day. A lot of the things in it belonged to her. He wouldn't much like going back to his bed-sitting-room in Tavistock Square. She thought of the friends he had made through her. He'd been clever with them. They found him useful and he'd keep them. But it wouldn't be so easy for him to take Avice about. She was a hard, mercenary little thing, Julia was sure of that, she wouldn't be much inclined to bother about him when his money flowed less freely. The fool to be taken in by her pretence of virtue! Julia knew the type. It was quite obvious, she was only using Tom to get a part at the Siddons and the moment she got it she would give him the air. Julia started when this notion crossed her mind. She had promised Tom that Avice should have the part in 'Nowadays' because it fell into the scene she was playing, but she had attached no importance to her promise. Michael was always there to put his foot down.
'By God, she shall have the part,' she said, out loud. She chuckled maliciously. 'Heaven knows, I'm a good-natured woman, but there are limits to everything.'
It would be a satisfaction to turn the tables on Tom and Avice Crichton. She sat on in the darkness grimly thinking how she would do it. But every now and then she started to cry again, for from the depths of her subconscious surged up recollections that were horribly painful. Recollections of Tom's slim, youthful body against hers, his warm nakedness and the peculiar feel of his lips, his smile, at once shy and roguish, and the smell of his curly hair.
'If I hadn't been a fool I'd have said nothing. I ought to know him by now. It's only an infatuation. He'd have got over it and then he'd have come hungrily back to me.'
Now she was nearly dead with fatigue. She got up and went to bed. She took a sleeping-draught.
22
But she woke early next morning, at six, and began to think of Tom. She repeated to herself all she had said to him and all he had said to her. She was harassed and unhappy. Her only consolation was that she had carried the rupture through with so careless a gaiety that he could not guess how miserable he had made her.
She spent a wretched day, unable to think of anything else, and angry with herself because she could not put Tom out of her mind. It would not have been so bad if she could have confided her grief to a friend. She wanted someone to console her, someone to tell her that Tom was not worth troubling about and to assure her that he had treated her shamefully. As a rule she took her troubles to Charles or to Dolly. Of course Charles would give her all the sympathy she needed, but it would be a terrible blow to him, after all he had loved her to distraction for twenty years, and it would be cruel to tell him that she had given to a very ordinary young man what he would gladly have sacrificed ten years of his life for. She was his ideal and it would be heartless on her part to shatter it. It certainly did her good at that moment to be assured that Charles Tamerley, so distinguished, so cultured, so elegant, loved her with an imperishable devotion. Of course Dolly would be delighted if she confided in her. They had not seen much of one another lately, but Julia knew that she had only to call up and Dolly would come running. Even though she more than suspected the truth already she'd be shocked and jealous when Julia made a clean breast of it, but she'd be so thankful that everything was over, she'd forgive. It would be a comfort to both of them to tear Tom limb from limb. Of course it wouldn't be very nice to admit that Tom had chucked her, and Dolly was so shrewd, she would never get away with the lie that she had chucked him. She wanted to have a good cry with somebody, and there didn't seem to be any reason for it if she had made the break herself. It would be a score for Dolly, and however sympathetic she was it was asking too much of human nature to expect that she would be altogether sorry that Julia had been taken down a peg or two. Dolly had always worshipped her. She wasn't going to give her a peep at her feet of clay.
'It almost looks as if the only person I can go to is Michael,' she giggled. 'But I suppose it wouldn't do.'
She knew exactly what he would say.
'My dear girl, I'm really not the sort of feller you ought to come to with a story like that. Damn it all, you put me in a very awkward position. I flatter myself I'm pretty broad-minded, I may be an actor, but when all's said and done I am a gentleman, and well, I mean, I mean it's such damned bad form.'
Michael did not get home till the afternoon, and when he came into her room she was resting. He told her about his week-end and the result of his matches. He had played very well, some of his recoveries had been marvellous, and he described them in detail.
'By the way, what about that girl you saw last night, is she any good?'
'I really think she is, you know. She's very pretty. You're sure to fall for her.'
'Oh, my dear, at my time of life. Can she act?'
'She's inexperienced of course, but I think she's got it in her.'
'Oh well, I'd better have her up and give her the once over. How can I get hold of her?'
'Tom's got her address.'
'I'll phone him right away.'
He took off the receiver and dialled Tom's number. Tom was in and Michael wrote down the address on a pad.
The conversation went on.
'Oh, my dear old chap, I'm sorry to hear that. What rotten luck!'
'What's the matter?' asked Julia.
He motioned her to be quiet.
'Oh, well, I don't want to be hard on you. Don't you worry. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement that will be satisfactory to you.' He put his hand over the receiver and turned to Julia. 'Shall I ask him to dinner next Sunday?'
'If you like.'
'Julia says, will you come and dine on Sunday? Oh, I'm sorry. Well, so long, old man.'
He put down the receiver.
'He's got a date. Is the young ruffian having an affair with this girl?'
'He assures me not. He respects her. She's a colonel's daughter.'
'Oh, she's a lady.'
'I don't know that that follows,' said Julia acidly. 'What were you talking to him about?'
'He says they've cut his salary. Bad times. He wants to give up the flat.' Julia's heart gave a sudden sickening beat. 'I've told him not to worry. I'll let him stay there rent free till times improve.'
'I don't know why you should do that. After all, it was a purely business arrangement.'
'It seems rather tough luck on a young chap like that. And you know he's very useful to us; if we want an extra man we can always call upon him, and it's convenient having him round the comer when I want someone to play golf with me. It's only twenty-five pounds a quarter.'
'You're the last person I should expect to see indulge in indiscriminate generosity.'
'Oh, don't you be afraid, if I lose on the swings I'll get back on the roundabouts.'
The masseuse came in and put an end to the conversation. Julia was thankful that it would soon be time to go down to the theatre and so put an end for a while to the misery of that long day; when she got back she would take a sleeping-draught agai
n and so get some hours of forgetfulness. She had a notion that in a few days the worst of her pain would be over; the important thing was to get through them as best she could. She must distract her mind. When she left for the theatre she told the butler to ring up Charles Tamerley and see if she could lunch with him at the Ritz next day.
He was extraordinarily nice at luncheon. His look, his manner bespoke the different world he lived in, and she felt a sudden abhorrence for the circle in which on Tom's account she had moved during the last year. He spoke of politics, of art, of books; and peace entered into her soul. Tom had been an obsession and she saw now that it had been hurtful; but she would escape from it. Her spirits rose. She did not want to be alone, she knew that even though she went home after luncheon she would not sleep, so she asked Charles if he would take her to the National Gallery. She could give him no greater pleasure; he liked to talk about pictures and he talked of them well. It took them back to the old days when she had made her first success in London and they used to spend so many afternoons together, walking in the park or sauntering through museums. The day after that she had a matnée and the next a luncheon-party, but when they separated they arranged to lunch again together on the Friday and go to the Tate.
A few days later Michael told her that he had engaged Avice Crichton.
'She has the looks for the part, there's no doubt about that, and she'll be a good contrast to you. I'm taking her acting on the strength of what you said.'
Next morning they rang through from the basement to say that Mr Fennell was on the telephone. It seemed to her that her heart stopped beating.
'Put him through.'
'Julia, I wanted to tell you, Michael has engaged Avice.'
'Yes, I know.'
'He told her he was engaging her on what you'd told him. You are a brick.'
Julia, her heart now beating nineteen to the dozen, made an effort to control her voice.
'Oh, don't talk such nonsense,' she answered gaily. 'I told you it would be all right.'