Love Is My Reason (19 page)

“
What?
”
Anya fell back slightly before the naked simplicity of the question.
“
I—I haven
’
t even said that I—love him.
”

“
Do you want to deny it?
”

The two girls faced each other, and all the details of their conflict fell away, until there was only the one, tremendous, salient fact left. They both wanted the same man.

“
Very well,
”
said Anya quietly.
“
I love David.
”

And bitter though the circumstances were, she felt the bright finger of joy touch her as she made the admission at last.

“
I thought so. I did you the credit of believing that at least,
”
Celia said.
“
Then, if you love him enough to want his good, you must know perfectly well that the best thing you can do for him is to withdraw from his life before you upset it further. He
’
s given you your chance. Bertram is enlarging on that. Be thankful for a career and a place in the world, and don
’
t make trouble for the man who picked you out of squalor and obscurity.
”

Anya caught her breath sharply. But the fight had not all gone out of her yet. Her eyes looked big and dark in her white face as she stared back at the girl who so calmly dissected the position and tore her dreams to pieces.

“
You only see things as you want to see them,
”
she said quietly.
“
You keep on saying I could only be bad for David. But how do
y
ou know that is so? Why should it be I a disaster for him if he—if he grew fond of me? It might mean
his
happiness too.
”

“
With all his friends pitying him or disapproving?
”
enquired Celia drily.

Anya flushed.

“
They need neither pity nor disapprove,
”
she said just a little haughtily.
“
I refuse to accept your contemptuous
assessment of me.
”

“
Then will you accept Lady Ranmere
’
s?
”

“
L-Lady Ranmere?
”
Anya faltered slightly.

“
Yes. Have you thought what her reaction was when she even faintly suspected that her son was becoming attracted to you? Why, the bare possibility of it made her snatch at Mother
’
s offer to remove you.
”

“
That—that
’
s different.
”
Anya twisted her hands together nervously.

“
No, Anya. It
’
s exactly the same.
”

“
But why? Why?
”
the other girl cried, in sudden angry terror.

“
Because—I told you—men will always be attracted by you, and their womenfolk will see you are unsuitable. That
’
s why I tell you that you could do only harm to David. You
’
re alien and rootless and unknown. There
’
s even a faintly unsavoury mystery about your origin. It isn
’
t
your fault, but you
’
ve lived most of your life in unbelievable squalor among the dregs of Europe.
”

“
Are you blaming me for my misfortunes?
”
Anya gazed with the blank incredulity of a wounded animal at the other girl.

“
No, my dear. I
’
m not. I
’
m merely telling you that they make you quite unsuitable as a wife for David—and still more unsuitable to be the mother of his children. David is a warmhearted, domestic creature
au fond,
like most. Do you think he would like his children to have a mother who didn
’
t even know who her own parents were?
”

“
Oh, you cruel, cruel beast!
”

Anya burst into wild, ungovernable tears, which poured down her face unchecked.

“
I
’
m sorry. Someone had to say this to you, if you couldn
’
t see it for yourself.
”
Celia too was pale now, but stonily determined to keep to her point.
“
You can hate me if you like. But, if you love David, you
’
ll know I
’
m telling the truth.
”

Then she turned and walked out of the room. And Anya, terrified lest someone should find her in this state, fled into the garden, taking, by instinct, a sheltered path through the shrubbery which presently led out into the open country.

Sometimes she walked and sometimes she ran, sobbing at intervals and catching her breath in little gasps of grief and distress. She had no idea where she was going, and she did not care. She was not even sure that she would ever return to the house which had been the scene of such humiliation and shock.

She hated Celia for her cruelty and her brutal candour. But still more did she hate her for the thread of truth which ran through her specious arguments.

It was jealousy, of course, w
h
ich had prompted nearly everything she had said. Even Anya knew that. But, on the other hand, there was a substratum of truth to the case she had built up.

Anya
was
alien and rootless and unknown. Who knew it better than herself? And because life had made her humble and timid, she had never, even to herself, quite allowed the idea that she might become David
’
s wife.

But now she was ruthlessly bidden to view the prospect and see how hopelessly inadequate she was for the part.

“
I only want him to love me!
”
she sobbed aloud once.
“
I didn
’
t ask for more.
”

But it seemed that to love and be loved demanded some impossible definition in the world she had now entered. If she loved him, she might do him harm. If he loved her, that harm would already be done.

It was not all so clear-cut as Celia made it out to be. But it was hopelessly beyond anything that Anya could compass.

After a long while, it seemed to her, she dropped down on the ground under some trees, and lay there with her cheek pressed against the grass, deriving some sort of dreary comfort from the feel of something familiar and natural.

It was very quiet there, and the sunlight made a little pattern through the leaves, and it was all so silent and peaceful that, quite simply, she wished she could die there.

She had never wished that before. Curiously enough, in all her physical miseries and the bleak, harsh struggle for existence, she had never wanted to give up and end it all. Indeed, the will to live had always been like a strong spring within her.

But now, in a material state which most people would regard as the happiest she had yet known, she knew a sort of deadly inertia, a longing not to have to struggle any more.

Presently the sun went in, and it grew colder, and an inquisitive little bird hopped from branch to branch overhead and looked down enquiringly at the motionless figure beneath.

But still Anya lay there, unaware of the passage of time, unable to think out the problem which Celia had trust upon her, suspended in some curious way in a timeless vacuum.

It was the fading light which at last made her aware of the outside world again. And, startled to realize how late it must be, she sat up and stretched her cramped limbs.

The bird chirped and flew away immediately and Anya thought idly.

“
It
’
s going home. And I must go home too. Or to the place they call my home.
”

She had a great reluctance to go, and the thought of meeting Celia again made her shudder. But she knew now, with the more practical part of her mind, that it was impossible to stay away indefinitely. As it was, she would have all sorts of questions to answer and explanations to make.

Perhaps she could say she had gone for a walk and lost herself. Perhaps it was not quite so late
as
it seemed. But in any case she must hurry.

It took her quite a long time to find her way back, and the light was fading rapidly as she finally crossed the lawn and entered the house again by the french window, unwilling to face a curious servant at the front door.

There was a light in the drawing-room, and she stood there for a moment, blinking slightly after the gloom outside. And, as she did so, a man she had never seen before got up from a chair and regarded her.

She thought he must be a visitor and made an effort to appear natural and at ease.

“
Were you waiting to see Mrs. Preston?
”
she asked.
“
Or Celia perhaps?
”

“
No. I wasn
’
t waiting for anyone,
”
he told her.
“
I
’
ve done all the greeting, and now I
’
m making myself at home. Because this
is
my home, you see. I
’
m the prodigal son.
”

“
You
’
re
—
? Why, you
’
re Martin Deane!
”
she cried,
her surprise and interest breaking even through her unhappiness.

“
Yes, I
’
m Martin Deane,
”
he agreed.
“
And who are you, I wonder?
”
He came slowly forward and regarded her with intense interest.
“
Funny—you
’
re the image of someone I knew very well when I was a young man. But that
’
s years ago. Before you were born, I should think.
”

CHAPTER
TEN

Anya came quite c
lose to Martin Deane and looked up at him.

“
You say you—knew someone like me once? I wonder who it was.
”
She almost held her breath.
“
I am a little like my mother, I believe.
”

“
No. This was a man I knew,
”
he explained carelessly.
“
We were young together. Lord, how long ago!
”
He laughed reminiscently.
“
What did you say your name was?
”

“
I didn
’
t say. But it is Anya. Anya Beranova
—
”
she
added, for she had no other name to give.
“
Haven
’
t they told you about me?
”

“
No. Do you live here?
”

She saw then that, in the tremendous excitement and upheaval of his arrival, no one had given her a second thought. She doubted if she would even have to explain her long absence except in the most casual terms.

“
I am staying here,
”
Anya began. And then Mrs. Preston came into the room and, catching sight of her, exclaimed,

“
Why, there you are, darling! I was just wondering
—
And you
’
ve made friends with Martin, I see. Isn
’
t it wonderful? He arrived without even so much as a phone call first.
”

She came over and slipped an affectionate arm into Martin
’
s, whereupon he immediately bent down and kissed the tip of her ear. It was a charming, even an affectionate, gesture. But Anya could not help remembering that he had left this same devoted mother to mourn him as dead for many years.

“
Where have you been, dear?
”
Mrs. Preston regarded her kindly, but definitely as though she had suddenly become of secondary interest.

“
I went out for a walk, and I wandered much further than I intended and got lost.
”
With Mrs. Preston smiling at her rather absently it was perfectly easy to make the stock excuse.
“
I had no idea how late it was.
”
Anya glanced at the clock.
“I’ll
run up and change.
”

“
You have a quarter of an hour,
”
Mrs. Preston told her, and turned back to her son.

Anya crossed the room, and in the doorway came face to face with Celia. Both girls drew back slightly, in an instinctive movement of enmity and recoil. Then it was Anya who gave the other girl a cold, haughty glance, and she brushed past and went out of the room without a word.

She was trembling a little, she found, as she ran up the stairs, for the encounter had shaken her more than she had shown. But at least the dreadful first meeting was now over. An hour or two ago she had thought she could never bear to look Celia in the face again. But of course life was not like that. A decent veil of convention had to be drawn over even the bitterest of divisions.

For some while longer she and Celia would have to go on living under the same roof, pretending to a sort of outward amiability. And so it was almost providential that Martin, whose arrival was bound to oust any other matter of interest, should have chosen this hateful day to make his appearance and engage all-round attention.

As she rapidly changed into the pretty short lace evening dress which Lady Ranmere had considered suitable to her age and situation, Anya thought again, with a sort of nervous excitement, of Martin Deane
’
s exclamation when he had first seen her.

It had been a relief as well as a disappointment when Mrs. Preston had come in and prevented the discussion from going further, for Anya felt she could not bear much probing into her personal affairs after the cruel things Celia had said. But it was impossible not to wonder what more he would have said, if the interruption had not happened.

For a brief moment, she took out the photograph on which all speculation was based, and looked at it yet again. In the eager face of the young Martin Deane she thought
she could trace some likeness to the thin, faintly disillusioned-looking man downstairs. But in the other, more sensitive face she could not, she thought, find much resemblance to herself.

The diner bell put an end to any further reflection and, hastily slipping the photograph into a drawer again, Anya went downstairs.

Over dinner, Mrs. Preston happily monopolized the conversation, and it was obvious that she simply could not hear enough of all that had happened to her son in the long years since she had last seen him.

He was very good-humoured about answering her questions, and Anya had to admit that his manner to his mother was charming, while on Celia he turned the half-amused, half-curious attention of someone who had never had a sister, and could not quite believe that he had one now.

Inevitably, Anya took little part in the conversation. This was a family reunion, and she did not grudge any of them
—
not even Celia—the joy which belonged to it.

Besides, although she smiled and answered when spoken to, only the surface
of her mind was engaged by what was happening round her. Underneath, her thoughts and her feelings were still in the anguished chaos to which Celia had reduced them that afternoon.

She had already decided that, as soon as she decently could do so after dinner, she would make her excuses and slip away to her own room. But, just as they rose from the dinner table, Mrs. Preston exclaimed,

“
Why don
’
t you ring up dear Mary and David, Celia? Tell them Martin is home and ask them if they would like to come over?
”

The very mention of David
’
s name brought a constriction to Anya
’
s heart, and she was aware that a streak of nervous color came into her cheeks.

Celia, however, was better at hiding her feelings. Or perhaps the mention of David did not trouble her nerves or her conscience. She went immediately to the telephone,, while Mrs. Preston explained to Martin.

“
Mary Ranmere is our nearest neighbour, and a very good friend.
”

“
And David is her attractive son?
”
suggested Martin, with a not unkindly smile at Anya.

“
Nephew,
”
corrected Mrs. Preston, unaware of her son
’
s glance.
“
He and Celia are—very close.
”
And she smiled with the air of one whose hopes are showing signs of blossoming most satisfactorily.

“
Oh, I see.
”
Martin
’
s expression became rather complicated, and there was a slight silence.

Then Celia came back with the news that Lady Ranmere, with both David and Bertram, would be over in a quarter of an hour.

“
Was she astonished?
”
Mrs. Preston asked, with an almost childlike desire that everyone should share her own surprise and delight.

“
Not especially. She knew we were expecting Martin any time now,
”
Celia replied. At which her mother looked slightly disappointed and her brother rather quizzical.

Anya paid little attention to anything which was said in the short time that
elapsed
while they waited for their guests. David
’
s coming always caused her a sort of delicious agitation. But now, after all that Celia had said, the agitation was acute, and no longer pleasurable.

There was the sound of the car at last. And Anya made a tremendous effort to appear calm and normal when their visitors were shown into the room. There was a great deal of exclaiming and greeting and talking all at once, and she thought no one had specially noticed her. But, as soon as he had exchanged a few agreeable words with Martin Deane, David came over to where she was sitting—a little apart, near the french windows which led into the garden.

“
Well, Anya, how are you settling down?
”
He stood smiling down at her with a friendly normality that was almost incongruous after Celia
’
s contemptuous accusations.

“
Mrs. Preston
’
s is very kind, thank you.
”
Anya smiled rather nervously in reply, and hoped she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. For of course one could not say that one simply hated being here and longed to be rescued.

“
You came in for a certain amount of drama on your first day.
”
David glanced amusedly to where the others were grouped round Martin.
“
Have you had an opportunity to ask him a few questions on your own account?
”

“
Questions?
”

“
Yes. I know you said something about not much wanting to make further enquiries about your father. But I
don
’
t think you can stick to that when you actually have someone on the spot who must have known him.
”

“
Oh
—“
She smiled faintly.
“
No, I haven
’
t asked him
anything yet. But—
”
she hesitated
—“
the first thing he said to me was that I was tremendously like someone he once knew.
”

“
Really?
”
David looked interested.
“
Didn
’
t you pursue that further?
”

“
I couldn
’
t. Mrs. Preston came into the room at that moment, and—and wanted to know where I had been.
”

“
And where had you been?
”
The slightly breathless tone in which she had said that seemed to amuse him.

“
I—
”
she flushed and then paled
—
“I’d
been out walking in the woods. I went—further than I realized.
”

The withdrawn, almost sullen tone of her voice evidently surprised him slightly, and after a moment he reverted to the first topic.

“
So you had no opportunity to ask Deane more about his statement?
”

“No.”

“
Bring down the photograph and ask him now, Anya
.
”

“
Now! Why?
”

He laughed.

“
Because
I
am curious, if you are not.
”

Anya glanced over once more to the animated family group.

“
I don
’
t think I want to interrupt them just now.
”

“
Nonsense. They
’
ll all be interested. You bring down the photograph and I
’
ll ask him, if you prefer it that way.
”

“
Very well.
”
It was not in Anya to refuse David something which he pressed her to do. And, half reluctantly, half eagerly, she went to fetch the photograph.

When she returned to the room, David was sitting talking to Celia. But, the moment she came in, he saw her and smilingly held out his hand to her.

She knew that Celia looked at her with a cold dislike that should have stopped her in her tracks. But she could not be indifferent to David
’
s outstretched hand, and she came and stood close beside him, so that she almost leant
against his arm.

“
Did you find it?
”
He smiled up at her.

“
Yes.
”
She put the photograph into his hand.

“
What is that?
”
enquired Celia sharply.

“
Something I want to ask your brother about,
”
David replied coolly, and he leaned across to Martin Deane, who was exchanging polite small-talk with Lady Ranmere.
“
Do yo
u
know who that is?
”
David enquired casually. But, careless though the tone was, everyone except Martin immediately recognized the photograph and became breathlessly silent.

Martin, unaware of the tense atmosphere round him, took the photograph and studied it idly for a moment. Then he grinned ruefully and said,

“
Why, it
’
s myself. A good twenty years ago.
”

“
Yes, one of them is you, of course.
”
David sounded just the faintest bit on edge.
“
But who is the other one?
”

Martin turned it so that the light fell fully on it.

“
I haven
’
t the least idea,
”
he said, after a moment.

“
You don
’
t
know
?”
That was his mother—incredulous and almost reproachful.

“
No. Should I?
”
Martin glanced from one to another, in puzzled amusement.

“
But of course you should, darling! After all, you were photographed with him.
”

“
Can
’
t you recall the circumstances of the photograph?
”
Lady Ranmere urged.

“
I can
’
t say I do. It
’
s just one of those cheapish snaps one might have taken anywhere.
”
Martin turned it over and looked at the back.
“
It hasn
’
t even a photographer
’
s name on it. Probably it was taken in the street somewhere. Does it matter?
”