HE HAD to let Jean know. It was tempting to wait till she got in touch with him, for out of pride she might not, but that would be cowardly. By this time one or more of her friends would have telephoned her, with the titbit of news. She would have been more amused than angry, for she was fair-minded and intelligent, and would place little importance on his taking another woman, even one as unlikely as Leila Azaharri, out to dinner. He, though, had to confess to a great deal more than that. Just how culpable was he? He had told the truth when he had said they weren’t engaged. He had slept with her, more than once, but always at her instigation. She had noticed his reluctance and teased him about it, attributing it to the influence of his Calvinist grandfather. Even so, it did not exonerate him. Her friends would be justified in saying that he had callously jilted her. She herself would take it bravely. She would not abuse him or seek revenge. She would not go out of her way to avoid him. If they met by accident she would give him a smile and turn away. If he had Leila with him perhaps she might not smile.
Now that he was about to part from her he recognised as never before what an admirable woman she was. No wonder other men had envied him.
No one was to blame. It just happened that he was not in love with her.
Once, a class of his, with whom he had been studying Jane Eyre, had been puzzled by Jane’s falling in love with Rochester, who was old and ugly and in the end blind. Their own wives or husbands would be carefully chosen for them. Was Jane going to marry Rochester because he was rich and had a big house? That made sense. Giving love as the reason did not. Sandilands, not taking the subject very seriously, had concluded, to their dissatisfaction, that love was a mystery.
Now he had fallen in love with Leila and she with him.
As soon as he was in his house he dialled Jean’s number. It was engaged.
Saidee had gone to bed, so he could not ask her if Jean had telephoned earlier. He would have to wait and try again.
A few minutes later the number was still engaged.
What if Jean came to confront him face to face?
There was something he had forgotten or rather had not taken into account. She loved him. God knew why, but she did. It was a great pity in the circumstances.
The third time he got through.
‘Jean Hislop speaking,’ she said.
She sounded cheerful.
His heart sank. ‘It’s me, Andrew.’
‘I thought it might be. What’s this about you gallivanting with a dusky lady?’
Was her cheerfulness a defence? If she was hurt she was not going to let anyone, him especially, see it. Her sneer at Leila as a dusky lady was uncharacteristic. She had no prejudice against people with dark skins. ‘How could I have?’ she had once said to him. ‘Most of my patients are dark. Some of them die.’
‘How did you get to know her?’ she asked. ‘Was it through His Nibs? I believe she’s related to him. Me, I’m related to an Edinburgh shopkeeper.’
Her uncle had an ironmonger’s business.
She was not as carefree as she was trying to have him think.
‘Leila and I are going to get married,’ he said.
There was a pause.
‘Leila? Is that her name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you say you were going to get married?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought that that was what you said, but it sounded so silly. Is this some kind of joke, Andrew? You do have at times a rather laboured sense of humour.’
‘It’s not a joke.’
‘You may not intend it as a joke, but it is a joke all the same. All our friends will laugh at it. How long have you known her?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘Is this Andrew Sandilands talking? Him that walks round every situation, half a dozen times at least, studying it so cautiously, as if it were a putt to win a championship?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.
‘Is it some kind of marriage of convenience? Does she want to become a British citizen? Is that it? As soon as the ceremony’s over, you part company, never to see each other again. Lots of Asian ladies do it. Some pay a lot of money. How much is she paying you, Andrew?’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Isn’t it? Is it you that’s paying for it? If you marry a Savu citizen you become one yourself. So you’d be eligible for the Principal’s job.’
‘No.’
‘It’s a love match then. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?’
‘I’m sorry, Jean.’
He put the telephone down. It was cruel but not so cruel as prolonging so painful a conversation.
For the next few minutes he dreaded that the telephone would ring and it would be Jean, weeping.
It did not ring.