The Bitter winds of Love Read online

  “Goodbye,” Lydia said, holding out her hand.

  Major Taylor took it and held it tightly. He did not speak, but there was a look in his eyes that made Lydia drop hers and she turned swiftly and went from him into the house.

  They followed the servant down dimly-lit passages until he opened a door and let them precede him into the room.

  There were bursts of laughter and the chatter of voices and for a moment Ann and Lydia stood bewildered on the threshold of a large room, which seemed filled with people.

  There were huge windows along one side of the room opening out onto a verandah. At the far end was a large bar where a group of men and women were waiting for the drinks being deftly shaken for them by a white-coated barman.

  Two or three people near the door broke off their conversation as Ann and Lydia entered, but they did not come forward to greet them, they only stared with curious appraising eyes at the newcomers.

  It seemed to Lydia that they stood there for ages, waiting and looking around them. Then she heard an exclamation from a tall man at the far end of the room. He came hurrying over to them and it was Gerald Carlton.

  “Good God!” he called, “It is Wednesday and I have been getting all the days muddled again.”

  He came towards Ann, holding out both his hands.

  “It is Ann, isn’t it?” he said. “I was expecting you tomorrow. I must be mad. Can you ever forgive me for not meeting you at the Station?”

  “Yes, it is indeed Ann,” she answered rapidly recovering her composure now that she had attracted some attention, “and we are perfectly furious with you!

  “Oh, don’t say that,” her stepfather answered.

  He held out his hand to Lydia.

  “Mrs. Bryant,” he said, “I hope you too are not angry with me.”

  Lydia looked at him. He was tall, fair and heavily built with square shoulders above a strong athletic body.

  He was sunburnt, clean-shaven and handsome and the blue eyes looking at her had in them an expression of charm.

  “We were only disappointed,” she answered.

  “Where’s my mother?” Ann asked.

  “She is upstairs,” Gerald Carlton replied. “She never comes to my parties. They make her head ache. Will you go up to her or shall I take you?”

  “I will find my own way,” Ann answered swiftly.

  Lydia realised that Ann wanted this reunion after eleven years to take place without the presence of strangers.

  “Come and have a drink then, Mrs. Bryant,” Gerald said, steering her through the crowd towards the bar.

  “I will not, thank you,” Lydia answered, but he laughed at her refusal.

  “You are in the East now,” he said, “you have to learn to drink at sundown if at no other time.”

  “And who can teach you better than Gerald?” said a voice and a woman detached herself from the throng and came towards them.

  She was very small and exceedingly blonde with sharp acute features and a shrill ultra-sophisticated voice.

  “This is Nina,” Gerald said to Lydia.

  “What a way to introduce me! Really, Gerald, you might make a good impression at first at any rate.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Bryant will soon gain her own impressions,” Gerald answered.

  Nina put her head up towards him and said in a small intimate voice,

  “It is as you wish!”

  Lydia felt embarrassed.

  It was obvious that Nina was flirting with Gerald Carlton and regarded her opinion as of little consequence. She made a small movement towards the door and then said in a clear and determined voice,

  “Do you mind if I go up to my room? I would rather like to wash and change after the long train journey.”

  Gerald began to argue, but Nina interrupted him.

  “Don’t be so silly, darling,” she said, “the poor girl wants to powder her nose! And why not, I would like to know? Tessa!”

  She called the name loudly.

  From another corner of the room a small child of about eight answered her.

  “Coming, Mummy,”

  She was a pretty child with fair hair framing a piquant face.

  “Take Mrs. Bryant to her room,” her mother commanded as she approached. “I cannot remember which one she is to have, but Mohammed will know.”

  “All right,” said Tessa.

  Turning towards Lydia, she added with a ludicrously grown-up air ,

  “Will you please follow me?”

  Lydia smiled at the assurance of the child, but she wondered what authority her mother had in the house and why it was her business to allot the bedrooms.

  Outside the door away from all the noise, the chatter and smell of cigarette smoke, Lydia gave a sigh of relief.

  “Are you tired?” Tessa asked, looking at her with inquisitive eyes.

  “I am a bit,” Lydia answered with a smile. There are such a lot of people here.”

  Tessa shrugged her thin shoulder.

  “There is always so many people here,” she said. “Mummy likes crowds and so does Gerald.”

  “Do you and your Mummy live here?” Lydia asked her, feeling that she ought not to question the child, but at the same time she was bewildered by this strange household.

  “For the moment,” Tessa answered, “and I suppose that we shall stay until Mummy gets bored. It’s not bad,” she added as an afterthought.

  “I am sure it is,” Lydia answered, somewhat taken aback at this frank criticism.

  By this time they had climbed the wide polished stairs to a landing where Tessa opened one of the doors and showed Lydia a small room opening on to a verandah with an exquisite view over the garden, which sloped away towards the banks of the Nile.

  “This is your room,” she said. “I expect Mohammed will bring up the luggage when he has time.”

  “I hope so,” Lydia answered. “I would like to have my dressing case.”

  “All right, I will fetch it for you,” Tessa offered.

  Before Lydia could stop her, she rushed to the top of the stairs and screamed at the top of her small voice,

  “Mohammed, Mohammed!”

  Lydia heard the answering tones of a man’s voice and then the child said imperiously,

  “Bring up the luggage at once. Do you hear? At once!”

  She came back into the room.

  “He will bring it up now,” she announced.

  “Don’t you think that you ought to have said ‘please’?” Lydia suggested.

  She felt that this somewhat precocious child could do with being rebuked.

  “They are only natives,” Tessa answered. “Mummy says that they are like animals and the more you beat them the better they work.”

  “Well, that certainly is not true of animals,” Lydia said almost hotly.

  Then she checked herself, feeling that she was being somewhat absurd in arguing with a child.

  Tessa, quite unabashed, had sat down on her bed and was regarding her with wide eyes.

  “You know, you are not going to like it here,” she stated.

  “Why ever not?” Lydia asked in surprise.

  “You will not!” Tessa said slowly. “You will not like us a bit and Mummy will not like you anyway, you are far too pretty!”

  Lydia felt that this was beyond her. She had nothing to say to this incredible child and with a sigh of relief she heard Ann’s voice and saw her outside on the landing.

  “I have come up, Ann,” she called, “to wash and change. I am too dirty to face a party.”

  “Oh, I am going down again,” Ann replied. “It looked rather fun to me. Why, who is this?” she asked as she caught sight of Tessa.

  “My name is just ‘Tessa’,” the child answered, “and Mummy and I live here for the moment.”

  “You do, do you,” said Ann, “and who may Mummy be?”

  Lydia had longed to ask the same question.

  “My Mummy is Lady Higley,” Tessa answered her bluntly, “and she has divorced my Daddy and so we just go about living wherever we want to.”

  She said the last words defiantly, then added in a sorrowful little voice with a childish droop of the mouth,

  “It’s not much fun really.”

  Lydia felt for the first time that she was, after all, only a child.

  Ann looked at Lydia and raised her eyebrows.

  “Mother would much like to see you,” she said, “if you will go in to her now. I am going downstairs.”

  “I am going down too,” Tessa said.

  “Is it not your bedtime? “Lydia asked.

  “My bedtime is when I am tired,” Tessa answered, “not before.”

  Jumping down from the bed she smoothed down her frock before she scampered down the stairs in front of Ann, defiant but with a kind of elfish charm that made Lydia like her in spite of her precociousness.

  Alone Lydia pulled off her hat and, looking at herself in the mirror, smoothed down the dark waves of her hair against her forehead. She smiled at the memory of Tessa’s words,

  ‘Mummy will not like you – you are too pretty.’

  Already she knew that she disliked Lady Higley, it was instinctive and then she chided herself for making an impulsive decision and for being too critical. But she knew Nina Higley was just the type of woman who she would never have anything in common with, however charitable her inclination.

  When she had washed her hands, Lydia turned towards Mrs. Carlton’s door.

  Before knocking she hesitated for a moment, a little fearful, a little apprehensive of what Ann’s mother would be like.

  Then she turned the handle of the door as a low voice said,

  “Come in.”

  The shutters were closed down and the room was half in darkness, so that Lydia’s first impressions were of a vast cool space, of white curtains and the soft carpet that her feet sank into. She looked about her feeling rather bewildered.

  She saw her at last, lying on a sofa before the far window, a white ermine rug covering her legs and her head laid back against pastel-shaded silk curtains.

  Lydia then closed the door behind her and walked across the room.

  As she drew near, Margaret Carlton held out a thin hand towards her and said,

  “Welcome to Egypt.”

  Lydia took the outstretched hand and, looking down into the pale face of her hostess, felt a sharp surprise.

  She had expected someone so greatly different, someone still beautiful, someone whose appearance was consistent with her history of passionate romance.

  ‘Why, she is old,’ Lydia thought. ‘Old, lined and – unattractive.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lydia looked at the white face, listened to the low, somewhat plaintive voice that asked her questions about Evelyn and the journey and found her thoughts returning continually to Gerald Carlton.

  ‘He is young,’ she thought, ‘young and attractive – this woman is old. What can he feel for her except pity?’

  Talking to Margaret, she tried to discover some charm in her, some fascination, even some quality that made for friendship but without avail.

  As soon as her eyes grew accustomed slowly to the dim light, she noticed that there was a carelessness about her that was quite unnecessary even for an invalid.

  Her clothes were not well kept, her hair needed brushing and arranging and the powder was carelessly dabbed on her face.

  ‘Perhaps she feels really ill,’ Lydia thought, ‘but that would not bridge the disparity of age between husband and wife.’

  “You have seen Gerald, my husband?” Margaret asked her after Lydia had finished her account of the journey.

  “Yes, but only for a few minutes. He has a big party downstairs to look after.”

  “Gerald likes parties,” Margaret said, “and I used to enjoy them once, but now they make my head ache. Nothing is much use now to me.”

  Lydia now felt embarrassed, Margaret had spoken in a tone of bitter rebellion and she wondered how to offer sympathy or what to say.

  “I am so sorry for you,” she murmured at last, speaking gently.

  “I shall never get used to being like this,” Margaret answered. “If you only knew, Mrs. Bryant, what it is like to lie here day after day, week after week, year after year, knowing that I can never get up again, never wear nice clothes and never have any fun.”

  She paused, but Lydia was silent at this sudden outburst of unhappiness.

  “And when I do see my daughter,” Margaret went on, “when I see Ann looking so much like I was before this happened – “

  She broke off, a sob in her voice, tears welling into her eyes. Lydia knew then what had upset her, it was the sight of Ann, lovely, young and radiant.

  She put out her hand and took Margaret’s, trying without words to convey her sympathy and understanding.

  “Everyone thought I was beautiful,” Margaret said, “and I was. It is not conceited of me to say that. I will show you a photograph so that you can see for yourself.”

  She spoke feverishly now and rang the bell by her side.

  Almost instantly, as if someone had been expecting the call, the door at the extreme end of the room opened and a Nurse stood in the doorway.

  “Bring me my photograph books, Dandy,” Mrs. Carlton commanded. “All of them and quickly.”

  The Nurse, instead of obeying her order, however, came further into the room.

  “Now, now,” she said soothingly, “you are just exciting yourself, you know you are. You shall have the photograph books, my dear, but all in good time.”

  “Oh, Dandy, don’t be so irritating,” Margaret answered in the tones of a fretful child. “I want Mrs. Bryant to see them now.”

  Lydia smiled at the Nurse.

  “Good evening,” she said. “I should love to see them at some time, but perhaps we had better wait until tomorrow.”

  “Oh, you’d better have them,” Nurse answered, her eyes on her patient, “she will fret if she doesn’t get her own way. We all spoil you, don’t we, dear?”

  She moved Margaret’s pillows and raised her a little in the bed and Lydia could see that there was affection and understanding between Nurse and patient.

  To look at, Nurse was not of the conventional type. She was fat with a round jolly face that might in her youth have been attractive and she had luxuriant dark hair showing in tight curls beneath her starched cap.

  When she laughed her face creased into a myriad of wrinkles, her eyes twinkled between dark eyelashes and two dimples showed up in her fat cheeks. She switched on the lights, but when Margaret suggested that she would rather have the shutters open, she said,

  “No, it will be getting dark soon and you know it makes you miserable looking out at the twilight and then feeling romantic. We’ll be cosy with the lights on and you can show your photograph books and have a good cry.”

  “Don’t be so beastly, Dandy,” Margaret answered. “You know perfectly well I never cry over my photograph books and I want Mrs, Bryant to see them because she comes from home – Evelyn Marshall sent her to us. You have heard me talking of Evelyn, haven’t you?”

  “Often enough,” Nurse answered.

  Pulling open a drawer she found the books and brought them to the side of the sofa.

  The next half-hour was spent in turning over the pages while Margaret explained every photograph to Lydia, telling her again and again how lovely she was and what a good time she had had.

  ‘Does she live entirely in the past,’ Lydia asked herself? ‘She has so much in spite of her infirmities, a husband, money, friends and now a daughter to interest her.’

  But it was only of the days when she rode, danced and was lovely, admired by every man she met, that Margaret talked.

  Even after she had eloped the photographs of her in Egypt and in other parts of the world were but a record of amatory conquests.

  “That is Colonel Braithwaite,” she said pointing to the usual indistinct snapshot of a man in tennis flannels. “He was madly in love with me for all of one summer. Gerald was terribly jealous and we had awful scenes about him.

  The man on a horse is Lord Starton. He sent me masses of flowers after dancing only once with me. His wife was furious, especially as she had already refused to meet me because Gerald and I were living in sin.”

  Margaret showed no embarrassment in referring to the years she had spent with Gerald, undivorced from Sir John and an outcast from respectable Society.

  The photographs ended abruptly with a picture of herself mounted on a large chestnut mare.

  “That is the horse that threw me,” she said in a low bitter tone and shut the book with a bang.

  “There are no more photographs,” she added, “and there never will be.”

  “Thank you so much for showing me your books,” Lydia said.

  Then, anxious to change the subject and to chase away the pain and suffering on that pale face, she went on,

  “I think your house is terribly attractive, Mrs. Carlton, and I am longing to see the garden tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Carlton shrugged her shoulders.

  “I am not very interested in it, but my husband likes it. We have not been here long. We lived further out by Mena House two years ago and then he thought it more convenient, it is for his parties at any rate.”

  ‘Is she jealous of her husband’s new friends?’ Lydia wondered and, remembering Lady Higley, she thought it more than likely.

  Nurse brought an end to the conversation by saying it was time that she made Margaret ready for dinner and Lydia left the room with a sense of relief.

  It had been an unexpectedly difficult interview and, while she was sorry for her hostess, she could not help feeling that Margaret was making little effort to fill her life with anything save regrets.

  It was desperately hard for her being badly crippled and yet thinking only of the past and bewailing her lost youth was not going to make the years pass quicker or more easily.

  When Lydia was back in her room, she unpacked and then, finding no one about to help her, found her own way to the bathroom.

  By the time she had bathed and changed into a simple evening dress, it was nearly half-past eight, but Ann had not come up to dress for dinner and Lydia hesitated to go down again feeling a little uncertain of what was expected of her.