CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER VIII

It was Marigold's second dramatic encounter within the space of a few days, and the shock was almost more than she could bear. She caught her breath in an audible gasp, which immediately seemed to her to sound like a wordless admission of guilt.

But, as he drew her into the lift beside him, Paul's expression reflected surprise and concern, rather than any reproach or anger.

'What is it, darling? How on earth did you come here?' He sounded anxious, but certainly not as though he were going to accuse her of anything.

All the same, she found herself exclaiming earnestly:

'You mustn't be angry with me, but I—I——'

'I'm not angry,' he said gently. 'Come on down with me and tell me all about it.' He pressed the lift button for the ground floor.

'But I thought—' she hesitated. Then she said helplessly: 'Weren't you coming up to see —someone?'

'It doesn't matter. That can wait.'

They were at the ground floor now and, taking her lightly by the arm, he piloted her, unprotesting, into the street and hailed a taxi.

Even in the privacy of the taxi he made no attempt to question her about her strange presence in Lindley's block of flats, nor did she offer to explain. He only said:

'Have you had any lunch?'

'Yes—no—it doesn't matter.'

'Oh, yes, it does. We'll stop at the end of the street. I know a quiet place on the corner there.'

He leaned forward and gave a direction to the driver, while Marigold nervously noted the description 'a quiet place.' That would mean talk and explanations. She had to think of something.

But even then, as though making time for prevarication, she said rather faintly:

'I thought you had a conference and couldn't get away for lunch.'

'I had. But it finished unexpectedly early. I phoned the nursery, but you'd just gone.'

Just gone! It seemed hours ago.

'And so?' In a fascinated way, she felt unable to refrain from questions. She was nearly as anxious to know the reason for his presence in the Hats as he must be to discover why she had been there.

'Eh?' He glanced at her sharply. And then, as the taxi stopped, he said: 'Oh, I wanted a word with friend Lindley. There was a good deal left unsaid the other day.'

She slowly got out of the taxi, watching absently while Paul settled the fare and the driver fumbled for change. Her mind was not at all on what she was seeing. It was darting here and there in frantic quest for some explanation to give Paul when the rapidly approaching moment was upon her. And then, in the few seconds' pause beside the taxi, she vaguely began to form some idea which might fit the facts. Something Paul himself had said gave her a clue. She felt incredibly stupid and stunned, after what she had been through in the last hour, but her thinking powers were slowly re-asserting themselves. If she were careful—not over- elaborate in her explanations—even now there ought to be a chance.

'Come along, darling.' Paul had her affectionately by the arm once more and they went into the quiet, softly lighted restaurant together. Miraculously, as it seemed to her, they found a table in a fairly secluded corner.

He wanted to consult her about her choice of lunch, but to discuss food was beyond Marigold at that moment. She made a slight gesture of protest and said:

'I leave it to you. You choose.'

So Paul selected their lunch with the same care and attention that he gave to everything he did. Then he looked up, as the waiter went away, and smiled at her across the table in an irresistibly reassuring manner.

'Now, don't look so scared. I'm not angry about anything. I've told you I'm not. But I'm devoured with curiosity. You haven't been letting yourself in for something unpleasant because you thought you could arrange certain affairs better than I could, have you?'

'I went,' Marigold said deliberately, 'to see Lindley.'

It was out now, in all its crudeness.

Paul tightened his mouth slightly.

'Why did you do that, Marigold?' he said, still speaking quite gently.

'Because, as you said, I thought—I thought I might do some good—perhaps more than you. It was evident the other day that he—he detests you. I thought perhaps he would listen more readily to'—she swallowed a little—'to a stranger. I wanted to speak to him about Stephanie, to explain what a good friend she was, and that I wanted her happiness. And I—I thought I might persuade him to take a more —more reasonable view of the divorce. After all, if he wasn't interested in her any more, I didn't see why he shouldn't agree to the divorce going through quietly, unopposed. I thought he want possibly nasty the other day only because it was you who talked to him about it. I thought, as he didn't know me and might regard me as a disinterested person——'

She stopped, suddenly realising how long her speech had gone on, and that Paul made no attempt to interrupt her. She remembered too late that she had not meant to be at all elaborate in her explanations—just to state the facts simply. Now she was starting to repeat herself. She felt a slight perspiration break out on her forehead, and then wondered immediately if it were obvious to Paul.

He waited a few moments for her to go on, but when she failed to pick up the thread of her argument, he said quietly—

'And what success did you have, Marigold?'

'N—none.'

'No, I was afraid not. I could have told you the result before you started, darling. It was sweet of you to try to play this lone hand on Stephanie's behalf, but it was silly too. There's only one thing that Lindley listens to—'

'And what's that?' The question came out with far more eagerness than she had intended.

'The voice of his own interests.'

'Oh.' Her disappointment was as patent as her eagerness had been, and she knew that neither should really have sounded so acute.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'It was probably a beastly experience for you. The first time you'd handled that type, eh?'

'Yes.' She didn't look at him as she said that.

'Was he—offensive?' Paul spoke grimly.

'Oh, no. No, not at all.' How offensive he had really been she mustn't even hint! It only required a little more spite and resentment on Lindley's part for the whole thing to come out. 'He was quite—polite and—agreeable. Only he —he was not prepared to listen to any argument or—or pleading.' That was true, at any rate.

'You mean he is going to oppose the divorce?'

'Yes.' She wondered if her colour faded as she said that.

Paul thoughtfully moved some of the silver on the table, and appeared to study the pattern of the cloth.

'Marigold, what made you so sure that he was going to contest the suit? I mean, so sure that you actually decided to go along and try in change his mind for him?'

'Why, I thought he said——Didn't he say——?'

For a moment her heart seemed to come into her throat. Had she said something stupid? Some thing which would show she knew more than she could have gleaned from merely hearing that conversation a few days ago? With a dreadful effort she reached desperately into her memory. 'He said something about—about it being better for you not to count on the divorce until it was through. Didn't you think—? I mean, I thought he meant then that he'd do all he could to oppose it, didn't you?'

'Oh—that.' He recollected it evidently and nodded carelessly. 'I thought perhaps he said something else to you—before I came in, you know.'

'Oh, no. No, he didn't, as a matter of fact. We —we didn't talk of anything much then.'

Marigold found her heart beating more normally again, as though she had been right to the edge of a precipice and now had drawn back again to a slightly safer distance. It was ridiculous. She must keep her wits more about her. In her terror she had even forgotten the useful few minutes of conversation she had had with him before Paul came back from the local that day. It would be as well to remember that as a credible source of information if she were so silly as to make another slip and to appear to know more than she reasonably should.

The waiter brought their lunch just then, and they both remained silent while he was setting out the dishes. Then, when he had gone again Paul said, with a reflective smile, slightly tinged with admiration:

'So you were even prepared to beard Lindley in his own den, in the hope of making things easier for Stephanie—and me.'

She smiled faintly, feeling a guilty ache in her throat at this undeserved praise, but, at the same time, a terrible relief that her escapade was beginning to lose its dangerous aspect and to look creditable, rather than suspicious. She nodded without saying anything. 'How did you know where to find him?' It was really terrible the way these menacing questions sprang up in one's path, every time one dared to draw breath and feel almost safe. She pretended to busy herself with the lunch dishes. Then she cleared her throat and said:

'I looked him up in the phone book, of course.'

That was safe enough, surely!

But Paul frowned puzzledly.

'He isn't in the phone book, is he? He hasn't been long at the flat—certainly not since the last telephone book was issued.'

For a moment Marigold was tempted to reach for her handbag and gloves and run out of the restaurant. But sheer desperation not only kept her rooted there, but stimulated her inventive faculties to a degree she would never have thought possible. With something like mild wonder, she heard herself laugh convincingly and say:

'No, of course—you're quite right—I remember now. I did look him up in the book to confirm the number, and found he wasn't there I had to rely on my memory. We had his number in the office, of course. I wasn't at all sure that I had it correctly, but fortunately I was right. See what a good secretary your wife is.'

'She's a good everything,' Paul told her with an indulgent smile.

'Except a good girl,' thought Marigold. 'I wish I were dead.' Which was not, of course, strictly correct.

For a minute or two they ate in silence. She stole a glance at him, to see if his expression were puzzled or dissatisfied. But, unless he was concealing his feelings admirably, he had accepted her explanation without reserve. She wondered if she dared to draw breath this time and count herself safe for the moment. The most dreadful dangers and possibilities loomed in the future, of course, but for the present she could grapple with only the immediate difficulties, and they if she could dare to trust appearances—seemed settled.

Then suddenly she became afraid of the silence. People's thoughts were apt to work more quickly undisturbed by words. Suppose Paul began to think there were some thin places in her story. . . .

'Now tell me about yourself,' she exclaimed interestedly. Almost too interestedly, she feared. She sounded bright and unconvincing. She must do better than that. 'You haven't told me yet about your own proposed visit to Lindley. At least, hardly anything about it. You can't imagine what a—shock it was to see you there.'

'Yes, I can,' he said a little dryly. 'It was something of a shock to see you there, you know.'

'It—it must have been.' She smiled stiffly. 'It was nice of you, Paul, not to—to jump to some sort of stupid conclusion. Lots of men would.'

Again she wondered if she had overdone that It was not easy to give the truth every appearance of being an incorrect guess.

But Paul said simply and finally:

'I knew you must have some perfectly good explanation.'

'Did—did you?' She wished there were not such a lump in her throat. It made it difficult to go on eating as though nothing were wrong. Why did he believe in her so unquestioningly!' Oh, it was fortunate enough that he did, of course, but it made one feel wretched and contemptible beyond words.

'Oh, you wanted to know about my going, there, didn't you?' he said at that moment. 'Well, I suppose it was much the same impulse as with you. I found I unexpectedly had a free hour or so, and I thought, "I'll go along and see what I can do with that—" Well, no, of course, you probably didn't think quite the same wording as I did.' He grinned at her.

Marigold laughed slightly.

'As a matter of fact,' Paul went on, 'I wanted to see if I could trip the beggar up about that girl he had with him that weekend. I was a bit of a fool, you know, Marigold, to go off in quite such a hurry that time—except, of course, that I shouldn't have got to know you but for that. I ought to have stayed on and tried to find out a bit more about her identity. I'm not so sure that the anonymous co-respondent is going to be exactly a trump card in our hand. Pity I didn't find out more about her. What did you say?'

'I didn't say anything. I was just—wondering how you were going to set about finding out some more about her now.'

'Oh—well, I haven't any really brilliant ideas on the subject, to tell the truth. I rather hoped that, if I went along and talked things over with him willy-nilly, he might let out something without intending to.'

Marigold slowly shook her head, trying very hard to look like the sympathetically interested wife who was really giving serious thought to some suggestion of her husband, while hardly approving of it.

'You don't agree?'

'No,' Marigold said, as judicially as she could. 'No, I don't. I shouldn't think Lindley is the kind of man to be tripped up easily into some damaging admission.'

'I agree, of course,' Paul acknowledged ruefully.

'You'd be much more likely to find yourself at a further disadvantage at the end of the interview.'

'How?'

'Oh, I wasn't thinking of anything special! Only I think Lindley Marne is very good at timing things to his own advantage.'

'You're telling me,' Paul said gloomily. And then: 'That was rather how you found things today, I suppose?'

'Yes,' Marigold said with perhaps unnecessarily fervour. 'Yes, it was.'

There was another short silence between them while they pursued their own thoughts. Then, trying very hard to keep her voice absolutely steady, Marigold said:

'Do you know what I'd try to do?'

He looked interrogative.

'I'd try to pin some other incident on to him, Something quite different from this—this weekend affair with the anonymous girl.'

'But, my dear, it's the only absolutely concrete evidence we've got!'

'But you say there were other—incidents. This was only one of many. Why don't you try to get some information about one of the other times? Why don't you, Paul?'

She wondered if she sounded a little too much as though she were pleading. But it seemed to pass.

'Why, Marigold, there's nothing more difficult than trying to piece stale evidence together. It was only a chance that I got on to this damned weekend, as it was. Lindley's pretty good at covering his tracks, you know. He's no fool.'

I know,' Marigold agreed bitterly. 'He profits by fools instead.'

'Eh?' Paul looked amused and slightly taken aback. 'Well, yes, you're perfectly right, of course. That's exactly what he does. You sounded almost personally vicious then.'

She swallowed nervously.

'Well, I feel personally vicious,' she said quickly. 'He's behaved abominably to the two people I care most about. It's enough to make one vicious.'

'That's true.' He smiled at her, and she was afraid that he was going to change the subject.

'I think I'm right, you know, Paul,' she exclaimed, hastily dragging the conversation back to the point she wanted. 'It would be well worth your while to try to get additional evidence.'

'I'm going to try to get additional evidence,' he assured her carelessly. 'I'm going to track down our anonymous lady of the hotel some how.'

'I didn't mean that!' Her exclamation was so sharp that he looked at her in astonishment. And, recovering herself, she added hastily, 'I— I meant it would be a good thing to try to find out some other chapter in Lindley's adventures.'

'Oh!' He grinned at her affectionately. 'Pretiv pleased with your own strategy, darling, aren't you? You want me to stick to your theory.'

'It's not that, Paul. At least, perhaps it is. Bui I do think that if you could present Lindley with evidence about some incident he had nearly for gotten, there would be a much poorer defence than if you stick to this—this hotel business, about which he's fully warned by now.'

'Something in that,' he agreed good naturedly.

'There's quite a lot in it,' Marigold insisted. 'I'm sure he's going to be ready with a pretty good story to counter that charge. You had much better take him on unprepared ground.'

'Excellent in theory,' Paul admitted. 'But the deuce of it is that I hardly know where to start sleuthing if I go further back in his unsavoury past. It wasn't until fairly lately, if you remember, that Stephanie let me take an interest in what he was doing. And before that my attitude just was that as he gave me a pain in the neck, the less I saw or knew of him the better. That's a bit cramping to the sort of investigation you're suggesting.'

'I know. But at least it's worth thinking about, isn't it, Paul? It's worth trying.''

'Why, Marigold dear,' he put his hand lightly over hers, 'I believe you take this damned business to heart even more than I do. You mustn't distress yourself so much.'

'I—I'm not distressed,' Marigold said most untruthfully. 'Only I don't want a good idea wasted. Particularly when Stephanie's happiness may depend on it.' Then, at the mention of Stephanie, she remembered her work and the time. 'Oh, Paul, I must go! I've had a ridiculously extended lunch-time, as it is. They'll think I'm a shirker if I go on like this. I must go, dear, but think over what I've suggested, won't you? Please think it over.'

'I will. Of course I will,' he promised. 'I'll wait and settle this up, if you really must go. Don't wait for me. Take a taxi if you don't know the way back from here. It's on me, as I've stolen half your lunch-time.'

And, with an affectionate and amused smile, he watched her go.

Stephanie raised humorously reproachful eye brows over the time which Marigold had been away, but she accepted the eager apologies indulgently.

'All right. It's a special occasion since your honeymoon only ended this morning,' she agreed. 'I suppose Paul managed to track you down.'

'Yes. And I'm ashamed to confess, Stephanie, that we entirely forgot the time.'

'It's been known to happen to other people in similar circumstances,' Stephanie said, smiling. 'But I'll have to tell him to take you to lunch only once a week if this is going to happen.'

'It won't happen again,' Marigold promised seriously. 'Besides, I shan't be lunching with him in the usual way and going to see a friend.'

'Oh, yes, of course. You met your friend all right?' Stephanie was mildly interested. 'Don't tell me this involved two lunches.'

'No, of course not,' Marigold said, wishing the very simplest thing were not capable of such ridiculous complications, as soon as one deviated from the truth. 'My—first lunch appointment more or less fell through at the last minute. That was why I lunched with Paul instead.'

To her relief, Stephanie accepted the explanation with a careless nod. And after that, she spent the rest of the afternoon working hard —partly to ease her conscience about the long lunch-time, partly because intensive work helped one to forget certain things which were best forgotten.

In spite of everything, there was a deep and satisfying pleasure in 'going home' to Paul's flat for the first time. It was a pleasant, well- furnished, very masculine sort of place, which he had occupied for some while before his marriage. When they had first discussed a home together, he had seemed to think his own flat unsuitable for the purpose. But, after inspecting it, Marigold had declared it would do perfectly for the time, and that it would be absurd to make new arrangements in a hurry.

Paul had been very willing to be talked over to this point of view, having the reluctance of most busy men to making any change that was not strictly necessary. So a few modifications had been made, and now it had become Marigold's home as well as his.

It was on a very modest scale compared with Lindley's luxurious abode, nor did it boast the services of a discreet and silent manservant Instead, a severe, garrulous and far from discreet elderly housekeeper provided 'service' for Paul and what she described as 'my two other gentle men,' who lived in the other two flats in the house.

As she went home on this first evening, Man gold was not sorry that domestic details were out of her hands for the moment. She felt far more exhausted than was justified by the mere work of the day, and could only suppose it was the emotional strain which she had undergone.

She thought, as she went in at the door of what was now her home, how extraordinary it was that some people were supposed to live a life of deceit and pretence because they almost preferred the thrill of it, or considered it was worth it because of material advantages to be gained.

'They must be crazy,' she thought wearily, because nothing in the world seemed more desirable to her at that moment than a straightforward, ordinary existence where one had no need to tell lies—nor wonder breathlessly if they would be believed.

Paul was not yet home when she came in, and, having washed and changed, she sat down in one of his heavy leather armchairs by the fire, and looked round with a sort of timid happiness, inch hardly dared to assert itself and yet refused to be entirely denied.

In the cosy safety of Paul's sitting-room, surrounded by the personal belongings which spoke so eloquently of him, it was not so difficult to believe in a tranquil and happy future—even though somewhere in the far distance.

Inevitably, for the hundredth time, she found herself going over the familiar ground of what they had said to Lindley and Lindley had said to her and she had said to Paul—and all the endless procession of question and answer. It was impossible to fasten her thoughts on anything else. Hut this time she recalled something which she had forgotten to take into account when she was going over the ground before. And that was Lindley's approaching departure for America.

She could have cried with impatience and disappointment now to remember that she had not taken the opportunity of finding out when he was leaving. So much might depend on the length of time he still remained in England. It was inexcusable of her not to have remembered to make some skilful enquiry, however anxious and dismayed she had been because of their conversation.

The only information she had was his careless reference, a few days ago, to the fact that his journey had been postponed. But that might mean everything or nothing. If it had been postponed for some while, then there was time for any complication to arise. But if the postponement were a short one, then her immediate difficulties might be over blessedly soon, and there would be a long period of reprieve while he was away.

Oh, why had she neglected such a possible source of comfort? She felt now that she would have given almost anything for the assurance that Lindley was going away at the end of this week.

After all, once he was gone, there would be time and opportunity to discover alternative grounds for that divorce. And Paul, who was very much a man of action, would probably find the idea of further investigation much more acceptable if he had an idle period to fill in while Lindley was away.

She remembered—with some sense of guilt for having suppressed the information—that Paul had no idea of Lindley's impending departure. If he could remain ignorant of it until after Lindley had gone then, it seemed to Marigold—in her anxiety to snatch at any comforting delay—her chances of escape from the horrible tangle would be immeasurably increased.

Oh, why hadn't she secured that vital information? And was there still any possibility of getting it?

She found suddenly that she was no longer lying back comfortably in her deep armchair. She was sitting forward on the edge of the seat, as though poised for sudden action, and her eyes instinctively sought the telephone.

It was impossible to telephone him, of course. Quite impossible. What could she say to him if .he did telephone? It would be useless to ask her question outright. He would never supply the information if he had any hint that it was of urgent importance to her. And he could hardly doubt the urgency of any query which made her telephone to him after all that had happened.

Marigold bit her underlip and tried to look away from the telephone. But she felt instinctively that there was the only hope. After all, it was the one link with the outside world. Otherwise her world was this dear, cosy, kindly room.

With quite surprisingly steady fingers, she dialled Lindley's number.

Nothing happened.

With her nerves beginning to tingle with pleasantly, Marigold dialled the number again Once more she looked at the clock. In her mind| eye she could see that manservant clearing up hastily and preparing to leave the flat. She knew he was alone for those precious few minute. It only she could get through to him, she felt sure she could make her enquiries and be reassured

Still there was no answering ring at the others end of the wire, and Marigold exclaimed aloud—

'Oh, and Paul will be in any moment now!'

With an angry jerk she dialled '100,' and a polite voice immediately enquired if it could help her.

'I've been trying for the last half-hour to get this number,' Marigold told the polite voice, with considerable exaggeration. 'Please see if you can get it for me.'

The polite voice said it would, and Marigold heard sundry encouraging rattles on the line. Then at last the connection was evidently made, and the bell began to buzz.

At the same moment she heard Paul's key in the door.

She could have screamed with vexation and nervousness, but there was only one thing to be done. With a sense of frustration greater than she had known since she was a child, Marigold carefully replaced the receiver, and turned agreed Paul.

'I'm sorry I'm so late, dearest. I really couldn't help it,' he said apologetically as he came in.

'It's all right. It doesn't matter,' Marigold assured him, suppressing a desire to say how relently she wished he could have been ten minutes later still. Such a good chance might never occur again. She felt superstitiously that such a good chance never would occur again. Well, it couldn't be helped. Better that he should come in then than when she was in the middle of the conversation.

She sat down slowly by the fire again, listening with a convincing smile of interest to what Paul was saying, while all the time her thoughts were on the opportunity she had just missed.

'Well, I'll go and change. I won't be ten minutes,' he promised. 'Have you seen the evening paper?' He tossed it over to her.

As he did so, the telephone rang just beside him, and, without even noticing her nervous movement forward, he picked up the receiver.

'Hello! What? Wrong number, I think. I haven't been asking for that number. Eh? Oh, wait a moment.' He glanced over at his wife.

'Have you been enquiring for a number, Marigold?' "

For a second both 'Yes' and 'No' seemed equally dangerous answers. Then she realised that 'No' must inevitably entail a revealing discussion with the telephone operator.

'Yes,' she said in a rather husky whisper, and came forward to take the receiver from Paul hand.

As she did so, she wondered if she read suspicion in the quick glance which he gave her. After all, it was only a few hours since they had discussed Lindley's telephone number. Thousand-, of people had similar numbers, of course, but—

And then she forgot to wonder about that, or about what she was to say to the servant at the other end of the wire. For it was Lindley's cool, amused voice which said:

'Oh, so it's you, Marigold? Well, what can I do for you, my dear? I'm really most flattered by the amount of time and attention you seem willing to bestow on me these days.'

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