“A little.”
“Why?”
“I feel you are almost inhuman. We’ve all got so many weaknesses, so many failings, but you – well, you seem immune to them all, Michael. I could never live up to your standard.”
“You little fool! Don’t you realise how wonderful you are?”
Michael’s hands released her shoulders, but she was not free, instead she was swept into his arms. He held her close for a moment, then tipped back her head and pressed his lips to hers.
He kissed her very gently. A kiss as tender and as light as one might have given to a child. There was nothing demanding or compelling as his lips met hers, and yet she felt stirred again to the weakness of tears, which must prick her eyes and trickle down her cheeks.
‘I must be very tired,’ she thought.
Yet she knew it was not fatigue that was making her cry, but Michael. She closed her eyes because he was looking at her and she could not meet his eyes.
“I’m here to look after you, to take care of you,” he said softly. “Will you promise to remember that?”
“I will ... promise.”
Mona’s lips formed the words as once again Michael kissed her, pressing his lips gently on her mouth and against each of her wet eyes. Then, taking up his rifle, he slung it across his shoulder, slipped his arm through hers and turned their steps towards the gate at the end of the field.
“Where are we going?” Mona asked.
“You’re coming to breakfast,” Michael said. “You’re hungry and so am I.”
There was joy and a new gladness in his voice. They walked slowly arm-in-arm through the fields, talking of the party, of the village, of trivial interests, and every now and then lapsing into an easy, contented silence so that there was only the sound of their footsteps on the crisp earth and the song of the birds welcoming the sun.
“Are you hungry?” Michael asked as they reached the front door.
Mona, laughing up at him, forgetting for a moment all her troubles, all the sinister miseries which were waiting for her at home, replied,
“Ravenous! I could eat a week’s rations at one sitting.”
They went in together, Michael calling for Bates.
“Isn’t your aunt coming down to breakfast?” Mona asked as they reached the dining room and Bates was sent hurrying for more toast and coffee.
“Aunt Ada’s lived in London far too long for me to teach her country ways,” Michael replied. “She has her breakfast taken to her upstairs with all the morning papers, the result being I have no idea what the news is until she condescends to tell me at lunchtime.”
“How good for you, Michael!” Mona teased. “After years of having everything your own way, without feminine interference.”
“As you say, it’s very good for me,” he replied, “but I’d stand it with greater equanimity from my wife.”
Mona felt her face flush as he smiled at her across the table. She did not know why, but she felt very young when she was with Michael. All her sophistication and all traces of her experiences seemed to vanish, she felt as if she was a girl again, but Michael was wooing her with a charm he had never possessed twelve years ago. Surprisingly she felt at ease with him, more at ease than she had ever been. It was so comfortable to be able to sit like this, laughing and talking naturally, instead of feeling torn and destroyed by excitement or fear. Love could be a very happy thing with Michael, Mona thought. She knew then that one of the reasons why she had jeered at him was his capacity for diffusing contentment.
One felt contentment with Michael, the contentment that comes from security, safety, and a lack of worry of what the morrow may bring, and yet, she thought, it was impossible for her even to dream of marrying Michael.
‘Why don’t I tell him the truth right away? Tell him that I can never marry him, that there’s no such possibility now or ever? I shall love Lionel forever,’ she told herself fiercely in sudden revolt. ‘No-one could ever take his place.’
Yet, as she poured herself a second cup of coffee, the question surprisingly presented itself – was Michael attempting to take Lionel’s place? Had Lionel ever stood in her life for anything but a lover? Never had she been able to think of him as a husband, as part of a life of quiet, mellow happiness, a life shared not only in the enjoyment of physical delights but in creating a home and a family, taking up a certain position in the world and fulfilling it to the best of one’s ability.
That’s what it would mean to be Michael’s wife. Mrs Merrill, of Cobble Park, would have responsibilities, people would look to her for guidance, for an example, for dignity. And here, in this perfect setting, in this house full of tradition, customs and ceremonies handed down through the centuries, there would be the need of a new generation to carry them on.
Children! Mona felt then her heart yearn for the children she had never possessed. That moment when the curly head of Gerry Archer had lain against her breast, she had known how much she had missed, a child like Gerry. She looked across at Michael and knew that she would be proud of such a father for her children.
Then impatiently she shook herself. How could she think such things? She had made her choice inadvertently that evening many years ago when she had gone to the Café de Paris with Judy Cohenn instead of going to bed. That had been the moment when she had turned aside from all that someone like Michael could offer her and walked blithely down the road which, in true prophetical fashion, got more stony and more difficult every mile it progressed. Michael’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Why are you looking so serious?” he asked. “Tell me what you are thinking.”
Once again, she knew that his instinct was a true one. He knew she was in trouble and worried, but with a decency and understanding that was characteristic, hesitated to intrude even though he wished to help her.
‘Shall I tell him?’ Mona thought.
For one wild second the truth trembled on her lips. The relief of being able to pour out her fear of Char, of putting her troubles on someone else’s shoulders. She could almost feel the satisfaction of being able to lie back and let events be handled by someone as strong and capable as Michael. But before she could speak the door opened and Stella Fairlace came into the room.
“Oh, Major Merrill!” she said breathlessly. “I’ve come with a message from Doctor Howlett.”
“What is it?” Michael asked, realising from Stella’s manner that something serious had happened.
“Last night, after they left here,” Stella said, “the Vicar and Mrs. Gunther drove into the back of a lorry on the Bedford Road. The Vicar is comparatively unhurt, but they are afraid there is no hope for Mrs. Gunther.”
Sixteen
Michael looked across the table at Mona.
“We’d better go and see if we can help.” Mona nodded and got to her feet.
“They aren’t at the Vicarage,” Stella said. “They are at the Towers. It was the nearest house, and they were taken there by the lorry driver and an A.A. man who happened to be passing.”
