EDEN FOR PROFIT

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 60, Issue 248, 27 July 1940, Page 7

EDEN FOR PROFIT

By SYLVESTER CAIRN

CHAPTER XXV. IN TIME. Suddenly Audrey was framed in a dazzling beam of light and jumped up> startled, -standing straight and flat against the door. It couldn’t bo ltollo —for Kollo had left. But it was Kollo s voice from behind the blinding lignt, that dear familiar voice, but jerky am uneven. . . “You—what on earth are you doing?” No greeting, just that. “I—thought you’d gone. Phyl said you were going.” , “I don’t see wliat-” The explanation made it all the more puzzling. “But you’re wet. Come m, and lie fumbled with the key. . It seemed an anti-climax to lollou Rollo into the dark house, and watch him light lamps and poke a dull hre to redness, to have him say “You re wet, get near the fire.” ... Whe had thought he had gone, and to see him seemed alii that mattered. Now ie wa. here, there was nothing to say. But something must be said. He was grave and awkward; she was ill-at-ease. The lamp burnt up, casting a warm golden light; and lie turned to the fire again. He knelt in front of it throwing on logs; and then picked lip the bellows. The puffing seemed to relieve thq heaviness of the silence. Audrey spoke. . . “I came because Phyl said you weie leaving—to say goodbye. “Very kind of you.” But lie gave all his attention to the fire. “And to say I. was sorry—if you thought I’d been— horrid—in summer. Surely he would speak now. lie waited, but he only answered: _ “Haven’t you a right to be—horrid if you like?” . T “] didn’t mean to. I think J wanted people to pay me attention. Some people are like that,” she pleacl“Lots of people are,” he conceded. “And yon had plenty of attention. You must have been satisfied.” . Things were not going as she had planned. She looked at him, with tlie firelight ruddy on his brown face; his red hair redder than ever in the glow. ’“Please—Rollo —must you go away?

she asked softly. Surely he would say it now, but no didn’t. He only said : I think it better to go.”

“Why?” “I often winter abroad. I say, did you walk over? I didn’t see the car. If so, I may as well drive you back.” He was so quiet and unemotional that Audrey could not bear it. Tears welled up and rolled slowly down her cheeks. But he wasn’t looking at her.

“Don’t,” she said unhappily, “Why? What’s wrong?” He turned to her now, looking startled. “Everything,” she wailed, “I came because I’d made a—silly mistake. And now I’d better go home. It was stupid of me coming.” “Stop. A—mistake? What exactly do you mean?” He sounded so stern that she shrank back. “I thought you loved me—” she whispered. “And I came —but it’s — a mistake.” “You mean—” ho said heavily, “that you thought you loved me, and you find now you don’t. I—see.” “Now it’s you—making mistakes. I know I—love you But—you’ve got tired waiting because I was silly. I see you don’t want me—-now.” “I’d never stop wanting you—if you’d only love me at the end.” “But I do—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

By the time they returned to mundane matters it was getting late. Rollo released Audrey and stood up. '“Now I’ll take you back.” “And you aren’t going away tomorrow—or ever ?’ ’ “Not till I take you with me.” “Rollo, darling and I nearly lost vou!”

“And I you. But what’ll Phyl think —now, I mean ? Does she know where you are?’’ “I’ve no idea. I never thought of anything but you. We’d a row because she was so cross ” “She’s no right to be—with you I” blazed Kollo.

“She had. And if she hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have been here.” Audrey laughed happily, her anger with Phyl wiped out. But Phyl was worried. Audrey had vanished, and Phyl’s conscience smote her. She had lost her temper with Audrey, not so much on account of Audrey’s own behaviour, but because she was tired and depressed. But where was Audrey now? She had not taken the car. Yet it seemed too dark to walk far and too bad an evening to go out for fun. And why should Audrey go off to-night? She had known all along what Phyl thought of her, even if she had not expressed herself so openly. Phyl could do nothing but wait, and that was the hardest thing of all. She was really upset by the time she heard a car and ran ont anxiously. The car drew up and Audrey tumbled out, flushed and eager, a new Audrey. And Rollo jumped out, too, proud, boyishly excited. He put his arm round Audrey in a possessive way, and she stood looking up at him.

Romantic Interest in Rural Background.

(Copyright).

“Oh!” said Phyl feebly, and Audrey laughed and blushed. “Don’t look so surprised.” It was Rollo who spoke. “We’ve—just Jound out.”

“Nearly too late!” broke in Audrey. “But not quite!” Rollo beamed. “Phyl, darling. I didn’t mean to be cross, and I’m so happy. Please forgive me.” Phyl found herself being fervently embraced by Audrey—and she had an idea by Rollo, too! “Of course, I was a pig, too! And wlreire were you ? You did give mjs a fright going off like that.” “Of course, I went to The Knock,” Aulrey sounded surprised Phyl had not guessed, “because oi what you said.”

“Thank you!” said Rollo, with apparent irrelevance. “And do you know I’m starving! I couldn’t eat any supper.” Audrey sounded aggrieved and Phyl laughed. “And I haven’t had any supper at all,” added Rollo, plaintively. “Another meal is indicated.” Phyl was briskly commonplace. Suddenly Audrey caught her arm affectionately. “In a way I feel it’s unfair to you Phyl, leaving you like this. But it wouldn’t bo fair to Rollo else —or to me. And, oh, Phyl, do try to understand we’d be miserable apart.”

“Of course,” nodded Phyl. “And — as I said —I’m awfully glad. I —like this job. You never did. And I don’t mind being alone—l’m an unsociable brute. I’m the Cat that Walked—” “And I won’t bo far away,” Audrey interrupted her eagerly, “Just at The Knock. And we’ll bo over ever so often. Oh Phyl I’m so marvellously happy. I didn’t think anyone could be so happy, it’s almost frightening. I simply can’t find words—” “In spite of which you’ve done most of the talking,” suggested Phyl drily.

She was half amused, half annoyed at their self-absorption. It was only by an effort they could notice her. She thought tiiey only remembered her existence when their conversation threatened to become too personal for an outsider to overhear.

Supper over Rollo stood up. “I’d better push off. I’ve all my unpacking to do,” and he grinned. Audrey jumped up too. “I’ll sec you off,” and they went out together, leaving Phyl to clqir the table and wash up. Neither of them seemed to think of that, which was just like Audrey; but to-nigbt Phyl admitted she had an excuse for absentmindedness.

She did the various jobs alone. But she would get used to being alone and would not mind. Everything finished, she returned slowly to the living-room. “I like being alone,” she had told David that night on the moors, and she had meant it. She flung herself down in one. low armchair and swung her feet up onto the other. She had had a long tiring day, culminating in that scene with Audrey, and she was glad to rest. “She picked up a book, but she did not open it. Instead slie looked round the / pleasant room, with its flowers and its books, its gay civilizes and pale distempered walls. “I’ve got tlie dog and the hooks, I only need the cat and the parrot,”- she remarked aloud, “And I. don’t know what you’d say to them, Micky dear. I’m a born old maid!” But somehow the words so often uttered as<,a simple statement of fact sounded different tonight—as if they were flung out as a challenge. She opened her book and began to read with a deliberate air of concentration as if the book did not jnterest her. And that was odd because she had been absorbed in it. The pages turned more and more slowly and finally ceased to turn. Plivl sat staring out of the uncurtained" window into the wall of blackness • i

Pat and Peter—-Audrey and Kolloall four ridiculously, incredibly happy, absorbed in each other, oblivious of everyone else! Suzanne, poor Suzanne was not happy i was lonely and miserable. Yet even Suzanne bad something she had not . . . Suzanne seemed to have a greater capacity than she had—a capacity to feel and understand—to love, if not to inspire love . . . Should one envy all five? Fancy envying Suzanne! She was sorry for her; but she was glad slie had not got David . . . He could never have been happy with a girl like that—not that he would ever have looked at her, of course . . Her thoughts were a jumble . . . And she did want David to be happy . . . Yet she had sent him away miserable . . . But she must stop thinking about David, it was silly. She had deliberately sent him away because she could not give him what he wanted. And now—did she regret it? She sat motionless. The only sound in the room was Micky’s heavy breathing . . . If facts had to he faced, Phyl faced them, even if the process were unpleasant. Now, alone in the livingroom, she faced new and startling facts. She must get things straight. Why couldn’t she get David Jardyne out of her head ? Why had she turned to him so often during the last few months—counting on him for advice ■and sympathy and friendship? How blind she had been! She had sent him away and now she wanted him back. Friendship? It was more than that but obstinacy and pride had blinded her. She had refused to see the obvious.

Why should she shirk the word Audrey and Kollo gloried in? The word Pat and Peter used so proudly? She loved David Jardyne. Looking hack over the last six months she marvelled at her own blindness. She had laughed at Suzanne for her posing and affectation ; hut she had been no better. She had mado up her mind not to fall in lovci. She had kept up the pose soi long she actually believed in it. When love had come unasked, she had been afraid to take all life offered, although she had begun to feel her present existence, unsatisfying . . . She had been so blind or obstinate that sho could not or would not recognise love . . . Now when she recognised it, it was too late, she had sent David away.

'To be Concluded)