Norman spent half the night in the pine woods, and the other half on his
bed, stiffly aware of Nina’s unconsciousness. He had expected her to be
kept awake by alarm at his prolonged absence; fear would have softened
her heart and made it easier for him to forgive her. But Nina had not
been alarmed for his safety. She did not see what harm was likely to
happen to him walking about in a nice, dry pine wood; and although she
had cried herself to sleep, there were no traces of her tears. Norman
had planned a magnanimous but rather stately reconciliation in the pine
woods. There was a good deal he would have to tell Nina while he was
forgiving her, which it would help her to take to heart. But you can
neither forgive nor improve an unconscious wife. There was nothing for
Norman to do (short of waking her up, which he felt would be an appeal
beneath his dignity) but to go to sleep himself.
When he woke he found Toby standing over him with a wet sponge in his
hands. “So you’re awake at last,” said Toby grimly. “Well, it’s time you
got up—your wife’s run away.”
“What!” shouted Norman, springing into the middle of the room.
Toby took the edge of the bed in silence, and flung the sponge back on
to the washstand. He was there to give Norman all the explanations that
he needed, but he was not going to make them any easier or shorter than
he chose. “What else could you expect?” he replied, after a pause. “You
as good as told her she wasn’t a suitable wife for you.”
“Tell me where she has gone!” cried Norman. “Don’t be an ass, Toby, and
haul me over the coals, till I know where she is. Why hadn’t you the
sense to stop her?”
“Why should I stop her?” asked Toby stonily, “how was I to know you
didn’t want her to go away? Your impulsive taking up and putting down of
wives is extremely confusing. Remember, you are under no obligation to
go after her unless you wish to. I have promised to see her safe back to
her relations if, after due consideration, you decide to remain here
with Anne.”
“Remain with Anne!” Norman exclaimed in blank astonishment, “you must be
mad! What on earth should I want to remain here with Anne for? Do talk
sense, old chap!” Toby gave a sound between a groan and a laugh, but he
made no further attempt to enlighten Norman as to why he might wish to
remain with Anne. “Of course I want her back,” Norman continued,
struggling excitedly into his shirt. “I never said she wasn’t good
enough for me—it’s all a mistake. Where in Heaven’s name is she?”
“It’s no use my telling you where she’s gone,” Toby answered cautiously,
“until you agree to her terms. Otherwise she won’t listen to you. She’s
perfectly safe, so you needn’t be in such a towering hurry. You can
think the thing out quietly for yourself.”
Norman stared at him for a moment, and then asked, “What thing am I to
think out? I must see her at once. We had a misunderstanding last night,
it’s true. I see I was to blame. I wanted her to be more like Anne. She
seems to like Anne all right when she’s with her, and yet when I point
out things she might do, or leave undone, that are like Anne’s way of
doing things, she flies into a passion. Now take those Germans for
instance. I may have been a bit sharp with her about what happened, but
she ought to have seen she couldn’t behave like that?”
“It was very unfortunate,” Toby agreed, “but of course if she’d seen it,
she wouldn’t have done it. What you’ve got to make your mind up to, is
that there are things Nina doesn’t see.” Norman coloured painfully and
began hunting for a stud. It struck Toby that there was, after all, a
good deal to be said for Norman. He was being shown at a disadvantage,
but men who are attractive to women have sometimes to pay this penalty
with other men. What was hardest for Norman at this moment was that part
of his disadvantage was the woman he loved.
“You needn’t be afraid I won’t agree to her terms,” Norman said after a
pause; “I’ll do anything in the world that she wants. I seem to be
always hurting some woman or other, but it isn’t altogether my fault.”
Toby made no answer to this plea for justification. It did not appeal to
him, though he was too fair a man not to admit to himself that it was
partly true. “Anne doesn’t think it was altogether my fault, does she?”
Norman asked wistfully.
“Anne doesn’t know anything at all about it,” said Toby shortly.
An expression of relief passed over Norman’s expressive features. He
felt as if he would rather have Toby, severe and accusatory, than Anne
being kind. It was absurd to blame Anne for his unconscious use of her
name, but he was aware that he did blame her. Her name oughtn’t to have
been there; but although he blamed her, he wanted intensely, as he had
always wanted, the reassurance of her approval. It puzzled Toby
sometimes to imagine what women could see in Norman. He had a slender,
supple body, and an acute and sympathetic mind, but he was a light
weight, and Toby would have expected serious and noble women not to like
light men. It did not occur to him that what women really needed, if
they had the strength for it, was the opportunity he so craved himself,
to support and protect the object of their love.
“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose if you are going after Nina, you’d
better know her main condition. The rest, no doubt, she’ll settle with
you herself. She’ll only consent to see you if you’ll take her straight
away, and not come back here again.”
“Of course I’ll do that,” exclaimed Norman with alacrity, “there isn’t
the faintest reason why we should come back here. As a matter of fact,
I’d far rather _not_.”
“Exactly,” said Toby placidly; “that disposes of us. Quite right too, we
ought never to have come.”
“I’m afraid it was rather a mistake,” Norman admitted apologetically,
“we wanted it immensely, Nina perhaps even more than I did. Still we
both particularly wanted to be nice to Anne. You mustn’t think, you
know, I haven’t realised—we owe her everything we have—but I can’t say
that makes a very convenient basis for a visit. I daresay it was hard on
Nina too, harder than I realised. Just at first it seemed so jolly easy,
and we both had the idea then—I don’t know whether you realised
it?—that things might come off satisfactorily between you and Anne?”
“Oh yes, I realised it,” said Toby; “you thought it an excellent way of
disposing once and for all of your conscience, and incidentally of
Anne!”
Norman flushed again. “You’re rather down on me, Toby,” he said, “and
what you say isn’t quite true. At first I was awfully against it. I
hadn’t, I know, the faintest right to be—but one doesn’t forget being
loved by a woman like Anne.”
“No—one only wastes it,” said Toby under his breath.
“That was our idea, anyhow,” Norman went on, too absorbed in his own
explanations to listen to his companion’s murmur. “And then, after a
bit, I saw it wouldn’t work, but Nina didn’t. She couldn’t give it
up—we used to argue about it a good deal. I believe now that if I’d
given way and agreed that it _was_ likely to come off, she wouldn’t have
got so queer about Anne.”
“She probably wouldn’t have run away,” Toby admitted, “and may I ask
what made you think your theory wouldn’t work?” Norman shook his head.
“I think you owe it to me—perhaps to us both—to tell me,” Toby
persisted.
Norman turned away and picked up his hat. “It may have been my fancy,”
he said shamefacedly, “only she was always rather upset if she thought I
was doing too much. But look here, old man, I can’t be bothered about
Anne now—I’ve got to find Nina. For Heaven’s sake, tell me where she
is, and let me set this thing right anyhow!”
“All right, I’ll tell you,” said Toby slowly. He went to the window and
saw that Anne had just taken her place at the little breakfast table
which faced the road. He wished that she was not there. His heart ached
for her decent orderliness, the charm of her thick light hair, the
clever way in which she made any meal she presided over appear a
festival. She had to perfection the art of making a home, and it is hard
to have an art which is not required of you.
“Walk straight down the road to Pensolo,” Toby said without moving;
“you’ll find Nina a couple of miles off, sitting on a rock by the
roadside. I’ll send your boxes on after you, whenever you wire your
address.”
Norman hesitated a moment. “What will you say to Anne about us?” he
asked a little awkwardly.
“I’ll say to Anne that she’s damned well rid of you! And perhaps this
time she’ll believe it!” cried Toby with sudden savagery. Norman opened
his lips to answer, and then suddenly thought better of it and turned
away without speaking. He had no time to waste in self-justification.
The little figure awaiting him on the road to Pensolo was justification
enough, and Norman knew that even if Toby said what his anger urged him
to say to Anne, Anne wouldn’t blame him. That was what made Toby so
angry, and it made him angrier still that Norman knew Anne wouldn’t
blame him.
A moment later Toby saw Norman dart down the long white road without a
glance at Anne. She rose to her feet and looked after his flying figure,
but she made no attempt to call him back. She looked very white and
grave when Toby joined her, but she had resumed her seat at the table.
“What has happened, Toby?” she asked, looking up at him. “Tell me
quickly what has happened?”
“I’ll tell you everything,” said Toby; “it really isn’t dreadful—nobody
has been hurt.” He sat down opposite her, while Anne waited quietly for
him to go on. “But I’m afraid it’ll seem a little dreadful to you at
first,” Toby added apologetically; “you know that poor child was
dreadfully upset last night?” Anne nodded. “Norman seems to have told
her some pretty stiff things, and she took them to heart.” Anne bowed
her head. She could not rid herself of the feeling that she was
responsible for all the stiff things Norman had said. “Of course,
there’s some excuse for Norman,” Toby tried to concede; “he isn’t used
to anyone who is not broken in, and he isn’t what you’d call fitted for
a trainer. She felt what he said so much that she ran away this morning
while he was still asleep. She’s quite safe—don’t look so frightened,
Anne, everyone’s quite safe.”
“Yes,” whispered Anne, “dear Toby, tell me quickly what has happened.”
Toby cleared his throat. “Norman has gone too, he’s gone to join her,”
he said in a voice he tried to make as casual as possible. “When he’s
joined her, they aren’t coming back.”
It was over now. The silent morning spread around them serene and blue.
The keen light air tasted like frozen wine. The Germans bowed with
gratified friendliness as they passed their table, and Anne bowed back,
her lips set in a kindly smile. But her eyes remained dark and without
expression. Her hand trembled as she poured out Toby’s coffee, but she
was very careful not to spill any of it. Then she said, “And Nina—that
is all right? She’ll take him back?”
“Yes,” said Toby; “you see, after last night, she couldn’t quite face
coming to the hotel again.” He tried to make Anne think it was the
Germans whom Nina couldn’t face, but Anne shook her head inexorably. She
knew it was not the Germans.
“It was that day,” she said beneath her breath, “when I wanted to take
care of him. You don’t think I’ve done them any harm?” she asked after a
pause, “by coming here, any permanent harm, I mean?”
“I think you’ve done them good,” said Toby drily. “Norman would have
been certain to find out sooner or later that he couldn’t stand her
manners, and this flare-up of hers has frightened him. They might have
just got slowly on each other’s nerves if they hadn’t had a row. He’ll
be more careful now how he sets to work to change her.”
“Yes,” said Anne defensively, “it was really only because he didn’t
understand. He’s always very considerate of people’s feelings when he
knows what they are. But Toby, that isn’t all the truth—Norman would
have been angry with Nina for being tactless about the Germans; but she
wouldn’t have run away because of that. Why did she run away?”
“I’ve told you, haven’t I?” asked Toby desperately. “She thought—they’d
had this quarrel, you see—that he didn’t really care for her.”
“I see,” said Anne thoughtfully. “She thought, perhaps, he cared
again—for me? Poor little Nina! It would have been better for her if I
had gone to her last night—I could so easily have explained to her that
she was wrong.”
“But it’s all right now,” Toby urged clumsily.
Anne gave a little helpless smile. “Yes,” she agreed, “it’s quite all
right now. She must know by now just how little he ever cared for me.”
“Anne!” said Toby, leaning across the table towards her. “Anne?”
She lifted her steady, unflinching eyes to his. “I made a great
mistake,” she admitted; “you were right, Toby, but you weren’t
altogether right. I always feared their being together without me. I
thought he’d find her difficult to teach, and not be patient enough,
perhaps, to let her teach herself. And I thought if we were with them,
helping her, she would have learned quite enough without any teaching. I
still think she would have learned like that. Only I couldn’t let go of
him altogether, and that must have upset her.” Anne put her hands on the
table. They were well-shaped, powerful hands. She looked down at them
with a thoughtful air. “That was where I made my great mistake,” she
finished tranquilly, “I couldn’t let go.”
Toby was silent for a moment, then he raised his eyes supplicatingly to
hers. “Anne,” he asked in a low voice, “is there any chance—will you
ever be able to let go?” Anne considered this question carefully. She
understood now what Toby wanted, what he had always wanted. Her mind was
dazzlingly clear this morning, and curiously at peace; only it was
empty. She wondered if anyone in the world had ever had so empty a mind.
“If I could stop feeling that I was his wife,” she said gently,
“anything might be possible. But I never have stopped feeling it. When
he ran down the road just now I didn’t try to hold him. You see I didn’t
need to; I ran down the road with him and I don’t know how much of me
will ever come back.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors
occur.
A cover which is placed in the public domain was created for this ebook.
[The end of _The Perfect Wife_ by Phyllis Bottome]