“She came to tell me that you want a divorce.”
“That I want a divorce? From you?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“Of course I don’t,” said Henry indignantly.
“You don’t want to marry Susan?”
“I should hate to marry Susan.”
“She wants to marry you.”
“Yes, I’m afraid she does.” Henry looked despondent. “She’s always ringing me up and writing me letters. I don’t know what to do about her.”
“Did you tell her you wanted to marry her?”
“Oh, one says things,” said Henry vaguely. “Or rather they say things and one agrees…. One has to, more or less.” He gave her an uneasy smile. “You wouldn’t divorce me, would you, Shirley?”
“I might,” said Shirley.
“Darling-”
“I’m getting rather-tired, Henry.”
“I’m a brute. I’ve given you a rotten deal.” He knelt down beside her. The old alluring smile flashed out. “But I do love you, Shirley. All this other silly nonsense doesn’t count. It doesn’t mean anything. I’d never want to be married to anyone but you. If you’ll go on putting up with me?”
“What did you really feel about Susan?”
“Can’t we forget about Susan? She’s such a bore.”
“I’d just like to understand.”
“Well-” Henry considered. “For about a fortnight I was mad about her. Couldn’t sleep. After that, I still thought she was rather wonderful. After that I thought she was beginning, perhaps, to be just the least bit of a bore. And then she quite definitely was a bore. And just lately she’s been an absolute pest.”
“Poor Susan.”
“Don’t worry about Susan. She’s got no morals and she’s a perfect bitch.”
“Sometimes, Henry, I think you’re quite heartless.”
“I’m not heartless,” said Henry indignantly. “I just don’t see why people have to cling so. Things are fun if you don’t take them seriously.”
“Selfish devil!”
“Am I? I suppose I am. You don’t really mind, do you, Shirley?”
“I shan’t leave you. But I’m rather fed up, all the same. You’re not to be trusted over money, and you’ll probably go on having these silly affairs with women.”
“Oh no, I won’t. I swear I won’t.”
“Oh, Henry, be honest.”
“Well, I’ll try not to, but do try and understand, Shirley, that none of these affairs mean anything. There’s only you.”
“I’ve a good mind to have an affair myself!” said Shirley.
Henry said that he wouldn’t be able to blame her if she did.
He then suggested that they should go out somewhere amusing, and have dinner together.
He was a delightful companion all the evening.
CHAPTER seven
1
Mona Adams was giving a cocktail-party. Mona Adams loved all cocktail-parties, and particularly her own. Her voice was hoarse, since she had had to scream a good deal to be heard above her guests. It was being a very successful cocktail-party.
She screamed now as she greeted a late-comer.
“Richard! How wonderful! Back from the Sahara-or is it the Gobi?”
“Neither. Actually it’s the Fezzan.”
“Never heard of it. But how good to see you! What a lovely tan. Now who do you want to talk to? Pam, Pam, let me introduce Sir Richard Wilding. You know, the traveller-camels and big game and deserts-those thrilling books. He’s just come back from somewhere in-in-Tibet.”
She turned and screamed once more at another arrival.
“Lydia! I’d no idea you were back from Paris. How wonderful!”
Richard Wilding was listening to Pam, who was saying feverishly:
“I saw you on television-only last night! How thrilling to meet you. Do tell me now-”
But Richard Wilding had no time to tell her anything.
Another acquaintance had borne down upon him.
He fetched up at last, with his fourth drink in his hand, on a sofa beside the loveliest girl he had ever seen.
Somebody had said:
“Shirley, you must meet Richard Wilding.”
Richard had at once sat down beside her. He said:
“How exhausting these affairs are! I’d forgotten. Won’t you slip away with me, and have a quiet drink somewhere?”
“I’d love to,” said Shirley. “This place gets more like a menagerie every minute.”
With a pleasing sense of escape, they came out into the cool evening air.
Wilding hailed a taxi.
“It’s a little late for a drink,” he said, glancing at his watch, “and we’ve had a good many drinks, anyway. I think dinner is indicated.”