The Toff and the Runaway Bride Read online

  Barbara actually stared at this, and then swung round on him, eyes flashing.

  “It was the only possible thing. I mean that.”

  “I could bear you running away from Guy, even though it was a bit sudden,” said Rollison, “but why did you have to come here?”

  “I couldn’t think of anyone else who might help,” Barbara answered simply.

  “Does your father know where you are?”

  “Heavens, no!” He’d blow his top right off.”

  Rollison chuckled. “I can believe it. Jolly, some tea, please. Barbara, before you say another word, you must put some powder on your nose, I’ve never seen it so shiny.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Barbara said defensively, and her gaze roamed, as for a mirror.

  “Too bad,” Rollison said. “But I can find you some powder.” He took her arm again, and hustled her out by a different way, into a passage off which several doors led, and into one of the rooms; a small, well-lit bedroom, where the dressing-table might have been that of any beauty-queen. “You’ll find everything you want there,” he assured her, and then went out, closed the door firmly and hurried along the passage and into the kitchen, where Jolly had already put on the kettle. The kitchen was small, but boasted a remarkable and lustrous collection of stainless steel, china and porcelain; the only antiquated thing in it was Jolly. Jolly was in his sixties, and at times he looked nearer seventy. His face was crisscrossed with lines, his jowl was flabby and he had a slight look of the dyspeptic.

  “Jolly,” said Rollison urgently, “what else has she told you?”

  “Nothing at all, sir.”

  “How long has she been here?”

  “About five minutes. She must have left Major Lessing within an hour of departing for the honeymoon.”

  “Left him standing,” Rollison said, and at last he grinned. “I wonder what this is all about? There’s a chance that if Major Lessing is in any mood to think, he’ll wonder if she’s been in touch with me. If he should ring up, she hasn’t. Not until we know more about it all.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “And if he calls in person, give me enough warning to spirit Mrs. Lessing out of the living-room.”

  “I will, sir,” promised Jolly.

  And he would.

  Rollison went back to the spare bedroom, where Barbara was now sitting in front of the dressing-table, face thrust forward, and inspecting herself closely. She glanced up at him, and then back at the mirror; after a moment, she turned to look at him, and ask:

  “Is that better?”

  “Much.”

  “Hypocrite, I haven’t touched it with powder,” Barbara said. “My nose was perfectly all right. If you’ve telephoned father, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “I haven’t telephoned your father.”

  She caught her breath. “You haven’t heard from Guy?”

  “I told Jolly to give us plenty of warning if either of them came,” said Rollison. “You can take it easy for a while.”

  She jumped up. “Oh, bless you!”

  Rollison backed away, hastily.

  “I don’t want Guy to turn up and find me smeared with his bride’s lipstick,” he protested, and looked her up and down, then added with a wicked grin: “In fact, I don’t think I want him to turn up at all. This is a bit cramped as honeymoon quarters, but—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Barbara.

  “You’d lock the door with me inside and stand on guard all night outside, I know what you’re like, even if you do keep a spare room with enough scent and makeup and clothes for a king’s mistress.” She shrugged that remark off; and it was obvious that she had used the past few minutes to compose herself. “Rolly, I’m sorry I threw myself on your goodwill, but there’s absolutely no one else who could help and be reasonable. Dad would just say ‘I told you so’, but I really can’t believe it. Just at the moment I feel almost cold-blooded,” she added, and undoubtedly that was true. “I know I’m soon going to realise what’s happened, then I’ll collapse like a punctured balloon; but just at the moment I’m quite all right.”

  “Good,” said Rollison. “Let’s go and have some tea and you can tell me all about it. You can’t have quarrelled already.”

  He remembered the expression in her eyes; the fear; and the way Old Joe had boomed out, so that she could hear. And when she was sitting in a large armchair in the room, with the light from the window shining on to her eyes, he could tell that the fear still lurked there; she simply had it under control.

  “No, we haven’t quarrelled,” she said. “We had arranged to change cars at Ealing Common. Guy had another one waiting there, with our real luggage—the cases we had in the other car were all empty. I just left him, at Ealing. He was checking the oil and petrol, just to make sure that no one had outguessed him. I got out and walked off, and caught a train—we were only two minutes from the Tube.”

  “No word of farewell?”

  “No.”

  “And couldn’t he see you?”

  “No, the bonnet was up, and hid me.”

  After a decent interval, while Barbara filled in some of the gaps, Rollison leaned forward in his chair, and asked: “Why would your father say that he’d told you so?”

  “He’s opposed the wedding from the very first,” explained Barbara.

  “He didn’t show any opposition today.”

  “He thought it was too late to do anything,” said Barbara, and tears suddenly welled up in her eyes. “As a matter of fact, he’s been a pet. When he realised he couldn’t stop it, he turned round completely, and there’s nothing he didn’t do to get us off to a good start.” Now, her voice was breaking, tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she was fumbling for a handbag that wasn’t there. Rollison handed her his handkerchief, and then saw the door open. He stood up and crossed to Jolly, took the tea-tray from him, and said: “Don’t come in unless I call.” “Very good, sir.”

  Rollison put the tray down on a small table between the two chairs, and then stood and watched the bride. She was sniffing and dabbing, and he could not see her face clearly. Her fair hair was beautifully dressed, the hand holding the handkerchief was long and slender, tanned slightly brown; and a single solitaire diamond ring blazed by the side of the gold wedding-ring which was so new. He did not speak, but poured out tea, and when he had finished she was holding out her hand for a cup. “Sugar and milk?”

  “Yes, please.” She took a little milk and four lumps of sugar; which told a story in itself. She was a little tear-stained and woebegone, but in some ways Rollison preferred this attitude to the curiously stilted calmness she had shown before.

  “Rolly,” she said, suddenly, “he’s married.”

  The statement came so flatly, that obviously she felt quite sure. Now she looked up into his eyes, cup in one hand, other hand held out towards him, as if for comfort; and he took it. Fresh tears welled up in eyes which were the most beautiful blue.

  “At first I couldn’t believe it, but now I know it’s true,” she went on.

  Everything Rollison knew of Major Guy Lessing made him want to cry out that he knew her statement was false. Guy was no saint, of course; and any father might understandably try to prevent his daughter from marrying a man years older than herself, and a man often a subject for scandal. Guy’s name had been linked with a dozen beautiful women, and there were good reasons to believe that it had not been all rumour. That he would change his mistress almost without regret was common knowledge. That he had married Barbara Lorne for her father’s money was common belief, too, except to a few close friends who would not even think of it. But that he should commit bigamy was quite unthinkable.

  This was not the moment to argue with his bride.

  She had finished dabbing again, and was sipping her tea; Rollison
wondered whether she had drunk much champagne, before or after cutting the cake. He remembered the great cake, too, and the hundreds of guests, and the brisk and witty speech of her father.

  “What makes you so sure?” he inquired.

  “This,” Barbara answered simply, and slipped her hand to the V of her coat, delving between the curving beauty of her breasts; and she drew out a most prosaic thing, a folded paper. He had seen paper folded to much the same size, and of the same green print before: this was a marriage certificate. She thrust it towards him.

  “While I was getting dressed this morning, someone telephoned and said he was married, and that if I went on with it, she would come to the church and stop the marriage, but—well, nothing happened. I couldn’t believe it then,” went on Barbara, as Rollison unfolded the certificate, and she watched with a curious kind of fascination. “But during the—the ceremony I hardly heard a word, I don’t know how it was I didn’t faint. When the bishop asked—asked if anyone knew any reason why we shouldn’t be lawfully wedded, I felt as if I would scream. It was awful.”

  It must have been the most dreadful moment of her life; the very moment when she should have known a kind of ecstasy. Studying her face now, Rollison knew how she must have fought for her self-control, and he understood the look in her eyes when she had walked past on her bridegroom’s arm. And he could imagine what she had felt when the old tramp had boomed out those particular words for the world to hear.

  “… know good reason why they should not be joined together in holy matrimony, let him speak now, or for ever hold his peace.”

  “When we were being photographed, some man shouted out a protest, I don’t know whether you heard him,” Barbara went on. “I think I would have fainted then, but Guy realised that something was the matter, and held me up. The awful thing was that I could even begin to believe it, at first. Then when we got to the reception, there were some letters for me. I found them after I’d changed into my going-away outfit. In one of them was this.”

  Rollison had the certificate open now, and knew the worst; that this looked real, felt real and said that Guy Lessing, whose profession was given as “retired soldier”, and whose address was a friend’s country cottage he had used for many years, had married a Helen Goodman, of the village of Bane, where the cottage was; and the record said that the marriage had been solemnised in a North London Registrar’s office three years ago.

  “I just didn’t know what I was doing,” Barbara went on. “I couldn’t ask him about it, not then, because even if it were true he would deny it, and—well, I didn’t know what to do. I stuffed it into my bra, and all the time we were driving to Ealing it seemed to stick into me, like a knife. Then we stopped, and—well, I’ve told you what I did. I just had to get away, and talk to someone who would try to find out the truth. Rolly, you will, won’t you? You’ll find out if this is genuine, or if—if it’s forged?”

  Rollison opened his lips to say, “Of course,” but before he uttered even a syllable, the front-door bell rang so fiercely that it seemed as urgent as a fire-alarm.

  Chapter Three

  Anxious Groom

  Barbara was on her feet on the instant, and Rollison felt her fingers clutching his. Jolly, who could have gone through another door, came in this way to show that he was fully alive to the dangers if this should be the groom or the father of the bride. He left the door open wide, so that

  Rollison could look into the hall, and see whoever had called. Above the lintel of this door was a small mirror which reflected the likeness of anyone standing outside; a recent innovation and a credit to Jolly’s inventiveness. Now Jolly glanced up at this, and Rollison felt his own heart pounding.

  Jolly, who had made no sound, turned and mouthed: “It is Major Lessing.”

  “Who is it?” breathed Barbara.

  “It’s Guy,” said Rollison. “You’ve got to do a vanishing trick.” He took her arm and propelled her across the room and into the spare bedroom. “I’ll get rid of him as soon as I can,” he promised, “but if he finds out that you’re here I don’t suppose there’s a thing I’ll be able to do.”

  Barbara nodded understanding.

  As he closed the door on her, Rollison saw the bright glitter in her eyes, and saw fear fresh upon that brightness. He wished that there had been more opportunity to talk to her, but there was too little time to do what he wanted now, for Jolly would be opening the front door. Rollison went swiftly into the big room, to remove the tea-tray and the evidence that two had been in here; but the tea-tray was not in sight. He grinned as he heard Jolly say: “Good gracious me!” and saw him back away from the door as if this were the most unbelievable thing that had ever beset him. He actually staggered, and it was the most convincing act.

  Rollison put the certificate into his pocket, as Lessing came striding in. He took no more notice of Jolly than he would of a private standing to one side, but approached Rollison vigorously, tall, handsome, obviously deeply perturbed.

  “What the devil’s the matter with you?” Rollison demanded, and his tone and his expression were at least as convincing as Jolly’s. “Why—”

  “Have you heard from Barbara?” Lessing demanded.

  It would be easy to over-emphasise denial, and Rollison knew that if he did it would do much more harm than good. So he simply raised his hands in resignation, and said: “No, of course I haven’t.”

  “No ‘of course’ about it,” said Lessing. He came within arm’s reach of Rollison, and stood there rather like an accusing Colonel. “This is the most likely place she’d come to, if she were in trouble, and she’s in trouble all right.”

  “Guy, I don’t want to appear dumb, but would you mind telling me what all this is about?”

  “I’ll tell you what it’s about,” said Lessing, and looked over his shoulder as if to tell Jolly to go out of earshot; but if Jolly were eavesdropping, he was safely out of sight. “She ran away from me.” He pressed a strong brown hand against a broad brown forehead, and went on in a harsh, hurt voice, “Give me a whisky and soda, will you?”

  “My dear chap!” Rollison hurried to a corner cupboard which contained a remarkable variety of alcoholic liquors, took out a bottle of Scotch and a syphon, half filled a glass and added only a splash of soda. He took it to Lessing. “Plenty more where that came from.”

  “Thanks.” Lessing took a deep drink. “It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?”

  “If I couldn’t see you with my own eyes I certainly wouldn’t believe it,” Rollison said. “What—” He broke off. “Take your time, Guy.”

  “Hardly require any time,” said Lessing jerkily. “It’s quite simple. I could see that something was agitating her at the ceremony and at the reception. I thought she was just having a reaction. Didn’t give it much thought at all, but coming out of the church, she nearly collapsed. Gave her a stiffener of brandy in the car going to the reception, and that seemed to make her feel better. She said she was all right. Afterwards we were to change cars at Ealing Common, I wanted to make sure that we got away on our honeymoon without our clothes being full of rice and confetti. Never could stand that kind of asinine child’s play. Then I checked the car levels, to make sure no ass had fooled around, and—goddammit, she’d walked out on me. I didn’t even see her go.”

  “She couldn’t have been well,” said Rollison weakly, and went to the corner cupboard. “After that, I need a drink.” He poured a weak one, and appeared to toss it down, then came back. “She must have given some reason.”

  “Don’t be a dolt. She just walked out on me.”

  “I could understand it before the wedding—” Rollison began, and saw the glint spring to Lessing’s eyes; for there was a quarter of Irish ancestry in Guy Lessing, and it was always liable to spring out to defend the English blood in him.

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

 
“Now, Guy—”

  “Don’t stand there saying ‘now, Guy’. What made you say you could have understood it if she’d left me before the wedding?”

  Rollison gulped. “Her father,” he said.

  Lessing glowered. “So you know what a fight he’s put up to stop us from marrying.”

  “He hinted at it.”

  “Didn’t know you knew him well.”

  “He knew me well enough to know that I knew you,” said Rollison cautiously.

  “You mean to say that the old so-and-so came to you to check up on me? Why, if I’d known that—”

  “He just came for a friendly chat, and you cropped up as if by accident, but I could read between the lines,” explained Rollison. “You once told me, standing in this very room, that he would rather cut your throat than let you marry her.”

  Lessing relaxed.

  “Daresay I did,” he conceded. “I never liked the bouncy little bounder, how on earth he managed to sire a daughter like Barbara I don’t know. But he wouldn’t be behind this.”

  “He wouldn’t?”

  “It stands to reason. He would hate the scandal—he’s the social climber of the century, and he would have given half his fortune for a real live lord as son-in-law. I could believe he’d do anything up to the last week or two, but once he realised that Barbara was adamant, he—but what’s the use of standing here and talking about him?”

  “Think she’d go straight to him?” asked Rollison.

  “No, I don’t. But if she was so overwrought that she would walk out on me she might do anything. As a matter of fact, I was prepared to wager that she’d come to you. Sure you haven’t seen her?”

  “Damn it, Guy—”

  “You forget that I’ve seen you before, and when you play Mr. Innocent you’re at your slyest,” said Lessing flatly. He downed the rest of his drink. “Wouldn’t mind another. I don’t mind admitting to you that this has knocked me right over. Still don’t believe it, but …”