“Certainly, Phyllida. Come and sit down. If you will just turn the key, we can make sure that we are not disturbed.”
She turned it, came to the other side of the table, and took the chair in which Elliot had sat an hour or two before. For a moment that wide, startled gaze remained fixed on James Paradine’s face. Then she flushed deeply and looked away.
His lips moved into a faint sarcastic smile. He said,
“Well, Phyllida-have you come to confess?”
She looked up again at that.
“I suppose I have, Uncle James.”
“And what are you going to confess?”
She said quickly,
“When you said that at dinner-you didn’t-you didn’t mean Elliot?”
“And what makes you think that?”
“Because he wouldn’t-he couldn’t-”
“Very proper sentiments, my dear. A wife should always be convinced of her husband’s integrity.”
As if the cynicism in his voice was a challenge, Phyllida’s head came up. She said with simplicity and pride,
“You think I haven’t the right to speak for Elliot any more. Perhaps I haven’t. But there are some things I know he wouldn’t do.”
James Paradine nodded.
“Quite right, my dear, and admirably put. To relieve your mind, I will assure you that I am not expecting a confession from your husband. Now what about yours?”
She looked down again.
“It isn’t really a confession-except that I think- I have been-I don’t know how to say it-”
“A fool?” suggested James Paradine.
He got a fleeting glance, startled again but with a faraway hint of rueful laughter.
“Perhaps-I don’t know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“And why to me? I thought Grace was the universal confidante.”
Phyllida said in a desperate voice,
“She cares too much. I want to talk about it to someone who doesn’t care-” She paused and added, “like that.”
James Paradine surveyed her with an odd glint of humour in his eyes.
“The detached point of view. I see. Well, go on.”
She said, “I don’t know what Aunt Grace told you last year-about Elliot and me.”
His black eyebrows lifted.
“Let me see-you came back from your honeymoon, spent Christmas in London with the Lionel Wrays, and came on to us on the thirtieth of December. We had our usual party on New Year’s Eve, and on the sixth-or was it the seventh-of January Grace informed me that you had parted.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said-” James Paradine’s voice was extremely dry-“to the best of my recollection she said that he had ‘proved himself utterly unworthy,’ and she intimated that you had grounds for a divorce. It seemed rather early in the day. May I ask whether you are going to tell me what really happened?”
Phyllida said, “Yes.” She lifted her eyes and looked at him. “I haven’t talked about it to anyone. People care too much, or they don’t care enough, and they want to give you advice.”
“A damnable habit,” said James Paradine. And then, “I appreciate the compliment.”
Phyllida kept her eyes on him.
“Aunt Grace has done everything for me-everything in the world. I’m very grateful. But sometimes when people love you so much it makes you feel as if you couldn’t move without hurting them. When I got engaged to Elliot I felt like that-I was hurting Aunt Grace, and I was going to hurt her more, and I couldn’t help it. She didn’t like him.”
James Paradine nodded.
“No, she didn’t like him. I may say, my dear, that there wasn’t a millionth chance of her liking anyone you proposed to marry.”
She had that startled look again.
“It made me very unhappy, but I couldn’t help it. We were married, and we went away on our honeymoon. Two days afterwards Aunt Grace got a letter which had been delayed in the post. It was from a friend of hers, that Mrs. Cranston whom I never liked, and it was about Elliot.”
“Women have a remarkable talent for interfering in other people’s affairs,” said James Paradine.
“She said she thought Aunt Grace ought to know that he-that he-”
“Yes, my dear?”
She had turned rather pale. She said,
“There was a motor accident. He had a girl with him and she was hurt. She was taken into the Cranstons’ house-that’s how Mrs. Cranston knew about it. Elliot was driving. Of course they had to give their names and addresses. The girl’s name was Maisie Dale. Mrs. Cranston said they’d been staying at a road-house.”
Mr. Paradine again raised his eyebrows.
“Is that all?”
“No, of course not. It’s just-I haven’t ever talked about it-it’s not very easy.”
“I see. Will you go on?”
She nodded.
“Yes. There was a lot more. I didn’t see the letter-I didn’t want to. I think she’s a horrid woman, but I think she just wrote down what people were saying-about Elliot and the girl. Aunt Grace was dreadfully upset. We were married. Mrs. Cranston said that Elliot was keeping up with the girl. I don’t know how she knew.”
“She’s the sort of woman who makes it her business to know,” said James Paradine. “By the way, was the girl badly hurt?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Cranston said she wasn’t-just knocked out. She said she was quite all right as soon as she came round.”
“I see. Go on.”
Phyllida coloured high. Her eyes avoided him.
“Aunt Grace-she wanted to find out-whether it was true. She got someone to make enquiries.”
“How extremely-enterprising.”
“She-she thought she was doing the right thing. When we came back I saw that she wasn’t happy. I didn’t know what to do about it-I thought it was just because I had gone away. Then one day she came into my room and told me. She read me Mrs. Cranston’s letter, and just as she was finishing it Elliot came in. You see, I hadn’t any time to think. It all happened like an accident does-one minute you’re all right and the next minute everything has crashed. Elliot said, ‘What’s going on?’ and Aunt Grace said, ‘Phyllida would like to know what you have to say about Maisie Dale.’ She didn’t even give me time to speak.”
“I suppose not.”
She was looking at him again, her eyes bright and her colour high.
“Elliot was very angry-they both were. Aunt Grace said, ‘You spent a week-end with her at Pedlar’s Halt, in June,’ and he said, ‘It’s none of your business if I did.’ Then she said, ‘Will you deny that you are keeping her?’ and he said, ‘That isn’t your business either.’ Then she said, ‘Will you deny that you visited her only last week, on the afternoon of December 26th?’ and he said, ‘I won’t deny anything. And now will you get out of here and leave me to talk to my wife!’”
“And did she-get out?”
Phyllida shook her head.
“She said, ‘You think you can talk her round.’ ”
“And what did you say, Phyllida?”
“I didn’t say anything-I didn’t say anything at all. It sounds idiotic, but even when I go over it in my mind-and I’ve been over it hundreds of times-I can’t think of anything to say. Everything goes numb-I don’t seem to feel anything, or to want anything, or to be able to speak. I just felt as if I had come to the end of everything. It still feels like that when I think about it. I could hear them saying dreadful things to each other. And then Elliot said, ‘I’m off. Are you coming, Phyllida?’ Aunt Grace came and put her arms round me and said, ‘No,’ and Elliot went out of the room and banged the door, and-it was very stupid of me-I fainted. I thought he would come back, but he didn’t, and I thought he would write, but he didn’t. And Aunt Grace said he had gone to her.”
“Are you sure he didn’t write?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I should have expected him to write.”
“He didn’t.”
“I think I should ask him about that if I were you.”
She said, “Ask him?”