Free Fortune's Hand by Belva Plain Page A

and—”
    â€œThings! Will you please stop blathering on about ‘things’?” Lily stood up. “You’re saying, if I understoodyou, that you want to postpone the wedding. Or do I not understand you?”
    â€œWell yes, but—”
    â€œAre you telling me,” she cried shrilly, “that you don’t love me anymore? Is that it?”
    â€œNo, no. I love you very much, Lily. You are one of the best people in the world—No, sit down. Let’s talk calmly.”
    â€œI’ll be calm if you’ll get to the point. This stuff about not having known other people—what’s that? Are you trying to get rid of me?
    â€œÂ â€˜Get rid’ is an awful expression, all wrong! I only meant that for a lifetime commitment you should be perfectly sure, without any doubts, without—”
    Her eyes blazed. “Doubts!
Now
you talk of doubts? What is this,
An American Tragedy
, where he drowns the girl?”
    â€œThat’s crazy, Lily. Let me explain. Please listen to me—”
    â€œThen speak up, for God’s sake! For God’s sake!”
    In a minute her mother would come running in. And Lily was losing control. He put his hand on her shoulder, saying gently, “Lily, please, dear—”
    â€œDon’t touch me! You have someone else! Yes, of course you have. That’s why you treated me so coolly, you—”
    â€œLet’s talk quietly—you don’t understand—”
    â€œI understand, oh I do! Then tell me you haven’t got another woman. Swear you haven’t, and I’ll understand. Go on, say it!”
    He was stricken. It was as if he had accidentally runover someone and killed him. And he stood there, unable to speak. The silence, the very air, trembled.
    â€œWho is she?”
    Those eyes, those terrible, wild, piteous eyes! And not really knowing what he was going to say, he began, “It’s not exactly what—”
    â€œIt’s that girl who rang the doorbell, isn’t it? The girl who said she came by mistake.”
    â€œIt was a mistake. It was, Lily. Believe me.”
    â€œI saw her standing under the hall light! Tall, with black, curly hair. I thought you looked scared and then afterward I told myself that was ridiculous. But you
were
scared and you
were
lying,” she sobbed. “You’re lying to me now! This isn’t about postponing the wedding. It’s about calling it off. It’s about that girl.”
    He started to protest. Then it struck him forcefully that he had, after all, come to make an honorable, clean breast of the whole business, and must not delay.
    So he corrected himself, expelling the words as though they burned his mouth. “Yes, it’s true. But I never meant—God help me, I never meant—”
    With a fearful outcry Lily flung herself upon him; her small, frenzied fists beat him. She was shoving him toward the front door. She was going mad.
    â€œGet out! You’re a monster! A monster! Get out of my house!”
    Mrs. Webster, with interrupted sewing in hand, rushed in. “What’s all this? What’s happening here?”
    â€œMother, put him out, I can’t bear—” And Lily fell back upon the sofa with her hands over her face.
    On the front steps, with the door shut behind them,Robb confronted Mrs. Webster, the woman whom with a touch of affection he had secretly named “the iron lady.”
    â€œNow suppose you explain, Robb!” she demanded.
    He had a dark pre-vision. This moment would live forever; Lily’s hysterical sobbing; her mother’s stern, ageing face; the Scottish plaid fabric dangling on her arm; the horror.
    â€œWe were talking about things, marriage, the enormous responsibility and being certain and—”
    â€œYou were, were you?” Mrs. Webster drew herself up tall. “Who is she, Robb?”
    â€œI don’t understand,” he began, but was