The Last Kiss of All

Evening Star, Issue 20982, 22 December 1931, Page 6

The Last Kiss of All

By PHYLLIS HAMBLEDON

"In, feet,”- said Bob Ledingham, jwith no expression at all in his voice, ff. you’re trying to tell me that it’s all off.” " My dear Bob,” said Nan lightly, i" don’t you think it was a pity it was lever on?”

Absent-mindedly, she pulled the plush leap on the little velvet manikin who lolled beside her on the sofa. Alphonse was its name, and it represented only one of her not unattractive absurdities.

Bob had just brought her, back from the dance club they visited once or twice a week.

In the ordinary way he would have kissed her fingers ■ respectfully and affectionately half an hour ago, and would have, departed to his. rooms over a garage. But to-night Nan had delayed him, with her unexpected sugand here they were at 2 a.m. discussing their future, or rather what was not ,to be their future after all.

" You see,” went on Nan, “ you see, my dear, we’ve been going on like this for just five years; We’ve played a little, danced a little, flirted a little, and loved a little, too. But we’ve got no forrarder, and, personally, I’m beginning to think of the future. I’m twenty-five, and my face is my fortune—rather ;a' risky one at that. I found my first grey hair only this morning. And you’ve still not invented your non-choking carburettor,, and I’ve still not painted the picture of the year. We’re both of us expensive, but delightful. luxuries. Suited only to the purses of the very rich. I’m sure you’d find some heiress from the Midlands who’d be charmed, to pay your golf subscription and keep you in cigarettes. Well, I’ve found a millionaire from Lancashire who’d he delighted to give me all that he hath—and then some!”

“I see,” said Bob. He lit a cigarfette carefully before he spoke again. “ Anybody I know?” he said at last. “ You must have heard of him,” said Nan airily. ■ “ His name is Simon tWalsh.” ■ “ Curiously enough, I haven’t.” “ Oh, my dear, I’m afraid, .then, you don’t go where money is. He’s a cotton king, a shipping king, and a jute king all rolled into one. That’s what he looks, like, too. Not a king, I mean, but rolled!’’ “ Doesn’t sound too attractive,’! said Boh laconically. “ People who make money are rarely attractive. It’s the impecunious ones who have the charm to compensate—like you and me, Simon has a castle in Scotland; cottage, with three bathrooms, on the Thames; and a yacht at Cowes. Incidentally, he’s going to the Barings for Christmas, and so am I. No doubt he will then ask the question I have so' far successfully staved off. Well, I don’t mean to stave it off any more, and that’s why I want to say good-bye to you. It’s so much better tp start again, without encumbrances.”

“ Bury the horrid past and burn the letters?” suggested Bob. “ Exactly—only there aren’t any letters.” “ No. We’ve seen each other too often for correspondence to be necessary. I’ve got one of yours, though, now I think of it. It begins: ‘ Bob, you beast!’ and ends: - I’ll hate you , for ever, Nan.’ ” ' • That was after you said my picture bf the Embankment looked like the end of the world,” said Nan reminiscently. A smile flickered about her lips that belied rather oddly the tear in her eye. “ It’s nice of you to take it so falnly, Bob, idear.” “ Not at all,” Bob answered politely. You say you’re going to the Barings for Christmas. I’ll take you down, if you like. I’m spending Christmas at my cottage, arid their place is only five miles away.” ‘‘Your cottage? What cottage?” “ I meant to tell you, only you were so occupied with more important things. . My aunt in Hampshire has died, and left me her cottage.” “Capitalist!” murmured Nan, and then: “ Won’t you find it awfully quiet, all by yourself?” “Not a bit. My sister’s coming too.” “Still, even then! Sisters are sisters, but there they end. You pointed out the cottage to me once, I remember—on the very edge of no;where.” >

“ You called it a place for a honeymoon. I think,” said Bob. “ How young I was then!” said Nan pensively. ‘ 1 Simon and I will go to a big hotel.” ‘‘How nice!” said Bob blandly. Then he asked, with a slip of his former nonchalance: “That drive down, Nan —what do, you say to it?” “It would save me railway fares, and I do hato travelling third,” said Nato. “‘The Last Ride Together.’ Very well, Bob.” “A week to-day, then—Christmas Eve. I’ll be getting on now.” " I suppose it is somewhere near bedtime,” agreed Nan. He stooped and raised her hand to his lips. She lifted her face. He might have been surprised if he had seen the tender expression in her 'eyes, but he didn’t. A moment later the studio door had slammed behind him Nan looked at Alphonse with startled eyes. “ Did you really think he’d take it like that?” she whispered. Alphonse only leered blandly, and refused to answer.

It was early afternoon on Christmas Eve when he called for her in his ancient two-seater. She stood outside the studio, waiting for him, as alluring a picture of the perfect Christmas guest as one could imagine- Into her fur coat she had pinned a sprig of holly. Alphonse lolled in the crook of her arm. From tip of velvet cap to crocodile shoes, she was delicious. She slid into the driving seat beside him and put an ungloved hand over his.

“Fun, Bob!” she said ecstatically. “As long as it' doesn’t snow too hard. It looks rather like it.”

“ Bob, you always were incurably, matter-of-fact. As if one oughtn’t to have snow at Christmas time!”

With dancing eyes she watched the signs of Christmas as they passed upon their way. Already the lights «cue lit, and every_ shop window held its cargo of glittering trifles. Motors, laden with rosy, happy children, their arms full of parcels, threaded their way between the crowded buses The pavements were thronged with gay and smiling Shoppers. Presently they left the long green lane of the Park behind them. They passed a group of stalls with flaming naphtha lights, skimmed through Ealing, sedate and a little self-conscious, till they reached the river again, and after the river the country. The snow was falling faster now, but in Bob’s two-seater they were snug and warm. For a while they prattled of the most trivial things; presently, however, the conversation topji a more personal note?,

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" Do you remember what fun we had last Christmas, Bob?”

“Rather. We played hide-and-seek at the Gibsons, didn’t wo?” “Doesn’t it seem absurd? We’re too old for hide-and-seek now.” “ Far ; too old. Will it be the castle or the cottage or the yacht next year, Nan?”

“Oh, the castle, by all means! A castle at Christmas time must feel most beautifully baronial. Perhaps you’ll come and see us there?” “If you’re not too proud, perhaps you and your husband-will visit us at our' . cottage instead,”- said Bob serenely. Nan looked startled. “Ds?” she murmured.

“ Living in a cottage isn’t much of a catch if one is alone,” said Bob. ■ “ No, 1 suppose not,” Said Nan. A pause. “Is she pretty?”- she ventured. “ Very pretty,” said Bob.

Another pause. , “I don’t believe I should like her,” said Nan. ■ ■' >.

“ Oh, I’m sure you would. She’s just your type.” Nan said no more, but clutched Alphonse convulsively. He loked up at her with a cynical grin, as who should say: " Men are all alike. On with the new love before they are off with the old.”- Just then the engine of the car gave an 1 apolgetic cough, and stopped. Bob jumped out with an exclamation of dismay. "What on earth’s the matter?” “ Goodness knows. The plugs, probably. Nan jumped out, too. During the time these two had known each other she had become quite used to the vagaries of the car. After a brief diagnostic examination they discovered that the petrol tank was quite dry. “ Careless of me,” apologised Bob, ruefully. “ Never mind. I always keep a spare tin at the cottage, and it’s only a quarter of a mile away. If we push the beast to the top of the hill, sue’ll roll down quite easily. We’ll have tea at the cottage, fill up the tank, and then I’ll take you to the Barings.”- “ Right!” said Nan. They carried this plan into action. Ten minutes later they reached the cottage, which stood on the fringe of the pine woods. A tall holly-bush stood sentry before it, and, behind, the snowy hills climbed up to meet the sky. One would have said that it came straight out of a Christmas card. Bob pushed open the gate, and led the way up the little path to the apple-green door. They entered a large living room where the firelight glinted on oak beams and white walls and shining brass. Beside the fire a table had been laid for tea, and from the kitchen came the sound of a woman singing softly to herself, and the friendly clatter of dishes; “ Mrs Drabble, who * does - for me,” explained Bob. “ She lives at a farm near by. I’ll tell her we’ve come. My sister can’t have arrived yet. Her room’s at the top of' the stairs. Take your things off there, will you?” He disappeared, and Nan obeyed. She was rather curious to inspect Bob’s cottage.- It had, she thought, more atmosphere of Christmas than ever a baronial castle would have. At the head of the stairs were two rooms—one rather mannish and bleak, without a fire: another with logs burning in a wide grate, and a rose-coloured quilt across the bed. Brushes had been laid out on the dressing table, and there was a big powder bowl. Bob had done his sister rather well, thought Nan. It struck her that Bob was the sort of person who would always do a sister rather well.

Presently she went downstairs again. She held out slim hands to the welcome blaze. On the table she noticed all the things she liked best to oat—gingerbread, with raisins in it, and brown scones and honey. Bob evidently judged his sister’s taste by herself, she reflected. The idea of another girl pouring out tea here next Christmas made her feel unaccountably irritated. Bob came back, carrying the tea tray with him. 1

“ Mrs Drabble was in a hurry to get home,” he explained. “ She’s gone already.” He bent down and kissed her. She responded, oddly touched, The last kiss of all, she thought. Then they sat down and had tea—a friendly tea—better than any other tea they had had together. There was an atmosphere of homo and Christmas about them that made Nan vaguely sentimental. And when tea was over they still lingered. Bob, pulling at his pipe, seemed in no hurry to get on. Nan, letting her cigarette go out, seemed in no hurry either. It was only when the grandfather clock struck that she started to her feet. “Heavens! I’d no idea it was so late. Get the petrol, quick, Bob!” “No hurry. It’s only 5 o’clock.” “ But I said I’d be there at five. : They’ll be sending out a search party. The missing guest—shocking Christmas casualty!” “Oh, no, they won’t!” said Bob. Something in his voice arrested her attention. She stared at him. “What on earth do you mean?”

“The Barings aren’t expecting you at ail, as a matter of fact. Which is as well, as there isn’t any more petrol.” “'Not expecting me! But they are!” “No. You see, 1 telephoned them this morning that you t were down with ’flu, and wouldn’t be able to come.” “What!” She faced him with scarlet cheeks.

“Bob, what are you playing at?” “Quite an old game, my dear. I’ve kidnapped you—that’s all.” And, as she looked at him speechlessly, ho went on talking. “ You didn’t really think I’d Jet you go as easily as all that, did you, Nan? My best girl to a Simon Walsh! He may have a dozen castles, but he won’t get you if I can help it. I may be soft, but I’m not as soft as that. I’ve got you now, and I’m going to keep you till Boxing Day. You can say good-bye for ever then, if you like, but I’ll do my damnedest to persuade you to stay.” “Are you quite mad?” “No—sane at last! I ought to have married you long ago, Nan. I ought to have yanked you by the hair, and taken you to a garret, and made love to you there. I dare swear you’d have liked it! Instead, I waited until 1 should have made enough money to do you proud. You’re a luxurious young person, and I hated the idea of feeding you on kippers, with an occasional sausage on Sundays, Well, that’s where I made my mistake. I’m trying other methods now. I’ve a special license in my pocket, and a cottage instead of a garret to offer you. You’ve all Christmas to think it over. On Boxing Day you can take your choice—marry me, or go back to. Walsh.”

“Do you think he’d have me after I’d spent two days with you?” “He’d never know of them. Nan— I’ve considered your reputation pretty well. There’s no telephone to your studio, so no kind friend can ring up and ask what your temperature is doing. And the snow is already so deep that nobody will think of motoring into town to inquire in person, and there are no trains on Christmas Day, Mrs Drabble hasn’t seen you, and, anyway, she thinks you are my. sister. As foe yourself—you know that you can trust me. You’ve been trusting me off and on for the last five years.” “Which shows bow little I knew you!” flashed Nan. “ You don’t really think that,” Bob said. He came nearer. “Nan, darling, make up your mind that I’ve got you good and tight. I know you love mo at least half as much as I love you. This mercenary streak—it’s not like you. It will pass. I can’t offer you what this Simon Walsh can, but 1 don’t believe he’s one tithe as fond of you. Well, you’ve two days to think it over, Nan!”

For, with a sudden movement, she was past him. She ran up the stairs. She slammed the door behind her with an energy that surely registered rage. But once alone her behaviour was surprising. She caught up Alphonse and waltzed round the room with him.

“He does love me, you cynical old brute!” she told him gleefully. “That stuff about another girl here next Christmas is all eyewash. But, all the same, we can’t stand for this kidnapping business, can we? The question is, what are we going to do?” Alphonse didn’t answer. Nan sat down on the bed and puckered her brows. Suddenly she laughed—then she laughed again. Then she opened the door and went downstairs.

"All right, Bob,” she said meekly. “You’ve got me, I admit. I’ll spend Christmas with you, without expostulation.” “You brick!” cried 'Bob. His face lightened. He didn’t notice the mischievous gleam in Nan’s eyes. “You’ll let mo go on Boxing Day, won’t you?” she asked, still meek. “If you want to. But you won’t! Not farther than the nearest registrar’s office, that is.” " We’ll see about that, Bob,” said Nan, in a tone he didn’i quite understand. A * * * It was Boxing Day, and very early in the morning. Dawn had hardly broken when Bob, looking both wjorn and pallid, appeared at the foot of the stairs.

“Nan!”• he shouted. “ Are you ever getting up?” “Of course I am. darling!” called down Nan, “What’s the hurry?” “Well, the car’s ready, and breakfast is getting cold.” “Dear me,” said Nan, suddenly emerging, “you seem very anxious to get rid of me!” “Well, do you wonder?” “ Not particularly. It has been an unfortunate visit, hasn’t it? Still, you were very anxious to get me, too, weren’t you?” “More fool I! I might have known you’d get your own back.” Nan giggled. She was looking her very prettiest this morning, and as fresh as a rose. She tripped downstairs and sat down at the head of the table and poured out coffee. She passed Bob’s cup. He drank, choked, and uttered some words that were distinctly strong for so early in the morning. “This.is really very like being married,” murmured Nan. “It’s not my idea of being married. You put salt in my coffee instead of sugar.” “Oh, did I? How careless of me! I’m so sorry!” cried Nan, the picture of wifely solicitude. Bob put down his table napkin. “Look here, Nan,” he said, in the voice of one who was with difficulty keeping his self-control. “You needn’t think I don’t see through you, for I do. At first I admit you seemed so sympathetic and innocent that I was misled. I really thought, for instance, on Christmas Eve, that the springs of my bed were broken when it jumped up and hit me in the—well, hit me! When the waits went on singing till 4 o’clock that morning it never occurred to me to suspect you of bribing them. Even at breakfast, when I burnt my fingers on the plate you handed mo, I didn’t realise that you’d made it redhot on purpose, and I kept my temper even when the chicken you offered to cook turned up on the table quite raw.” / “The wing you gave mo was excellent.” said Nan. “ Yes. You must be a good cook, or you wouldn’t have managed that, YouVo shown distinct talent in avoiding the various miserable mischances you’ve plotted for me. Why,” said Bob, wanning to his thejne, “ you still look quite well-fed. I’m faint with hunger. And the plum pudding!” “ It was awfully careless of somebody to put the salad dressing next to the rum sauce,” murmured Nan. “ That wasn’t all. The sitting room fire smoked.”

“ The one in my room didn’t.” ‘ 1 No, that’s why you spent the whole afternoon there. And I got that bottle of Chablis for dinner especially because you liked it. And as soon as you’d filled your glass you knocked over the decanter. Nan, I used to think you were a nice girl—a sweet girl, in fact. I thought, whatever your faults, yon wouldn’t hurt a fly. I never imagined you capable of such petty revenge. 1 envied Walsh. Now I’m positively sorry for him. You can go this morning. I’ll take you over to the Barings myself, and you can tell them any old story you like.”

“ I thought you said there was no petrol?” “ There but I’ve got some from the farm since then.”

“ Isn’t the little darling full of' resource?” inquired Nan of Alphonse. Bob made an inarticulate sound, pushed back his chair, and stalked into the kitchen, where Mrs Drabble had Just arrived. Nan, left to herself, giggled happily. Then her face grew serious. Finally, after making certain that Bob was fully occupied with the story of how Drabble got the pnoumony, she stole out to the garage, whence she returned a moment later, looking distinctly pleased. Presently she came downstairs again, suit-case in hand. “ I’m ready, Bob,” she said meekly. , “All right,” ho muttered. He, too, strode out towards the garage. There was a sound of raucous grunts and grindings. Nan looked at Alphonse and winked vulgarly. Then she sat down by the fire and waited. Presently Bob burst into the room again. “ Nan,” he roared, “ the car won’t start. What have you done to it?” “ Oh, I just took out the plugs,” said Nan. ?

“ But why—why?” he muttered. “ Because I’m not a bit anxious to be sent to the Barings’.” Suddenly she held out her arms. “ Bob, you poor darling, I’vo teased you long enough. Let’s cry pax, and be friends again. After all, we’re quits with the kidnapping. I deceived you disgracefully in the first place. There never was a Simon Walsh. I invented him because I was so tired of just playing. I wanted to begin life in earnest—in a cottage, _ or a garret, or anywhere, as long as it was with you. And I thought if I made you jealous you'd take things seriously, hut it worked all wrong. When you were so

calm that night I told you about Simon, I felt like dying. But when you kidnapped me, 1 felt like living again. For nobody kidnaps an impecunious girl if he’s not rather fond of her. You are rather fond of me, aren’t you, Bob?” He pulled her to him. Somehow Alphonse was dropped to the ground, and lay there utterly disillusioned. An hour later they were out of the cottage and on their way to that registrar’s office. Hand-in-hand they came up that path again the same afternoon. They dosed the apple-green door behind them. Christmas had begun for them at last —the first Christmas of their lives.