Gossamer Cord

“You didn’t accept?” She stared at me in horror.

I said: “Are you so anxious to be rid of me?”

She looked deflated and came to me and put her arms around me.

“You know how important your happiness is to me and your father. Richard is such a good man…well, so right for you in every way.”

“I have not said no,” I told her. “But it is too soon yet.”

The relief in her face was obvious. She smiled indulgently.

“You were always the cautious one,” she said, and I knew she was thinking of Dorabella because of the faint uneasiness which came back into her eyes.

She said: “What is going to happen, then?”

“I’ve told Richard I like him very much but it is too soon for me to know whether or not I want to marry him.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. “He’ll understand that.”

“Yes, he does.”

“He’s a very understanding person…with good, sound common sense. Well, he is a lawyer.”

She leaned toward me and kissed me.

She stayed awhile and talked and then said goodnight and went to her room, not entirely dissatisfied.

The news was disquieting. The papers were full of it, and everywhere one went it was discussed so that there was no escaping from it.

Schuschnigg had returned to Austria where he had repudiated the agreement which Hitler had forced him to sign, and had announced that there should be a plebiscite as to whether there should be a political and economic union—an Anschluss—with Germany. Hitler’s response was to invade Austria.

He had the support of his Italian allies, while Britain and France, amazed by what was taking place, stood by and did nothing to prevent it.

Hitler was cheered by the people when he marched into Austria; there was no opposition to his mighty army, which could have been because Austria had no power to do otherwise.

However, it did show people clearly which way the German dictator was going.

Richard said: “There is no end to his ambitions. I rather think this is the beginning.”

He was right. Hitler was turning his eyes to Czechoslovakia.

Then something happened which drove the troubles on the Continent completely from our minds.

My mother and I had been out shopping with Gretchen. We had had a busy morning and returned to the house for lunch.

We were about to sit down at the table when my father arrived.

We could not understand what had happened, and when we saw him we were immediately apprehensive, for he looked quite different from his normal, happy self. He was strained, bewildered, and clearly desperately unhappy.

My mother ran to him and put an arm round him.

“Robert, darling, what is it?” she said.

He opened his mouth to speak, but did not seem to be able to find the words. He was choked with emotion.

“Sit down,” said my mother gently. “Now…tell us what has happened.”

“I had to come…I couldn’t tell over the telephone…I came immediately. She went down to swim…her clothes were on the beach…and she had gone…gone…”

We were staring at him in horror. He turned from my mother to me and his eyes were full of misery.

He said: “Dorabella…she is dead.”

The Open Window

INCOHERENT WITH GRIEF, my father found it difficult to talk. It all seemed so unreal. Dorabella, so full of life, so young and beautiful…I could not believe that I should not see her again. She was part of my life, part of me. She could not be dead. It was some mistake. I could not believe it. I would not believe it.

It was like one of those ridiculous legends.

She went for a swim, they had told him. She had died in exactly the same way as her predecessor, Dermot’s first wife. It was too neat. There was a touch of unreality about it.

My father could not tell us very much. I really believe he had been too stunned to take in what was said. All he knew was that she was dead.

Gordon Lewyth had telephoned. He had said he had some terrible news and he did not know how best to break it. Then he said that Dorabella had gone for a swim. She had evidently made a habit of taking a swim in the early morning. The time of the year was hardly the best, but she had said she found the coldness invigorating.

It could not be true. She had never been enthusiastic about swimming. She had swum at school with the rest of us, but no physical exercise had ever greatly appealed to her.

There was something wrong somewhere.

Gordon had had to get into touch with Dermot, who had been away for a few days on one of the other estates. He was prostrate with grief. The entire household was in chaos.

My mother stood still, clenching her hands. Her face was ashen. She was looking at me with a blank expression of misery and disbelief.

Then she was clinging to me, sharing the misery, refusing to believe this terrible thing was true.

“It can’t be. It can’t be,” I insisted. “I don’t believe it.”

My mother said: “We’ll leave at once. We’ll go to Cornwall. I want to know what this is all about.”

“We’ve missed the ten o’clock train,” said my father. “We’ll find out what time the next one goes.”