he was asked to dinner at Kidderminster House and had to go on to a dance. A man had fallen through at the last moment. When Lady Kidderminster was racking her brains Sandra said quietly: 'What about Stephen Farraday?'
'Stephen Farraday?'
'Yes, he was at your party the other day and I've met him once or twice since.'
Lord Kidderminster was consulted and was all in favour of encouraging the young hopefuls of the political world.
'Brilliant young fellow – quite brilliant. Never heard of his people, but he'll make a name for himself one of these days.'
Stephen came and acquitted himself well.
'A useful young man to know,' said Lady Kidderminster with unconscious arrogance.
Two months later Stephen put his fortunes to the test. They were by the Serpentine and MacTavish sat with his head on Sandra's foot.
'Sandra, you know – you must know that I love you. I want you to marry me. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't believe that I shall make a name for myself one day. I do believe it. You shan't be ashamed of your choice. I swear it.'
She said, 'I'm not ashamed.'
'Then do you care?'
'Didn't you know?'
'I hoped – but I couldn't be sure. Do you know that I've loved you since that very first moment when I saw you across the room and took my courage in both hands and came to speak to you. I was never more terrified in my life.'
She said, 'I think I loved you then, too…'
It was not all plain sailing. Sandra's quiet announcement that she was going to marry Stephen Farraday sent her family into immediate protests. Who was he? What did they know about him?
To Lord Kidderminster Stephen was quite frank about his family and origin. He spared a fleeting thought that it was just as well for his prospects that his parents were now both dead.
To his wife, Lord Kidderminster said, 'H'm, it might be worse.'
He knew his daughter fairly well, knew that her quiet manner hid inflexible purpose. If she meant to have the fellow she would have him. She'd never give in!
'The fellow's got a career ahead of him. With a bit of backing he'll go far. Heaven knows we could do with some young blood. He seems a decent chap, too.'
Lady Kidderminster assented grudgingly. It was not at all her idea of a good match for her daughter. Still, Sandra was certainly the most difficult of the family. Susan had been a beauty and Esther had brains. Diana, clever child, had married the young Duke of Harwich – the parti of the season. Sandra had certainly less charm – there was her shyness – and if this young man had a future as everyone seemed to think…
She capitulated, murmuring: 'But of course, one will have to use influence…'
So Alexandra Catherine Hayle took Stephen Leonard Farraday for better and for worse, in white satin and Brussels lace, with six bridesmaids and two minute pages and all the accessories of a fashionable wedding.
They went to Italy for the honeymoon and came back to a small charming house in Westminster , and a short time afterwards Sandra's godmother died and left her a very delightful small Queen Anne Manor house in the country. Everything went well for the young married pair. Stephen plunged into Parliamentary life with renewed ardour, Sandra aided and abetted him in every way, identifying herself heart and soul with his ambitions. Sometimes, Stephen would think with an almost incredulous realisation of how Fortune had favoured him! His alliance with the powerful Kidderminster faction assured him of rapid rise in his career. His own ability and brilliance would consolidate the position that opportunity made for him. He believed honestly in his own powers and was prepared to work unsparingly for the good of his country.
Often, looking across the table at his wife, he felt gladly what a perfect helpmate she was – just what he had always imagined. He liked the lovely clean lines of her head and neck, the direct hazel eyes under their level brows, the rather high white forehead and the faint arrogance of her aquiline nose. She looked, he thought, rather like a racehorse – so very well groomed, so instinct with breeding, so proud. He found her an ideal companion, their minds raced alike to the same quick conclusions. Yes, he thought, Stephen Farraday, that little disconsolate boy, had done very well for himself. His life was shaping exactly as he had meant it to be.
He was only a year or two over thirty and already success lay in the hollow of his hand.
And in that mood of triumphant satisfaction, he went with his wife for a fortnight to St Moritz , and looking across the hotel lounge saw Rosemary Barton.
What happened to him at that moment he never understood. By a kind of poetic revenge the words he had spoken to another woman came true. Across a room he fell in love.
Deeply, overwhelmingly, crazily in love. It was the kind of desperate, headlong, adolescent calf love that he should have experienced years ago and got over.
He had always assumed that he was not a passionate type of man. One or two ephemeral affairs, a mild flirtation – that, so far as he knew, was all that 'love' meant to him. Sensual pleasures simply did not appeal to him. He told himself that he was too fastidious for that sort of thing.
If he had been asked if he loved his wife, he would have replied 'Certainly' – yet he knew, well enough, that he would not have dreamed of marrying her if she had been, say, the daughter of a penniless country gentleman. He liked her, admired her and felt a deep affection for her and also a very real gratitude for what her position had brought him.
That he could fall in love with the abandon and misery of a callow boy was a revelation.
He could think of nothing but Rosemary.
Her lovely laughing face, the rich chestnut of her hair, her swaying voluptuous figure. He couldn't eat – he couldn't sleep. They went skiing together. He danced with her. And as he held her to him he knew that he wanted her more than anything on earth. So this, this misery, this aching longing agony – this was love!
Even in his preoccupation he blessed Fate for having given him a naturally imperturbable manner. No one must guess, no one must know, what he was feeling – except Rosemary herself.
The Bartons left a week earlier than the Farradays. Stephen said to Sandra that St Moritz was not very amusing. Should they cut their time short and go back to London ? She agreed very amiably. Two weeks after their return, he became Rosemary's lover.
A strange ecstatic hectic period – feverish, unreal. It lasted – how long? Six months at most. Six months during which Stephen went about his work as usual, visited his constituency, asked questions in the House, spoke at various meetings, discussed politics with Sandra and thought of one thing only – Rosemary.
Their secret meetings in the little flat, her beauty, the passionate endearments he showered on her, her clinging passionate embraces. A dream. A sensual infatuated dream.
And after the dream – the awakening. It seemed to happen quite suddenly. Like coming out of a tunnel into the daylight.
One day he was a bemused lover, the next day he was Stephen Farraday again thinking that perhaps he ought not to see Rosemary quite so often. Dash it all, they had been taking some terrific risks. If Sandra was ever to suspect – He stole a look at her down the breakfast table. Thank goodness, she didn't suspect. She hadn't an idea. Yet some of his excuses for absence lately had been pretty thin. Some women would have begun to smell a rat. Thank goodness Sandra wasn't a suspicious woman.
He took a deep breath. Really he and Rosemary had been very reckless! It was a wonder her husband hadn't got wise to things. One of those foolish unsuspecting chaps – years older than she was.
What a lovely creature she was… He thought suddenly of golf links. Fresh air blowing over sand dunes, tramping round with clubs – swinging a driver – a nice clean shot off the tee – a little chip with a mashie.
Men. Men in plus fours smoking pipes. And no women allowed on the links!
He said suddenly to Sandra: 'Couldn't we go down to Fairhaven ?'
She looked up, surprised.
'Do you want to? Can you get away?'
'Might take the inside of a week. I'd like to get some golf. I feel stale.'
'We could go tomorrow if you like. It will mean putting off the Astleys, and I must cancel that meeting on
