The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(306)

Jon turned out the lamp and stayed huddled in his chair before the fire. Head of the family! He had done them proud! And if –! Ha! That would, indeed, be illustrious! What would the old fellow whose photograph he had been looking at last night think, if he knew? Ah, what a coil! For in his inmost heart he knew that Anne was more his mate, more her with whom he could live and work and have his being, than ever Fleur could be. Madness, momentary madness, coming on him from the past – the past, and the potency of her will to have and hold him! He got up, and drew aside the curtains. There, between two elm trees, the moon, mysterious and powerful, shone, and all was moving with its light up to the crest of the Downs. What beauty, what stillness! He threw the window up and stepped out; like some dark fluid spilled on the whitened grass, the ragged shadow of one elm tree reached almost to his feet. From their window above a light shone. He must go up and face it. He had not been alone with her since – ! If only he knew for certain what he was going to do! And he realized now that in obeying that impulse to rush away from Fleur he had been wrong; he ought to have stayed and threshed it out there and then. And yet, who could have behaved reasonably, sanely, feeling as he had felt? He stepped back to the window, and stopped with his heart in his mouth. There between firelight and moonlight stood Anne! Slender, in a light wrapper drawn close, she was gazing towards him. Jon closed the window and drew the curtain.

‘Sorry, darling, you’ll catch cold – the moonlight got me.’ She moved to the far side of the hearth, and stood looking at him.

‘Jon, I’m going to have a child.’

‘You – !’

‘Yes. I didn’t tell you last month because I wanted to be sure.’

‘Anne!’

She was holding up her hand.

‘Wait a minute!’

Jon gripped the back of a chair, he knew what was coming.

‘Something’s happened between you and Fleur.’

Jon held his breath, staring at her eyes; dark, unflinching, startled, they stared back at him.

‘Everything’s happened, hasn’t it?’

Jon bent his head.

‘Yesterday? Don’t explain, don’t excuse yourself or her. Only – what does it mean?’

Without raising his head, Jon answered:

‘That depends on you.’

‘On me?’

‘After what you’ve just told me. Oh! Anne, why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

‘Yes; I kept it too long!’

He understood what she meant – she had kept it as a weapon of defence. And, seeming to himself unforgivable, he said:

‘Forgive me, Anne – forgive me!’

‘Oh! Jon, I don’t just know.’

‘I swear that I will never see her again.’

He raised his eyes now, and saw that she had sunk on her knees by the fire, holding a hand out to it, as if cold. He dropped on his knees beside her.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘love is the cruellest thing in the world.’

‘Yes.’

She had covered her eyes with her hand; and it seemed hours that he knelt there, waiting for a movement, a sign, a word. At last she dropped her hand.

‘All right. It’s over. But don’t kiss me – yet.’





Chapter Ten



BITTER APPLE



LIFE revived in Fleur while she went about her business in the morning. Standing in sunshine before the hollyhocks and sun-flowers of the ‘Rest House’ garden, she reviewed past and future with feverish vigour. Of course Jon was upset! She had taken him by storm! He was old-fashioned, conscientious; he couldn’t take things lightly. But since already he had betrayed his conscience, he would realize what had happened outweighed what more could happen. It was the first step that counted! They had always belonged to each other. She felt no remorse; then why should he – when his confusion was over? It was for the best, perhaps, that he had run away from her till he could see the inexorability of his position. Her design was quite unshaken by the emotions she had been through. Jon was hers now, he could not betray their secret unless she gave him leave. He must and would conform to the one course possible – secrecy. Infidelity had been achieved – one act or many, what did it matter? Ah! But she would make up to him the loss of self-respect with her love, and with her wisdom. She would make him a success. In spite of that American chit, he should succeed with his farming, become important to his county, to his country, perhaps. She would be circumspection itself – for his sake, for her own, for Michael’s, Kit’s, her father’s.

With a great bunch of autumn flowers to which was clinging one bee, she went back into the house to put them in water. On the table in the hall were a number of little bags of bitter-apple prepared by her caretaker’s wife against the moth, which were all over a house that had been derelict for a year. She busied herself with stowing them in drawers. The second post brought her Jon’s letter.