Vanishing Point

CHAPTER 10

Having seen Miss Crewe enter the White Cottage, Craig Lester walked briskly up the road and turned in at the gates of Crewe House. He was expected, for the door opened as he came up the steps. Rosamond stood back and shut it behind him. She had a little colour in her cheeks and her eyes were bright. There was no formal greeting. Her breath came rather quickly as she said,

“Did you meet Aunt Lydia? She has only just gone.”

“I didn’t expect to see her walking.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I did not. The time I saw her she looked as if she had been sitting in that chair of hers for the last fifty years or so.”

She tried for a reproving look, but it turned into an appealing one.

“Oh, yes, she walks when she wants to. She has only gone as far as Mrs. Merridew’s today-just opposite the Holly Tree.”

“I know-I saw her go in. The wretched Cunningham came round the corner, and she cut him dead.”

“She does,” said Rosamond in a distressed voice. “I don’t know how she can. Everybody else minds dreadfully. She just looks right through him and walks on.”

“A very fine dead cut. He’s been back how long-three years? He must be getting used to it by now. By the way, what about Miss Cunningham-does she cut her too?”

“Oh, no. They go on being friends, only Aunt Lydia won’t go to the house, because of meeting Henry. Lucy comes here, and so does Nicholas.”

“So Jenny informed me. She said Nicholas was in love with you.”

Her colour rose faintly.

“Jenny talks too much.”

“And it’s all nonsense-I know, I know. Are you in love with him?”

“Craig!”

He laughed.

“Outrageous, isn’t it? Don’t hold it up against me. Everything in this house is either dead or half asleep, and I’ve got an idea that I’d like to wake things up. Don’t let’s talk about Nicholas any more. When am I going to see you alone?”

The corners of her mouth tilted.

“Well, you are seeing me alone, aren’t you?”

He laughed derisively.

“Not by a long chalk I’m not! Ancestors to the left of us, ancestors to the right! You have really some of the gloomiest family portraits I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“They want cleaning.”

“They might be worse if you could really see them. By the way, isn’t there one of Miss Crewe? I’d rather like to see it.”

“Would you? It’s in the drawing-room. We can go there if you like.”

They went. Rosamond was wondering. Perhaps he really wanted to see the portrait. It was by Amory, and considered to be very fine. Perhaps he wanted to spin out this time with her. Her colour brightened as she opened the door and took him into a well-proportioned room with windows to a terrace and all the furniture done up in dust-sheets. Craig was instantly and disagreeably reminded of a mortuary. The air was heavy and cold, the room full of dead things in their shrouds. There was a gilt clock on the mantelpiece, and some china figures. Above them the portrait of Lydia Crewe in a white satin dress. She held a black feather fan, and she looked out across the sheeted room. Her face was colourless, dominant. It had a kind of stiff beauty like a conventionalized flower-one of the heavy hot-house type, camellia or magnolia, carved in stone. There was a black velvet curtain behind her, and a diamond star at her breast. The shadows in the painted dress were a curious greenish grey.

Craig looked, frowning.

“How old was she when this was done?”

“I don’t know-about thirty, I suppose. Not much more, because her father was ill after that, and there wasn’t any more money.”

“You mean, she found out that there wasn’t. It must have been a shock.”

He thought Lydia Crewe would have taken it hard. He said abruptly,

“I suppose you have to dust this damned room too.”

“A lot of the things in here have been put away.”

He dropped his hands on her shoulders.

“Do you want to stay here till you freeze to death like she did?”

She let her eyes meet his, but only for a moment. There was trouble in them.

“There’s Jenny. I’m not trained for anything. I’ve got to think of Jenny.”

He said, “Think about me for a change. Start now and keep right on. I’m thirty-two and sound in wind and limb. I’m not rolling in money, but I’ve got a decent job, and my last book did quite well.”

“Craig-” Her voice shook.

“You’d better listen to what I’ve got to say. I’ve got a temper, and I can be a brute when it’s roused, but I don’t suppose I should beat you. You might do a lot better, but you might do a lot worse too. I wouldn’t actually knock you about, and I’d be good for Jenny. I’ve got a house-an old cousin left it to me last year. It’s not at all bad. In fact I think you’d like it. My old nurse keeps house for me. She’s a comfortable person. I don’t want you to say anything now-I’m not such a fool as to expect you to make up your mind before you’ve known me a week.”

Rosamond had a quite extraordinary feeling that they had somehow got into one of those dreams in which you just say anything that comes into your head and it doesn’t matter. She said,

“You’ve only known me for a week too.”

His hands were warm and very strong. He laughed and said,

“That’s where you’re wrong, my sweet. I’ve known you much longer than that. I don’t know whether Jenny did it on purpose or not, but there was a photograph of you with the manuscripts she sent us. It was a snapshot. You had on a white dress, and you were carrying a tray. Even in the photograph I could see it was too heavy for you.”

“Nicholas said so too-he took the photograph. It was all nonsense really.”

“And what was Nicholas doing that he was letting you carry trays like that?”

His voice was too harsh for a dream. Something in her began to shake.

“Craig, let me go!”

“In a minute, when you’ve promised to think about what I’ve been saying.”

“What am I to think about? It doesn’t seem real.”

“Oh, it’s real enough. I’m not asking you to marry me, because it’s too soon. I’m just telling you that that is what I’m going to do as soon as you know me better. I don’t want to rush you. Just think it out. I don’t see that I could possibly be worse to live with than Aunt Lydia, and I might be quite a lot better. I’d take care of you, my dear. It seems to me you want someone who will do that. And now I’m going to make you angry.”

Before she had any idea what he was going to do he put a hand under her chin and kissed her. It was over before she realized that it was going to happen. And she wasn’t angry.

There was nothing to be angry about. He had kissed her because he loved her. She felt quite sure about that, and it made her feel safe. He let go of her at once and walked to the door.