Broken Barriers, page 15
She had learnt to agree to everything that he wanted, while dreading the long hours that she must spend alone in her own bedroom or on the balcony.
Carlotta had only been married for a week but she had already learnt that the man who was her husband was not in the least the person she had imagined him to be.
Since their first night in Paris he had been a complete stranger to her. The three days and nights that they had spent there were to Carlotta like a nightmare.
Norman had surrounded himself with friends and she had been unable to approach him and unable to even have a conversation with him alone.
He had given parties and she had been obliged to fulfil the role of hostess.
They had raced, they had been to theatres, they had visited every fashionable restaurant, they had even done a certain amount of sightseeing, but always they had been accompanied by a crowd of laughing chattering people.
Carlotta was not certain where they had all come from or how they had been collected. Only one thing was common to them all, their willingness to spend Norman’s money for him.
Carlotta was weary, mentally and physically, when she stepped from the Blue Train that brought them to Cannes.
In the flaming sunshine she felt that the beauty of everything must in some way prove a good augury for her future happiness.
‘I cannot go on like this,’ she told herself. ‘I cannot, I cannot.’
At last she had the opportunity of saying so to Norman.
The morning had been spent unpacking, but after luncheon they had then gone upstairs to their suite. They had found no servants there. For the first time for days they had a moment alone.
“You would like to rest, I expect,” Norman suggested courteously.
He was unexceptionally polite to her, showing her attention that she loathed, because she felt that it was false and assumed.
“Norman,” she said, “I want to talk to you. Please listen to me.”
“But, of course,” he answered, “what is it you want to say?”
“I have been trying to speak to you for days,” she said nervously, “but we have been so surrounded with friends, at least you have, that I haven’t had an opportunity.”
“I am sorry,” he said, “I thought you were enjoying the entertainments I had arranged for you. They cost a lot of money.”
Carlotta flushed.
“Norman,” she persisted, “you are being horrid to me.”
“Horrid!” he repeated. “I am afraid I don’t understand. I have been doing everything in my power to make our honeymoon amusing.”
“Oh, be honest,” Carlotta said impatiently. “You are doing nothing of the sort. You are filling up our time with ridiculous stupid people, whom neither of us care anything about.”
“In that case,” Norman said, “I am sorry. I thought that the Draysons were your friends and that you liked them,”
“It isn’t that,” Carlotta replied wearily. “It is us, Norman, I am very sorry about the other night, terribly sorry.”
“My dear child,” Norman replied. “Please don’t worry about a little thing like that.”
“Norman, you are not being real and you are not being genuine with me,” Carlotta said desperately. “Don’t you understand? I was mad, overwrought, and hysterical and I said a lot of things I did not mean. Must you go on punishing me?”
Norman looked at her. It seemed to her that he had eyes made of steel.
“There is nothing to apologise for,” he said. “I assure you. I like the truth, I have always liked it.”
“But it was not the truth,” Carlotta said. “I do swear to you, Norman, that what I said was not true.”
Norman walked over the room towards her. He did not touch her, but stood very close looking down into her face.
“Look at me!” he demanded.
She was trembling, but she forced herself to raise her face to his, to look him in the eyes even while her mouth quivered and she clenched her hands together convulsively.
“Will you swear to me on the Bible, on all that you hold sacred,” Norman said, “that you love me for myself?”
Carlotta was paralysed, she could not speak, her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth and her lips were dry. She could only stare at him and then drop her eyes beneath his gaze.
He gave a short laugh that held no humour in it, only a bitterness that was beyond words. Then he left her alone.
For some minutes she stood still and then she dropped to the sofa, sobbing as though her heart would break.
When they met again, Norman was exactly as he had been before. He talked to her, but only as he would talk to a casual acquaintance to whom he was being particularly polite.
They did things together, but Carlotta felt as though she ate, walked and danced with an automaton. She was up against a barrier that she could not bridge.
She had never in all of her life encountered anything so difficult or incomprehensible as the distance that yawned between Norman and herself.
She did not know what to do. She was lost, a child in a forest of fears and terrors, which were all the greater because they were hidden behind the conventionalities of politeness.
‘I cannot bear it – I cannot,” she told herself a thousand times.
She tried to flirt with Norman, she tried to entice him into some uncontrolled expression of himself, she tried being defiant, aloof and exasperating. He remained exactly the same, a creature of stone.
She could make no impression on him.
The second day at Cannes, he came to her room before dinner with a pink leather box in his hand. The maid was dressing her and she and Carlotta looked up in surprise as Norman entered.
It was the first time that he had come to her bedroom and Carlotta’s heart gave a leap of excitement. Did this mean the beginning of a new era?
She made a gesture towards the maid, but Norman saw it.
“Don’t go,” he said genially. “I have brought her ladyship a present and I expect that you would like to see it too.”
“A present!” Carlotta reacted in surprise.
“All brides receive presents on their honeymoon,” Norman said. “Did you not know?”
“No, I did not know,” Carlotta said weakly.
“Open it and see if you approve,” he suggested.
He held the pink box out to her and she took it from him.
Inside was a huge brooch of emeralds and diamonds. It was a magnificent if flamboyant piece of jewellery, which could be worn either in one piece or as two clips.
At another time Carlotta, would have gone into ecstasies of excitement at receiving such a present. Now, for some inexplicable reason, she wanted to cry.
“My lady, it is magnificent,” the maid exclaimed over her shoulder.
“Do you like it, Carlotta?” Norman asked.
“It is very – beautiful,” she answered, but there was a sob in her voice.
“Well, wear it then tonight,” he said. “I expect you have a dress that will match it. If not we shall have to see about getting you one.”
He left the room and Carlotta looked at the glittering brooch.
“Sir Norman is ever so kind,” the maid said. “It is a lovely present, my Lady. It will look so wonderful on your white dress.”
Carlotta rose to her feet abruptly.
“Yes, bring me my white dress,” she said. “I have an idea.”
“An idea?”
“Did I say that?” Carlotta asked. “I was thinking aloud. Bring me my white dress and I will wear green sandals with it,”
She dressed, taking a long time over the process, so that she knew Norman would be waiting for her in the sitting room.
When she was ready, she clipped her emerald-and-diamond bracelet on her wrist, put her engagement ring on and, picking up the new brooch in her hand, went into the sitting room.
Norman, as expected, was ready for her. He was standing looking out of the window. Night had fallen quickly. The sea, moving restlessly, was now a deeper purple echo of the sky above it. Stars hovered like glittering jewels.
Everything was very still and there was the sweet-scented fragrance of a Mediterranean night coming through the open windows.
Carlotta stood just inside the sitting room, looking at Norman’s square shoulders. She thought how nice he looked in evening clothes and, for the first time, there came to her the idea that he was desirable as a lover –
She had only thought of Hector in that way, never any other man. Now she told herself that some women would be glad to be loved by Norman and even she, who loved someone else, felt herself almost attracted to him.
‘I will make him love me again,’ she told herself. ‘I will make him confess it. It is there. I believe it is there. He is only hiding it, only trying to punish me as he is still hurt by what I said.’
Determinedly she advanced to the centre of the room.
“Norman,” she said very gently.
He turned round abruptly as she said his name and she knew that his thoughts had been far away. With his business, she guessed jealously.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Quite ready,” she answered, “except for my brooch.”
She held it out towards him.
“What is wrong?” he enquired.
“Nothing is wrong,” Carlotta said with a smile, “but it is usual on such occasions to pin the present on the bride.”
She looked at him, hoping that some expression would change his courteous severity that she had grown so used to.
“Is that the custom?” he said. “I had no idea. How remiss of me.”
He came towards her unclipping the pin of the brooch from its catch.
“Where do you want to wear it?” he asked.
She pointed to the ‘V’ of her dress, cut low between her breasts.
‘Surely this will move something within him,’ she then told herself, but his hand did not tremble and outwardly he remained unmoved.
It was Carlotta who quivered as she felt his fingers fumbling with the brooch, catching it with difficulty into the thin chiffon of her gown.
His head was bent, it was within a few inches of hers, and she knew that the seductive scent she was using must be in his nostrils.
He must be conscious of her nearness and of the quickening beat of her heart.
“Is that right?” he asked and stood back to view his handiwork with the air of a man who had completed a difficult task.
“Is it straight?” Carlotta asked, looking at him.
She knew that she was desirable and knew that her air of humble attention would force any other man to his knees and would excite the senses of anyone who was not made of iron.
“Quite straight,” Norman answered. “I really do think it looks very nice. It cost me a lot of money.”
Carlotta choked.
“Must you always mention the price of things?” she asked.
“But that is what interests you?” he asked. “You want full value, my dear Carlotta, you have told me so and I have promised myself that you shall have it.
“By the way,” he added, “we shall be returning to London in two days’ time. I have to get back, you know, because of my work. I have instructed my bank to pay an allowance to you quarterly and it is deposited in your name.
“You will find a statement and cheque book waiting for you at Belgrave Square. If you need any money in the meantime, you have only to ask me.”
“I don’t want your money,” Carlotta responded in an angry voice.
“It is nice of you to say that,” Norman answered, “but I think you will find it very useful and, as my wife, you will have a number of expenses that have never occurred previously.
“Am I your wife?” Carlotta asked bitterly. “It is a strange sort of honeymoon, isn’t it?”
“My dear Lady Melton,” Norman said with a low bow, “you must be tired. Let me take you down to dinner. You will feel better after food and a bottle of champagne. I have ordered one and it is already on ice.”
“Cannot you be human for one moment?” Carlotta asked.
“Let’s go down to dinner,” he replied.
She so wanted to cry out at him. Throw the presents that he had given her in his face, shut herself in her own room and refuse to come out, but she knew it would do no good. On the morrow they would be in exactly the same position as before.
She hesitated and, while she did so, Norman went to her bedroom door.
“Her Ladyship’s wrap,” he called out to the maid. “We shall be going to the Casino after dinner.”
The maid came in carrying a cape of white foxes.
“Will you have this, my Lady?” she asked, “or would you prefer the green velvet?”
“The white foxes,” he answered for her. “The emeralds, as the only touch of colour, are quite perfect. I can see that I shall have to give you earrings as my next present, Carlotta, perhaps on the anniversary of our Wedding Day. It would be a delightful way of celebrating a year’s happiness, wouldn’t it?”
Carlotta pulled the foxes round her shoulders with a weary gesture.
“I cannot see so far ahead,” she remark. “A year is a very long time.”
“It will pass quickly,” he promised her and opened the door.
“Goodnight,” he called to the maid.
“Goodnight, Sir Norman and goodnight too, my Lady. I hope that you will have a happy evening.”
“I hope so too,” Carlotta said, looking at Norman.
“Undoubtedly we will,” he replied.
But he spoke in the voice that she hated and which already she feared more than she had ever feared anything else in her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Norman paced up and down the small waiting room of the Hospital. Without thinking he took a cigarette out of his case.
When he was about to light it, he remembered that it was much better not to smoke in such surroundings and so replaced it. He looked at his watch. He had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes.
The loud tick of the clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound to be heard except for the steady beat of his own feet. His brain asked the same question over and over again, could such an accident have been prevented?
They had spent large sums only the year before on safety devices.
Norman had personally thought that they were fool proof and yet there had been three minor mishaps in the last five months and now a major accident.
He started as the door opened and the Surgeon came in.
“I am sorry, Sir Norman,” he said, I could do nothing.”
“The man is dead?” Norman questioned,
“He actually died on the operating table and there was nothing that we could have done anyway. The skull was completely crushed.”
They spoke together for a few more moments and then Norman went down the stairs to where his motor car was waiting.
As he reached it, another motor car came into the courtyard and his secretary jumped out.
“Have you the particulars?”
His secretary handed him a sheaf of papers.
Norman shook his head.
“I will go myself. Walker was one of our best men.”
“He was indeed, Sir Norman. As you will see, he has been with us for nearly ten years. Is there any chance of saving him?”
“None,” Norman answered shortly. “He died on the operating table.”
“I am so sorry,” the secretary replied.
Norman got into his own motor car, gave an address and the chauffeur drove off.
After a mile on the main roadway, they turned into the squalid dirty slums of Melchester. There had been local agitation about them for some time, the housing problem was growing acutely and very little, as yet, had been done.
Norman noted the narrow pavements where the children were playing, the cracked panes in many of the windows, the crooked badly fitting doors to the houses and the grimy bricks, all of which needed repointing.
He felt now that he had neglected many opportunities when he might have demanded the abolition of these run down houses.
He knew quite well that there had been talk of building a housing estate some way out of the town. He had actually heard it proposed many times.
He had read about it in the local papers, but always he had been much too busy with his own Factory and far too concerned about his Works to pay much attention to the homes of his workmen.
He saw now that he had been at fault, but he had been scrupulously fair on their wages.
He had worked them shorter hours than most other employers in the country, but he had not worried about the homes they came from or concerned himself with the standards of their living once they had left his own boundaries.
He remembered now, more vividly than he had for years, the insides of those airless and often insanitary houses. He remembered the black beetles, the bugs that would come out at night, the mice and rats, which it was impossible to exterminate.
The impulse came to him to help these people he had sprung from. He would fight their battles. He would be their champion.
‘I have been so lucky,’ he told himself, ‘lucky all my life and because of it I must make things brighter for these people. Fortune does not smile on them. I can do it and I will do it.’
The motor car drew up and he then found himself facing a row of houses, all identical, all indistinguishable in their squalid sordidness from each either.
“This is the place, sir,” his chauffeur said, opening the door.
Norman walked up the three steps that led directly from the pavement to the door and knocked on it.
Almost immediately it was opened and a voice said,
“Thank goodness you have come, but I am afraid you will be too late.”
He found himself looking at a small plump woman.
“I am sorry,” she added before he could speak, “I thought you were the Doctor.”
He then saw by her uniform that she was the District Nurse.
“Is anything the matter?”
“Everything,” she said briefly. “Mrs. Walker’s just had a severe miscarriage. I have sent a boy for the Doctor, but I am afraid he is out.”
