She stood there and listened. When he had finished she said,
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
She turned stiffly and went out of the room.
Chapter 41
Polly opened the door of Miss Paradine’s sitting-room and saw her at the writing-table. Without turning her head Grace Paradine said,
“Is that you, Louisa?”
“No, ma’am, it’s me.”
“Where is Louisa?”
“She’s not very well, ma’am.”
Miss Paradine sat with a pen in her hand, but she had not been writing. The nib was dry, and the sheet in front of her blank. She said in an abstracted voice,
“Yes-I forgot-” And then, “Go down and ask Mrs. Wray to come up here to me. If she is in the drawing-room, just go to the door and ask if you can speak to her for a moment. Then when she has come out of the room you can give her my message. Can you remember that?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
“Very well.”
She had not turned her head or looked at Polly.
She sat there with the pen in her hand, and did not write. Her body was stiff and motionless. Her mind had never been clearer, or her will more resolute. Behind it there was an anger like ice. Never in all her life had anyone spoken to her as Elliot Wray had just spoken. Never had she felt such determination, such inward power.
When the door opened again and Phyllida came in she was ready to turn to her with a welcoming smile.
“My darling-did I disturb you?”
Phyllida’s “No, Aunt Grace” was soft and fluttered. She looked distressed.
Grace Paradine said quickly,
“What is it, Phyl? Has he been upsetting you?”
“Oh, no.”
“I think he has. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, my darling. This situation can’t go on. It is most distressing for you-for all of us. God knows we have enough without that.” She took a handkerchief from her loose sleeve and touched her eyes with it. The hand which held it shook a little.
Phyllida said, “Please, Aunt Grace-”
The hand came down and lay upon the other one, still clasping the handkerchief.
“Forgive me, my darling-this has all been such a shock. I did not think that even Elliot Wray would choose this moment to make things worse for me.”
Phyllida said nothing. What was there to say? She didn’t know. She stood looking at Grace Paradine as you look at something in a dream-something which isn’t real.
Grace Paradine got up and came to her.
“I could bear his insulting behaviour if it only affected me, but I can’t and won’t have you exposed to it. I asked him to go-for your sake, my darling- and he told me that he was Mark’s guest, not mine. So I must speak to Mark, but I wanted to tell you first. I don’t want you to think that I would do anything behind your back.”
A shiver went over Phyllida. If it is a dream, you can wake up. If it isn’t a dream, you have to bear it. She said,
“Please, Aunt Grace-it isn’t any good-”
“What do you mean, Phyl?”
Phyllida looked away.
“It isn’t any good. I know. Why did you do it?”
If she had been watching Grace Paradine she would have seen her eyes brighten and a little colour come up in her cheeks. She meant to fight, and she meant to win. She felt the glow which the fighter feels. She made her voice very gentle.
“Phyl, darling, what do you mean? Won’t you tell me? Is it something that he has been saying? If it is, I think you will have to tell me.”
Phyllida looked, and looked away. She could not meet what she saw in Grace Paradine’s face. It had meant love and shelter as long as she could remember. It had meant sympathy, kindness, protection. She couldn’t face it. She said almost in a whisper,
“Please, Aunt Grace-”
And then suddenly courage came to her. When you have to face something, you can. She said,
“Yes, I’ll tell you-I must. Elliot and I have talked. I know he wrote to me-twice. I know what was in the letters. I didn’t get them. I know why. I know all about Maisie.”
“You know what he has told you.”
“Yes.”
“My darling, do you suppose that he has told you the truth? Do you suppose that any man tells the truth about that sort of thing? He is tired of this girl now-I believe she has been ill-and he wants you back. Why shouldn’t he? You are young and pretty, and you come in for a comfortable sum of money under James’s will. Naturally he wants you back.”
Phyllida said steadily,
“You say Maisie has been ill. Don’t you know that she has been paralysed for months?”
“Is that what he told you? Did you believe him? Oh, my darling, do you want him to break your heart all over again? He wants you now-how long would he want you if you were ill like this poor girl? He throws her over-he isn’t ashamed to come and tell you about it. What have you got to trust to? I suppose she thought she had something. What will you have?”
Phyllida lifted her eyes. They had a look of immeasurable sadness. She said,
“It’s no good. It wasn’t like that-I think you know that it wasn’t. We love each other. You mustn’t try to separate us any more.”
There was a silence. Then Grace Paradine said in her deep, tragic voice,
“Is that how it is?”
Another silence.
Grace Paradine turned away. After a moment she said,
“I want to make you understand. Will you listen to me, Phyl?” The words were gently, even tenderly spoken.
Phyllida’s breath caught in her throat with pity.
“Of course.”
Grace Paradine was not looking at her. She stood half turned away, and she looked down at the papers on her table.
“It is so hard to make anyone else understand. That is the tragedy of the older people-they have suffered themselves-sometimes they have suffered horribly. Very often it has been their own fault. They have expected too much, trusted too much, made mistakes because they were ignorant, because they thought they knew everything. The one thing they want in all the world is to save the children they love from making the same mistakes and suffering in the same way. What do you think it feels like when the children won’t listen, won’t believe-when they have to stand aside and see them walking towards a precipice?”
“You can’t live someone else’s life, Aunt Grace, however much you love them-you have to let them live their own.”
Grace Paradine turned her head. She was shockingly pale, but she smiled.
“Your voice, but not your words, Phyl. Come here a moment, my darling.” Then when Phyllida had come to her she put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Phyl-here is the first photograph I had taken of you after you came to me. You were eighteen months old. I did everything for you myself. You were the dearest little baby. Later on I got a nurse for you, but I nearly always washed and dressed you myself. Here’s the miniature I had done when you were five. It’s very like you still. Here’s your first school photograph- in that hideous gym tunic, but you were so proud of it. Here’s one in the dress you had for your coming-out dance. It was a pretty dress, wasn’t it? There are dozens and dozens more. I’ve kept them all. Most of them are somewhere in this room. Everyone laughs at me about them-Dicky calls it my Phyllida gallery. But I’ve never minded their laughing. Every bit of you has been too precious to part with-I’ve wanted to keep it all. You see, you’ve been my life.”