Wild, Wild Heart/Chapter 7

When Dick and Vera Holmes arrived with Waring in the car on the following afternoon, they discovered Ann, enveloped in a large apron, busy in the kitchen. Mrs. Pratt being no better in the morning, she had telephoned to Dr. Spencer. He pronounced the cook to be suffering from a mild attack of influenza, and ordered her to remain in bed. Ann and Emily between them had managed the housework, and now Ann, a trifle flustered and a good deal flushed, was wrestling with the dinner. She had not been free for a moment all day to run along to the cottage; but she had sent a message by Dan to say that she would try to come down as soon as she was at liberty to leave the homestead. She made some tea, and took it out to the hot and dusty travelers who were seated on the veranda. In a second she realized that the barometer was not “set fair” as far as Vera and Waring were concerned. Holmes, too, looked worried and unhappy. Surely something more than the mere fact of the team’s having done badly at the tournament was at the root of this general depression. “A cheerful trio!” thought Ann. And with Mrs. Pratt ill in bed, it was a cheerful outlook for the governess, whe seemed to have shouldered the responsibilities of the household. ​But Ann carried in her heart a glowing secret which no worries of this ephemeral nature could quench or dim.

“Cook-general now, are you, Miss Merrill?” remarked Waring.

“I suppose some one will have to do the work,” said Vera sharply.

“It’s hardly Miss Merrill’s job, is it?” asked Holmes. Vera turned on her husband angrily.

“Surely as long as I’m mistress here it’s for me to say what Miss Merrill is to do, or not to do?”

“Cooking the dinner...”

“Who asked her to cook the dinner?”

“Oh, do let me finish it,” said Ann. “I love trying my hand at the cooking. It may not be very grand, but it’ll be eatable.”

“You’re looking very well on it at any rate,” observed Waring. “It’s always a treat to see a cheerful smile.”

“Meaning...?” asked Vera icily.

“That Miss Merrill looks, if possible, more charming than usual.”

This was the first time Waring had ever paid her compliments openly. Ann felt the atmosphere grow still more electric, for she knew that it was done intentionally. Certainly Mrs. Holmes’s stormy face was anything but attractive this afternoon; but why emphasize the fact? It seemed to Ann that Waring had suddenly grown tired of Vera’s tantrums and intended to make that plain to her. The little governess hastened back to the kitchen, and busied herself with the pots and pans. She was on her knees before the oven when Waring entered. He had strolled down from his own room in the school-house, to the back ​door. Emily sat at the table shelling peas; Vera, excusing herself from giving any assistance in the kitchen by saying she had a frightful headache, had gone to lie down; and Holmes was in the smoking-room writing letters. Ann congratulated herself on the presence of Emily, when Waring appeared. But Waring was too experienced in the gentle art of philandering to find any difficulty in removing obstacles. He removed Emily.

“I’ve lost my silver cigarette case,” he said to her. “It’s probably dropped behind the cushions of the car. Just run down to the garage and have a look, will you? I’ll give you five shillings if you find it.”

“She’s busy,” said Ann, sharply.

“I’ll take on her job,” returned Waring coolly. “Off you go, Emily.”

Emily went.

“She’ll be some time searching.” He took the case from his pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Not a bit.”

“One keeps one’s head better smoking, and I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to listen. And if you stay here you’ve promised to do Emily’s job.”

“All right.” He walked over to the table, and picked up a green pod. Then he threw it down impatiently. “No, let them wait. I’ve thought of you every minute of the time I’ve been away.”

“Even during the polo?” asked Ann.

She was endeavoring to treat the situation lightly, but she was more than a little disturbed. He disregarded her interruption.

“No girl has ever had the effect on me that you have. It’s the damned detached air of you, I think. Do ​you imagine I don’t know that under that cool little manner of yours there’s fire? I can’t be in a room two minutes with you without wanting to kiss you.”

He came a step nearer to her. Ann still held the sizzling meat dish. “No man can attempt to kiss a woman who holds a pan of boiling fat in her hands,” she reflected thankfully.

“Don’t make me upset the mutton,” she remarked calmly. “Go on shelling the peas.”

“Very well—perhaps it’s wiser. We know the proverb about idle hands.”

Ann couldn’t hold the meat dish for ever, but she now began an interminable basting of the joint. It was a most ridiculous situation, and yet she knew that the real and vital moments of life often occur at curiously incongruous periods. They do not wait for the stage to be set—the scene rehearsed.

“You’ve come to mean more to me than any woman I’ve ever known,” he went on. “Kissing you that night sent me mad. Will you marry me?”

Ann was so intensely astonished at this abrupt proposal, that she narrowly escaped burning herself with the basting speon; but she still had sufficient command over her voice to answer in a matter-of-fact tone:

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I don’t love you.”

“You let me kiss you.”

“I daresay you’ve kissed quite a number of people you didn’t love.”

“Have you?”

“Not a number. Three to be accurate.”

“And I’m one of them?”

​“Yes.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever asked to be my wife.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this distinction,” she remarked dryly.

He came towards her again.

“We won’t discuss the distinction of it—but at least from a common-sense point of view it’s worth thinking about. Kopu is one of the best stations on the coast, and it isn’t mottgaged like most of them.”

She looked at him steadily.

“Do you really want me to look at it from the standpoint of common sense? To marry you for your money?”

“I want you to marry me for whatever reason you choose. I’ll make you love me afterwards.”

She shook her head.

“No. It’s no use talking. I can’t.”

“That's final?”

“Quite final.”

“Very well. Tomorrow I’m leaving for Wairiri, and going on to Australia. But that doesn’t mean that I’m giving up hope. I shall be away for three months. But they’ll forward letters from Kopu, and if you change your mind and decide to be . . . kind to me, you’ve only to write, and I’ll come back.. . .”

A movement at the inner door checked him. Vera Holmes stood there, her eyes burning in a strained, pale face. How much had she heard, Ann wondered? Not more than a few words, for the door had been closed up to a second or two ago. But the mere fact of Gerald being here alone with the governess was sufficient to infuriate Vera in her present mood. When ​she spoke, however, she gave no sign of any violent feeling.

“For goodness’ sake don’t carry your flirtations into the kitchen, Gerald,” she remarked contemptuously. “If you want to make love to Miss Merrill, take her out on the veranda, and I’ll finish the dinner. But I warn you, Miss Merrill, he’s not to be taken seriously. He can’t help making love to every woman he meets. It’s an affliction, poor dear. I’ve known him long enough to overlook it.”

“I shouldn’t dream of taking him seriously at any time,” said Ann. “He’s supposed to be shelling peas at the moment.”

“Where's Emily?”

“I sent her down to the garage to find my cigarette case which I have in my pocket. I thought I could talk more comfortably to Miss Merrill alone. You’re quite right, Vera, I was making a mild attempt at flirtation. Unfortunately, Miss Merrill seems more interested in the mutton.”

“I happen to realize that the dinner is of a great deal more importance to you than I am. Very unromantic, of course, to admit it, but I sadly fear it’s true,”

The tension of Vera’s face relaxed.

“Do you think you’re ever going to get those peas done in time, Gerald?”

“Not unless you come and help me.”

“I can’t sit here in the heat—my head’s awful.”

“All right, I’ll take them out on to the veranda. You’ve got to do your share, though—no putting all the work on to me. Come along.”

To Ann’s great relief they left the kitchen together. Had she been quite truthful in all she had said to ​Mrs. Holmes? Gerald Waring, perhaps for the first time in his life, had been serious, and Ann knew it. She hoped the Recording Angel would make allowances for the awkwardness of the situation, and overlook her lapse from strict veracity.

After dinner, Ann wondered how she could escape for a few moments down to the cottage. She must see Rodney again. Ever since she had parted with him, those words of his had been repeating themselves in her happy heart. “I love you.” She wanted to hear him say it again—wanted to tell him that all her love was his—that she asked no greater happiness than to be his wife. And now she realized how difficult it would be unless she were definitely engaged to Rodney Marsh—to absent herself from the homestead in order to visit him.

But this evening Fate seemed to be in a kind mood. It was quite easily and naturally arranged. Dick Holmes was going over to visit the patient. Ann asked if she might go too.

“I told him I’d make him some chicken broth. It’s ready. I could take it in a jug.”

“Be sure to bring my jug back,” said Vera.

Did she care two straws about the jug, or was this an indirect method of making certain that Ann was going with Holmes? That meant, of course, that Vera would be left to entertain Waring on the veranda homestead. Again Ann reproached herself for this suspicion. To be jealous of admiration openly expressed for another woman was characteristic of Vera; but to wish to be continually alone with a man ​seemed to point to some feeling a little warmer than friendship. Angry with herself for such a thought, Ann dismissed it, and set off in the light of the sunset across the paddocks with Dick Holmes. He was silent and pre-occupied during the walk, but Ann, too, was in no mood for conversation. She was glad that Holmes was with her, for a certain shyness at meeting Rodney again had seized her. Yet when they were all together in the little front room, shadowed now in the fading light, she found herself wishing fervently that Holmes would leave her. After a few minutes her wish was granted, for Holmes stepped out into the kitchen to have a word with Macdonald. Now, she and Rodney were quite alone, and Ann knew her heart was beating painfully.

“I'm glad the knee’s so much better,” she remarked.

“Oh, it’s getting on A1 now,” returned Marsh. “I’ve been walking a bit today.” He paused, and then went on abruptly. “I’ve been wanting to see you. I’ve got to—explain. I’m sorry for what I did... what I said—yesterday.” He was speaking with some difficulty. “No man has any right to...to tell a woman he loves her, if he doesn’t mean to ask her to marry him.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Ann laughed. But she was glad he could not see her face.

“Are you breaking it gently to me that you don’t mean to do me that honor?” she asked.

“I don’t know about it’s being much honor,” he replied, “but I oughtn’t to have said what I did when I haven’t any intention of marrying. I didn’t mean to say it.”

“It wasn’t true?”

​He did not reply for a moment, but Ann could hear his labored breathing.

“I don’t mean to marry,” he said at last.

“Aren’t you apologizing rather unnecessarily?” asked Ann. “You seem to be taking it for granted that I should accept your offer. It isn’t very unusual to visit people who are ill, you know.”

“You’ve been kind in coming, but...”

“But I mustn’t build any high hopes upon your graciously allowing me to call upon you?”

“You’re trying to show me I’m not good enough for you—talking like that.”

“Is that what is at the back of your mind—that I’d think I was condescending in accepting you?”

“Nothing’s at the back of my mind, except that I don’t mean to marry.”

“Do you imagine that I’m likely to be broken-hearted at your decision?”

“Oh, hell!” said Rodney Marsh into his pillow.

Again Ann laughed. Well, to laugh was better than to cry; and if her langhter hurt the man lying there beside the window, she didn’t care.

“I can’t very well decline what isn’t offered, can I?” she said. “But I’m sorry if anything in my manner led you to believe that this explanation was necessary. Let’s forget the whole episode. Three or four men have already told me that they love me. I’ve learnt not to attach much importance to remarks of that sort.” Holmes was returning along the passage. “I hope you’ll like my chicken broth,” she added brightly; and departed with the honors of war. What were they worth, those honors? she asked herself bitterly, as she walked home across the darkening paddocks, beside the silent Holmes.

​She’d lied to Rodney when she’d let him think she didn’t care. She knew that she loved him, as she believed she would never love any other man. But must she accept the added humiliation of his knowledge of that fact? Surely some rags of pride might be left to her. She went to her room soon after they reached the homestead. She meant to cook the breakfast, she announced, and must get to bed early. Vera protested feebly, but Ann was firm. She enjoyed cooking, she asserted, and she had plenty of time on her hands now that the little girls were not having lessons. Holmes was writing in the smoking-room, and Vera remained with Waring on the veranda. Ann undressed and got into bed. She could pretend to be asleep if Vera came to her room. But Vera did not come. The lights went out in the homestead, and Ann remained hour after hour, wide awake, staring into the darkness.

What was she to do now? She couldn’t stay on here, seeing Rodney every day—that would be more than she could bear. She must get away. But where? Take another situation as nursery governess? No, she turned with distaste from the idea of having to live in such intimate fashion with any family again. Yet she must do something for her living. What? And then as though she had summoned some magic to her aid, she saw herself in a hat shop in Wairiri. More than once she had been told by the women on the coast stations that they could get nothing they liked in the little town; and they had all admired the hats she wore. She had enough capital to start in a small way, and she could get some place with a room behind or above the shop, in which she could live by herself. That was what she wanted! To be alone. ​Not to be forced to act a part all day for fear some one might guess her secret! It would hurt her to say good-by to Biddy and Jo, but one must make up one’s mind to face these smaller sorrows. After all, if one could face the biggest blow of all—the desolation...

No, she would not think of that! She had indulged in some foolish romantic day-dream. It was over. Some day she would forget it. Yet as she said that, she knew that it wasn’t true. The wound would heal in time, no doubt—but deep wounds leave scars for ever. Ann turned on her bed in the darkness. She wouldn’t let herself think of what might have been—she wouldn’t! She got up and lighted her lamp—looked for a book. She’d been reading something—a book of Arnold Bennett’s—where was it? She remembered now, she’d left it up in the school-room. Throwing on a wrapper, Ann stepped out through the open window across the veranda into the night. Why hadn’t she thought before of leaving her room for the warm star lit darkness of the garden? One could at least breathe here in the open. That terrible constriction of the throat, the sense of physical oppression, seemed to be eased a little by the night wind stirring the trees under the wide sky. And the restful, silent hills brought some vague sense of distant peace.

On the grass borders passing round the house, Ann’s steps were noiseless. She reached the eastern side, and mounted the path towards the school-room. The door was open. She entered and fumbled at the catch of the torch she had brought with her. She must be quiet, for Gerald Waring slept in the room adjoining. Then suddenly she heard his voice.

“Don’t be a fool, Vera. You’ve said yourself that ​it must end. Think what it would mean if Dick knew.”

There was the sound of a woman sobbing.

Ann stepped back from the school-room, and fled down the pathway towards the house.