Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

‘What did you think – that it was a very close resemblance?’

‘Yes – yes, that’s what I thought. How could I think it was Vernon? He looked at me and didn’t know me.’

‘He’s lost his memory, Nell.’

‘Lost his memory?’

‘Yes.’

He told her the story, giving the details as carefully as possible. She listened but paid less attention than he expected. When he had finished she said: ‘Yes – but what’s to be done about it all? Will he get it back? What are we to do?’

He explained that Vernon was having treatment from a specialist. Already, under hypnosis, part of the lost memory had returned. The whole process would not be long delayed. He did not enter into the technical details, judging rightly that these would have no interest for her.

‘And then he’ll know – everything?’

‘Yes.’

She shrank back in her chair. He felt a sudden rush of pity.

‘He can’t blame you, Nell. You didn’t know – nobody could know. The report of his death was absolutely definite. It’s an almost unique case. I’ve heard of one other. In most cases, of course, a report of death was contradicted almost immediately. Vernon loves you enough to understand and forgive.’

She said nothing but she put up both hands to cover her face.

‘We think – if you agree – that everything had better be kept quiet for the present. You’ll tell Chetwynd, of course. And you and he and Vernon can – well, thrash it out together –’

‘Don’t! Don’t! Don’t go into details. Just let’s leave it for the present – till I’ve seen Vernon.’

‘Do you want to see him at once? Will you come up to town with me?’

‘No – I can’t do that. Let him come here – to see me. Nobody will recognize him. The servants are all new.’

Sebastian said slowly: ‘Very well … I’ll tell him.’

Nell got up.

‘I – I – you must go away now, Sebastian. I can’t bear any more. I can’t indeed. It’s all so dreadful. And only two days ago ‘I was so happy and peaceful …’

‘But, Nell – surely to have Vernon back again.’

‘Oh, yes, I didn’t mean that . You don’t understand. That’s wonderful, of course. Oh! do go, Sebastian. It’s awful of me turning you out like this, but I can’t bear any more. You must go.’

Sebastian went. On the way back to town he wondered a good deal.

Left alone, Nell went back to her bedroom and lay down on her bed, pulling the silk eiderdown tightly over her.

So it was true after all. It had been Vernon. She had told herself that it couldn’t be – that she had made a ridiculous mistake. But she’d been uneasy ever since.

What was going to happen? What would George say about it all? Poor George. He’d been so good to her.

Of course there were women who’d married again, and then had found their first husbands were alive. Rather an awful position. She had never really been George’s wife at all.

Oh! it couldn’t be true. Such things didn’t happen. God wouldn’t let –

But perhaps she had better not think of God. It reminded her of those very unpleasant things that Jane had said the other day. That very same day.

She thought with a rush of self-pity: ‘I was so happy …’

Was Vernon going to understand? Would he – perhaps – blame her? He’d want her, of course, to come back. Or wouldn’t he – now that she and George – What did men think?

There could be a divorce, of course, and then she could marry George. But that would make a lot of talk. How difficult everything was.

She thought with a sudden shock: ‘But I love Vernon. How can I contemplate a divorce and marrying George when I love Vernon? He’s been given back to me – from the dead.’

She turned over restlessly on the bed. It was a beautiful Empire bed. George had bought it out of an old château in France. It was perfect and quite unique. She looked round the room – a charming room, everything in harmony – perfect taste, perfect unostentatious luxury.

She remembered suddenly the horsehair sofa and the antimacassars in the furnished rooms at Wiltsbury.

… Dreadful! But they had been happy there.

But now? She looked round the room with new eyes. Of course, Abbots Puissants belonged to George. Or didn’t it, now that Vernon had come back? Anyway, Vernon would be just as poor as ever – they couldn’t afford to live here … there were all the things that George had done to it … thought after thought raced confusedly through her brain.

She must write to George – beg him to come home. Just say it was urgent – nothing more. He was so clever. He might see a way.

Or perhaps she wouldn’t write to him – not till she had seen Vernon. Would Vernon be very angry? How terrible it all was.

The tears came to her eyes. She sobbed: ‘It’s unfair – it’s unfair – I’ve never done anything. Why should this happen to me? Vernon will blame me and I couldn’t know. How could I know?’

Again the thought flitted across her mind:

‘I was so happy!’

Vernon was listening, trying to understand what the doctor was saying to him. He looked across the table at him. A tall thin man with eyes that seemed to see right into the centre of you and to read there things that you didn’t even know about yourself.

And he made you see all the things you didn’t want to see. Made you bring things up out of the depths. He was saying:

‘Now that you have remembered, tell me again exactly how you saw the announcement of your wife’s marriage.’

Vernon cried out:

‘Must we go over it again and again? It was all so horrible. I don’t want to think of it any more.’

And then the doctor explained, gravely and kindly, but very impressively. It was because of that desire not to ‘think of it any more’ that all this had come about. It must be faced now – thrashed out … Otherwise the loss of memory might return.

They went all over it again.

And then, when Vernon felt he could bear no more, he was told to lie down on a couch. The doctor touched his forehead and his limbs, told him that he was resting – was rested – that he would become strong and happy again …

A feeling of peace came over Vernon.

He closed his eyes …

Vernon came down to Abbots Puissants three days later. He came in Sebastian Levinne’s car. To the butler he gave his name as Mr Green. Nell was waiting for him in the little white-panelled room where his mother had sat in the mornings. She came forward to meet him, forcing a conventional smile to her lips. The butler shut the door behind him, just in time for her to stop short before offering him her hand.

They looked at each other. Then Vernon said:

‘Nell …’

She was in his arms. He kissed her – kissed her – kissed her …

He let her go at last. They sat down. He was quiet, rather tragic, very restrained, but for that one wild greeting. He’d gone through so much – so much in these last few days …

Sometimes he wished they’d left him alone – as George Green. It had been jolly being George Green.

He said stammeringly:

‘It’s all right, Nell. You mustn’t think I blame you. I understand … Only it hurts. It hurts like Hell. Naturally.’

She said: ‘I didn’t mean –’

He interrupted her.

‘I know , I tell you – I know ! Don’t talk about it. I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to think about it even …’ He added in a different tone: ‘They say that’s my trouble. That’s how it happened.’

She said, rather eagerly: ‘Tell me about it – about everything.’