Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  Jason grinned again at the memory, and the girl said sharply:

  'It's not funny!'

  He started. He'd forgotten the invader. 'Sorry,' he mur­mured absently, 'I was thinking of something else.'

  'You aren't even listening,' she accused, 'after making all that fuss!'

  The amusement ebbed from his face. Suddenly he was bored with the subject of her petty little squabbles with her friends, whoever they were. He said curtly, 'I was listening. But what's all the fuss about? If your mate wants to entertain a man with­out you around surely you could have stayed with somebody for the night, or gone to a hotel, for that matter.'

  'Hotels cost money,' she said bitterly, 'but you wouldn't think of that.'

  He shrugged, wondering why he should bother even to make suggestions. Better get rid of her and collect those notes with­out wasting any more of the night. He pulled out his keys and turned to open the top drawer of the desk.

  'It's the end of the month,' she said flatly. 'I'm broke. And you still don't understand.'

  Jason groaned softly under his breath, his attention on the papers rustling softly under his fingers. 'Is there anything to understand, Miss Meake, except that you seem to have a marked talent for taking impertinent liberties?'

  There was no reply, only a shadow passing across his desk. He looked up and saw she had crossed to the window. She stared out at the glittering carpet of London's lights stretching out to the black sky and said slowly:

  'They're having a party—a certain kind of a party. They wanted me to make the number up. I said I couldn't. And that's why I'm here.'

  Something in the flat tones made him frown. They were too emotionless. Despite himself he experienced that odd flash of unease again. What the devil was the matter with the girl? He stared at the tensed line of her shoulders, the stiffly poised head and the shadowed profile just discernible against the darkly reflecting glass.

  'What do you mean? A certain kind of party?' he ex­claimed.

  He sensed rather than heard the sigh she gave, and the first conclusion to leap to his mind was that she meant drugs. But before he could utter the suspicion she said despairingly:

  'You take it all for granted now, don't you? Nobody raises an eyebrow, and anyone who doesn't want to play along is scared, or a prudish spoilsport.'

  'If you mean what I think you mean—drugs—I certainly don't take it all for granted,' he said sharply. 'And if that's the kind of thing going on at your flat you want to get out of it right away. Never mind how they taunt you. Just get out—while you can.'

  His words must have revealed more distaste than he realized, for she turned her head and looked over her shoulder at him. The wry little smile twisted her mouth again, then was lost in disillusion once more.

  'Isn't that what I've just done? What all this fuss is about?'

  His mouth compressed, but before he could frame a suitable retort that could bring this troublesome business to an end she gave a shrug and returned her gaze to the window.

  'It isn't a pot party this time, Mr. Steele, just another sleep-around.'

  Jason's dark brows drew together. He forgot the papers in his hand and the impulse to get rid of the girl. Something she'd said a few moments previously flashed back into his mind. Pru­dish spoilsport… An old-fashioned epithet with a decidedly Victorian qualification in front of it. Was she? Or was it her particular line? But why decamp for his office if she…?

  'Do your friends live a little too fast for you?' he asked dryly.

  'They're not my real friends,' she said in a low voice. 'They're just people who happen to have got on the same route as me at this particular time of my life.'

  Her reply surprised him. There was no trace of the cynicism that would have sharpened the same remark had it come from Catrina's lips, or the soft, provocative little moue that she… For a moment he forgot the girl, forgot the office, and remem­bered only Catrina's tempting mouth, the way it invited, evaded, whispered in the moment before it promised, yielded, excited… Oh, to hell with her! He was well out of it. With an effort he dragged his mind away from the fantasies memory would weave and made his gaze deliberate over the slender form of the girl by the window.

  'Are you a prudish spoilsport, Miss Meake?' he said with rather more derision in his tone than he had intended.

  The hazel silky head moved abruptly. There was a hesi­tation, then she said quietly: 'I don't think it matters much to you what I am. I should think all this time being wasted is of more concern.' Suddenly she swung round. 'Not mine—yours.'

  She stood there, silent, a mingling of concern and inquiry on her face, as though she awaited his permission to make her escape. He hesitated, and the apprehension fluttered again in her wide, serious eyes. 'I—I can't stay here now,' she said awkwardly, making a small, appealing gesture, 'so if you…' She let the gesture finish for her, and he sensed more strongly the return of her fear.

  Suddenly he had a desire to be out of the building. He glanced at his watch, saw that it was nearly nine and knew surprise. Hours, not a mere twenty minutes or so, seemed to have elapsed since the moment he walked into this room… He stuffed the papers into his briefcase and looked up to see that the girl had not moved. She stayed motionless, still watching him with that wide, apprehensive gaze, and abruptly he closed the case.

  'Come and have something to eat,' he said.

  'What?'

  She stared, and Jason felt surprise. He had made the sugges­tion without thinking. Conversely, her exclamation of surprise piqued him. Girls were not in the habit of querying his in­vitations to eat out; if they did, they tended to eat first and argue afterwards, he thought sardonically. Women were all the same, out for what they could get out of a man, then they screamed if he took them at their own valuation.

  'I said come and have something to eat,' he repeated.

  'With you?' She looked as though she didn't believe him.

  'And why not? Do I have something repulsive growing out of my ears?' he demanded.

  'No, but…' she shook her head helplessly. 'I thought…'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake stop arguing.' He picked up the case, switched off the desk light, and moved towards the door. 'I won't eat you.'

  'Yes, I know, but…' still she hung back, 'I don't under­stand.'

  'You don't have to.' He held the door open. 'I'm hungry, and I don't feel inclined to eat alone.'

  She came forward uncertainly, and stopped. 'I shouldn't have thought you'd have wanted to eat with me.'

  Jason sighed, and suppressed a desire to shake her. 'Listen, young woman, I don't think you're in a position to think. Either you do as I say, or I'll call the guard to throw you out. Which is it to be?'

  She looked at him, and her mouth compressed. 'You don't leave me much choice. Very well, but I'm not exactly dressed to hit the kind of high spots I imagine you frequent.'

  'I'm not hitting any of those tonight,' he told her dourly. 'We're going to a small quiet pub where the grub's good and the small talk nil.'

  'Oh.' She picked up her bag and came doubtfully towards him. 'Is there such a thing as a quiet pub?'

  'It's the company, not the building, that makes the noise.' He saw her out and glanced round the office before he switched off the light and closed the door.

  She kept apart from him, looking fixedly at the illuminated panel while the lift sank swiftly and silently down to its cushioned halt on the ground floor. The night guard glanced at him, then at his companion, and Jason knew there was specu­lation behind the softly spoken 'Good night, sir,' and touch of the cap as the man glanced at his companion.

  She eyed the watchful dog and as soon as they were out of earshot remarked uncertainly, 'What a magnificent animal.'

  Jason muttered a response, then some inner devilment prompted him to add dryly, 'You wouldn't have thought so if you'd run into him during the night.'

  'No, I suppose not.' She did not look at him.

  He unlocked the car, and once again he was aware o
f that same tense withdrawal as in the lift. His mouth went down at the corners with ironic amusement as he swung the car in a big U-turn; what was going on in that enigmatic head of hers? Was she really as petrified as she appeared? Or was it just another act? Surely he hadn't been as grim as all that. Damn it; he'd been justified. At least she was keeping quiet, he approved grudgingly. He loathed being nattered at while driving, and most women of his acquaintance appeared to think it incum­bent on them to make amusing chatter the moment he got behind the wheel.

  He headed south-west, and was half-way to his favourite haunt when he made his second sudden and uncharacteristic decision that evening. At the next intersection he turned right, skirted Green Park and wove through a devious net of sec­ondary roads towards the bacchanalian lights of Soho. A shower had fallen recently and the neons cast their liquid colours across the dark pool of the road, lending a spurious beauty to the night. A taxi disgorged a load of tourists a little way ahead, and the street touts for the strip joints lurked in readiness to accost them. When Jason pulled into a parking place and stopped the girl gave him a questioning glance.

  However, she did not break her silence as she got out of the car, but for the first time she drew a little closer to him as he approached a dark, cavernous doorway. The doorman greeted him by name, slid open a black and gold grille to one side of the small lobby, and the warm smoky atmosphere curled up from below. Again the girl looked at him as he motioned her down the black well with its narrow copper spiral staircase. A slowly turning mobile cast strange red patterns and whirling stripes across their faces, and Jason suppressed a grin; he'd forgotten Charlie's new face-lift; it was a little reminiscent of a descent into a black and red inferno, presided over by Charlie himself, of the dark and saturnine countenance.

  'Good to see you again, sir.' Charlie materialized out of the deep red gloom and betrayed not a flicker of notice of Jason's change of feminine company. 'Your usual table? Or would the lady prefer the Rotunda?'

  'The Rotunda,' Jason responded. He knew by her expression as she looked around her that she was treading fresh ground, and he wondered what would be her reaction to the huge copper table in the all black circular room around which the really off­beat young fringe of theatre-land liked to gather. It was early yet, but there were several minor notabilities and a few less minor among the diners. The black velvet wall hangings pro­vided a perfect foil for colourful clothes, the more bizarre especially.

  When they were seated Miranda turned reproachful eyes to him. 'You said a quiet pub.'

  'I changed my mind.' He felt more good-humoured now and tried his smile on her. But she did not respond.

  'I'm not dressed for a way-out place like this.'

  'Nonsense. You can wear anything here—except a little black dress.'

  'Perhaps, but I wish I wasn't in workday clothes, all the same,' she said unhappily.

  'Nonsense,' he repeated, and let his gaze rove over her. 'You look fine. Anyway, from the day-to-day glimpses I have of the female staff I can't say that I see much difference in the choice of some of them of working apparel and the togs they doll-up in elsewhere. There's one young woman in Accounts who usually looks as though she's ready to take off for the Ritz,' he ob­served.

  'Oh,' recognition quickened Miranda's tone, 'that'll be Miss Harvey. She has super dress taste. But she's assistant to the chief accountant, so I suppose she can please herself.'

  'And the chief accountant,' Jason said absently as the appro­priate pigeonhole in his memory bank gave up its last heard item of gossip. So that was old Trayer's new bird of paradise. How long before his wife got wind of it? Jason glanced sharply at his companion, wondering if her remark carried extra mean­ing, but her gaze was quite innocent of guile and he added: 'Anyway, I'm still in workaday garb.'

  'You're different.'

  'How?' He felt amusement, and could not resist the eternal temptation to prompt feminine confidences. 'Why should I be different from countless other city businessmen?'

  'Do you really have to be told?'

  The quiet voice and the honesty in the serious eyes made him a little ashamed of the conceited desire for feminine admiration. 'Being the man at the top has its drawbacks, you know,' he said flatly. 'One of them is having to carry the can when something goes wrong—and the shareholders have no mercy.'

  'You can go anywhere in the world. If you hail a taxi it stops,' she said. 'The waiter always sees you the moment you walk into a restaurant. If you give an order you don't need to wait to see if it's carried out—it always is. Because you have that air of authority people instinctively obey. It's a gift, I think, and it makes the difference between being a success in life or a non-success. That's how you're different,' she finished.

  'Good heavens'!' said Jason, after a moment of astonishment. 'Where did you get all that? You don't even know me.'

  'It isn't necessary to know a person to recognize their ability.'

  'So it seems.' Jason stroked his chin and looked unseeingly at the perfectly done tournedos with its garnish of button mush­rooms that the waiter was placing before him. This one ap­peared to have unsuspected depths. Or was it a bit of good old-fashioned blarney after his threats earlier on? Was she really in full flight from a love-in, or whatever they called an orgy these days?

  As she gave her attention to her fricassée he studied her unobtrusively, trying to guess at her background. She'd had a reasonable education, he'd say. Mentally she was alert enough and her voice was attractively modulated. She wasn't very old, eighteen or thereabouts; her body had the slenderness of im­maturity and her mouth that way of tensing which spoke of lack of self-assurance. One front tooth wasn't quite straight, her hair was soft and free of lacquer, her brows unplucked, and her chin rather pointed. Her eyes were her best feature, he thought dispassionately. They were wide and very clear, with rich dark blue irises flecked with grey and black. Their gaze could be disconcertingly direct, and, to Jason's experienced eye, transparently innocent. Yes, she'd been perfectly truthful. This one would flee like a frightened doe from a word out of place, never mind a hand…

  Jason checked his idle speculation. She was unlikely to cross his path again after tonight, but at least she'd supplied a diver­sion when he most needed one. Any company other than his own was welcome tonight.

  Automatically he assumed the façade of charm which had become second nature to him when he entertained the feminine sex. It rarely failed him, and it seemed that Miss Miranda Meake was to be no exception. She appeared to be losing her fear of him, and responded more readily, if still rather shyly, to his prompting questions. Gradually a picture began to emerge and build up of her background. He was not really surprised to discover that she was an orphan and had been reared from the age of two by an elderly aunt, nor did it take him long to discover that maiden Aunt Hester's upbringing had been some­what strict if kindly, and decidedly puritan.

  Prudish, in fact, he concluded to himself with some amuse­ment, and said carelessly: 'I bet she took some talking into letting you stretch your wings. Guardian dragons can be tougher than parents.'

  'Aunt Hester wasn't a dragon,' she said in a rather con­strained voice, and looked down at her plate.

  Instantly Jason was attuned to the note of awkwardness. 'Wasn't?' he said softly.

  'She died four months ago.'

  He looked at the downbent head. 'I'm sorry.'

  For a moment she was silent, and he began to fear tears, and then she gave a small shake of her head and to his surprise said abruptly: 'I seem to have talked an awful lot about myself—too much.'

  'Not at all,' he said politely, hiding surprise. Few of his feminine acquaintances ever talked of anything other than themselves and their more or less frivolous desires. 'Tell me,' he prompted idly with his usual perception, 'how did it feel to have freedom thrust on you so suddenly, after such a quiet up­bringing? He leaned back, smiling a little, and she responded instantly to the warm note of invitation in his voice, exactly as he had know
n she would.

  'It was a bit frightening at first,' she admitted slowly, 'losing my only living relative and my home, then it was rather won­derful to realize I could do exactly as I liked. Sometimes I felt a bit guilty—I mean, I loved Aunt Hester very dearly, but I could never have left her alone.'

  'Not even to marry?'

  She hesitated, her eyes reflective. 'It's strange that you should say that. Please don't laugh, but—'

  'Why should I?' he interjected.

  '—my childhood ambition was to be a concert pianist, but Aunt Hester disapproved strongly of anything to do with the entertainment business. I should be thinking of something safe and dependable for a career, like secretarial work, or teach­ing.'

  'A predictable attitude on her part,' he observed.

  Miranda gave a shrug totally without bitterness. 'In her way she was right. She said any further advanced music training would probably be a waste of money as I was bound to get married and settle down with a family.'

  'So she did have marriage in mind for you.' Jason studied his cigar. 'Is that one of your ambitions now?'

  'Ambition… that doesn't seem the right word for it.'

  'What is the right word for it?' he asked idly.

  She thought for a moment. 'I don't know, but ambition ex­presses a seeking for self-aims, which isn't the right attitude for marriage.'

  'I suppose not.' His voice hardened. She had touched a raw spot, and resentment burned in him instantly. He sought to change the subject, but before he could speak she forestalled him.

  'Marriage should be the ultimate in all human relationships,' she said softly, almost as though she spoke her thoughts aloud. 'People should take it much more seriously and unselfishly, and realize that a good relationship doesn't just happen like magic. It has to be worked for and earned like anything else.'