The Hard Way

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

A captivating love story from the 100-million-copy bestselling Queen of Romance, first published in 1949, and available now for the first time in eBook.

Release date: February 27, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

THE moment that Joanna saw Ralph’s little Morris Eight coming down the street toward her, she stopped outside the front door through which she was just about to enter and stood looking rather as she felt—nervous and a trifle guilty. Joanna nearly always showed what she felt. She had that sort of frank and sometimes awkward nature. She found it the hardest thing in the world to lie, or play a part except when it was vital. Of course, she told herself, as the car drew near enough for her to see the driver—dear, nice, sensible Ralph—this was probably a very vital moment in her life. But she could not play a part with him.

Ralph was going to ask her to marry him. She knew it! She was distressed because she knew that she must refuse, and that wasn’t an easy thing to do to someone who had loved you so long and devotedly as Ralph had loved her. It was very embarrassing, too, certainly, because she couldn’t avoid the issue.

She had been trying to avoid it but now the inevitable must happen. Long before her father died, Ralph had proposed to her. And then she had had the excuse: “I must look after my old father—he is a helpless invalid.” Ralph had said: “He is an old tyrant, too, and you know it. You’re twenty-three. It isn’t fair for any parent to keep a girl your age chained to a sick-bed. Get a nurse companion for him and let me marry you and take you away.”

She had felt, then, that she couldn’t leave her father. Ever since her eighteenth birthday she had looked after him in place of the mother who had predeceased him.

And even if she had been very much in love with Ralph, she wouldn’t have deserted the old man. But she did not love Ralph. She was just very fond of him. He seemed like a brother to her—never a lover.

The car drew up outside the house in which Joanna had been staying since her old home was sold up. Not only Ralph had been kind but everybody here where she had lived all the days of her life. (Poor, dear, dull, little Marbury—a small market town in the flattest, dullest, most uninteresting part of Wiltshire.)

She had been especially befriended by Mrs. Vine, Susan’s mother and had been staying with the Vines for nearly a fortnight now.

Susan used to be at school with Joanna. They went to all the Marbury dances together, attended the same gymkhanas, fetes and bazaars, and most of the private parties. With Ralph, and one or two other young men of the same generation, they belonged to the same tennis club, and during the war when the boys were away, the girls worked for the Red Cross at Marbury Cottage Hospital.

There was a “sameness,” a monotony about it all which had got Susan down even before it defeated Joanna. Susan, once she was in London, endeavoured to do a job. Joanna was left behind. And until her father’s death set her completely free, she had begun to wonder whether she would remain a “left behind.”

Ralph got out of the car and greeted her.

With mingled feelings, she tried to be casual and said:

“Hello, Ralph. It’s ages since I’ve seen you.”

He answered with a slightly reproachful smile:

“That’s your fault, Jo, my dear. Every time I’ve tried to see you, you have been busy.”

A little red in the face, Joanna avoided his gaze. She mumbled one or two excuses and then invited him to go into the Vines’ house and talk to her. She would give him a cup of tea. Mrs. Vine was out and she had been told to treat the place as though it were her own home.

They entered the sitting-room in a somewhat uncomfortable silence.

The house was in the middle of the town and looked on to the Market Square. Ralph’s office was across the other side. Pullen, Smyth and Pullen, Solicitors. Old Mr. Pullen was no longer alive. Ralph had taken his place and was doing well. His was one of the oldest established firms in the district, known and respected by all.

Joanna still avoided looking at Ralph, unbuttoned her coat, pushed a wisp of hair into place and then knelt down in front of the fire to warm her hands. It was one of those cold days in May with a sharp wind blowing. She had been buying rations for Mrs. Vine who had had to go to Reading to see Susan’s married sister. Shopping in Marbury meant queueing. The shops always seemed busy these days. So many newcomers. It was not the jolly, intimate little place it used to be.

“Sit down, Ralph, and have a cigarette,” said Joanna, “while I go and put a kettle on.”

He remained standing, looking at her thoughtfully. He wished he did not love her so much. She was so very dear—and so inaccessible. He wished he had fallen in love with one of the other Marbury girls who might have wanted him as a husband.

Why must it have been Joanna who—as far as he knew—had never lost her heart to any man? He was filled with admiration for her; for her courage, her selfless devotion to her father; her candid nature. He remembered her as she used to be, aged fifteen or sixteen—walking with Susan Vine to Marbury School, with her two long plaits of chestnut hair, which made her individual amongst all the bobbed heads. She still had those plaits to-day, wound around her head. But five years of hard nursing and domestic drudgery at home had left its toll.

It was rather a pale, serious Joanna whom he saw kneeling down by the fire this afternoon. She had grown thin too, he thought, too quiet. She used to be bubbling over with laughter. The laughter still lurked behind the big grey eyes which had such fascinating green flecks in them. And behind the reserve, he was certain there lay hidden depths of emotion, just as there was passionate promise in that short, red upper lip.

Joanna always had been and still was the loveliest girl in Marbury. But her loveliness was wasted. She could have been anything, a film star, a glamour girl (who, in Marbury, had such a flawless figure?). But she had hidden herself away all through the war years, lost some of her looks and—as he had once told her—almost lost her sense of humour.

She could reclaim it all if she would only try. He, who loved her, felt that he could give her liberation—that he could make a glowing, happy woman out of her. He was making enough money. He and his mother had the best house in Marbury—Marbury Lodge was famous for its glorious garden. Every year at the local flower show Mrs. Pullen won prizes for her roses. Despite present difficulties, they still retained the services of an old cook-housekeeper and a gardener. As his wife, Joanna could have all things. She could become a leading light in Marbury.

She stood up and faced him now, looking her most beautiful, he thought, cheeks pink from her exertion, and the firelight gleaming on that burnished head with its proud coronet of hair.

Impulsively he took a step forward with outstretched hands.

“Jo,” he said huskily, “don’t go on trying to avoid me. We have always had such good times together. I haven’t done anything to make you dislike me, have I?”

She let him take her hands but her heart beat uncomfortably fast and as his fingers closed over hers she felt no answering thrill. Her sense of guilt increased. She had been far too friendly with Ralph for far too long. For the last year she had let herself drift—going out with him whenever Marbury offered entertainment.

On her side, there had been just the affection and regard of a long association. She had even let him kiss her. But she had known as soon as they kissed, that the vital flame was missing. When she married, it must be to a man who could command her heart—her soul—every emotion of which she was capable.

“Oh, Ralph,” she said, “try to understand—it isn’t that you have done anything. You’re an old darling and you always have been. But—.”

“Listen, Jo,” he cut in, earnestly, “while your father was alive, I know you felt you couldn’t walk out on him but there is nothing to keep us apart now. You have sold the old house. You’re free, Jo. Why not marry me? Mother is very keen on it. She will welcome you. And you know her so well, you won’t mind her living in the house. She wouldn’t be an interfering mamma-in-law—would she?”

Joanna shook her head. No, Mrs. Pullen wouldn’t interfere—she was as amiable and gentle as Ralph. Joanna would not mind Ralph’s mother, and she respected his devotion to her. And she knew all about the comforts that Marbury Lodge offered. She was well aware that many of her girl friends in Marbury would think her crazy to turn Ralph down. He was the best “social catch” in the place.

Ralph drew her to a sofa, sat down with her and continued to pour out his heart.

“You need a long rest—you’ve coped with illness and no servants for so long, darling. Marry me, and I swear I’ll make you happy.”

She sat staring at him; at the square face with its rather blunt features, nice blue eyes and the thick fair hair which would stand up a little, despite strenuous brushing. He was so nice, big and comforting; so very dependable. He would make a devoted husband. Indeed, she told herself ruefully, he was all that an Englishman ought to be, clean, healthy and a sportsman (Ralph was captain of the Marbury cricket team).

He liked children and animals, his clients found him sympathetic—if a trifle slow; and he offered her the easy way out of all her problems. She need no longer worry as to how to live, or where, or what to with her life, if she became Mrs. Ralph Pullen.

But did she want to take the easy way? Had she not held back, procrastinated long enough? Had she not lived too long in Marbury and missed the way—the excitement and satisfaction of independence, the thrill of meeting people who led lives so different from those of the inhabitants of this small dull town? Had she not longed for freedom all the time she was taking care of her father? Yes—without being actively unhappy, she had grown more and more weary of her dull sheltered life.

She knew, definitely, in this moment that if she said “Yes” to Ralph she would not find the liberation he promised, and which she sought. She would just pass from one backwater into another.

She looked up at him, regret and distress in the eyes which he found so disturbingly beautiful. But her new thirst for independence was strong within her.

“Ralph, you have been marvellous to me, and I like you enormously,” she said. “I admit that I have never been in love and I don’t suppose I know what it really is, but I am quite sure that I don’t love you in the way I ought.”

He tried to take her in his arms.

“Give me a chance, Jo,” he said huskily. “I feel positive it will be all right.”

She drew back.

“But I don’t, Ralph.”

“You need a home—someone to look after you.”

“Yes, but I am not going to marry you just because I want either of those things.”

He dropped her hands, bitter disappointment in his eyes, and searched for the refuge of his pipe.

“Then what are you going to do and how are you going to live, Jo? Except for your Red Cross work, you aren’t trained for anything.”

“I can learn. I got a fantastically good price for the old house—four times more than father paid for it thirty years ago—I can live on the proceeds for some time. I think I shall take a secretarial course to begin with. It is good to have shorthand and typing behind one and—.”

“Well, you can take a course like that here, in Marbury,” broke in Ralph.

She shook her head.

“No, Ralph. I am going up to London. Susan lives in a very nice club and she says she can get me a room there. I have made up my mind to pack, this week-end, and go on Monday.”

A moment’s silence. She stole a glance at Ralph and saw, with fresh regret, how unhappy he looked. The clock on St. Mary’s, the parish church, was striking four. Through the window, she could glimpse several familiar figures hurrying across the square. Soon all the shops would be shut. The sleepy town would be finished with work. There would be nothing but another long, dull evening.

Would she miss it. No doubt, at first. She liked old friends, she was used to these surroundings and she was a little apprehensive about London life, which Susan told her was so very different—so much harder, more exacting. One had to be smart, keep up to date there or be left behind. Here, nobody, except some of the old wealthy families in the hunting set, bothered about smart parties or clothes. There was little social progress. Ralph might want her to be nicely dressed (in the tweeds, for instance, which he himself favoured) but he wouldn’t really notice whether she was right in the fashion or not.

No, as Ralph’s wife she would never reach the heights that she had always longed to attain. What those heights were, and just how she could reach them, she knew not. She only knew that she must try.

She and Ralph spent the next hour arguing, but reached no agreement. But at least they remained friends which was what she fervently wanted. She would have hated to lose Ralph’s friendship.

He said: “I shall always love you and I shall come and see you.”

She said:

“I’d like that and I’ll write to you—.”

And that was how they parted—for the moment.

She even allowed him to kiss her because he wanted it so much. His arms were comforting and he had a nice broad shoulder to weep on. But she could not relax, be weak and yielding as he really wanted. She had to go on in her own way. And when his lips grew urgent, she pushed him gently back. It seemed to her once more an indisputable fact that she was not in love with Ralph and because of that, she could not marry him.

Yet on the Monday when she leaned out of the window of a railway carriage in the train which was just about to leave Marbury Station for Waterloo, and looked down at Ralph. the ever-faithful, who, despite his set-back, had come to see her off, she felt a pang, a real regret. Her big trunk was in the luggage van. Two old suit cases which had belonged to her parents, lay on the rack. She had been extravagant and bought some new clothes—as far as coupons would allow.

To-day she looked smarter than Marbury had even seen her before, in a grey tailored suit, crisp white blouse and warm Jaeger coat over her shoulders. In Marbury, she seldom wore a hat. But now a small grey felt, with a pinky-grey feather, sat on the back of her burnished head. She felt extremely unlike herself—and she was going away with all her possessions, alone, for the first time in her life.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Ralph asked anxiously, “are you sure Susan will meet you and—.”

She interrupted him with a little nervous laugh.

“Oh, yes. I am not going to get lost or anything, Ralph dear, I promise you.”

“It’s a nuisance you’ve got to change at Greystoke Junction,” he said frowning, “but no doubt you’ll find a porter.”

The guard blew his whistle. For one frantic moment Joanna wished that she hadn’t pursued her solitary way and that she could drive back in the little Morris with Ralph—back to security and the life she knew. For one moment she even deluded herself into think that she loved him more than she thought she had done. She gave him both her hands.

“Oh, Ralph,” she breathed.

He squeezed the hands in his strong fingers.

“Jo, darling, if you want me, send for me. I’ll always love you. You know that!”

Then the train moved out. She saw him standing there waving; saw the familiar figure of the stationmaster just behind him, with his flag and whistle. (That same whistle that she had heard during the last twenty years.)

She sat down in a corner seat of the empty carriage, reviewing her mingled emotions.

The die was cast. She had left Marbury, and all that it meant, behind her. To-night she would sleep in Susan’s club. To-morrow she would start her secretarial training. But she had to admit that her excitement and pleasure were tempered by new feelings of uncertainty.

JOANNA’S depression increased when, at Greystoke Junction, she had the greatest difficulty in finding a porter. She stood on the platform with her luggage anxiously waiting for a man to appear. There was no Ralph to help her now. Nobody who knew her as she was known in her home-town. Here, she was just one of a crowd. Anxiously she looked at her watch, 10.15 and only five minutes to go. The express for London was leaving at 10.20. The only fast one from Greystoke Junction until later this afternoon. It would be awful if she lost it; with Susan meeting her at Waterloo, too.

The London train was signalled. She could see so many people milling toward the edge of the platform, that she felt sure she would never get a seat.

Were there no porters in the world?

A tall man hurrying along, with a suitcase in one hand, collided with her and apologized. In despair, she said:

“Oh, I’ve got to catch this train. What shall I do? I can’t find a porter.”

He stopped and looked at her, raising his hat.

“You mean the London train?”

“Yes.”

The tall young man glanced up and down the crowded platform. He grimaced.

“Ye gods, what a mob! Have you much luggage?”

“A trunk and two suit-cases,” she said in a voice so full of misery that he had to smile. She looked as though she was going to burst into tears, he thought. What a pair of eyes—were they grey or green? Magnificent lashes. She was really rather beautiful. And Charles Forrander never could resist a beautiful woman.

“Give me one of the bags,” he said briskly, then turned and grabbed the arm of the guard who was passing.

“Get this lady’s trunk into the van for me, guard, will you?” he said.

Slightly bewildered Joanna watched a ten-shilling note pass from his hands into the hands of the guard. What mad extravagance, she thought, and what an amazing man! He seemed entire master of the situation. In a single flash he conveyed a tremendous personality. The train was full. Even the first-class carriages were packed. But to her astonishment—and relief—Joanna found herself in the luggage van. Just as the train was moving out, the tall young man seized her hand and pulled her into the van after him. The guard slammed the door. A jolt of the train sent Joanna almost off her balance. Her new-found friend seized her arm.

“Hold up. You are all right. You are in the train and nobody will disturb us. I have fixed that,” he said with a laugh. “Backsheesh does it every time.”

She collapsed on to her trunk, laughing with him, breathless.

“I don’t know how you managed it!” she exclaimed.

“It was too easy. Have a cigarette?”

She blinked at the gold case extended to her.

“I—I don’t smoke.”

“Well, I’m afraid there isn’t a bar on the train so I can’t offer you a drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Gracious me!” . . .