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Change of Duty

Page 13

by Marjorie Norrell


  I’ll be glad to get back to St. David’s, she told herself, and then remembered she had not yet mailed her letter to Matron.

  There should be no further delay. She would put on her coat and slip out via the staff entrance and mail the letter at once.

  She’d have it by Monday morning, Hilary calculated. I’ll know by Tuesday ... then I won’t have to see any of them—except Simon, when he and Iris are married—ever again.

  She fitted her key into the door of the flat and was astonished to find the door unlocked. For the first time she felt a twinge of fear as she pushed the door wide open.

  “Hello! I thought you’d decided to do a—what do you call it, now,—night turn as well!” Mark rose from where he had been sitting, his hair awry, his clothes rumpled. “I couldn’t talk to you when the rest of them were there,” he began. “You don’t mind my waiting here, do you?” he added anxiously.

  “It’s your flat.” Hilary knew she was being ungracious, but the sight of him rising from the chair and looking so obviously tired and upset, disturbed her more than she would have believed possible. “I’ll make some tea,” she offered.

  “Not yet, please!” Mark turned and took the tea pot from her unresisting fingers as she lifted it from the shelf. “Later,” he promised. “Just now, let’s talk.”

  Hilary sat down in the other chair. She felt her legs would not support her for very much longer. Talk, for goodness sake! What on earth was there to talk about?

  “Did the parade make as much money as the committee hoped?” she inquired politely.

  “I think the organizers were more than satisfied,” Mark said stiffly, and as silence fell between them once more she racked her brain to think of something else—anything else—that would hold him there, just so that she could look at him, listen to his voice and know him to at least be friendly.

  “Nita must be tired,” she said, not really thinking what she was saying, only determined to talk about anything, and surely the store and its achievements were the matters nearest his heart?

  “Not too tired, I trust,” he answered enigmatically. “I heard Mrs. Vale asking her to stay on for a while—something special she wanted her to show to someone, I believe.”

  “What are you trying to say?” she asked almost curtly. “I’m awfully tired.”

  “Then we’ll cut the whole thing short,” Mark said astonishingly, striding to the door and startling her by leaning out into the corridor and calling in a loud voice, “It’s okay. You can all come in now!”

  Hilary rose to her feet. It was incredible, but Laura Vale was leading a small procession right into the flat. Laura was followed by Simon, a beaming Simon escorting, like a father of the bride, a glowing, smiling Nita in the most beautiful bridal gown Hilary had ever seen.

  “This is the star of the collection.” Laura could not keep silent any longer. “Specially designed by Morris for Simon’s wife-to-be, and now,” she beamed from Hilary to Mark and back again, “I hope I’m going to be able to ask him to make a duplicate ... for the bride’s sister,” she said briefly.

  Hilary looked from Laura Vale’s triumphant smile to Simon’s knowing one, then to Nita, beaming and smiling, well pleased with all that had happened since she had confided in Laura the extent of Aida’s scheming to try and rouse Mark Dawson’s interest in herself. Even Nita could feel a certain sympathy for Aida now.

  “She’ll probably have learned a lesson at last, Mrs. Vale,” Nita had commented, “and a fresh start in a new place, with a bit more of the authority and attention she craves, might well work wonders. We can only hope so!” From Nita’s glowing cheeks and dancing eyes Hilary looked at Mark. And he was looking only at her, his smile grave, his eyes tender, and ignoring all the others, without a word he held out his arms.

  Suddenly shy, Hilary hesitated, not knowing what to say or to do, but Laura was enjoying herself.

  “Come along, everybody,” she marshaled everyone but Hilary and Mark before her. “We’ll wait for you in the car, dears. We’re taking Hilary home to Cresta tonight. There are so many things to discuss!”

  “Darling!” Mark’s arms were going around her, and she still wasn’t sure it was all true and not really one of the daydreams she had been indulging in so much of late. “I’ve been a fool! I ought to have asked you outright, weeks and weeks ago, when Iris first came home, but I didn’t dare.”

  Hilary said nothing. She didn’t want to break the spell, if that was what it was. Her silence worried him.

  “When I heard, when Aida said—and showed me—how much time Simon was spending at your house, and when he was always coming to the flat, taking you home ... everything ... what chance could I imagine I’d have with only my own salary and what I might earn in the years to come? I couldn’t ask you, Hilary. You do see that, don’t you?”

  “Ask me now, Mark,” she said, knowing at last this was no dream. “Ask me now.”

  “I love you, darling,” he said gently, his lips against her hair. “Will you marry me ... soon, please?” Down the corridor they could hear Laura’s voice. “And we’ll have a double wedding,” she was proclaiming. “My grandson and my manager! Hilary can start a new course of duties for herself—a mixed bag, this time! She’s finished with light duties now, I should think.” And as her laughter rang out Hilary lifted her lips for Mark’s kiss, and reflected that this, after all, was the most pleasant “duty” she had ever had!

 

 

 


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