Before the Fact Page 13

  Lina did not weaken.

  “Oh, yes. I know it’s impossible. That sort of thing can’t go on. I mean to divorce him.”

  Joyce nodded sympathetically, satisfied.

  “But the awful thing is that I still love him,” Lina added mournfully. “He’s my child.”

  Joyce snorted. “Lina! Don’t be so flatulent.”

  2

  Lina met Ronald Kirby at a studio party in Kensington.

  It was not the sort of party that Joyce would have dreamed of going to on her own account. Since Cecil had made his name, Joyce had become very particular about the parties she let him attend. A mixed gathering of artists and second-rate writers would not have been considered for a moment.

  Lina had not at all wanted to go.

  It was to be a silly party, with all the guests dressed as children; and Lina thought that, in her circumstances, it would be too dreadful. But Joyce had insisted. It would be good for her. It would take her out of herself. Besides, it might even be amusing. So Lina, too dispirited to resist, had allowed herself to be persuaded into an abbreviated red-and-white check frock and tied a large bow in her hair and felt rather ridiculous. Even the sight of Cecil, melancholy in black velvet knickers and a Lord Fauntleroy collar, but prepared to suffer so much for her sake, failed to cheer her. Joyce of course looked quite charming and about nineteen in rose-pink taffeta.

  There was a great deal to drink, and it was not long before Lina began to feel guiltily glad that they had come.

  She recognized, with surprise, that though they ought to be doing nothing of the sort, her spirits were beginning to rise. She began to forget, for quite long intervals, that she was a betrayed wife and a bruised soul, and remembered only that this impossible party actually was rather amusing. She knew she was drinking too much, but that was deliberate: a gesture of contempt and defiance towards the profligate Johnnie. She toyed with the idea of getting quite drunk and being disgraced.

  As Joyce had said, the party comprised a mixed lot. Mixed parties are not usually successful, but this one was. They all seemed to know each other, and everyone was cheerful. Except for Cecil, no one was in the first class and so had no dignity to keep up. The host designed posters, and his wife wrote serials for the newspapers. Lina felt proud of being the sister-in-law of the most distinguished man in the room.

  First they stood about in groups and talked, then there was dancing, and after that they played nursery games. It really was rather fun. Somewhat jovial versions of Hunt the Slipper, Oranges and Lemons, and Blind Man’s Buff were performed, and then someone suggested Hide-and-Seek in the dark. The suggestion appeared popular. The host shepherded the men into another room, and all the women put one of their shoes in the middle of the floor. Then each man appeared in turn and chose a slipper, whose owner was to be his partner for hiding. Lina felt quite excited as she watched a tall, dark man who had not yet been introduced to her pick out her slipper.

  “That’s mine,” she whispered to Joyce. “Who is he?”

  “Ronald Kirby,” Joyce whispered back. “Black-and-white artist. I’ve met him. Quite nice, but enthusiastic.”

  Lina knew his work. He drew funny little men in absurd plights for Punch and other humorous papers.

  Joyce just had time to introduce them before she too was claimed.

  Kirby looked at Lina with a smile which she instantly thought one of the most attractive she had ever seen, a real smile that embraced his gray-green eyes just as much as his rather pronounced but sensitive mouth.

  “I say,” he said confidentially, “I believe I know a really good place, but it’s rather a scramble to get there. Are you game to try it?”

  “Yes, let’s,” said Lina at once.

  They stood together for a moment, while the last men drew their partners, and then all the lights were put out. Kirby took Lina’s hand and drew her confidently into the darkness.

  She felt pleasingly excited.

  Kirby led her up the stairs that rose from one end of the studio. Bodies bumped into them and were bumped by them, the air was full of hissing whispers, cigarettes glowed here and there. It was exhilaratingly mysterious. The really good place proved to be actually in a neighbouring roof. They had to climb out of an upstairs window and cross a few feet of leads, and there was a little door into a gabled roof.

  “Isn’t it rather dirty?” suggested Lina, peering into the blackness inside.

  “No, there’s a mattress to sit on, and I brought these.” He showed two or three cushions which he had caught up as they passed through the studio. “I know this cubbyhole. It’s the private resort of our host. But we’ll have to talk in whispers, because it’s over someone else’s rooms. Or would you rather go back?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t. It’s most exciting.”

  Kirby struck a match, and Lina saw the mattress stretched across the rafters. She sat down, and there was room for her feet where the level swept down to the door. Kirby closed the door and sat down beside her.

  Lina’s heart began to beat rather more quickly, though she did not quite know why. It was an adventure, in a way, sitting there in the darkness beside a strange young man.

  “And what will you do if our host comes and demands his private resort?” she giggled, her glass clutched in her hand.

  “I’ve latched the door on the inside,” Kirby whispered simply.

  “Oh!”

  They sat for a moment in silence.

  “You know, Mrs. Aysgarth, I chose your slipper on purpose.”

  “Did you?” Lina was conscious of a little flutter.

  “Yes. I knew that old game, so as soon as hide-and-seek was suggested I had a good look at your shoes.”

  “Really?” Lina was too unsophisticated to hide her pleasure. “Why?”

  “I thought you looked so nice.”

  Lina did not answer. She was not used to compliments, especially on her looks, and generally they embarrassed her; she felt them to be insincere. But this one had been so simply spoken that she believed it. He really had thought she looked nice. It was balm to her, after Johnnie’s brutal words.

  She put her glass down beside her, clasped her hands round her knees, and leaned gratefully against her companion. The movement was instinctive. Her usual self-consciousness, which scrutinized every action before she made it, had been dispelled by the drink she had taken.

  “What did you think when you saw who’d chosen it? Were you disappointed?”

  Lina knew nothing about the art of flirting. “No,” she said clearly. “I was glad.”

  “You darling!”

  The next instant Kirby’s arm was round her, he had taken her chin in his hand, and was kissing her mouth.

  It was so sudden that Lina was taken completely by surprise. She had expected perhaps a little verbal sparring, possibly even a tentative hand on her waist, which she would instantly shake off; but nothing more. Kirby’s kisses astonished her.

  They astonished her out of her senses: for the next thing that Lina realized was that she was returning them more fiercely than they were being bestowed on her.

  “You sweet thing,” Kirby muttered, holding her so closely to him that the thumping of his heart against her breast was almost the first thing that reached her returning consciousness.

  She tore herself away from him. “I’m not – I’m not,” she cried distractedly. What in heaven’s name had happened to her? Had she suddenly gone quite mad?

  Johnnie was standing now like a spectre at her elbow.

  “Hush!”

  Masterfully Kirby put his arm round her again, and drew her to him. She resisted half-heartedly, and that only for a moment. She wanted to be kissed again; wanted it desperately.

  He did kiss her, gently.

  “Do you know,” Lina heard herself saying, in a strangely detached voice, “that was the first time I’ve let anyone kiss me since I was married?”

  “Is it?” Kirby’s voice was caressing, but it had no conviction. Quite obvio
usly he did not believe her. And how could he, when she had just kissed him like that?

  “Yes,” she said flatly; and realized, with impotent annoyance, that she was beginning to cry.

  At first Kirby did not notice her tears.

  Lina lay limp against him, as she concentrated on trying to check the tell-tale sobs and heavings. Then her wet cheek, as he brushed it with his, gave her away.

  “I say – you’re crying.” His voice was dismayed.

  Lina shook her head violently. “No, I’m not.” She tried to force a laugh.

  “But you are. Your cheeks are wet.” He felt them gingerly with the tips of his fingers.

  “I’m not – I’m not!”

  She gave way and collapsed on his shoulder, her body shaking with sobs.

  In its usual annoying way, alcohol had ceased to exhilarate and become depressing.

  3

  Lina had told Kirby everything.

  Encouraged by his kindness, she had poured out all Johnnie’s unfaithfulness, at first interspersed with tears and then indignantly.

  Kirby was very sympathetic. His understanding surprised Lina. Complete stranger though he was, she felt that he was the first person who had adequately grasped what she was suffering. His condemnation of Johnnie was no less indignant than her own, although only this one side of Johnnie’s rascality had been imparted to him.

  “It’s a damned shame,” he kept repeating. “A really nice person like you. God knows there are few enough nice women in the world. He must be a plain idiot, your husband. Hurry up and divorce him and find someone who’ll appreciate you. It’s a damned shame.”

  “But you don’t know me,” Lina had to protest. “I may not be at all nice, really.”

  “You’re a darling,” Kirby declared, and sounded as if in his opinion there could be no possible doubt about that.

  Lina felt immensely soothed.

  Kirby kissed her, and stroked her hair, and went on telling her how nice she was, and how he had been attracted to her all the evening from the very first moment of seeing her, and how impatiently he had been waiting for hide-and-seek so that he could choose her slipper, and how much nicer she was now he knew her than he had even imagined before, and what a damned shame it all was. Lina found it most heartening to believe him. After all, she was quite nice; and it was a damned shame.

  Then she discovered that they had been sitting up there for an hour and twenty minutes.

  “An hour and twenty minutes!” she repeated, horrified. “We must go down at once.”

  “There’s no hurry, dear.”

  “Indeed there is. An hour and twenty minutes! Really! What on earth will they be thinking?”

  “What does it matter what they think? You hardly know anyone here, and your sister certainly won’t mind. As a matter of fact, I don’t suppose we’ve been missed at all.”

  The nervous exasperation seized her which opposition always provoked. “Don’t be so absurd. Of course we’ve been missed. We must go down at once. Please open the door.” Nerves made her voice sharper than she intended or realized.

  “Oh, certainly, if you’re so anxious to go.” Kirby spoke stiffly, obviously hurt.

  He opened the door.

  Oh, dear, now I’ve annoyed him, Lina thought.

  What was it that made her use that tone when she didn’t really mean it? She must stop herself. But why couldn’t he see that she didn’t mean it? Why must all men behave just like children?

  She was very contrite, because she ought to have realized by this time that men do behave like children and are just as easily hurt.

  On the leads she caught his arm. “I’m sorry I spoke like that. It was horrid of me. You’ve been so sweet to me. Thank you, Ronald. But we must go down, really.”

  She held up her face to him, wondering at herself as she did so. Was this really she, offering her kiss to a man she had not known for a couple of hours? But the gesture had seemed completely natural.

  Kirby’s irritation, responsive as it had been to her own, was soothed at once.

  Lina hurried down the passage and into the bedroom where the women had left their things, to repair her face. The sight of her childish frock in the mirror quite startled her, it seemed so ludicrously incongruous with her recent emotions. But that’s how things are, she reflected, as she refixed the bow in her hair with rather unsteady hands; the comic mask so often has a tragic face underneath it; where would the films be if it hadn’t?

  Nobody seemed to have missed her and Kirby. Lina’s self-consciousness as she came down the stairs with the feeling that a hundred eyes were glued on her was quite unnecessary. Only Joyce caught her eye as she swung past in the arms of her partner and drooped her own eyelid in knowing salute.

  They were dancing in the studio now, and Kirby was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. He took her without a word, and guided her onto the floor.

  “You shouldn’t,” she smiled, as she moved into his arms. “Let me dance with someone else first.”

  He looked down into her eyes. “Do you think now I’ve found you I’m going to let you go?”

  A thrill raced through Lina from head to foot.

  For perhaps the first moment since she had met Kirby, Johnnie was completely forgotten.

  4

  “And how did you get on with Ronald Kirby?” Joyce asked, when they got home in the not-so-small hours of the morning.

  “I liked him.”

  “I thought you did,” Joyce said comfortably.

  She asked no more.

  CHAPTER X

  The next morning Joyce gave Lina more information about Ronald Kirby. She passed it over very casually, as if it were really of no importance at all.

  “I don’t know him well, of course; he’s not in our lot; but I like what I do know of him. He’s one of the few in that feeble artistic crowd who seemed really solid. He’s never taken over anyone else’s wife, or handed one of his own on to another man. And for an artist, he’s intelligent.”

  “Aren’t artists intelligent?” Lina asked innocently.

  “Of course they’re not. Most of them haven’t got the brains of a mouse. They just have this odd knack of being able to put things on canvas, and that’s all. They’re the dullest of all the creators. Musicians are the nicest: you never hear a creative musician talk about himself at all. Then the really good authors. They don’t thrust their work down one’s throat; they’ve no need to. Then the second-rate authors, who do, and have. And then the painters, a long way bottom.”

  “Oh!” said Lina.

  “But Kirby has got brains. He might have a future too. He’s beginning to make quite a name with his portraits now. That’s what he’s really interested in, of course. His black-and-white stuff is only pot-boiling.”

  “I didn’t know he went in for serious painting at all. He never told me.”

  “That’s just what I mean,” Joyce said. “Well, he does. He paints nothing but women’s portraits, and more unflatteringly than anyone else. He really is clever. He can show up his sitters more cruelly on a bit of canvas than Cecil could in a twenty-page description. Cigarette?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, of course. I never can remember you don’t smoke.”

  “But does he ever get any commissions, then?” Lina wondered.

  Joyce laughed. “My dear, you really are refreshing. They love it.”

  2

  At tea-time Kirby rang Lina up and asked her to dine with him that evening. She refused at first, and then accepted.

  “Where shall I meet you?”

  “Well, what sort of place do you like?” Kirby asked.

  “I don’t mind a bit.”

  “A nice place full of chattering women, with little pink lamps on the tables?”

  “I don’t mind, really. Where do you usually go?”

  “I shall plump for a grill room, if you leave it to me.”

  “I do,” Lina laughed. “So which grill room?”

&nbs
p; They arranged to meet at the Monico, at seven.

  Lina was ten minutes late.

  Kirby jumped up from his chair in the vestibule. “Hullo, I was just getting quite certain that you’d been run over on the way.”

  “I am so sorry,” Lina said penitently. “My bus got held up at every crossroads on the way.”

  “Oh,” said Kirby, “you came by bus?”

  “Yes.”

  Lina noticed that he looked a little surprised. She knew why, and blushed faintly. His voice had held the same note as Joyce’s did when Lina mentioned buses to her. Joyce never went in buses. Lina, who had not got the taxi-mind, always did.

  “Well, let’s go and have a cocktail,” Kirby said magnanimously.

  They went into the lounge.

  Lina was not sure that she wanted anything to drink at all, after last night; what did Ronald think would be best for her? Ronald prescribed side-cars.

  “Well, you extraordinarily nice person,” he smiled at her, as soon as the waiter had gone, “how are you?”

  “I felt a little morning-afterish this morning, but I’m better now,” Lina smiled back, rather nervously.

  She felt a little nervous. Ronald Kirby, in a correct blue suit, might be the same inside it as Ronald Kirby dressed as a sailor boy, but the atmosphere which it produced was not. Lina had difficulty in believing that she had wept on this man’s shoulder last night – and kissed him as eagerly as he had kissed her. It had been an hour’s natural madness, snatched out of the drab sanity of everyday life. What was he going to do about it? What was she going to do about it? She felt too unsophisticated, too provincial, too self-conscious. If he felt self-conscious too, their dinner was bound to be a failure.

  Ronald, however, very evidently felt nothing of the sort. He began to chatter at once about the party and the people who had been at it, about other parties, about anything rather than Lina and her affairs. After a few minutes Lina realized that he had perceived her lack of ease, guessed its cause, and was engaged in remedying it. She smiled at him gratefully. He really was a most understanding person.