But Not For Me Read online

  “Is that so?” A smile of roguish amusement flickered over Frank’s face. “Well, there have certainly been times when I’ve thought him all of that.”

  “Why, do you know him?” Ariane was appalled.

  “Certainly I know him,” Frank told her. “Your ill-mannered, conceited, insufferable person happens to be my elder brother, Harvey.”

  CHAPTER II

  “Your—brother!”

  “Well, yes.” Frank evidently found the whole thing rather more amusing than anything else.

  “What has he been doing? I really must apologize for him if he’s annoyed you. I know he can be foul when he’s in a temper.”

  He hadn’t been in a temper, exactly, but Frank’s choice of adjective was the right one, Ariane thought. Then she remembered, of course, that she couldn’t possibly, possibly explain what it was that had annoyed her.

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said hastily, in spite of the amused curiosity in Frank’s eyes.

  “Please—” he began.

  “No, no.”

  And at that moment Harvey Muldane spoke beside them.

  “Shall I wait in the car for you, Frank, or will you be very much longer?”

  The tone was cold and absolutely impersonal.

  Frank turned.

  “I’m just coming. Here, let me introduce you two. Or rather”—he paused inquiringly—“I think perhaps you’ve met already.”

  Harvey bowed slightly and glanced past Ariane.

  “We have not been introduced.”

  “No?” Frank looked a little puzzled, then grinned disrespectfully at his elder brother.

  “Well, Miss Dobson seems to have you well taped up all the same. What have you been doing, I’d like to know? She’s gathered the impression that you’re the outer edge.”

  Just for a moment Harvey Muldane’s eyes flickered over Ariane with a coldness that was almost menacing.

  “I am in no doubt of Miss Dobson’s opinion of me,” he said dryly. “Incidentally, I believe she is quite aware of my opinion of her.”

  And without another word, he turned on his heel.

  The tone was so incredibly rude and abrupt that Ariane gasped, and the furious colour surged into Frank’s face.

  “Damn it! I’ll make him apologize for that.” He took a quick step after his brother, but Ariane caught him back almost imploringly.

  “No—please, please don’t say any more.”

  “But I’m not going to have him speak to you like that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said almost wildly.

  “But it does. What in heaven’s name must you think of us?”

  Well, she didn’t think much of them as a family, of course, only this boy happened to be perilously useful. She must hang on to that fact. She must—however shaken and furious she felt.

  “Please just let it go this time. Please—Frank.”

  She knew that would probably have its effect.

  It did.

  “Oh—Ariane! I think you’re the sweetest and most generous of girls. And I’ll make that poisonous brother of mine go on his knees to you one day.”

  Ariane’s imagination stopped short at the idea of Harvey Muldane on his knees to anybody, but she refrained from pointing out the improbability of the honour falling to her in any case.

  Besides, there was Mother beckoning to her from across the hall, and, with a relief almost beyond endurance, she saw that release was at hand. As briefly as possible she said her goodbyes, and escaped at last to the sanctuary of the car and her parents’ company.

  It was her father who spoke first, and there was an unusual note of displeasure in his voice.

  “Ariane, were those the Muldanes to whom you were chatting in that friendly way?”

  Ariane nearly choked.

  Chatting in a friendly way to Harvey Muldane! Really, Daddy was ridiculously unobservant.

  “Well—” she began.

  “My dear, I don’t often criticize your choice of friends,” her father interrupted. “But the Muldanes are not exactly a tactful choice for you to make, to say the least of it. And that eldest Muldane is certainly not the sort of man I should wish you to have for a friend in any circumstances.”

  Well, she was wholeheartedly with Daddy there!

  “You needn’t worry about that, Daddy. I can’t stand Harvey Muldane at any price,” Ariane said fervently. “But the youngest one—Frank—is really very nice.”

  “An exceptionally nice boy,” Mother broke in calmly, with only the faintest hint of nervousness apparent in her tone. “Ariane brought him to speak to me, John, and I was agreeably impressed.”

  “Well, he’s a Muldane, you know. He’s a Muldane.” Her husband was evidently anything but pleased at the situation.

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Mother’s composure was magnificent. “But nowadays these things don’t matter quite so much. I don’t think we ought to hedge Ariane round with artificial restrictions.”

  Her husband was silent, perhaps with astonishment. And Ariane felt that horrid sense of shame again. For no one knew better than she how Mother must be doing violence to her real feelings in saying that. In Mother’s real view, people like the Muldanes should remain for ever outside the pale.

  “But necessity is a strange and terrifying thing,” thought Ariane. And it was at that moment she realized suddenly that she had grown up.

  When they reached home her parents both kissed her good night very tenderly—Daddy with his momentary displeasure forgotten.

  “Good night, darling,” her mother said. “Go straight to bed and sleep well.” And then in a whisper: “And don’t worry about anything.”

  “Don’t you worry, either,” whispered Ariane in return as she hugged her warmly. “Everything will be all right—you’ll see.”

  And she ran upstairs with her heart a little lighter, because at least it was something to realize that the shadow had lifted slightly from Mother’s face.

  The next morning was brilliantly frosty, and although Ariane slept late, the air was still as fresh and keen when she came down as though the sun had only just risen.

  “Isn’t it glorious?” Julie was standing at the window, looking out into the snowy garden. “I think perhaps Christmas holidays are the best, even when Christmas itself is over.”

  “Um. I love winter things, too,” Ariane agreed reflectively. “Wood fires, and toast for tea, and skating on the lake, and New Year resolutions, and long country walks in the snow.”

  “Yes, yes. Eat your breakfast quickly, Ariane, and let’s go out. It’s much too nice to be in.”

  “All right. Where is Mother?”

  “Oh, she didn’t get up. She doesn’t feel well—”

  “Doesn’t feel well?” interrupted Ariane sharply. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing much, she said.” Julie spoke with the unintentional callousness of youth. “She’ll be all right tomorrow.”

  But Ariane was not satisfied, and before she would sit down to her breakfast, she ran upstairs to her mother’s room.

  “It’s nothing, dear, nothing at all,” she was assured. “Just I feel very tired, and Dr. Evans said it was silly to overtax my heart if I felt like that. So I’ll just stay in bed today.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Ariane kissed her fondly and appeared to accept the explanation. But she knew it was not the whole truth.

  Not to overtax her heart. No, nor overstrain her nerves, nor worry herself to death about problems that had no solution. So easy for the doctor to tell her that.

  “Even I told her glibly not to worry last night,” Ariane thought. “But I didn’t tell her why, because I was ashamed. I just left her guessing instead.”

  “Mother, dear—” She stopped helplessly for a moment. The relationship between herself and her mother had always been a very sensitive and affectionate one. They didn’t only love each other. They respected each other.

  Now it was different. If they spoke of what really in their he
arts they became just a couple of scheming women. A husband-hunting mother and daughter. It was no wonder they shrank from it.

  But she couldn’t refuse her mother what reassurance there was to offer. Not when she lay there looking so anxious and wan and a little as though her age were beginning to tell.

  “I didn’t say so last night, but—Frank Muldane and I got on very well. He—he’s quite as nice as we hoped. And—well, of course, it’s frightfully early to think of anything yet—”

  “Of course, of course, my dear.”

  “But if I lay my cards well—” Horrible, horrible expression. Ariane didn’t finish the sentence, but perhaps there was no need to. Instead, she simply kissed her mother again and ran downstairs.

  She found Caroline had just come over to see if anyone felt energetic enough for a walk.

  “Did you enjoy last night?”

  Caroline affectionately linked her arm in Ariane’s as they finally left the house, Julie trotting behind them.

  “Very much.” Ariane smiled conscientiously. “Except that I didn’t think much of Harvey Muldane.”

  “No?” Caroline looked reflective. “He’s disgustingly good-looking.”

  “I don’t think looks entitle a man to be rude and insufferable to everyone,” Ariane said a little sharply.

  “No, of course not. But he was quite agreeable, the one dance I had with him. And I suppose anyone who has Marta Roma for a girl-friend is a bit apt to be sniffy about other females.”

  “Marta Roma!” Ariane stared at her friend in amazement. “Really? I didn’t know. I can’t imagine Harvey Muldane hitting it off with an actress, somehow. Are they engaged, or something?”

  “Well, they’re something,” Caroline replied succinctly.

  “Caroline! But how do you know?”

  “Apparently the other brother—Frank, you know—said something about it to Dick. In strictest confidence, of course,” Caroline added without a trace of a blush. “It seems Harvey Muldane did have some idea of making her marry him. He must be a bit of an innocent, in spite of those lofty airs,” she interjected thoughtfully.

  “Why?”

  “Well, would you mistake Marta Roma for the marrying sort, even from photographs?”

  “No—no, most certainly I shouldn’t,” Ariane felt bound to admit. “Besides, there are enough stories, aren’t there?”

  “There are.” Caroline’s tone was eloquent.

  “Well, what happened, Caroline?”

  “Nothing. I think it’s a question of ‘what is about to happen’?” Caroline explained. “I imagine she has set him right with regard to the marriage question, but is too much interested to let him go. It looks as though a spectacular affair is looming—which I gather will precipitate a volcanic outburst in the Muldane family.”

  “You mean they’d be terribly shocked?”

  “Oh, my dear, the old man’s ghastly strict and upright. Hard in business and pretty intolerant in everything else, you know. He’s rather the old-fashioned, cut-you-off-with-a-shilling type, according to Dick.”

  Ariane considered that rather soberly.

  “In fact, Harvey Muldane is riding for a fall?” she said at last.

  “I suppose so. But if you don’t like him, why worry?”

  “Oh, I’m not worrying!” Ariane assured her. “I was just—thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Lots of things,” said Ariane, and rather hastily changed the subject. After all, it was with Frank Muldane, not Harvey, that she must concern herself.

  “Though how I wish it needn’t be either,” she thought with a sigh.

  And at that moment a rakish, plum-coloured sports car drew sharply into the kerb, a few yards ahead, and out climbed Frank.

  He greeted them with obvious pleasure, and Ariane introduced Julie.

  “So you’re Julie?” he said with his nicest smile. “I was hearing all about you last night.”

  “Were you?” Julie was flattered. “What did you hear?”

  “Enough to make me wish you were my sister,” he told her with a gallant bow.

  And Ariane, smiling sympathetically at Julie’s gratification, thought: “He really is a dear.”

  “Won’t you all come and have coffee with me?” Frank asked. “It’s cold enough in all conscience.”

  They all four went into the small and cosy coffee bar where it was the custom of most of the smart set of the town to foregather at certain times of the day, and tear each others’ reputations to pieces in perfect comfort.

  Frank, however, was evidently not the reputation-tearing type, and nor, certainly, was Ariane. Even Caroline, who had a weakness for scandal, in its more spicy form, was willing to forgo the pleasures of it for the moment, in the happy knowledge that her coat was the cynosure of every envious eye.

  It was Julie who, in all innocence, dropped the brick.

  Putting her elbows on the table, she regarded Frank with great satisfaction and said:

  “Is it your brother who knows Marta Roma?”

  “Well—yes, he does know her,” Frank said with admirable calm. “I’ve met her myself, come to that. Why?”

  “You’ve met her?” His stock bounded up a hundred per cent in Julie’s eyes, quite obviously. “What is she really like, and could you possibly get me her autograph, do you think?”

  “She’s almost exactly like her photographs,” Frank told her. “And yes, I dare say I could get her autograph for you if you want it very much.”

  “Oh, I am glad we met you,” Julie said.

  “I suppose she’s a very interesting person?” That was Ariane, trying to appear completely innocent and unknowing, in order to put him more at ease.

  “Well—yes. If you like the exotic, that is.” Frank’s eyes rested rather artlessly on Ariane for a moment, and one gathered that the exotic was not his own personal weakness.

  “What is she?” Caroline wanted to know. “Italian—Austrian?”

  “Half Italian and half Viennese, I believe. I don’t know her really well. You’ll have to ask my brother. He knows her better,” Frank said coolly.

  That was really very clever of him, Ariane thought, because it was impossible to imagine anybody—with the possible exception of Julie—asking Harvey Muldane anything so personal. At the same time, it implied that, willing though he might be, he really couldn’t supply any more information.

  And, sure enough, the subject died a natural death after that.

  “I like Mr. Muldane,” remarked Julie firmly, when they had parted from him later, and were on their way home.

  “Yes, so do I,” Caroline agreed. “He’s rather smitten with you, Ariane, isn’t he?”

  “Is he?”

  “Well, didn’t you notice it, darling, or is it time I bought you a pair of nice large horn-rimmed specs?”

  “He’d probably stop being smitten then,” Julie pointed out seriously, and Caroline and Ariane both laughed.

  But the remark, however bantering, stayed with Ariane. And she wondered if she ought to feel indecently jubilant or just depressed.

  That afternoon she found she could settle to nothing. In the ordinary way, there were a dozen things perfectly capable of engaging her attention happily for hours. But today she didn’t want to do any of these.

  And finally she went out by herself, walking fast towards the hills outside the town, where a light powdering of snow still remained, although, down in the valley, it had all thawed by now.

  By half-past three she had climbed quite high, and it seemed almost as though she were alone on top of the world. Sounds came from very far away in the still, frosty air, but just then she could hear nothing at all, except the “cheep, cheep” of an excessively saucy robin who hopped from branch to branch.

  And then, far away in the distance, she heard the even beat of a horse’s hoofs. Someone was riding down the winding road that led from the summit of the hill to Norchester itself in the valley.

  Rather risky, that steep descent,
with the ground as unyielding as iron. It must be a good rider, or a rash one, Ariane thought absently, as she climbed over the rough ground more slowly, making her own way back towards the road. The light would be failing in half an hour now, and it was time she was on her way home.

  She reached the bank above the road just as the horse and its rider came into sight round one of the bends.

  The horse was a magnificent chestnut. The rider was Harvey Muldane.

  It was impossible not to see her as she stood a few feet above the road. And indeed, she could tell from the quick lift of his head that he had caught sight of her at once.

  Well, there was nothing for it. She must greet him as coldly as she could. It was only a matter of a few embarrassing seconds, for certainly he would not stop.

  As he reached her she summoned a chilly little smile to her lips, prepared to give the faintest inclination of her head.

  But she need not have bothered. He looked up at her, through her, and beyond her. And, without the slightest sign of recognition, he rode on.

  Ariane felt exactly as though she had been struck.

  It was not that she cared in the least whether or not he greeted her. It was not that one expected more than the minimum of manners from him.

  But the deliberate insult of that blank look was something quite outside the rather gentle conventionality of Ariane’s experience. And, as she climbed down the short slope to the sunken road, she remembered that this was not the first time he had left her trembling and astounded in her defencelessness.

  Much more slowly, and with all the spring gone from her step, Ariane started back down the lane. And all the time she was trying to drag her agitated thoughts from the memory of that cool glance flickering over her without a glimmer of recognition.

  But it was by no means easy, and he was still the only thing in her thoughts when she came upon him again—almost stumbled over him, in fact.

  For this time he lay sprawled in her path, and he was terrifyingly still. There was no sign of his horse, and, from the dust on his clothes, Ariane was horribly afraid he had been dragged some way. One arm was twisted under him, and just where the thick, dark hair tumbled over his forehead, there was a long streak of blood.