The innocent Mrs Duff Read online

  ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING

  The innocent Mrs. Duff

  Copyright © 1946 by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The innocent Mrs. Duff

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

  Bibliography

  Chapter 1

  “My God!” Jacob Duff said to himself, standing stripped before the bathroom mirror. “I’m putting on weight!”

  He was a big man, and very well-built, with broad shoulders and narrow flanks; it shocked him to study that thickening around his middle. And his ruddy, handsome face showed a sagging about the jowls. My God! he thought. I’m only forty-two. There shouldn’t be anything like this…

  Reggie began singing in her bedroom. Oh, shut up! he cried in his heart. You can’t carry a tune. You know that; you know how it gets on my nerves, and still you keep on. Shut up!

  He opened the door into his own bedroom and closed it behind him with a slam. That stopped her. But she’ll do it again, he thought. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing I ask her not to do that she doesn’t keep on doing.

  He began to dress, and this morning he admitted what for some time he had been trying to ignore: that the waistband of his trousers was tighter, was too tight; his back bulged a little between the shoulders. This made him miserable. It’s her fault, he thought. She doesn’t have the right sort of meals. As far as that goes, she doesn’t have anything right. We’ve been married nearly a year, and she hasn’t learned one damn thing. She never will, either. She doesn’t even try.

  He heard her come out of her room into the hall. She knocked at his door.

  “Ready, Jake?”

  “Not yet,” he answered. “You go ahead.”

  He knew exactly how it would be. She would go running down the stairs and into the dining-room, and she would say “hello” to the housemaid. That was another thing he had asked her, again and again, not to do, but she kept right on, saying hello to everyone. To the chauffeur, to the cook, to the doctor, to anyone he was Fool enough to invite into his house. Oh, hello!

  I’m ashamed of her, he thought. I admit it. That time I brought Copeley in for a drink, she said “hello, hon”, to me. I caught him grinning. Everybody—servants, everybody laughing at her behind her back. And at me, for marrying her.

  He hated the thought of going downstairs. I never have any appetite for breakfast any more, he thought. I used to look forward to breakfast, when Helen was alive. Good God! After being married to a girl like Helen for four years, how could I have married Regina Riordan? The name ought to have been enough for me. Reggie. A photographer’s model.

  He had to go downstairs. She was sitting at the table, and she was wearing another of those negligees she fancied: blue satin, with a little scalloped cape.

  “Oh, hello, Jake!” she said, with that dazzling smile. A model’s smile, he thought.

  “Morning,” he answered. “Reggie, I’ve asked you time after time if you’d kindly get dressed for breakfast. If you can’t make the effort, then have your breakfast in your room.”

  “I know,” she said, anxiously. “I’ve been trying to get some nice little porch dresses, but I honestly haven’t seen anything worth buying.”

  “Porch dresses? What are they?”

  “Oh, little ginghams, you know. Little checked dresses, or percales, things like that.”

  He knew they would be wrong. Helen had never had things like that.

  “Why can’t you wear your ordinary clothes?” he asked.

  “Oh, I got it so drilled into me not to sit around in my good clothes,” she explained. “At the studio we always—”

  “Hush!” he said, as the maid came in through the swing door.

  “The cook was able to get some bacon yesterday, Jake. You like bacon and eggs—”

  “None for me, thanks. I’m going on a diet.”

  “Oh, Jake! Did the doctor say—?”

  “Yes,” he said, to keep her quiet. “Only black coffee and orange juice this morning. Where’s Jay?”

  “Oh, Miss Castle said he got something in his eye. They’ll be right down. Honestly, Jake, I hate to sit here eating when you’re not taking a thing.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Anyone else would see that I don’t feel like talking, he thought. But not Reggie.

  “Aunt Lou asked me to stop in and see her this morning,” she went on. “I thought I’d take Jay.”

  “You’d better leave Jay to Miss Castle. That’s what she’s here for.”

  “I know. But—”

  “I’d very much rather you didn’t drag the child around with you.”

  “Well, I always consult Miss Castle, Jake.”

  I’d rather you never had anything to do with my son, he thought. I don’t like him to go anywhere with you. I don’t like him to see you here in that tawdry thing. He glanced at her across the table. She’s beautiful, he thought, with distaste.

  She looked taller than she was, being so slight. Her face was thin, with faint hollows under the high cheekbones, but heaven knew she was healthy enough, never sick, never tired. Like a peasant. Her eyes were dark-blue, with thick black lashes, her hair was black, her skin had a delicate rosy glow.

  Jacob Duff, junior, came clattering down the stairs and into the dining-room, a thin little boy of seven, with neat fair hair and a debonair manner.

  “Hello, Daddy!” he said. “Hello, Reggie!”

  “I’ve told you not to say hello,” said Duff, angrily.

  “Well, good-morning,” said Jay, without interest, and drew back Miss Castle’s chair for her.

  “Good-morning!” she said, with a smile and a slight inclination of the head.

  She was an Englishwoman of thirty-five or so, handsome in a calm and disinterested fashion. She wore no make-up but a little powder; her thick light hair was cut and waved in unbecoming scallops; her white blouse with an artless little round collar did not suit her strong-boned face. But she’s not interested in being ‘alluring’ and ‘glamorous’—and cheap, Duff thought. If she chose to use lipstick and all the rest of it, she’d be a damn sight better looking than Reggie. Better figure, too. More womanly.

  “I hear Jay’s going to visit his auntie this morning,” she said.

  “I don’t want to go!” said Jay, loudly.

  “Don’t shout like that!” said Duff. “And don’t say things like that, either.”

  “Well…” said Jay, sulkily, and he pronounced it “wull”.

  “None of that,” said Duff. “None of your ‘wells’, when you’re told to do something.”

  “Told to do what?” asked Jay.

  “Jay!” said Miss Castle, in mild rebuke.

  “Well, he didn’t tell me to do anything,” said Jay. “I just said I didn’t want to go and see Aunt Lou. Is that anything so bad?”

  “Leave the table, sir!” said Duff.

  “All ri
ght—sir!” said Jay, and jumped up nimbly.

  “Go up to your room and stay there until you’ve learned some manners,” said Duff.

  “Learn ’em out of a book?” asked Jay; then, at the sight of his father’s face, he giggled and ran scampering up the stairs.

  Miss Castle went on quietly eating her breakfast, but not Reggie.

  “It’s just one of his wild fits,” she said. “He’s such a high-strung little fellow.”

  “Thanks,” said Duff. “Thanks for explaining him to me.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean it like that, Jake. I just meant he doesn’t really mean to be rude. He’s always as good as gold with Aunt Lou.”

  “Yes…” said Duff. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll just glance at the news.”

  He was glad to put up the newspaper, to block out Reggie’s face. Aunt Lou! he thought. The idea of a girl like Reggie being in a position to call her that. It’s my fault. I realize that. But what was I thinking of, to do a thing like that?

  His aunt, Louisa Albany, was a figure of overpowering importance in his life, and always had been. He was her heir; he would someday inherit a very nice little fortune from her, but her importance, to him, was not derived from that. It was her personality, her character, her tradition. His respect and admiration for her were beyond measure.

  She could have stopped this, he thought. When I first brought Reggie to see her, if she’d said one word… Of course, she’d never met anyone like Reggie; you couldn’t expect her to understand that type. She simply thought I’d be happier if I married again. She was simply thinking of my welfare.

  But if she’d only realize now… I don’t like to say anything out-right to her, but if she’d only see for herself. She knows me; she knows what my life with Helen was like. I don’t know how she can help seeing. It’s beginning to affect my health. I’m sleeping badly—and putting on weight like this isn’t healthy.

  “Couldn’t you have one little corn muffin, Jake?” asked Reggie. “They’re as light as feathers.”

  “No, thanks. To tell you the truth, I don’t think all this heavy, starchy food is a good thing for anyone.”

  “I can’t eat them,” said Miss Castle. “I think your hot breads are delicious, but if I start the day with them, I’m quite dull all morning.”

  Duff glanced at her, and their eyes met for a moment. Then she smiled and looked away, but Duff had already got her message. She understands! he thought, with a sort of wonder.

  “Look!” said Reggie. “I’ll just run up and put on a dress and drive to the station with you, Jake.”

  “I’m sorry, Reggie, but I’ve got to pick up three or four men this morning.”

  “Oh, well…!” she said. “Then how about Jay and I meeting you for tea somewhere, after we leave Aunt Lou’s?”

  “Jay is to stay in his room all day,” said Duff.

  “Oh, Jake, honestly—!”

  “My dear girl, I happen to be the child’s father. I understand him better than you ever could. I’m not going to have him behaving like a common little brat.”

  “But, honestly, Jake, he didn’t do anything—”

  “If Miss Castle thinks I’m being harsh or unreasonable—” he said, and again he glanced at Miss Castle, and again she smiled at him.

  “Suppose we wait and see what Jay has to say for himself, later on?” she suggested. “I’ll go up and have a talk with him presently.”

  “Very good idea,” said Duff.

  We speak the same language, he thought. God, what a relief. She’s got some sense and breeding and dignity. She’s a handsome woman, too; knows how to carry herself. Reggie looks like a rag-bag in that thing.

  He pushed back his chair and rose, and now was the time for him to kiss Reggie. He did not want to. It’s a silly, meaningless habit, he thought.

  “Well, au revoir!” he said.

  “Hi! Wait!” cried Reggie, and jumping up, she ran to him. She put her hand on his arm and looked up into his face with her wide, gay, model’s smile.

  “You forgot to kiss me good-bye!” she said. “I guess the honeymoon’s over.”

  And you think that’s a joke, do you? thought Duff.

  Chapter 2

  The car was waiting; Nolan, the chauffeur, opened the door for him.

  “Good-morning, sir,” he said.

  “Good-morning,” said Duff. “Well stop for Mr. Vermilyea, that’s all.”

  ‘Yes, sir,” said Nolan.

  Duff lit a cigarette and leaned back. This car-pool business was a nuisance, he thought. And Johnny Vermilyea’s a nuisance, too. If he weren’t so lazy, he’d walk to the station.

  The three other men who had gone into the pool with him were pretty well eliminated, now that he had begun taking the nine-twenty. They had to go earlier. Only Vermilyea didn’t care what train he got. Any time that suits you, old man, he said. Any time, any time. He was sauntering across the driveway in front of his big house, very dapper in his dark suit, which was, according to Duff’s standards, too snugly fitting to his muscular body. With his red face, his big nose, his little bright eyes, he looked like Mister Punch.

  “Hello, hello, hello” he said. “Here we are.” He got into the car. “Wonderful weather for April.”

  “Yes,” said Duff, without enthusiasm. “But this commuting business gets me down. I’m not used to it. To tell you the truth, I don’t like suburban life. Born and brought up in New York.”

  “I couldn’t live in the city,” said Vermilyea, earnestly.

  He was certainly close to forty and he lived, Duff thought, a ridiculous life, with his aged parents, in that big old house. His father had retired at seventy, and Vermilyea had become president of the Vermilyea Steamship Company. I’m more or less a figurehead, he would tell anyone, candidly. I’ve got some first-rate fellows there who do all the work.

  Three nights a week he served as an orderly in the Vandenbrinck Hospital, and his leisure time was chiefly given up to Drives, drives for the Red Cross, the Community Chest, and so on; he was forever appearing at your house, trying to collect money. Duff found him boring, but after all he was a Vermilyea of Vandenbrinck; he had gone to a very good prep school, and, though not to Harvard, to Princeton.

  This was the wrong sort of suburb to choose. Duff thought. I should have gone to one of those flashy new places—where Reggie might have fitted in. But I was thinking of Jay. I was thinking of Jay when I married her, too. I thought she’d be good for him, make a home. She’s ruining the boy. She’s making life hell for me. I’m putting on weight…

  I want to get weighed, he thought. I want to see… He answered Vermilyea absently, while he tried to think where he had seen scales. At the club, of course, but he had not been there for months; people would ask him questions, make jokes about his marriage. In drug-stores? he thought.

  The car stopped in the circular drive behind the railroad station.

  “Five-twenty, sir?” Nolan asked.

  “Yes,” said Duff, and crossed the platform with Vermilyea.

  “Dam good-looking fellow,” Vermilyea observed.

  “Who?” asked Duff.

  “That chauffeur of yours. Mrs. Laird was speaking about him the other day.”

  “Speaking about Nolan?” said Duff.

  “Yes,” said Vermilyea. “She was saying it was a pity she couldn’t get him for this play she’s putting on for Overseas Clothing.”

  “Can’t she find anything better to gossip about than other people’s servants?” Duff demanded.

  “Wasn’t gossiping, old man. Just—well, here we are! Here we are!”

  They got into the club car, and there were a couple of fellows Vermilyea knew. They wanted to play gin rummy.

  “Sorry,” said Duff, “but you’ll have to count me out. I’ve got a head this morning.”

  “Oh! Big night?” one of the men asked.

  “Could be,” said Duff.

  A big night, he thought. That’s a good one. Directly after dinner he had
gone into his study; he had sat there all alone all evening, reading, or trying to read, his late uncle Fred Albany’s book, Big Game and Small. He had two or three whiskies, or maybe four, simply in order to get sleepy. He did that every evening now; he had to do it, or he could not sleep.

  But it’s not a good idea, he thought. I mean to say, drinking alone. Not good for morale. Not good for your health. I don’t feel well, and that’s a fact. But what the hell can I do in the evenings? I can’t sit there talking to Reggie; there’s nothing to talk to her about. Nobody ever comes to see us; there’s no place to go. If I could take a room in a hotel in town…

  Duff and Vermilyea and another man were all going downtown; they shared a taxi. Once I’ve started working, I’ll feel better, Duff thought. But, unfortunately, there was little or no work for him to do that morning. He was the junior partner, as his father had been, in the firm of Hanbury, Martin and Duff, Surgical and Dental Appliances; they were working almost entirely on Government contracts now, and Duff left all that to Hanbury. I don’t like all this red tape, he said. I don’t like all these regulations, all this red tape.

  There’s no need for my coming in to the office five days a week, he thought, and I wouldn’t do it, except for the sake of getting out of that house. But if I stay home, there’s Reggie, trailing around in a wrapper, and the servants doing just as they damn please. No order, no system, no peace and quiet. When Helen was alive, everything went like clockwork. If I called up and said I’d like to bring someone home to dinner, I could absolutely count on everything being exactly right. But now…!

  They had taken in so many new people that his secretary had to work in his private office half the time. She began to type, and the noise was exasperating.

  “I’m going to step out for a cup of coffee. Miss Fuller,” he said. “Back in a few moments.”

  He wanted to find a pair of scales. Funny, he thought, that you always say a ‘pair’ of scales. You couldn’t ask anybody where to find scales; simply calling attention to the fact that you’d gained a few pounds. So he went into the drug-store in the lobby of the building. There were scales there, two kinds, the old-fashioned reliable kind with weights on a bar, and the other kind, that gave your weight printed on a ticket, in privacy. He chose the privacy. He put in a penny, and out came the little ticket.