The Unsuspected by Charlotte Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page A

gasped.
     
    "It was done," he said calmly. "Are you thinking of all the red tape? It wasn't so bad. You already had your blood test. You had been all set to marry somebody else."
     
    She winced.
     
    "I had only to get a certificate from the medical officer. And they waive the waiting period, you know, for men in the service." He took something out of his pocket. "We got the license Tuesday. I do have a copy."
     
    Tyl looked and saw "WHITE PLAINS, NEW YORK. MARY FRAZIER. JOHN FRANCIS HOWARD."
     
    "That's not my name."
     
    "It's your second name," he said gently. "Or so you told them. It was understood that you didn't want publicity. The newspapers would have had fun with all our haste."
     
    She thought, But why White Plains? Why not New York City? She would have asked, but he was talking.
     
    "Even now, it's been kept quiet, Tyl. Grandy and I agreed to that. Nobody knows except a very few. Oliver knows, of course, and Althea."
     
    "Oh?”
     
    Mathilda felt hysterical. It was so funny. What he was saying. Oliver, all this time—Oliver had thought her married to somebody else. So had Althea. Romance, tragedy, love and death, and Mathilda in the middle. All the while she'd been playing dull bridge with filthy cards, slapping at the flies, Althea had been believing this wild yarn. Mathilda put her thumb in her mouth and bit it. It was too funny, too terribly funny.
     
    "And as a matter of fact, that porter was bribed. He was bribed not to say anything about us. My dear, you bribed him yourself. That's what he thought you—"
     
    Mathilda said, "Could I have a drink of water?"
     
    He got her the drink quickly. He was watching her as if he cared how she felt.
     
    She said, "But I got on board my ship at noon on Wednesday."
     
    "You remember that?" he murmured.
     
    "Perfectly," she snapped. She was annoyed at a little demon of glee that kept thinking of Althea, outdramatized. She put the glass down, feeling calmer. "I was quite alone," she said.
     
    "When we got back here after the wedding," he said, "there was a message that I had to report immediately. We figured that it would be better for you to go on, that I would go see what the hell, do what I could. I was optimistic. I said I'd fly down after you. I even thought I might make it as soon as you did." He paused.
     
    "I won't go into how I felt. I thought, after all, I had you legally, and for the rest I had, more or less, planned to wait-if you understand me." He sent her a queer, tortured glance. "But now it looks as if I haven't got you at all."
     
    She took up the glass and tilted it. "Is there more?"
     
    "Some," he said. There was Grandy. You hadn't told him."
     
    "Why not?"
     
    "I think you rather liked the idea of a dramatic fait accompli, for Althea's sake."
     
    Mathilda squirmed. He was making her out a blind little fool, a hurt, silly child. Her face burned because, although it wasn't true, it had a strange possibility to it, an accusing possibility.
     
    "Well," he went along easily, "you didn't know what to do. Finally, you sat down and wrote him a letter-the last thing you did before I took you to the pier." He had a letter in his hand.
     
    "A letter to Grandy?" She felt proud of being so rational. "How does it happen he hasn't kept it?"
     
    "Because of what it says!" cried Francis impatiently. "My God, Tyl, you forget! We thought you were drowned. The letter was . . .all I had."
     
    She thought, I can't catch him. He always wiggles out with a sentimental answer. She unfolded the letter.
     
    The letter was not only in her handwriting; it was in her words. The turn of the phrases. There were even some that referred to family matters, such as saying "a Julius," when you meant a myth. An old story about a man named Julius who never came. Nobody could have known how to use that word! The letter was signed with her
    own cryptic formula. "Y.L.U.D. Your Loving Ugly Duckling."
     
    "You took that to Grandy?" she asked, and her voice trembled. "He