Филиппа Карр: The Black Swan

“Lucie!”

“Wait,” I went on. “Listen to what I have to say. You see, Roland, I love Joel. I always have, ever since I was a little girl. It was only because I was so young that we were not already married. But we were going to announce our engagement on his return.”

“And now he has come back,” Roland said sadly. “I think I understand. You were convinced that you would never see him again and you were very unhappy. And you liked us ... you liked Phillida... and me. We got on so well together. We were happy together, weren’t we?”

I nodded.

“And,” he went on, “you would have been happier-if he had not come back.” It was true, I supposed. I had begun to be reconciled. I could picture quite a happy life ahead with Roland. I thought we should have children and they would have made up for a good deal. Phillida was my good friend.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But he has come back.”

“You have seen him?”

“Yes. When I was in London.”

“And he has talked to you... about us?”

“Yes.”

“What does he want?”

I did not answer and Roland went on. “I know what he wants. He wants you to leave me and go to him.”

There was silence. I looked at him miserably and felt I could never be happy, whatever happened.

“And you?” he went on.

“I ... I ...” I stammered.

He smiled rather wanly. “What do you want, Lucie? Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

I could not bear to answer.

“I love you very much,” he said.

“Yes. I know.”

“I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“You have always been so good to me. I can never forget that.”

“But you love him.”

“I am fond of you, Roland... and I should hate to hurt you.”

“The time we have been together has been wonderful for me. I don’t know whether I could let you go. But it is what you want. It is what you are asking me.” For a few seconds there was silence.

Then he went on, “I knew there was something. Ever since you have been back from London... before that even ... I thought everything was not well.” He stood up and went to the window and looked out. It was as though he could not bear to look at me.

I went and stood beside him. I looked down, half-expecting to see that dreaded figure. There was nothing... only the empty moorland. The wind had risen and it moaned like someone in pain as it ruffled the grass.

He turned to me and gripped my hand. “Lucie, don’t do anything rash, please.”

“Rash?” I repeated.

“Wait awhile. Think about this. Promise me you won’t do anything without telling me first. I do deserve that, don’t I?”

“Oh, Roland, you deserve the best... the best of everything. I wish ...”

“You wish things were different. Oh, so do I, Lucie. So do I. I think you could be happy here... with me. You couldn’t just walk out and leave me.”

“Not like that, Roland,” I said. “And I should always remember you... whatever happened.”

“It may not be the right thing for you, Lucie. I want you to be happy. That’s what I want most of all. But you must be sure that it is right for you.”

“Do you mean that if you thought it was right for me... you would agree ... ?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think clearly. It has been too much of a shock. It’s not your fault, of course. It’s circumstances. I want time... time to think. That’s it, Lucie. Give ourselves time. Let’s think about it ... talk about it. I don’t know whether could give you up. I know that it would be the good and noble thing to do and that I should... because it is what you want. I don’t know whether I am strong enough. I like to think that if I were sure it was the right thing for you, I would do it. But I am not sure, Lucie. I’m terribly unsure.”

“I know ... I know.”

“And, Lucie. I believe you are unsure, too.” He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead gently. “Let’s think about it,” he said. “Let’s not make hasty decisions.”

I nodded. “Oh, Roland,” I cried. “I’m so glad I told you.”

“Yes,” he said. “So am I. Even in something like this it is better to know the truth.”

Roland went off next morning before I was up. I felt a certain relief because I had spoken to him. He, himself, had said it was better to know, and he was right. I wondered what he would do. He was a very unselfish man and I was sure that he meant it when he said that if he could convince himself that it was best for me, he would let me go. He would release me; he would give me the sort of divorce which Henry Farrell was giving Belinda - and that would leave me free to marry Joel. The thought did not fill me with the joy it might have done, since going to Joel would mean hurting Roland. I had grown to care for him and he dearly loved me. But perhaps he would find someone in due course, marry and have children. Phillida would make an excellent aunt. Perhaps she herself would marry. I wondered why she had not. She was attractive with her vivacity and her moderately good looks; she was always graceful and elegant. I had never seen her otherwise.

She was a year or so younger than Roland and that was not very old.

I went down to breakfast. Phillida looked at me with some anxiety. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right, thanks. And you?”

“Very well,” she replied. “Roland didn’t look so good this morning. I made a special porridge for him. It’s full of goodness. Poor lamb, he didn’t want to eat it, but I made him. If I didn’t know he was as strong as a horse, I’d be worried and think he was sickening for something. He said he didn’t sleep so well. That was all.”

“Did he say when he would be back?”

“No. He wasn’t sure. It’s going to be a busy day. He’s neglected business up here so much in the past months.”

After lunch, I rode into the village of Bracken. I saw the post office-cum-store again and reminded myself that I must write to Rebecca. There was so much that I could have said to her if I had been with her. It would not be so easy to write it. I wished she were at hand to advise me.

I arrived back in the late afternoon. Phillida was in the drawing room, reading.

She asked if I had had a good ride.

“Yes,” I said. “I went as far as Bracken. I saw that post office Mrs. Hellman told me about. You have to collect your letters there, you know.”

“Well, nobody knows our address, do they?”

“No. They should though. I’ve been meaning to write to Celeste and to my sister.

But I’ve put it off so far.”

“Plenty of time. Have you thought any more about the house?” I had completely forgotten the house. How could I be interested in the purchase while such a decision hung over me? And that would apply to Roland, too. “We ought to decide soon,” Phillida was saying. “There seemed to be others going to look at it.”

“They might have said that to urge us on,” I pointed out.

“Possibly. But it is a beautiful house. I loved it.”

I said I was going up to change.

I did so and sat down to write a letter to Rebecca.

Dear Rebecca,

I am very unhappy. I wish you were here so that I could tell you about it. Joel is back. I should never have married Roland.

Joel wants me to leave Roland and go to him. I want it too, Rebecca. I know there can never be anyone else for me but Joel. Yet what can I do? I have married Roland. It seems as though I used him when I needed someone-and that is really the truth.

It seemed right at the time. He has been so good to me. I have told him about Joel. He is very sad but he wants to do what is best for me. I don’t know whether it means that he will let me go. He wants time to think. But just suppose he did let me go. Suppose he divorced me. It is the only possible way. I suppose a divorced woman would not be too good for a rising politician. What can I do, Rebecca? It seems that whichever way I turn someone is going to be badly hurt ...