Patricia Wentworth - Out of the Past

James arrived from the bathroom to find Carmona pinning an old-fashioned pearl brooch on to the front of her thin yellow frock. She turned from the glass and put out a hand to hold him off.

“No-I want to talk to you. But not now-there’s no time.”

“Carmona, what is the matter? What is that fellow Field doing here?”

“He came to see Esther. You heard what he said-he has business with her.”

“I suppose he wants money.”

“I suppose he does.”

Right up to this moment she had gone on feeling numb or, rather, not feeling anything except a kind of cold emptiness. Now there began to be pain-hot stabs of it. Her heart shook and was afraid. She said quickly,

“Esther is upset. I can’t talk about it now-I don’t want to. We must get through the evening first.”

There was a heavy gilt clock on the mantelpiece. He glanced at it and said,

“I’d like to know what all this is about. It isn’t only Esther who is upset. You can tell me while I dress. We’ve got thirtyfive minutes.”

“No-James, I can’t.”

He looked at her keenly.

“Darling, what is all this? You’d better get it off your chest, you know. Has Field been annoying you?”

“Not-like that.”

He gave a short half-angry laugh.

“Not like what? Come along, out with it!”

His voice rasped, because in the very moment of speaking it came to him what Alan Field might have done. If he had told Carmona the thing which he, James, had always hoped she would never know, it would account for that shocked look. Difficult to believe the fellow would give himself away to that extent. Difficult, but not impossible where Field was concerned. It could be his idea of paying off an old score.

Carmona went back a step. They had never talked about Alan. Why were they talking about him now? She could not remember that James had ever used such a tone to her before. Something in her shrank, and then sprang into anger. He saw her eyes widen and go bright.

“Carmona-what has he said to you?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I think you had better tell me.”

She went back again until the foot-board of the bed brought her up short. She stood against it with a trapped feeling and said, “No.”

James Hardwick came over to her and dropped his hands lightly on her shoulders.

“Tell me what he said.”

It had been a mistake to touch her. The gentlest creature will fight if hands are laid on it. Something very old came up in Carmona. Her anger flared. She looked at James as if she hated him and said,

“He told me you paid him to go away and let you marry me!”

And on the last word she twisted loose and ran for the door. The handle left a bruise across her palm, but she didn’t feel it until afterwards. She was any wild thing wrenching free from the trap, sense and reason gone. If he had touched her, tried to hold her back, she might have screamed.

The door fell to behind her. She had a moment’s horrified realization that she really might have screamed if he had tried to hold her back. But he had not. He had made no move to follow. She stood there with the door between them, and was glad that she was angry.

James Hardwick remained where he was. He was barefoot, with a thin dressing-gown over his under pants. He could hardly pursue Carmona through a house littered with guests. Now that he knew what was wrong he could wait. There had always been the possibility that she might come to know. He would much rather it had not happened, because Field would certainly have put it in the most offensive light, and she was bound to be hurt. It was really a good thing that she should have had that spurt of anger. It would hurt her less that way. He hated her to be hurt.

He went on with his dressing.

A long evening for everyone. Afterwards when everything that had been said or done was being sifted over Beeston was to be asked a number of questions. How had this one looked, and what had the other said? Did anyone seem disturbed, nervous, depressed, or in any way upset? He opined that it was very difficult to say, sir, and the day had been a hot one. It did cross his mind that Lady Castleton might have been out in the sun a bit too long, seeing she had gone to bed with a headache. She and Mrs. Field, now, they were neither of them as young as they were and perhaps better to have stayed in in the heat of the day, but as to the others, no, he wouldn’t go so far as to say they were out of their usual. Mrs. James had quite a colour, and Mrs. Maybury the same and talking very lively. Naturally, they would all be pleased about Mr. James coming home, and coming from abroad, he would have all manner of interesting things to talk about. The work he does, he comes in contact with all kinds of foreigners, and for those that take an interest in such, well, sir, it makes interesting talk. The impression was conveyed that James Hardwick was a good host and that whatever he might have had on his mind, he did not allow it to interfere with the entertainment of his guests.

Carmona got through the evening very well. There were times when she was frightened, but they did not last. Quite suddenly and without any warning she would have the feeling you get when you look over an unexpected drop to something far below-there is a moment of panic fear, and then you stop looking, and it is gone again. For the rest of the time anger burned in her hard and clear. She thought of the things she would say to James when they were alone together. Meanwhile she could play the graceful hostess to his gracious host.

If she had been less taken up with her own affairs she might have felt some concern about Pippa, who had certainly allowed her glass to be filled too often. As her colour rose and her tongue ran faster, Esther began to look uncomfortable. Adela Castleton, intent upon her patience cards, raised an eyebrow, whereupon Pippa burst out laughing and said,

“Now I’ve shocked everyone!”

James poured her out a cup of coffee.

“Too many drinks,” he said easily. “It’s too hot for them this weather. Take a nice long pull at Mrs. Beeston’s iced coffee and come out on the terrace with me. It should be getting cool there now.”

She gave a curious little shudder.

“No-no-I don’t want to do that. I hate your uncle’s garden-don’t you? And it looks worse at night. In the day it’s just plain ugly, but in the dusk all those figureheads and things, they lurk!”

Carmona found herself watching them. He had done that very well. But then James did do things well. He had just that touch of distinction which made everything he did seem right. Through her sense of shock and anger she knew that he was carrying the whole situation as very few men could have done, and carrying it with at any rate the appearance of perfect ease. Now he was starting Maisie Trevor off on one of her favourite lines of chatter, and had drawn Colonel Trevor into saying something pleasant about Bill Maybury whom everybody liked. It was for her to respond to Maisie and to import Esther into the conversation. Esther-and if possible Adela Castleton.

But Adela afforded no possibilities of any kind. Her beautiful pale face remained bent over the patience cards which she fingered with delicate precision, the solitaire diamond which almost hid her wedding-ring flashing under the light, the blood-red ruby on the other hand making one bright spot of colour against the white of her skin and the black of her dress.

“And I really am the only one who knew all the ins and outs of the affair,” said Maisie Trevor. “Of course I was quite a girl at the time, but you know what an interest one takes in that sort of thing, especially when everyone drops their voices and tells you to run away and do the flowers or something like that. He was such a distinguished man, and married, and she was only a year older than I was, so naturally I took the very deepest interest. And she told me the whole thing the night before they ran away.”