Smiling, she quickly pulled her hand from his, perched herself on the edge of the bed and flung her arms round his neck. He held her tightly to him and her soft lips melted under his.
After they had spent a very happy half-hour, she said reluctantly, 'Roger, my love, I really must leave you now. Lady Stuart might come up to see if you wish anything, and if she found me here that would be terrible. We still have to be awfully careful, too, as if the family find out that you are making love to me, Sir Charles might ask your intentions, and that would be most awkward.'
'You're right, sweet Mary. But, as things are, it's going to be plaguey difficult for us to see each other alone with any frequency.'
For a moment she remained thoughtful, then she said, 'I think I will take Deborah into my confidence; though I'll not tell her that our engagement is only make believe. Then, when you decide to leave, I'll say that, having got to know you better, it was I who decided against your formally asking for my hand. Deborah is entirely to be trusted and, with her connivance, we'll be able to snatch meetings now and again in the summer house at the bottom of the garden.'
They embraced again and, after several long kisses, she left him to rejoin the party downstairs in the salon.
The ten days that followed were some of the most pleasant that, apart from those with Georgina, Roger had ever spent. His wounds had healed well. By the end of a week he was able to dress himself, and could get about with only a stick for support. Spring was in the air, but it was much warmer than it would have been in England, and nearly every day, with Deborah's assistance, he managed to get the best part of an hour alone with Mary.
Their meetings were usually in the summer house; but, on days when that could not be managed, she insisted on coming to his room, although he endeavored to persuade her not to. After his fourth day at the Legation, his injuries no longer prevented him from dining down stairs and afterwards joining in conversations, or listening to music with the other guests; so, if Mary came to his room it had to be late at night, after everyone had gone to bed and could be presumed to be asleep.
Greatly as he enjoyed these midnight visits, his reluctance to let her make them was not alone on account of the risk she ran of being found out. That was inconsiderable, as her room was only two doors away from his in the same corridor. His main objection was that she came to him with only a dressing gown over her night robe, and from the beginning of their affair he had been highly conscious that she was a very passionate little person. When they embraced, she always pressed her body hard against his, her eyes grew moist, her breathing rapid, and she deliberately tempted him to take the sort of liberties with her that were not unusual between respectable engaged couples. Being himself passionate, he took great joy in kissing her breasts and fondling her, but he was determined to go no further and the restraint he forced himself to exercise placed a great strain upon him.
It was on April 16th that she asked him to accompany her and Deborah to the hospital, as a cousin of hers, a Brigadier, had been wounded and arrived there the previous day. They drove there with flowers, fruit and wine and were shown up to a private room on the third floor. The man in the bed was fair haired, florid-faced and a year or two older than Roger. Having happily greeted Mary and Deborah, he looked at Roger, who was standing behind the girls, and exclaimed:
'God's boots! If it's not old Bookworm Brook! Fancy seeing you here,
Roger had already recognised him and had gone quite white. It was George Gunston, a man whom he had heartily disliked all his life. Bowing, he said coldly, 'The surprise is mutual.'
Mary glanced curiously from one to the other and said, 'So you two are already acquainted?'
Gunston laughed. 'Indeed we are. We were at school together. Most of us were keen on sports, but Brook always had his head buried in a book. That's why we gave him his nickname.'
Roger's smile was icy. 'You may recall that I spent a good part of my time learning to fence and shoot with a pistol, and in those accomplishments I became somewhat better than yourself.'
'That I'll not deny. So I find it all the more surprising that you have not volunteered for the Army.'
'Really, George!' Mary stamped her little foot. 'It's plain to see that you dislike each other. But I'll not have you quarrel in my presence.'
Both men then refrained from making any further antagonistic remarks; but the atmosphere remained uncomfortable. So, after having enquired about George's wound, and learned that he was disabled only by water on the knee, owing to a spent shell splinter having hit it, his visitors took their departure.
Immediately they were back in their carriage, Mary demanded to know why Roger so disliked her cousin. After a moment he replied, 'It's not only because Gunston bullied me unmercifully at school. I'd not harbour a grudge against him for all these years on that account. But we have come into collision on numerous occasions. In our early twenties, we fought a duel; later, when I was for a while Governor of Martinique,, he endeavored to seduce my wife's young cousin. Later still, in India, he was largely responsible for her death. That he happens to be a cousin of yours is regrettable, but the fact remains that he is a cad.'
'No, you are wrong about that,' Mary protested. 'It's obvious that you have had a prejudice against him from your schooldays, and happened to come up against him later in unpropitious circumstances; so you have seen only the worst side of him. But he's not a cad. He is a gay, amusing fellow, good-natured and generous. Of course, he is a very full blooded man, and something of a woman-chaser. I'd wager, though, that your wife's niece led him on. And that's not to be wondered at, for he's a fine, handsome man. You can't blame him if many women find him attractive.'
No more was said at the time; but, that afternoon in the summer house, Mary reopened the question by saying, 'It pains me greatly that two people whom I like should be enemies, and I want you to make it up with George. He is much too easy-going a man to bear malice against anyone, so it must be you who are keeping this old feud alive. Please, for my sake, make it up with him and agree to let bygones be bygones.'
As water on the knee was unlikely to prevent Gunston from riding a horse for much more than ten days, he would then be leaving Lisbon again for the front. It being unlikely that Roger would be called on to see much of him, albeit with some reluctance, but to please Mary, he agreed to her request. The following morning they paid another visit to the hospital. There, with commendable impartiality, Mary read both men a lecture and made them, looking a little sheepish, shake hands.
Two mornings later, Mary, who made most of her own clothes, said to Roger, 'I have a bolero that I want to finish and Deborah is helping me. But today we ought to send George some more fruit and wine. Id like you to take it to him, if you will. It will show better than anything that you really are willing to be friends and, if you are alone together, that will give you a chance to explain how lack of understanding each other's point of view led to your past differences.'
Roger could hardly refuse, so he took the things to the hospital and was shown into Gunston's room. The florid Brigadier's fair eyebrows went up and he said with a laugh, 'Well, this is an honour! Damned good of you, Brook, to bring me more wine. I can do with it; and I'm greatly obliged to you.'
'It's a pleasure,' Roger responded to this friendly greeting. 'I trust your knee is better.'