Gale Warning (9 page)

“I’ll fight you on your own ground. What else can we do? It’s no good calling Barabbas to come and be killed.”

She made no answer to that, and two minutes later, perhaps, we came to the end of the track above which the coppice stood.

As I had done so often, I took our lunch and her cushion out of the boot: then I climbed, with her behind me, until I came to the trees.

Almost at once I found an agreeable spot, where the ground rose very sharply and then fell flat, to make a natural landing some four yards square. The sun was so hot that only to stand in the shade was refreshing enough; but when I turned – to survey the rolling country, spread out like a map, and, beyond, the glitter of The Channel and, above, the elegant flash that argued an aeroplane, then I saw that, whim or no, I had not wasted our time, because I had brought us both to a perfect dining-room.

But though I piped to my lady, she would not dance, She laid her glasses aside and she ate and drank; but she made no effort to talk, and the scornful look I dreaded was back in her face.

At length I threw in my hand, picked my binocular up and began to rake the country which I had come to know; while she lay supine beside me, her slender ankles crossed and her fingers laced together behind her head, searching the maze of canopies hanging above and watching the higher lattices sway to each idle breeze.

So for perhaps ten minutes. Then I lowered my glasses and got to my feet.

“I shan’t be long,” I said. “I’m going on through the wood to the head of the bluff.”

“To make perfectly sure that the crossroads at Cerf haven’t moved.”

“The answer to that,” said I, “is extremely short. I don’t propose to make it, because it’s extremely rude. But—”

“Don’t be so damned conscientious.”

“Audrey Nuneham,” said I, “you’ve got me wrong. I’ve set my heart on doing a certain thing. Some people might call it murder, but that’s neither here nor there. Now I don’t know how to go about it, except by the way I’ve been shown. It’s a damnably roundabout way – I’ll give you that. But as I know no other, and I want what I want so much, my common sense – not my conscience – is keeping me up to the bit.”

“Very beautiful,” said Audrey. “There is no god but Mansel, and John Bagot is his prophet.”

I leaned against a tree and fingered my chin.

“You’re a difficult girl,” I said. “I can bear the naked truth; but you serve the damsel up in her underclothes. And that’s embarrassing.”

“Then you stop trotting her out in an angel’s kit – one bare foot and a face and a shapeless robe.”

“I was nicely brought up,” said I.

“God knows you were,” said Audrey. “And God knows what it must cost you to muck in with me like this. Your bishop will never believe it was all OK.”

“He would,” said I, “if he saw that look on your face.”

“What d’you expect – darling? We’re not on parade.”

I sighed.

“‘At times like this,” said I, “I could wish we were.”

“Only at times like this? I’m much obliged.”

“All the time,” said I. “Scratch the curate, you know, and you find the man.”

“How nice for you,” said Audrey. “And what about me?” She sat up and smacked the turf. “Don’t be so damned self-centred.”

“That’s rather hard,” said I. “You wring the truth out of me: and then, when you’ve got it, you rub my nose in it.”

Audrey expired.

“Will you try, for one boring moment, to look at this show with my eyes? My aim is the same as yours – to put Barabbas to death. Like you, I am offered a very roundabout way. I think there are better ways; but, because I was born a woman, I cannot take them alone. And, as no one will take them with me, I have to do as I’m told and go by the roundabout way.

“Now ‘roundabout’ is your word. No doubt you chose it because it means ‘merry-go-round.’ But I don’t see it that way. I’m very fond of the country – I always was. But the countryside is your
job
. And you can get all worked up about some blasted contour that I only pretend to see in order to keep you quiet. And so there are many times when what is a joy-ride to you makes me want to scream. And that, my little friend, is only one side of the coin.”

“I know the other, my dear.” With my eyes on hers, I sat down on the turf at her feet. “You showed it to me in Paris. And please believe that I’ve done my very best—”

“You don’t know this. On the plane you met at Le Bourget were a couple of women I knew.”

“Oh, my God,” said I, and put a hand to my head.

“Don’t think I care,” flamed Audrey. “The game’s the thing. But when you prate about duty—”

“I don’t. I haven’t. But, oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have—”

“You set the pace,” said Audrey: “and what the hell can I do? If I don’t keep up, I’m keeping the good man down. Fourteen hours a day! I want to let up sometimes. But, if I do, I’m letting the old side down. Side? Troupe. If Plato could only see us, he’d laugh till he couldn’t stand up.”

“Be fair,” I pleaded. “Be fair. I’ve taken things for granted, but that’s because I’m a fool. I’ve had my eyes on the job, when I ought to have had them on you. But that’s not all my fault. If ever I’ve tried to spare you, you’ve always caught my arm.”

“I don’t want charity. I’m ready to do my bit. But can’t you possibly see that if you’d let up sometimes, it’d give a girl a chance?”

I swallowed.

“My dear,” I said, “aren’t you setting a pace of your own? There is no earthly reason why you should run level with me. After all, I’m the tougher vessel, because of my sex. Let Bell come out with me every other day.”

“Whilst I sit still at the villa – and wait for the telephone-bell? What a truly shining prospect! Can’t you get this, John Bagot?
I want to relax
. Not to be left in the kennel to shift for myself.”

“Then, go on leave,” said I. “God knows you’ve done your bit. No woman on earth could have—”

“How do you know? You know as much of women as you do of the Khyber Pass.”

“I’ve learned a bit,” said I, “in the last six weeks. But that’s by the way. Why shouldn’t you go on leave? There’s nothing the matter with Paris; and you could be back in three hours.”

“Dear God,” said Audrey. And then, “Do I look that sort? The bachelor-girl on the loose?” She looked me up and down. “You know, if ever you marry, you’ll have to have police protection within the week. Or else your wife will break down and go out of her mind. No, no, dear friend, don’t send me to Paris alone. I mean, if I could have Bell – I’m sure he’s been nicely brought up. Of course that would let the side down, and I should forfeit my right to the old school tie, But, perhaps, ‘the tougher vessel’ would carry on. Out and about in the morning, just to see that the B in Boulogne is still in its place. Then home to lunch, in case the scout-master rings up – to say that Plato’s chauffeur’s been washing his car. Then out again, to—”

“Leave it there,” said I. “You’ve whipped me enough. I’m sorry to be such a fool, but I’m made that way. I was shown the road to take, and I’ve just been blinding along and thinking of nothing else. I’ve been thankful to have you with me—”

“Thankful?”

“Proud and thankful and happy – and more than that. But now I see that I haven’t been fair to you. I’ll write to Mansel tonight and tell him we’re getting stale and so we’re going to Paris for two or three days.”

“I don’t have to go to Paris. I only want to let up. Breakfast at ten – for a change. And sometimes, when we go out, to go as we please and think about something besides the lie of the land. Since my reputation is dead, we might have a wake at Dieppe – dine and dance, or something, and see the dawn come up from the other end of the day.”

“It shall be done,” said I, and got to my feet. “As we’re here, I’ll check up on those crossroads, and then I’ll knock off.”

Audrey sat very still.

“Can you play backgammon?” she said.

“My favourite game,” said I, but I did not say where I had learned it. I had played with George at Peerless, on many a winter’s night.

“There’s a board in the car,” said Audrey.

“What a girl,” said I. “Above all, what an English girl. Bang in the great tradition. Fancy throwing dice on a hill-top, somewhere in France.” I glanced at my wrist. “Give me ten minutes’ grace, my lady. I’ll run all the way.” And, with that, I picked up my glasses and took to my heels.

The wood was thicker through than I had believed, but, as I was certain it would, it came to a sudden end at the head of a bluff.

Looking west, I could see down my gully, as I had hoped; but from where I stood I could only see Cerf itself, and not the crossroads, which lay to the south of the village by forty or fifty yards.

At once I began to move along the edge of the trees, and after perhaps twenty paces, the junction for which I was looking came into my sight. This was to my great relief, for, folly or no, I had added a valuable viewpoint to those I had. The coppice was easy to reach and the view which it offered was clear: and when you are watching someone who must not suspect your game, it is very much wiser to do it from four miles off.

I made my way back to our aerie in very good cue, for if we were to take our ease for the rest of the day – and I must confess I liked the idea very well – at least we had ended our work on a very high note.

I went so fast that I had no time to reflect – to be perfectly honest I did not want to reflect – upon a post-prandial communion I had not at all enjoyed. The storm was over, and that was enough for me. My lady had been out of humour, and now was appeased.

But when I came to where I had left her, she was not there: and when I looked down for the Lowland, the car was gone.

And then I saw a page from my note-book, lying where I had been standing, at the foot of a tree.

Its legend went straight to the point:
You had been warned.

If I cannot defend my lady, I cannot defend myself. A man with the sense of a louse would have played backgammon first, and afterwards walked to the bluff to look at the view. But, because I had no such sense, I had let her wait upon a business of which I knew she was sick. And that was the straw which had broken the camel’s back.

It was true – I had been warned. But having no ears to hear, I had not heard the warning – with this result.

Audrey was gone…with the car. And the nearest town was Dieppe, some seven miles off.

I did not at all mind walking the seven miles – for, though there were villages nearer, Dieppe was the nearest place at which I could charter a car. But I could not cover the distance in very much less than two hours, and I did not like the idea of Audrey’s driving alone on the open road. I hoped and prayed she had had the good sense to go home. But out of her present mood God only knew what folly might not arise. And she was far too attractive and far too attractively dressed to leave the car unescorted by some cavalier.

Once this pregnant reflection had entered my head, I began to imagine vain things and to picture my darling beset by somebody stronger than she, whilst I was out of her ken and so unable to help her in her adversity. This brought the sweat on to my face, and when I put up my glasses to search what roads I could see, my hands were trembling so much that I had to lie down on the ground and hold the binocular steady against the root of a tree. But labour and time were lost, for I saw no sign of the car, so I got to my feet and put the glasses away and then struck out for Dieppe as fast as I could. I went, of course, across country, as being the quickest way, aiming to strike the main road at a point three miles from the coppice, where four ways met. In the ordinary way, this would have been a profitable exercise, but I had no eyes for the country or for the roads I crossed, for all I could think of was Audrey and Audrey’s lovable ways.

I felt no resentment at all for what she had done. I could only remember how sweet and how splendid she was and what it must have cost her, on that afternoon at Le Bourget, to play to such perfection the part she had promised to take. And then, for more than a month, she had laboured early and late with all her might – and that at an enterprise of which nine men out of ten would have tired in less than a week. She had put her hand to the plough – a hand by no means fitted for such an implement: and until this afternoon she had never looked back. She had never spared herself: and I, who should have spared her, had taken all she gave as a matter of course. Look at it how you will, she had been in my charge; and I had made no allowance for the time-honoured way of a maid.

Looking back, I think the truth is that, though I scourged myself as I stumbled across the fields, I was not so much to blame as I then assumed. I had kept my eyes upon the duty which I had been set and had favoured a discipline which Audrey had come to observe. But this I had done not only for duty’s sake. Placed as I was, I had been afraid to ‘let up.’

I was in love with Audrey, and Audrey was at my disposal from morning to night. I had her all to myself for the whole of each day – a privilege, I think, for which a great many rich men would have given as much as they had. We were living on intimate terms and our quarters were very close, and we were posing as lovers – for such as had eyes to observe. Yet, I was not her lover. And though, perhaps, some men would have tried their luck, opportunism so flagrant was more than I could digest.

So something had to be done.

By keeping my nose to the grindstone, I left myself no time to think about love. At least, that was the idea – the method in my madness, a word I can fairly use. For I was mad about Audrey: and that is the downright truth.

I had struck the highway within a very short distance of where I had meant to arrive and was pelting along the tarmac as hard as ever I could, when I breasted a sudden hillock to see the Lowland before me, a quarter of a mile away. The car was standing still by the side of the road.

My first emotion was one of intense relief: but, as I drew near, I saw that the car was empty, and when I came up at a run, there was no sign of Audrey and nothing whatever to tell me which way she had gone.

With this, my worst apprehensions came back in a flood, and I went about the car in a frenzy, searching for traces of a struggle within and without. But, though I could find no such signs, I was not comforted, for to my disordered mind this only went to show that the scene of my darling’s abduction was somewhere else.