"Her Hidden Husband,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 21 October 1930, Page 7

"Her Hidden Husband,”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

(Copyright).

CHAPTER XII— Continued. Vera ivas playing with the flowers that stood between them on the table. “What was he saying 1 ?" “He was asking someone —it could only have been Markham —where they had come from and where they were going to and then I thought I heard him say—‘Eor God’s sake tell me*who I am l’ ” Vera pulled a rose from the vase and held it to her lips. She was watching Jim out of the corners of her eyes. ‘ ‘ Obviously he’s very much in love, so he’s happy enough, and that’s all that really matters in this world after all — being happy." She sighed. “Yes, but will he make Pete happy? I love her —but I could forget all that and obliterate myself if I was sure she was going to marry the right man.” “Jim’s all right," Vera said softly. “Yes, but supposing in that accident which killed Markham the shock robbed him of his memory. Supposing he has completely lost his identity—doesn’t know where he is going or where he came from. More than that it may have completely changed his character. It’s a ghastly thought to think of Pete Marchmont tying herself for life to him under those conditions. ... I wanted to tell her what I overheard and to warn her, but because I love her myself it didn’t seem like playing the game. But now that you have noticed he’s queer,' too, I think I must."

Jim had got up and was preparing to leave Pete. Vera felt and knew they were talking about her. “No, don’t say anything to her —promise! Leave it to me—l’ll find out." Denny hesitated; Jim was coming towards them. “But supposing I’m right. . . . How did he comes to recognise you 1 ? He wouldn’t have remembered —" Vera gave- him a warning glance as Jim joined them. She got up and laid her hand on his arm. ‘‘ I shall have to hurry or I shall keep the stage waiting." Then to Denny: “You must come and see the new show; I’ll send you a couple of seats. Bring Miss Marchmont with you, Wo could go on to supper afterwards —Jim, you roust come and make a fourth."

They stopped a moment at Denny’s table as they passed and he introduced Pete to Vera. Driving back in the cab to the theatre Vera was silent as if waiting for Jim to take the initiative. He was afraid to speak; he didn’t know what Denny had said to her. He felt utterly lost; once again the world had crashed in ruins beneath his feet. It had been impossible to talk coherently to Pete those few minutes he sat at her table in the restaurant. She had been brave enough—too brave he thought because her calm courage made him wonder whether she really cared. She had advised Him to tell Vera the truth. “But of course if she really loves you it must make no difference and you must marry her, Jim. It will make no difference to my feelings for you. Always, always I shall be your friend. ’ 7

He laughed as he remembered her words; poor consolation! When a man loves a woman, and she offers him friendship it is like adding fuel to the flames of his passion.

He felt Vera lean towards him; the taxi was held up by a block in the traffic. “What’s amusing you, Jim? Tell me the joke. ’ ’

“Life," he said, trying to speak carelessly. ‘ ‘ Strange game, isn’t it, ” “I find it thrilling—more than ever now! ’ ’

“All those people at the restaurant —eating and drinking, laughing and loving—do they really know what they are after and where they are going?" ‘‘Do you?" He started and looked out of the window. The streets blazed with lights; light shone even from the house tops; motor cars and omnibuses stretched in two solid lines as far as the eye could reach. The pavements were a moving mass of people; a newsboy shouted football results and winners; on a news sheet he saw in large black letters: “Divorce Scandal." A church spire gleamed in the light of the full moon. This was the world he had come back to rediscover and to conquer with Pete!

“I’m going to join your world,” lie said slowly. “Don’t know muck about the stage, but I guess it won’t take mo long to learn. Wo might put my savings in the theatre where you could run your own slioiv —something decent.”

She put her aim around his shoulders; he tried to respond but ho couldn ’t —liis heart and his thoughts were at the restaurant with Pete and Denny They were going on to dance; they would move in one another’s arms beneath lowered lights to the tend'er music of the waltz. Denny would discover she was free and make love to her. She was made for love . . •

The traffic began to move forward again, as the taxi started it threw Vera closer to him. ‘ ‘ Are you sure you still love me, Jim? IPs asking rather a lot to expect you to remain faithful for ten years.” He didn’t reply. “That girl, Pete Marchmont, who came over on the Malaya with you —I’m sure if I’d been a man I should have fallen for her. It must be so romantic, too, on board ship. Weren’t you fascinated?”

Here was his chance to tell her, but while he hesitated the taxi drew up outside the stage door of the theatre. “Oh, we had a flirtation, but that’s all over now. I told her all about you this evening. ’ ’

“Darling,” she said, and put up her face to be kissed. “We must be sure of ourselves, mustn’t we, before we take the fatal step. Look at me, Jim

BY ARTHUR APPLIN. (Author of “The Dangerous Game," “The Greater Claim," “The Woman Who Doubted," etc).

—I haven’t really and truly seen you yet. ’ ’ He boro her gaze calmly though he knew there was no response in his eyes. He told her he would ring her up in the morning. Ho wanted her to go quickly; ho wanted to get back to the club where he could be alone and think —no one knew him there and no one cared for him; ho could hide. At any moment now he felt other ghosts from the forgotten past might rise up to meet and claim him. “Tell me you love me, Jim.” He said it as if repeating a lesson. “I love you, Vera’.” She stretched out her hand to open the taxi door but stopped. “Why do you call me Vera?" He hesitated, stammered; hadn’t he he always called her by her Christian name ? She smiled as she closed the door. “It doesn’t matter —but I was never Vera to you before —always Vicky, even in your letters. Good-night, dear." He watched her disappear through the stage door then told the cabman to take him to the Oriental Club. CHAPTER XIII.

Vera Carvick went through her performance badly that evening at the Ingenue Theatre; forgot her lines; kept the stage waiting. The manager came round and asked her what was wrong, for no matter how she felt she had never allowed her work to suffer before.

“In love, I expect," she said lightly. “That ought to buck you up —unless you ’re in love with the wrong man. ’ ’ “A woman always is, isn’t she?” Vera retorted.

She felt curiously lonely, driving back to her flat after the show —reaction probably after the excitement of meeting her old lover again. She laughed as she undressed, remembering that Jim hadn’t seemed very loverlike; ho hadn’t seemed like Jim. Before getting into bed she sat in front of the mirror and studied her reflection; without paint or powder, the short hair of her neatly shingled head brushed off her forehead she still looked attractive. She hadn’t changed, didn’t look any older. Success had added to her charm and fascination, given her something she perhaps lacked before. No, it was not she but Jim who was different. . .

Now that she was alone she could consider him calmly and dispassionate)y, and she felt a little frightened at the thoughts that came to her. She unlocked her bureau and took out his letters. They were tied together with blue ribbon . . . absurdly romantic, she thought, with the first touch of bitterness she had ever known. She read, the last letter dated only two months previously, very short, for he had always been a man of few words:

Darling Vicky,—This is to give you rather startling news. We have about finished our job out here and will be coming home almost any time. Terrific — w ou’t it be —seeing you and England again! It’s some time since you wrote, but that doesn’t make any difference for I know you will be just the same. There is just a chance Markham may have to leave me behind to look after the estates if the Englishman he’s engaged as manager doesn’t turn up. But I don’t think this is likely —a 'great chap, Markham, you’ll love him. Shan’t write again but hope to take you by surprise, so lie prepared to see me' walk in one day and hug the life out of you. So glad you’re making a success! —Yours till the crack of doom, Jim. P.S. Won’t it be wonderful running about London together again? That Jim was all right. The man who had sat in her dressing-room and looked at herewith curious far-away eyes wasn’t Jim. He hadn’t hugged her to death; he’d even forgotten to call her Vicky, and after writing that letter he had got engaged to another girl coming over on the boat! Yet Vera didn’t feel jealous. She almost wished she did, but one couldn’t feel jealous of a stranger, and as she lay in her bed vainly trying to sleep, that was how Jim now appeared to her. She remembered what Denny told her about the accident. She could imagine the shock of it and his friend’s death affecting his mind and his memory, but it was inconceivable that it could completely change his personality.

She waited impatiently for him to telephone her next morning, at the same time hoping he wouldn’t, for now, under the cold, calm influence of daylight she was certain there was some mystery surrounding Jim King, and she wanted to unravel it before she committed herself further. The only two people who could help her were Denny and Pete Marelnnont. She was at the point of getting Denny on the telephone when the bell rang and Jim’s voice came to her over the wire: “Is that Vicky?” Yes—but you’d better stick to Vera —it comes more natural to you, Jim. I thought you were going to forget to ring mo up.” (To be Continued').