Free Out Of The Past by Patricia Wentworth Page B

he came under Esther’s care. He was not too steady, not too truthful. Money ran through his fingers. But he had the loving ways which could only spring from a loving heart. She saw the illusion now for what it was. There was no love in him, and no kindness. There never had been. There was only one person who mattered, and that was Alan Field. She had a passionate wonder as to why it had suited him to come so near to marrying her. Why up to that very last day had it been to his interest—and then all at once not to his interest? She said,
    “It’s all a long time ago.”
    He burst out laughing.
    “Hitler—or us? In either case, how true!”
    “Alan, why did you do it? I’ve always wanted to know.”
    “Oh, didn’t he tell you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He didn’t? But how very amusing!”
    “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
    “But you shall, darling—you shall. It’s much too good a joke to be wasted. I had no idea he wouldn’t have told you— made the most of such a romantic situation. Or perhaps he was afraid you wouldn’t think it so romantic. Now I wonder whether you will.”
    Her heart had begun to beat rather hard. He was going to hurt her, and he was going to enjoy doing it. She didn’t quite know why, but she knew that she was going to be hurt. There was cruelty under the laughter in his eyes. She said,
    “I don’t—want—to know.”
    “But you are going to, my sweet. Husbands and wives should know everything about each other, don’t you think? Of course he wasn’t your husband then, but it didn’t take him very long to console you, did it? I really need not have had any qualms about taking the money.”
    “What money?”
    “Oh, that is the joke. The great James Hardwick in his original role of Sultan! He sees you, you take his fancy, and he offers me five thousand pounds to clear out!”
    The room shook about her. She said,
    “It’s not true—”
    His voice was hard with contempt.
    “Of course it’s true! I was broke. The best I could do was to get myself married to you. Well, it wasn’t too good a best. You couldn’t touch your capital, and the interest didn’t amount to such a lot. Five thousand down wasn’t to be sneezed at. I didn’t sneeze. Hardwick put down the cash, and I cleared out.”
    Her “No—” came faintly from stiff lips. She had to get out of the room—somehow, anyhow.
    She never really knew how she did it. The stairs were misty, the landing unsteady to her feet. Voices came from the open door of her room—Mrs. Beeston and the daily help making up the great cumbersome bed in which Octavius Hardwick had slept in solitary state—in which she and James would have to sleep tonight. There was to be no privacy—either now—or then. She found that she did not want it now. What would she do if she was alone? Sit down and think—that James had bought her. A shudder went over her heart. For as long as she could she would keep that thought at bay.
    She went into the room, opened a drawer, and took out the shady hat which she had worn yesterday. The mist was lifting. It was going to be hot.
    Mrs. Beeston was a big woman with a plain sensible face. She said, “A little more of that sheet, Mrs. Rogers,” and turned it down over the yellowing blankets. Then, to Carmona,
    “Mr. James will be coming today?”
    Carmona said, “Yes.”
    “If he will be here for dinner, ma’am, we couldn’t do better than a nice salmon mayonnaise. Always very partial to it, Mr. James is.”
    “Yes, it would be nice.”
    “Going to be hot again, and I thought if you could see your way to it, ma’am, it would be a good thing if you could call in at Mr. Bolding’s, for the sooner I have that fish cooked and in the fridge the better pleased I’ll be.”
    “Oh, yes, Mrs. Beeston, I’ll do that.”
    “And a nice cucumber and anything you can see for the salad. I’ve got some of my own bottled strawberries for an iced sweet, and I’ve saved the top of the milk