“All right?” queried Ivan.
Belinda nodded.
The night was marvellous.
The moon sailed in the heaven, a clean-cut stoup of glory upon a violet
field. Far on the left Spain sloped to the ocean with the crouch of a
drinking beast. To the right a lazy school of surf marched out of
vision. A fitful breeze played with the sweet-smelling air as a kitten
will play with a fringe.
Belinda sighed.
“The worst of a place like this,” she said slowly, “is that it always
seems such a shame to go away.”
Ivan’s heart stood still.
“I—I hope you aren’t going,” he stammered.
“I must on Thursday,” said Belinda, twisting her pretty hands. “Lady
Cherubic’s sister is beginning to stamp, and I can’t presume upon her
kindness.”
“I won’t hear of your leaving,” blurted Ivan. “Of course, I shall go to
an hotel.”
Belinda shook her head.
“It’s very kind of you,” she said, “but it can’t be done. For one thing,
I don’t think Henri’s available.”
“Thank God for that,” said Ivan fervently. “And of course Dewlap’ll
stay. He’s crazy about you.”
“You’re very good,” said Belinda, “but I’m afraid I must go. I think if
I were you I should keep the cook on, but Jacques is a wash-out.”
“I—I shan’t stay on if you go.”
Belinda started.
“You—won’t—stay on?” she faltered. “Why on earth not?”
Ivan shifted uneasily.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Why—why should I?”
“Well, that’s what you came for—Ivan.”
“I know. But . . . Well, it’s a bigger house than I thought. You know. A
shade roomy for one. The thought of five empty bathrooms’d make my blood
run cold.”
“Isn’t there someone you can ask?”
Pomeroy shook his head.
“Not a soul.”
“But this is absurd,” said Belinda, crossing her legs. “One day you
won’t come because I’m here, and the next you won’t stay because I’m
not.”
“‘Won’t come’?” cried Ivan. “How could I?”
“Well, you did eventually, didn’t you?”
“I know, but——”
“If you’d liked,” said Belinda, “you could have come on the fifth.”
“I precious near did,” said Ivan. “When I got your card I nearly went
off the deep end.”
“But you should have, Ivan.” The man took his pipe from his mouth and
stared at the maid. “You should have written back, telling me to beat it
for The Hothouse and saying that, come snow, September the woolly fifth
would see you here.”
“Oh, you ungrateful girl! What if I had?”
“Then,” said Belinda, with a dazzling smile, “then I should have come on
the fourth.”
“_What?_” screamed Ivan, leaping up.
“Hush,” said Belinda, laying finger on lip. “You’ll—you’ll wake her.”
“D’you mean,” whispered Ivan hoarsely, “d’you mean you were waiting for
me?”
“Listen,” said Belinda. “Do you remember what Forsyth said that day
about the Will? He made us read between the lines, didn’t he? He showed
us _the implied condition_ upon which we were left this villa—that we
should enjoy it _together_. Well, that implied condition stuck in my
mind. . . . Presently I turned it round. If you remember, he said we
ought to reason upon the Will’s behalf. And I asked myself whether, if
Colonel Drawbridge had known that we were going to enjoy his home
_apart_, he would have left it us. . . . And I came to the conclusion
that he wouldn’t. . . . Well, that being so, there was only one thing to
be done. _Noblesse oblige_, you know. You can’t take advantage of the
dead.”
“Belinda!”
“Wait. That’s only my point of view. There’s no reason on earth why you
should adopt it. My conclusion may be all wrong. But if ever I come
again, I’ll get hold of Lady Cherubic and I hope you’ll come too. . . .
And when—when I marry, Ivan, I shall renounce.”
There was a long silence.