The Oyster Part 19

The Mids.h.i.+res were coming to Aldershot at once. Esme had never been with the regiment. She did not want to leave London. She coaxed Bertie next day. Why not wait for another adjutancy, leave her in the flat, he could come up so often.

But the very weapons she used turned against her, the caress of her lips, her clinging arms were not things to leave. No, she must come to Aldershot. They would find a house and be happy there.

"And the bills, sweetheart?" Bertie Carteret had always seen to them.

"I suppose you paid up all the old ones so we'll start fresh."

Esme had forgotten her bills. She was irritable over money, cried out that her husband had learnt miser's thoughts in South Africa. "You fell in love with a good housewife there, Bert," she mocked, "who fried the cold potatoes of overnight for breakfast. Come, confess.... We've heaps of money to be foolish on, don't bother."

"There was never a penny left over," he said. "If we were sick, or if, well, anything happened we had no margin." Esme frowned sullenly.

Two hours later she was rung up at her club.

"Esme, I've seen Uncle Hugh, he wired for me. He is going to live in London, and he wants to make arrangements. Meet me at once. Where? Oh, the Carlton will do."

Erratically dreaming of riches Esme left a game of bridge and flew off to the big restaurant. It was crowded for tea-time, people gathering at the little tables. The cold air called for furs. Their rich softness was everywhere, and among them all Esme felt her coat attracted admiring eyes. Over her black dress, the blue lining brilliant over the dark, with her hair ma.s.sed against a dead black hat, Esme was remarkable.

"An actress?" she heard a woman ask. What Esme would call a stodgy woman, expensively dressed, a country cousin with a London friend.

"No, a Mrs Carteret, remarkable-looking, isn't she?"

"Well, Bertie. _What_ is it?" Esme could scarcely wait as her husband ordered tea. "What has Uncle Hugh done?"

"Well, nothing. It is all for your approval, but Uncle Hugh is lonely.

He wants his nephew to live near him. There is a great deal of business to see to. The Seaford estate and the Devons.h.i.+re place, he farmed both.

Uncle Hugh found the journeying trying." Briefly, he offered to pay Bertie the same pay as he had drawn from the Army, together with travelling expenses, if he would stay in London and go down to these places when necessary. No more.

"He hasn't promised to leave you the money then?" Esme asked. "Oh, it suits me splendidly, I hated leaving town."

"No." Bertie Carteret shook his head. "He has promised me nothing, merely that I shall not lose through leaving the Army, nothing more."

Esme grew angry then, abused the rich old man, forgot his trouble in her annoyance.

"He has so much. Why should we starve now when we are young?" she flashed.

"We have never quite starved, Es." Bertie Carteret laughed, then looked grave. "I thought we were so comfortable, so happy."

"One seems to want more and more as one lives in town." Esme looked sullen. She too had thought the same, less than a year ago. Been so sure of it that she hated the thought of the third being who would have disturbed their peace. And now with so much more money she seemed poorer.

"That is a wonderful coat." Bertie looked admiringly at his wife.

"You're wonderful altogether, Esme, this time. With the stamp of Paris on your frocks. But of course Denise gave you heaps of things. You did a lot for her."

Esme began to plan, to grow brighter. "We must take a little house, Bertie, get away from that box, nearer our friends."

"But we shall be no better off," he said.

"Oh, you must get money out of the old man. We'll save the rent on taxis. Who is it, Bertie?"

For Bertie had jumped up and was shaking hands with a slim girl of about twenty. Brown-haired, grey-eyed, pretty in a quiet way.

"It's Miss Reynolds," he said. "Miss Reynolds, Esme. Mrs Reynolds was so kind to me at Pretoria when I was ill."

"Ill!" Esme held out a jewelled hand. "I thought it was only repentance and indigestion."

"It was fever." Estelle Reynolds's voice was slow and musical, restful as her gentle face. "Captain Carteret was very ill, and my uncle tried to cure him."

"No idea," said Esme. "I'd no idea. But so good of you.... Bertie, you should have told me." She was honestly fond of her husband.

"He did not want to worry you," said Estelle Reynolds.

Carteret was impressively glad to see Estelle. He talked eagerly of a dinner, a theatre.

His eagerness vexed his wife. She got up, dazzlingly handsome in her furs, the emeralds gleaming on her black gown.

"So sorry, Bertie, but this week is quite full, every day. Come to luncheon on Sunday, Miss Reynolds. I'll have some people to meet you."

Estelle laughed pleasantly. "My Sunday will be a country cousin's," she said. "Church, a very short luncheon, and the Albert Hall. You see, I've never been to London before." The girl looked a little hurt, a little snubbed.

"And I said I'd show it to you." Carteret let his wife walk on. "I'm not engaged. Let me take you and your aunt to Daly's to-night and on to the Savoy."

"Comic opera." Estelle shook her brown head. "If it might be the Shakespearian piece at His Majesty's. I should love to come."

It did not seem to suggest itself to Estelle to ask if Bertie Carteret's wife might wish to include him in her engagements. Esme was one of those women who seem to stand alone.

"Very well then. I'll get seats at once," he said.

Making his way past little tables to the pa.s.sage down the centre of the restaurant, Bertie stood for a moment looking from one woman to another.

Estelle Reynolds had gone back to her tea. She was not remarkable in any way, merely a rather dowdy girl sitting alone at a little table.

Esme had stopped to speak to friends near the door. She was brilliantly handsome, flas.h.i.+ng out gay smiles, the mirthless smile of society, and splendidly dressed. As it grew thinner her face gave promise of hardness; she had replaced her lost colour very cunningly with some rose bloom. Carteret followed her slowly. He loved his wife, her touch, a look from her blue eyes always had power to move him, but he realized suddenly that she was too brilliant, too well-dressed for a foot-soldier's wife.

She was talking to Luke Holbrook, smiling at him, but the smile had lost its girlish charm; the kindly man who had been willing to help a young couple not well off had no idea of losing money to this brilliant woman.

Holbrook was always simply open as to his trade.

"I didn't forget your bundle of wines, fairest lady, they went on to-day." Mr Holbrook started and put up his gla.s.ses. "My love," he said, turning to his wife, "I see Lord Boredom taking tea with Miss Moover, and Mr Critennery is over there alone. My love, I fear I did not advance our interests by that most unfortunate invitation."

"The d.u.c.h.ess," said Mrs Holbrook, "will have a stroke. No one ever broke Miss Mavis Moover's occupation to her Grace."

"Ready, Esme? You want a taxi back. Very well." Carteret went to the door. Before he had gone away Esme had been quite content to take the motor 'bus which set them nearly at their door, or to go by tube. He sighed a little as he feed the gigantic person who hailed the cab for him.

"They've either come into some money, my love, or it is the Italian Prince whom Dollie Cavendish hints at," said Luke Holbrook, thoughtfully.

"What a dowdy little friend," yawned Esme as they sped down Piccadilly.

"What clothes, Bertie. I could only ask her to a frumpy luncheon."

"They were very good to me out there," he said quickly. "And ... I did not notice Miss Reynolds's dowdiness."

"No, one wouldn't. She is the kind of thing who goes with dowdiness.

All flat hair and plaintive eyes." Esme laughed. "Is she the good housekeeper who made you careful, Bertie? Eh?"