"JILL DOESN'T COUNT"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 16 December 1940, Page 10

"JILL DOESN'T COUNT"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

Phyllis Hambledon.

(Author of “Youth Takes the Helm.”)

CHAPTER X. (Continued They drove back again to Biarritz almost in silence, but Viva’s hand slid into his. Such a little hand. It had never done a decent job in its life. Oliver tried to remember that, but that too did not matter. He knew that he wanted her; he knew that tonight might be the climax of this love of his, which, after all, had begun years ago. He told himself roughly that he had a right to this.fulfilment. Had he not gone to prison, for Viva? In her own fashion did she not love him, too? The lights of Biarritz flashed around them they could hear the murmur of the sea upon the sand. They reached the hotel. There came the sound of music from the ballroom. They went upstairs in the same lift together. Then they went alone in the corridor outside Viva’s room. “Good nignt, Viva,” said Oliver. “Good night, Oliver,” said Viva. “Sweet dreams!" She passed into her room and shut the door behind her. Oliver sighed a little. She had been sensible after all. His room looked ordinary, and the curtains were drawn. One could forget that balcony outside, and how narrow was the partition between it, and the window beyond it. He did not undress. He satdown on the sofa, lit a cigarette with fingers that he found were trembling. “Noll!' Noll!” From her window Viva was calling him. Softly, but urgently. He pulled aside his curtains. “What’s the matter, Viva?” “There’s a bat caught in my room. It’s fluttering itself to death. I’m frightened. “Ring for the night porter,” said Oliver. “It would make such a fuss. Please Oliver!” She was out on the balcony now. She wore a white wrapper, frail and wispy as a cloud. Oliver took an irresolute step towards her. Then he was over the partition between the balconies. There was no bat in her room at all. “It must nave flown out again,” said Viva. “There never was a bat,” said Oliver. “Wasn’t there?” Hei’ arms were around his neck. “No,” she whispered. “Only a man. Much nicer', if it’s the right' man. Oliver, what’s the good of fighting any more? What are you fighting for?” What was he fighting for? An ideal, sense of obligation? “You loved me before you married Jill,” said Viva. You still love me.” He gave in. His arms went out, 1.zh.1 drew her towards him. How soft, how yielding she was. Her face was thrown back for his kisses. This is Life, at last, thought Oliver, as his lips bent to hers. This is the moment that I have lived for! Viva’s eyes were like stars. You could drown yourself in them. He drew back a little, and looked at her. “You’re so beautiful " he said. “Am I?” whispered Viva.

She was certain of him now, but, in spite of herself, her eves shifted, just a little. The mirror opposite reflected the two of them. She saw a tall man holding a wisp of white femininity in his arms. Her sense of the theatrical appreciated the picture that they made. She was not to remember that other mirror at Lilac Cottage through which Oliver had seen her face when she had kissed Greer. She had never known the importance of it. But at that moment, Oliver, too, saw the mirror. He too saw the picture reflected in it. Mirrors told the truth. Sometimes they reflected it more clearly that you nad ever known it. Sometimes they told you more than you knew already.

He saw himself. He was holding Viva, who was not his wife! He was kissing her, as she had planned that he should kiss her, ever since she had come to Biarritz. That mirror, deadly in its clarity of vision, in its precision, showed him, Oliver Vereker, being false to ever standard he had of'honour and of decent living. His arms dropped to his side again. He released Viva so suddenly that she nearly fell. “What’s the matter?” said Viva sharply. “I’m not such a cad as I thought 1 was,” said Oliver. “I’m sorry, Viva. Forget it. Goodnight, my dear. The bat’s gone, but keep your window shut, in case it comes back again.” Before she knew what had happened, he had gone. Viva stood alone, her race was ravaged. She was twisting the edge of her negligee into shreds. ’ CHAPTER XI. “You know, Mrs. Vereker,” said Sally Bryant, “I can never, never be grateful enough to you. I don’t believe anybody in the world has ever been as good to me as you are!” “That’s funny!” laughed Jill. “That's really funny!” The two girls were standing in the kitchen of the doctor's house in Charnford. Sally wore an overall, and was stirring something on the electric stove. “You come here as a visitor,'” said Jill, “and the first thing that happens is that Mrs. O'Flynn’s Arthur gets measles. Home she goes to nurse him' And Miss Croft, who helped while my husband was ill. is home again, and you suddenly turn, into cook, housemaid, butler and parlourmaid in one' I don’t know what I’d have done without you these few days before they finished Dear Little Plain Girl. And then you say I’ve been good to y Ou i" “I’ve been happier than I’ve ever oeen in my ]>fe,” said Sally, and indeed she looked starry-eyed and rosy. "Do you know what my ambition is—to get through that cookery book from beginning to end!” "Well, as long as you leave out rice pudding and calf’s head, I’m willing,’ said Jill. “Those are two thing that, as

Mrs. O’Flynn says, 1 can’t abide!” “We might try rice cream instead,” said Sally seriously. “And calf’s foot jelly is good for invalids.” Jill burst out laughing again. “As I remarked before,’’she said, “it’s funny, when you think of all the women in kitchens wishing that they were on the films, and you so devoutly thankful that you’re in a kitchen!” “I’m the one with sense,” said Sally. “What are the films and the stage, but pretending? What I want is life —real life!” “Do you mean that?” young Dr. Wilson. He had come unnoticed into the kitchen. “The electric heater in the surgery has conked out,” he said cheerfully. “May I take some hot water from the kettle, Mrs. Vereker?” He turned to Sally—“ About life: did you mean what you said?” he asked. “Yes,” said Sally. “Real life, with all the pain and the hurt and the rawness of it?” “Yes,” said Sally. “Everything. I wouldn’t be afraid. You’ve got real life here —that’s why I envy you.” Dr. Wilson looked at her in a queer, tender way for a second, before he went back to his patients. Jill noticed the look. In the days since he had brought Sally here, half-drowned, something had been growing between these two. She was glad of it. Terence Wilson was a steady young man, and Sally was fascinated with the thought of a home, finding a delight even in the drudgery attached to it, a waif from theatrical lodgings. Jill wondered what would happen to her, when Oliver returned. She was so much at home here.

And yet she wanted Oliver to herself, and she thought that he would feel that way about her, too. This was an unusual marriage of theirs, but it was a marriage, nevertheless. They had found companionship in each other. I’m his best friend, at any rate, thought Jill. She had been lucky to have finished the picture, before he was due home. She meant to tell him about Dear Little Plain Girl, as soon as he arrived. She would have to. You caij’t spend just under two hundred pounds on yourself and a house, and expect even a mere man not to notice the difference. She went to the sitting room, and sat down at her desk to write her biweekly letter to Oliver. From the kitchen came appetising smells. Mulligatawny soup, and mushroom omelet, d'agnosed Jill. Her lips moved into a smile. She could make Oliver laugh with her .description of Sally’s culinary efforts. But as her pen wrote: Dearest Oliver, she heard steps across the hall. The next moment two hands were laid over her eyes. “Guess who it is!” said a familiar voice. “Oliver!” cried Jill. She sprang to her feet. “But I didn’t expect you till the end of the week,” she gasped. “I got sick of Biarritz,” said Oliver. “I wanted to be home.” “Do you really, really mean that?” cried Jill.

“Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I?” He couldn’t tell her how he had left from Biarritz in the early morning train, fled, before dawn had broken over the Bay of Biscay; how he had paid his bill, crept by stealth out of the hotel; how he had left Viva behind no note nor a word to explain: how in the train he had had a sensation of flight, how even crossing the Channel ne had had a quite irrational fear of being followed. He had meant to say quite casually to Jill: “By the way. Viva turned up in Biarritz!” But the words stuck in his throat. He could not get them out naturally, without giving away what was not only his secret, but Viva’s. “Of course I wanted to be home," he said instead. “It sounds too wonderful to be true, ’ sighed Jill. She put her arm round his neck, and kissed him, as a child might have done. He held her tightly. He kissed her cheek, and then, after a little hesitation, her lips. So Sally found them as she brought in the beginnings of luncheon. She stopped, with a startled exclamation on the threshold. But Jill smiled. She loosened herself from Oliver, but she still held his hand. “Here’s my husband home again, Sally,” she said. “Oliver, this is Sally Bryant. She is in Malcolm Trant’s new picture.” “I’m terribly glad to meet you,” cried Sally. She held out her hand. Oliver just touched it. “How do you do,” he said stiffly. Sally blushed and turned away. Jill looked after her with hurt eyes. “Oliver, you weren’t very nice to her,” she said. “I’m sorry. But what’s she doing here?” “She had an accident. She has been staying here for a week. I expect she’ll go now.” “I wouldn’t like to push her off,” said Oliver, “but I rather hope she goes. Oh, I expect she’s a nice child, but 1 do hate the films, Jill. The more I know of them, the worse I feel about them. You tell me it’s silly of me, but I can t help it. I don’t believe anybody ever came into contact with them without being harmed Call me nar-row-minded, if you like. I’m thankful you d the sense to take up dispensin' 7 Jill.” “Are you?" said Jill slowly. “Of course I am. But I didn't mean to be unkind to that girl. I'll be very sweet to her next time 1 see her.” He was. Luncheon was a cheerful meal. There were four of them: Dr. Wilson, Sally, Ji]] and Oliver, They all seemed to have a good deal to talk about. The soup, the omelet the cold meat were excellent, Oliver at his best, gay and comradely and contented. Grand to see him so well again, thought Jill. Great to have him again! (To be Continued).