The Madman's Room

The next morning, Patrick accompanied Paula to the station. The young woman’s parents were also present. They would be taking the same train two days later to meet up with her in London. The young man didn’t hear their parting words, but he did see Paula smiling at him tenderly through the compartment window. Through the softness of her blue eyes he relived the epilogue to their nocturnal idyll.

‘My Goodness, Patrick, what have we done?’

‘One last act of madness,’ he had sighed. ‘Any regrets?’

Paula, a half-smile on her lips, had shaken her head slowly.

‘Nor I, Paula, I—.’

‘Call me darling. You still have the right for a few minutes more.’

‘I… I’ll never forget this night.’

‘Which will forever remain a dear, sweet secret.’

‘Our secret, my darling.’

They had stopped at the top of the cliffs to exchange a long kiss, which they had sworn would be their last and that their adventure would stop there and then. But they had broken that promise several more times so that, even though the distance from the cove to their respective homes was short, it was three o’clock in the morning when they had called each other darling for the last time.

A whistle blew and the train started. With a curious sentiment he didn’t try to define, Patrick watched it leave.

When it was out of sight, Mrs. Lyle asked:

‘Are you two going to stay there? I’ll go and buy the tickets. No sense in leaving it to the last minute.

Arthur Lyle made a sign of agreement and turned to the young man:

‘Now the women have left, we can talk seriously. I know you were a large influence in Paula’s marriage.’

Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but the other cut him off:

‘Paula was very hesitant. Heaven only knows why. My long experience told me that Francis was a good man in every respect. But women…,’ he said, raising his eyes to the heavens. ‘You always have to point them in the right direction.’

He put his arm around Patrick and continued:

‘You know, my boy, it’s not always easy for a father to talk to his daughter, particularly if she needs convincing about something. Paula told me it was you who convinced her.’ He looked Patrick straight in the eye, with respect. ‘I know you’ve always been a true friend to Paula, a loyal, honest friend. So, as her father, let me thank you for all you have done for her.’

Patrick whistled a tune as he arrived home, in order to maintain an air of composure. But the vicious kick he aimed at an innocent dustbin gave the lie to his apparent good humour.

3

The marriage of Francis Hilton and Paula Lyle took place on the appointed day, and Sarah, Francis’s sister, wed Harris Thorne two months later. At this point, the narration skips directly to the following spring, to the St. John’s Wood area of London, and the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Howard Hilton, the parents of Francis and Sarah.

Looking worried, Howard Hilton watched mechanically as his wife poured him a cup of tea. Dorothy, slightly built and with nondescript features, attracted attention only for the lack of expression in her pale blue eyes. Anyone who knew them well would not have failed to notice how much Howard Hilton had changed in recent months. He still retained the simple dignity and frank and friendly regard which came naturally to him, but his gestures betrayed a suppressed nervousness totally out of character. He’d just lost his job with the small manufacturer of wooden toys where he’d worked all his life and was one of the best employees. It had changed hands following the death of the owner and there was no more place for him. Despite being out of work at fifty-five, the prospect of finding a new job wasn’t what was worrying him, nor was his financial situation, which wasn’t exactly brilliant. His daughter’s wedding hadn’t cost him a penny — his son-in-law had dismissed his offer of a contribution with a wave of his hand — but it was nevertheless there that the source of his worry lay.

Sipping his tea, he looked around the room he’d known for twenty years. While not luxurious, the lounge was comfortable and the two large windows overlooking the garden on which he had lavished so much care provided plenty of light.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Howard: you’re upset at the idea of leaving here. But what choice do we have? And, to tell you the truth, the idea of going to live in a manor doesn’t displease me at all. You don’t seem to realise that we’ll no longer need to count every penny as we’ve had to do all our lives. And the children will be close to us. We’re very blessed to have a son-in-law like Harris.’