The Oyster Part 6

Esme had chosen the scene because she was really so happy. She seemed to have everything she wanted. Popular, young, helped by a dozen kindly friends, with Bertie as lover and husband satisfying every whim.

The audience fled from sandwiches and thin coffee to amuse themselves after self-sacrifice. Esme, in her pink gown, had danced the night away at two b.a.l.l.s.

She had not felt ill again; she put her secret fear away, hoping eagerly that she was mistaken. Went out next morning to shop. Was there not always something one wanted?

Joy! She had acted her part yesterday, flashed her dazzling smile at the world. To-day discontent walked with her on the hot pavement.

She had been contented, happy, in her little flat, childishly pleased with her new life, her pretty clothes, her gaieties. And now she wanted more. Electric motors glided by, silent, powerful; wealth which would not have missed the Carterets' yearly income for a day pa.s.sed her on all sides.

A fat woman got out of a car; the Pekingese dog she carried had cost two hundred pounds.

"Oh! Mrs Carteret!" Mrs Holbrook held out a fat hand. "Hot, isn't it?

I'm just going in to Benhusan's here. This necklace Luke gave me yesterday has a bad clasp. So dangerous! I want a pendant for it too.

Come in and advise me--_do_!"

Into the shop with its sombre splendour. Background to pearl and ruby, to diamond and opal and sapphire and emerald.

These spread before this merchant's wife, dazzling toys of pink and blue and sparkling white.

Esme wanted them. Mere youth ceased to content her. She could not buy even one of these things. She must look and long.

"This one is two hundred guineas, madam."

"Oh! Luke said I might go to that. Mrs Carteret, do advise me. This pearl, the pear shaped; or the circle of opals--or what do you think of the sapphires? I am so stupid."

Sapphires would not go with the pearl and diamond necklace. Esme's slim fingers picked up the pearl pendant, held it longingly.

It was the only possible thing, and even then not quite right, but it would do, she said.

"You've such perfect taste, child. Luke always says so. So _glad_ I met you. Well, see you soon again--to-morrow. We've a large party."

Men and women buying lovely--perhaps unneeded--jewels, spending hundreds, thousands, that they might see someone turn to look at their adornments. A millionaire American grumbled over the merits of pearls spread on purple velvet.

He wanted something extra. "Get these anywhere. Mrs Cyrus J. Markly was going to Court. He'd promised she should have a string to knock creation. No, these wouldn't do."

Hurried calling on heads of departments, rooting into hidden safes.

Fresh glistening treasures laid out.

Mr Markly might trust Benhusan's. The rope with its diamond links and clasps should be magnificent. He might leave it in their hands. They would ransack London for perfect pearls.

With a little gasp of impatience Esme Carteret went out.

She wanted money. Mere comfort was nothing to her to-day.

Furs are neglected in summer, but Esme strolled into the great Bond Street store. She was sending a coat for alteration and storage.

Denise Blakeney was there, a stole of black fox spread before her.

"Summer prices, my lady. See, a rare bargain."

"And out of fashion by September or October; but it _is_ good." Denise held up the soft fur. "Oh! you, Esme! See, shall I have it? These things are always useful."

Esme stroked the supple softness of the furs, held the wrap longingly.

"Twenty pounds off our winter prices, madam. And perfection. Skins such as one seldom sees. The price a mere bagatelle--seventy guineas."

"Oh! put it with my other things then. Store it. Are you bargain-hunting, Es?"

"No--_I_ have no money." Esme looked almost sullenly at the stole which Denise did not want and bought so carelessly. "No, I cannot bargain-hunt. I came to see about my one coat."

"What is it, my Joy? You are out of spirits to-day. You looked so lovely yesterday, dear."

Lady Blakeney touched Esme's arm affectionately.

"Tired of genteel poverty, Denise. I paddle on the edge of the world's sea, where you people swim. Yes--we'll meet at the Holbrooks' lunch.

Will their new gold plate have diamond crests on it? Good-bye."

Left alone again in the fur shop, envying, longing for the treasures there.

Out into the crowded streets. A flower-shop caught her eyes. One sheaf of roses and orchids, pale cream and scarlet and mauve, made her stop and long. Denise could take these home if she wanted them.

Esme went in, paid five shillings for a spray of carnations.

"Those orchids and roses? Oh! they were ten guineas. Mr Benhusan had just bought them for his table that evening."

So on again with this new discontent hurting her. She went on to another shop; saw a painted, loud-voiced girl buying silk lingerie, taking models carelessly, without thought of price. Her dog, a pathetic-looking white poodle, had on a gold collar set with jewels.

The girl struck him once, roughly, across the nose, making him howl.

"Straighten him up," she said carelessly. "There, that's all. You know the address. Enter the lot; send 'em with the other things."

Esme knew the girl by sight; had seen her dancing at the Olympic. She knew, too, who would pay for those cobwebby things of silk and real lace.

The spirit of discontent held Esme Carteret with his cruel claws, rending her, hurting her mentally.

She was Joy no longer. Her little flat, her merry, careless life, could not content her.

Her mood led her to her dressmaker's to look at model gowns, and on to Jay's and Fenwick's. Discontent urging her to look at rich things which she could not buy; the blended beauty of Venetian gla.s.s, jewels, laces, silks, all seemed to come before her with a new meaning.

And then the sudden fear; stopping as if a blow had been struck at her.

She was not safe; hope was not realization. The flat and the life she grumbled at might--would--pa.s.s to something smaller. To a house in a cheaper district, to money spent on cabs and dinners going to keep the child she dreaded.

Esme hurried on, faster and faster, as if she would escape the fears which followed her. She wheeled, panting, into Oxford Street; turned from its crush and flurry, and went again down Bond Street, her colour high as she raced on.

"Dear lady, is it a walking race or a wager?" Esme cannoned into Gore Helmsley. He stopped her, holding her hand impressively.

A handsome man, if sloe-black eyes and high colour const.i.tuted good looks. Women admired him. Men shrugged their shoulders impatiently.

"Neither. I was running away from my own thoughts."