Mary Burchell - Nobody Asked Me

‘Did you-did you want to see me?’ Alison spoke a little breathlessly, and then thought what a ridiculous thing that was to say.

‘Well, yes, Alison, I did.’ He looked amused. ‘We have a good deal to discuss, haven’t we?’

Alison supposed they had.

‘I thought perhaps you would like to come with me now to choose your ring, and then we could have lunch together and talk things over. We haven’t a great deal of time, considering how much there is to be done before we leave.’

She noticed a little wistfully that he didn’t use the expression ‘before we are married.’

‘Very well, I’d like to come to lunch with you. But, Julian-’

‘Yes?’

‘About the ring. I-I’d just as soon keep this one, really.’

He looked so much surprised that she found herself blushing furiously.

‘Why, Alison, what an extraordinary idea.’

It-it is done sometimes,’ stammered Alison.

‘But only for sentiment’s sake, and that doesn’t apply in this case,’ he said with unconscious brutality.

Her colour ebbed again, and she was a little surprised even herself at the way her heart shrank before his careless frankness.

‘Why, you silly little goose.’ He laughed and took hold of her gently by her arm. ‘Are you trying to save me money or something? The exchequer will stand the strain of whatever it is you really want.’

With a tremendous effort she forced a smile.

‘Very well then. Thank you-very much.’

‘I believe you’ve forgotten you proposed this as a business deal,’ he reminded her amusedly. ‘Your role is to get as much out of it as possible.’

Alison was dumb; and he saw then that he had really hurt her.

‘I’m sorry, my child.’ He put his arm round her and drew her against him quickly. I was only teasing you. I’m not really suggesting you’re mercenary. I know you’re not. That’s why I shall enjoy giving you things.’

‘It’s all right.’ Alison managed another faint smile.

‘Sure?’ He put his hand under her chin and tipped her face up.’

‘Yes.’

She must say something that would make him let her go! She couldn’t possibly stand any sort of scrutiny.

‘You’ll have to tell me what you would like for a wedding present, too,’ he went on. ‘A fur coat, I suppose?’

That gave her her chance.

‘Oh, Julian, that reminds me.’ She moved quickly, so that he immediately released her. ‘Uncle Theodore said I was to speak to you about choosing my-my trousseau. You see-you see, Aunt Lydia isn’t at all anxious to help me, and I’m just a bit at sea when it comes to choosing such a big wardrobe.’

‘Of course,’ Julian spoke slowly and a little drily. ‘Your aunt would hardly want to be helpful in the circumstances.’

‘She’s rather busy,’ Alison offered timidly.

‘Busy helping Rosalie choose her trousseau, I suppose,’ he said bitterly. And, when Alison saw the angry misery in his face, her heart turned over sickeningly.

It showed her more clearly than anything else could have done how little she herself really counted. His forced gaiety, his little tenderness to her, just lay on the surface of his feelings. It was Rosalie-shallow, uncaring Rosalie- who had stirred the dark, still depths of his passion and affection. And, for a moment, Alison wondered if she could possibly go on with it all.

Then Julian passed his hand over his forehead rather bewilderedly and said:

‘You were saying-about your trousseau-’

She saw then, of course, that she had to go on. They were too far in it to turn back now. She couldn’t jilt him the day after Rosalie had. There were times when ridicule became the worst sort of tragedy-and that would be one of them.

She must just struggle on with the dreary pretence that he, too, was interested in her trousseau, though it all seemed rather silly and futile now.

‘Well, Uncle Theodore suggested that probably you would know somebody-I mean, a relation of one of your partners or someone like that-who wouldn’t mind helping me.’

She had a horrid sense of being in everyone’s way again, and she rather wished she had undertaken to muddle along on her own.

But Julian seemed to find it quite a reasonable suggestion.

‘Yes, of course. Jennifer Langtoft would be just the person. Simon Langtoft is our European sales manager,’ he added, ‘and I’ve known them both for years.’

‘Is Jennifer his wife?’

‘No, his sister.’

‘And do you think she would mind?’

‘Not in the least. It’s the kind of thing she loves. If you like, I’ll ring up Simon while you are getting ready, and see if they can both have dinner with us somewhere tonight,’ Julian said.

Thank you, Julian.’.

He gave her a little nod and picked up the telephone as she went out of the room.

By the time she came back, he appeared to have settled the business satisfactorily, because he said, Is eight o’clock at the Mirabelle all right for you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Alison assured him, and couldn’t help wondering how he had explained the change in fiancées.

As Julian turned the grey Daimler into Knightsbridge Alison asked, ‘Does Jennifer Langtoft live with her brother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then he’s not married?’

‘Oh, no.’ Julian laughed a little. ‘He’s not at all the marrying sort.’

‘What sort is he?’

Julian was looking ahead at the traffic lights.

‘Well, I suppose you would call him the kind that women always run after but never catch.’

‘Oh, I don’t think that sounds very nice,’ Alison said.

‘He is, I assure you. He can’t help being attractive, you know,’ Julian said amusedly.

‘Is he good-looking?’

‘No, not specially. At least, I shouldn’t call him so. But perhaps a woman would. Anyway, you will see him for yourself this evening.’

The car turned into Bond Street.

‘And what is she like?’

‘Oh, Jennifer is good-looking-very,’ Julian said warmly. ‘Tall and dark, dresses well, and- Here we are.’

He drew the car to a standstill, and Alison realised that she had only been talking so much because she was nervous. She didn’t really care what Simon Langtoft and his sister were like. But if she had sat in silence, turning over the thought that she was going with Julian to buy her engagement ring, her very heart-beats would have choked her.

In a dream she stared at the trays of rings that were set out for her inspection. She hadn’t the remotest idea what sort of ring she wanted. She felt as though she couldn’t possibly bring her mind to bear on the question.

‘Have you any special preference, Alison?’

Julian was standing beside her, eyeing the rings with polite attention.

‘No. I-well, I think perhaps diamonds, don’t you?’

He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said rather coldly, ‘Just as you like.’

Glancing at him, she saw that his face was oddly expressionless.

Then she remembered.

She was a fool! Of course-Rosalie’s ring had been a diamond.

‘Or perhaps an emerald,’ she said quickly, blushing over her unfortunate slip.

He watched her while she tried on one or two with hands that trembled a little.

‘May I make a suggestion?’ Julian said, as the assistant turned away.

‘Of course.’

Then I should choose this one.’

He picked out a single blush-pink pearl of most exquisite sheen.

‘Would you?’ Alison slipped it on. It’s perfectly beautiful, of course. Why would you choose it?’

‘Because it is like you yourself.’

‘Like me?’ She looked up at him in surprise. ‘Why, how do you mean?’

‘It’s the same creamy pink as your cheeks, just where your lashes sweep them when you look down.’