They say that when a person is drowning they see their whole life pass before their eyes in the space of two seconds.
I know that when David walked into the room a few minutes ago that’s what happened to me.
Not indeed my whole life, but I saw again everything that had happened that miserable week before he went away.
He was so kind when he drove me back from Bray Park that I felt all our misunderstandings were over.
In some extraordinary way of his own and doubtless by tipping lavishly he got the nightwatchman to wake up a housemaid who packed my clothes. The nightwatchman then brought my suitcases and David’s to the car.
Before that, David had come back to me and told me what he had arranged. He sat in the car beside me and I slipped my hand into his and said,
“Please – forgive me.”
“I have told you already,” he answered, “that I’m the one who needs forgiveness.”
He held my hand very tightly and nothing seemed to matter, not even the fact that I was wearing my dressing gown, which, I realised, would look rather peculiar when I arrived back at the boarding house.
But David solved that problem too. We stopped on our way back to London and he opened my suitcase. He found a dress that had a warm jacket and told me to go into the wood by the side of the road and put it on.
He was so sweet and understanding that I didn’t feel embarrassed and changed behind a tree in the moonlight. Then David packed my nightgown and dressing gown for me and we drove on.
When we arrived at the boarding house, he kissed me gently and said,
“You are tired, Samantha, and you’ve had enough to put up with tonight. Try not to worry about us or anything else. Just go to sleep.”
“When shall I see you?” I asked, knowing that I should have waited for him to say it, but the words were out before I could stop them.
“I’ll pick you up at eleven o’clock,” he answered. “Wear something simple and we’ll go and have lunch somewhere in the country.”
The next day we drove out of London well away from the direction of Bray Park and found an amusing little pub in a small village in the depths of Hertfordshire.
The food wasn’t very good, but I didn’t mind and David didn’t seem to either, and we talked for hours about all sorts of things, except, I remembered afterwards, about ourselves and our love.
It was as if we both knew that was a controversial subject and were determined to avoid a quarrel! But of course, it cropped up again that evening after we had been out to dinner and continued to do so every night.
David wanted me to go back to his flat and I wouldn’t.
I was afraid that, when we arrived there, I would let him make love to me, after which there would be no more need for arguments about whether I should go away with him for the weekend or not.
“Are you afraid of me, Samantha?” he asked, when I refused to do what he wanted.
“I suppose I am,” I replied, “but also of – myself.”
“Can’t you understand,” he said, “that love is so important that we shouldn’t waste it in this ridiculous manner – loving each other and yet not being happy as men and women have been happy since the beginning of time?”
I didn’t answer, but he knew what I was thinking.
“Do you really believe marriage would make us any happier?” he asked savagely. “It’s only because, like all women, you want to put a man in a cage. You want to fence him in as if he was a wild animal and keep him all to yourself. I would get claustrophobia, Samantha, and all the weeping in the world wouldn’t stop me going away if I wanted to.”
“At least I should be your wife,” I said unwisely.
“And what difference would that make?” he asked. “Except of course, I should have to support you financially.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” I said.
“Well, I am!” he answered. “I not only do not want a wife, but I also can’t afford one.”
I looked surprised because, after all, he owns a Bentley and I know, although I haven’t been to his flat, that it is a very expensive block and that he has a manservant to look after him.
As usual David knew what I was thinking.
“I’m making money at the moment,” he said. “Of course I am. But how long will it last? People like me have turned out only a ‘flash in the pan’ before now and the promise of a film may be just ‘pie in the sky’ – who knows?”
All that week I seemed to be suspended between Heaven and Hell.
One moment I would be ecstatically, wonderfully happy because David was sweet to me and I knew he loved me. The next moment he would say something bitingly sarcastic and I would feel utterly despondent and in the depths of misery.
I suppose we were both very much on edge by the time Friday came round and there was the inevitable question hanging over me as to whether I would go away with him or not.
Sometimes he would try to coax me.
“Be sensible, darling,” he would say in that voice which would have charmed a bird out of a tree. “I love you! I’ve never met anyone so utterly and completely fascinating and it’s only natural that you should excite me. I want you to belong to me. I want you all for myself.”
He would kiss me until the world whirled round me and I felt as if we were alone in a Paradise of our own.
Then breathlessly I would have to say,
“No – David! – No!” and come down to earth with a bang!
“Damn you!” he said once. “You’re enough to drive a man to drink!”
I was just going out to get some lunch on Friday when the telephone rang and, as I pulled open the door of the studio, Miss Macey said,
“It’s for you, Samantha.”
I ran back hoping it was David, and it was.
“Listen, Samantha,” he said. “They’re starting the film of my book and I have to go to America. If I hurry I can get on The Queen Mary at Southampton tonight.”
“Tonight?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he replied, “but it’s going to be a rush. Could you be very sweet and pack my things for me? I had no idea this was likely to happen and I’ve given my man the day off.”
“Yes, I will pack for you,” I agreed.
“I’ll telephone the porter and tell him to let you into the flat,” David went on. “You’ll find my suitcases in a cupboard in the hall. I’ll need tails and a dinner jacket.”
“How long will you be away?” I asked in a very small voice.
“I’ve no idea,” he answered. “They have cast the film, it’s definite. Hurry, Samantha, or I shall miss the train from Waterloo.”
I jumped into a taxi and went to his flat.
It was the first time I had seen it and I thought it very attractive with a big red leather sofa and red curtains to match. There were masses of books and the furniture, even to my inexperienced eyes, was antique and obviously valuable.
The bedroom was nice too, if rather severe. I found the suitcases where David said they would be and started to pack his clothes.
Fortunately Mummy had shown me years ago how one should pack for a man with the trousers at the bottom of the case, then the coats, the underclothes and lastly the shirts on top, so that they wouldn’t get crushed.
I thought David’s pyjamas were very alluring, all in heavy silk and embroidered on the pocket with his initials.
He had white backless waistcoats for the evening, which had been invented by Michael Arlen and, although I have never seen him in his tailcoat, I was sure he would look very elegant in it.
I tried not to think while I was packing for him that he was going away from me and how empty my life would be without him.
I knew that I was going to feel ghastly once he had gone, but I told myself I must try to be glad for his sake that his book was going to be made into a film and that he would make lots and lots of money.
I had filled one suitcase and was just putting his handkerchiefs, collars and ties on the top of the second one when the telephone rang.
I picked it up thinking that it might be David and a woman’s voice said,
“Can I speak to Mr. David Durham?”
I thought it would seem strange if anyone guessed who was answering the telephone, so I assumed a Cockney accent.
“’E ain’t ’ere yet.”
“Will you please give him a message when he arrives?” the voice said. “This is Lady Bettine Leyton speaking. Tell Durham that I am leaving now for Waterloo and that I have made the arrangements about the cabins on the ship. Is that clear?”
“Very clear,” I answered and hung up.
I stood staring at the telephone for what must have been a long time.
Then I heard a key turn in the door and a moment later David walked in.
“Are you there, Samantha?” he called as he reached the hall.
He came into the bedroom and said,
“You’ve done my packing! You are an angel!”
Then he looked at my face and asked sharply,
“What’s the matter?”
“Lady Bettine has just telephoned,” I answered in a voice that didn’t seem to belong to me, “to say that she’s leaving now for Waterloo and has arranged the cabins on the ship.”
I paused – and then added,
“How nice for you to have her next door or are you going to use only one cabin?”
I saw David’s lips tighten and he said,
“To the pure, all things are impure. So that’s the construction you put on her message,”
“I’m not a fool,” I replied. “You needn’t pretend she’s not going with you – or why. I saw the way you behaved with her at Bray Park.”
David looked at me and I saw the anger in his eyes.
“Is there any reason,” he asked nastily, “why I shouldn’t behave in any way I see fit?”
“No, of course not,” I answered. “All you want is to go away with a woman and any – woman will do.”
I could hardly believe that I was speaking in such a manner and yet the words seemed to come to my lips without my really willing them.
I had lost my temper, which after all was not so surprising, considering that I have red hair.
David had never seen me in a temper before and it obviously made him furious.
“You can hardly complain,” he said unpleasantly, “that someone else is taking your place, if that’s what you are inferring. After all, you have made it very clear that your high-flown principles are far more important to you than my feelings.”
He spoke so bitterly that I felt my own anger ebbing away and being replaced by an agony of unhappiness that seemed to hang over me like a black cloud.
“I – thought we – loved each – other,” I said in a very low voice.
“Love! What do you know about love?” David snapped. “What you want, Samantha, is marriage or have you forgotten that? You won’t give your love, you will only sell it for a wedding ring. It’s a form of prostitution, although I cannot expect you to admit it and it’s certainly blackmail.”
“If you think I am trying to blackmail you into marrying me, you are mistaken!” I flared at him.
Now I was angry again.
“You can doll it up with pretty phrases and lots of kisses,” David said sarcastically, “but it’s still blackmail.”
“I loved you! I really loved you,” I said. “But you don’t love me! All you want is that I should give you my – body and then you will be off hunting for another girl with a pretty face who is silly enough to give you her heart.”
“If it comes to that,” David said, “what else have you got to offer me but your body?”
He paused and there was the light of battle in his eye, which I had seen before, a light that meant he was determined to win the argument – intent on being the conqueror.
We were facing each other defiantly and the sun coming through the bedroom window turned my hair into fiery gold.
“You have a pretty face,” he said slowly, making every word a knife thrust. “No one is arguing about that, but you are abysmally ignorant, ridiculously innocent and in consequence a crashing bore!”
I felt as if every word struck deep into my heart and drew blood.
I stood looking at him as the full meaning of what he had said sank deeper and deeper into my consciousness and seemed to swallow me up.
Then I turned and walked out of the room, across the hall and out of the flat.
As I slammed the door behind me, I heard him call my name and started to run.
I didn’t wait for the lift. I tore down the stairs and into the street.
There was a taxi passing slowly by and I pulled open the door while it was still moving, jumped inside and gave my address through the communicating window.
I didn’t look back to see whether or not David had followed me. I knew he wouldn’t be able to if he intended to catch the train at Waterloo.
He had to finish his packing and bring his suitcases downstairs.
I sat in the taxi feeling very cold but not in the least like crying. I thought to myself,
‘This is how people are when they are dead,’ because I was certain that something had died inside me.
When I reached the boarding house, I went upstairs and started to pack. I knew that all my things wouldn’t go into my suitcase, so I got one of the maids to fetch me some big cardboard dress boxes.
I knew that there must be plenty of them stored away somewhere in which the dresses that Giles had bought for me had been delivered.
Finally with one suitcase, four large dress boxes and a bag containing odds and ends, I set off for Paddington Station.
Luckily Mrs. Simpson was out, so I didn’t have to tell her a lot of lies or make excuses about why I was leaving. I just told the girl in the office that I didn’t know when I’d be back and they were not to keep my room for me.
Then I went home.