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Nadine did not answer. Something in her silence went home to Sarah like a cold hand laid on her heart. She thought: ‘This woman knows the hopelessness of it much better than I do. She’s lived with it!’
The lift gates opened. The older Mrs Boynton emerged. She leaned on a stick and Raymond supported her on the other side.
Sarah gave a slight start. She saw the old woman’s eyes sweep from her to Nadine and back again. She had been prepared for dislike in those eyes—for hatred even. She was not prepared for what she saw—a triumphant and malicious enjoyment. Sarah turned away. Nadine went forward and joined the other two.
‘So there you are, Nadine,’ said Mrs Boynton. ‘I’ll sit down and rest a little before I go out.’
They settled her in a high-backed chair. Nadine sat down beside her.
‘Who were you talking to, Nadine?’
‘A Miss King.’
‘Oh, yes. The girl who spoke to Raymond the other night. Well, Ray, why don’t you go and speak to her now? She’s over there at the writing-table.’
The old woman’s mouth widened into a malicious smile as she looked at Raymond. His face flushed. He turned his head away and muttered something.
‘What’s that you say, son?’
‘I don’t want to speak to her.’
‘No, I thought not. You won’t speak to her. You couldn’t however much you wanted to!’
She coughed suddenly—a wheezing cough.
‘I’m enjoying this trip, Nadine,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.’
‘No?’
Nadine’s voice was expressionless.
‘Ray.’
‘Yes, Mother?’
‘Get me a piece of notepaper—from the table over there in the corner.’
Raymond went off obediently. Nadine raised her head. She watched, not the boy, but the old woman. Mrs Boynton was leaning forward, her nostrils dilated as though with pleasure. Ray passed close by Sarah. She looked up, a sudden hope showing in her face. It died down as he brushed past her, took some notepaper from the case and went back across the room.
There were little beads of sweat on his forehead as he rejoined them, and his face was dead white.
Very softly Mrs Boynton murmured: ‘Ah…’ as she watched his face.
Then she saw Nadine’s eyes fixed on her. Something in them made her own snap with sudden anger.
‘Where’s Mr Cope this morning?’ she said.
Nadine’s eyes dropped again. She answered in her gentle, expressionless voice:
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.’
‘I like him,’ said Mrs Boynton. ‘I like him very much. We must see a good deal of him. You’ll like that, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Nadine. ‘I, too, like him very much.’
‘What’s the matter with Lennox lately? He seems very dull and quiet. Nothing wrong between you, is there?’
‘Oh, no. Why should there be?’
‘I wondered. Married people don’t always hit it off. Perhaps you’d be happier living in a home of your own?’
Nadine did not answer.
‘Well, what do you say to the idea? Does it appeal to you?’
Nadine shook her head. She said, smiling: ‘I don’t think it would appeal to you, Mother.’
Mrs Boynton’s eyelids flickered. She said sharply and venomously, ‘You’ve always been against me, Nadine.’
The younger woman replied evenly:
‘I’m sorry you should think that.’
The old woman’s hand closed on her stick. Her face seemed to get a shade more purple.
She said, with a change of tone: ‘I forgot my drops. Get them for me, Nadine.’
‘Certainly.’
Nadine got up and crossed the lounge to the lift. Mrs Boynton looked after her. Raymond sat limply in a chair, his eyes glazed with dull misery.
Nadine went upstairs and along the corridor. She entered the sitting-room of their suite. Lennox was sitting by the window. There was a book in his hand, but he was not reading. He roused himself as Nadine came in. ‘Hallo, Nadine.’
‘I’ve come up for Mother’s drops. She forgot them.’
She went on into Mrs Boynton’s bedroom. From a bottle on the washstand she carefully measured a dose into a small medicine glass, filling it up with water. As she passed through the sitting-room again she paused.
‘Lennox.’
It was a moment or two before he answered her. It was as though the message had a long way to travel.
Then he said: ‘I beg your pardon. What is it?’
Nadine Boynton set down the glass carefully on the table. Then she went over and stood beside him.
‘Lennox, look at the sunshine—out there, through the window. Look at life. It’s beautiful. We might be out in it—instead of being here looking through a window.’
Again there was a pause. Then he said: ‘I’m sorry. Do you want to go out?’
She answered him quickly: ‘Yes, I want to go out—with you—out into the sunshine—out into life—and live—the two of us together.’
He shrank back into his chair. His eyes looked restless, hunted.
‘Nadine, my dear—must we go into all this again?’
‘Yes, we must. Let us go away and lead our own life somewhere.’
‘How can we? We’ve no money.’
‘We can earn money.’
‘How could we? What could we do? I’m untrained. Thousands of men—qualified men—trained men—are out of a job as it is. We couldn’t manage it.’
‘I would earn money for both of us.’
‘My dear child, you’d never even completed your training. It’s hopeless—impossible.’
‘No, what is hopeless and impossible is our present life.’
‘You don’t know what you are talking about. Mother is very good to us. She gives us every luxury.’
‘Except freedom. Lennox, make an effort. Come with me now—today—’
‘Nadine, I think you’re quite mad.’
‘No, I’m sane. Absolutely and completely sane. I want a life of my own, with you, in the sunshine—not stifled in the shadow of an old woman who is a tyrant and who delights in making you unhappy.’
‘Mother may be rather an autocrat—’
‘Your mother is mad! She’s insane!’
He answered mildly: ‘That’s not true. She’s got a remarkably good head for business.’
‘Perhaps—yes.’
‘And you must realize, Nadine, she can’t live for ever. She’s getting old and she’s in very bad health. At her death my father’s money is divided equally among us share and share alike. You remember, she read us the will?’
‘When she dies,’ said Nadine, ‘it may be too late.’
‘Too late?’
‘Too late for happiness.’
Lennox murmured: ‘Too late for happiness.’ He shivered suddenly. Nadine went closer to him. She put her hand on his shoulder.
‘Lennox, I love you. It’s a battle between me and your mother. Are you going to be on her side or mine?’
‘On yours—on yours!’
‘Then do what I ask.’
‘It’s impossible!’
‘No, it’s not impossible. Think, Lennox, we could have children…’
‘Mother wants us to have children. She has said so.’
‘I know, but I won’t bring children into the world to live in the shadow you have all been brought up in. Your mother can influence you, but she’s no power over me.’
Lennox murmured: ‘You make her angry sometimes, Nadine; it isn’t wise.’
‘She is only angry because she knows that she can’t influence my mind or dictate my thoughts!’
‘I know you are always polite and gentle with her. You’re wonderful. You’re too good for me. You always have been. When you said you would marry me it was like an unbelievable dream.’
Nadine said quietly: ‘I was wrong to marry you.’
Lennox said hopelessly: ‘Yes, you were wrong.’
‘You don’t understand. What I mean is that if I had gone away then and asked you to follow me you would have done so. Yes, I really believe you would…I was not clever enough then to understand your mother and what she wanted.’
She paused, then she said: ‘You refuse to come away? Well, I can’t make you. But I am free to go! I think—I think I shall go…’
He stared up at her incredulously. For the first time his reply came quickly, as though at last the sluggish current of his thoughts was accelerated. He stammered: ‘But—but—you can’t do that. Mother—Mother would never hear of it.’
‘She couldn’t stop me.’
‘You’ve no money.’
‘I could make, borrow, beg or steal it. Understand, Lennox, your mother has no power over me! I can go or stay at my will. I am beginning to feel that I have borne this life long enough.’
‘Nadine—don’t leave me—don’t leave me…’
She looked at him thoughtfully—quietly—with an inscrutable expression.
‘Don’t leave me, Nadine.’
He spoke like a child. She turned her head away, so that he should not see the sudden pain in her eyes.
She knelt down beside him.
‘Then come with me. Come with me! You can. Indeed you can if you only will!’
He shrank back from her.
‘I can’t. I can’t, I tell you. I haven’t—God help me—I haven’t the courage…’
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