Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  'Don't argue, Miranda, and don't worry.'

  'But—but I—'

  'I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk about it then.' Under the now startled gaze of Mrs. Saunders he coolly put one hand under Miranda's chin and tilted her face up. Quite deliberately he bent to her mouth and kissed her without hurry.

  Then he gave her a gentle push and nodded in the direction of the stairs. 'It's time you got some sleep. Go on, Miranda.'

  Unable to take her gaze from his face, she backed away to ascend the stairs like a sleepwalker.

  Forgotten, as though she didn't exist, was the dumbfounded Mrs. Saunders.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When the sunrays stole through the chinks in the curtains next morning Miranda threw off the bedclothes and decided she must have dreamed it all.

  The room seemed so utterly normal, the little bedside clock so steady and unhurried in its tick, and that undefinable lack of urgency that was so delightfully characteristic of non-work­ing mornings was back after an absence of five days. In all, it was the dawn of another Saturday, a dawn looked forward to all week.

  She sat up, her bare toes fumbling around by the bedside for her slippers, and began to assess in the cool light of day the odd events which had been no dream. Hadn't she lain awake most of the night, or what was left of it, wondering whatever had possess J.S. to make the most extraordinary statement she had ever heard from his lips? Her imagination had devised quite a number of reasons as it pondered the question during those wakeful hours. Some of them were plainly preposterous—she had once heard of a man who married a girl he hardly knew because he had to produce a wife in order to claim an unex­pected inheritance, but J.S. didn't appear in such need of worldly goods that he'd have to resort to that length.

  Others were equally fanciful, but of so tender and personal a nature she scorned herself for even admitting them—how could she imagine that J.S. was the type suddenly to discover an all-consuming passion for a girl he hardly knew, who was, to put it kindly, a shy, introspective and not very important member of the Accountancy Department staff? No, there was only one reason that stood up to prolonged logical study: J.S. had a peculiar and unpredictable sense of humour.

  She got up, heedless that her toes had failed to locate the missing slippers, and pattered on bare feet to the window. She drew open the curtains and stared down at two sparrows flirting in the sooty shrubs beneath the plane tree, and a wistfulness shadowed her eyes. She thought she was beginning to know a little of the way J.S.'s mind worked.

  He was so used to wielding authority it was now automatic; he possessed an undeniable streak of arrogance coupled with a strange, ruthless charm, and the combination of the three made it impossible for him to ignore any situation which presented a challenge or placed a difficulty in his path. So he dealt with it, and walked on.

  The night she always thought of as 'that night' had been the first example of this that she had experienced; this was the second. And she had to admit that he had resolved an awkward situation last night. Perhaps it had been the first solution that came into his head, but it had certainly shaken Mrs. Saunders. 'To say nothing of what it did to me!' she whispered aloud.

  And it had really been her fault in the first place, she admit­ted wryly to herself. If she hadn't been so soft-hearted… After all, J.S. was tough and resilient—he wouldn't be where he was in the business world if he wasn't—and the lack of an hour or so's sleep in an armchair wasn't going to break him, even if he'd just flown in after a gruelling coast-to-coast tour of their Am­erican interests. She sighed. Despite this the incident brought an endearing little memory and she could not help remem­bering the hard lean lines softened in sleep, curiously young with an appeal that had made her want to touch and smooth the silver streaks at his temples…

  Abruptly she turned away and snatched up her housecoat. She was being quite ridiculous. He'd probably be in hoots over it by now. He'd expect her to share the joke: one large joke instead of one spot of bother with a strait-laced landlady. The trouble was, she told herself miserably as she got into the bath, she would still have to leave the flat. Setting aside all his non­sense about not allowing her to stay there, she couldn't face telling the truth when the moment of explanation came. For even if Mrs. Saunders relented and said she could stay, Mir­anda couldn't bear to face her and confess that J.S.'s state­ment had simply been a quick and convenient way out of a troublous situation.

  But he'd kissed her!

  She retreated into the folds of the big towel and averted her gaze from her rosy reflection in the mirror. Last night she had been totally unprepared for his kiss, and when it came she had been so stiff with dismay at Mrs. Saunders's attack she hadn't felt a thing except the pressure of two warm lips on her own. But now…

  A frisson of sheer delight coursed from head to toe every time she remembered that kiss…

  'Miranda…?'

  She started almost guiltily at the urgent-sounding summons. Opening the door a few inches she met Mrs. Saunders's anxious eyes.

  'I thought you must be in here—there's a phone call for you downstairs. Can you come down, or shall I…? I think it's your fiancé,' she added hurriedly, 'but he didn't give his name, just asked for you.'

  'I'll come.' Miranda rushed past her, clutching her big towel round herself, and flew downstairs leaving a trail of white talcum footprints along the landing carpet. Her heart was thud­ding and she was breathless as she whispered into the phone: 'Yes—it's Miranda Meake here…'

  'Good morning,' said J.S. in tones that betrayed nothing of an exhausting previous day. 'Any bother after I left last night?'

  'No.' Her mouth went dry and she couldn't think of a single suitable contribution towards the conversation.

  'Good. Now listen, Miranda,' he went on crisply, 'I'm in a rush today—the Chairman's cancelled his golf this morning, so I can't possibly cancel him. And Wally Ambrose is joining us for lunch, which means an extended session. I doubt if I'll be free much before three. It may be later. What have you got on today?'

  'A towel at the moment,' she said wildly.

  'A what?'

  But before she could speak he laughed softly. 'Did I get you out of the bath? It did occur to me I might get you out of bed, but I didn't think… Never mind, I won't keep you dripping there. I'll pick you up about seven. All right?'

  She nodded, then realized the inanity of it and murmured a slightly more audible assent.

  'Good,' he said. 'See you,' and rang off.

  She put the phone down and turned slowly to see Mrs. Saun­ders hovering along the hall. The woman came along towards her, her expression uncertain.

  'I didn't know you were engaged to him,' Mrs. Saunders said awkwardly. 'I wouldn't have been so hasty if I'd known. But I did get a bit of a fright when I heard you, so late…'

  'Yes, I understand.' Miranda bit her lip as she read the sign of the olive branch in the older woman's anxious expression. Quickly she explained what had happened and this time there was no disbelief or interruption.

  Mrs. Saunders nodded. 'I'm sorry I was abrupt, and of course you know you don't have to leave, until you have to—you'll be house-hunting now, I expect.'

  She smiled, and Miranda started to edge away, murmuring an awkward response. Fortunately, Mrs. Saunders credited the awkwardness to a more obvious cause and made a shooing movement at her. 'Yes, go on,' she smiled, 'before you catch your death of cold standing in this draughty hall.'

  Thankful for the chance of escape, Miranda seized it and fled. She could see all the friendly questions looming ahead. What kind of ring? What kind of a wedding? When…? And where? To say nothing of the friendly advice. Depression weighed on Miranda as she regained the privacy of her room. Common sense made her want to wish she'd never uttered that impulsive invitation last night, for think of the bothersome explanations she would have to make sooner or later, but some wayward part of her trembled with a half-fearful, half-joyous expectancy that made the long hours of the day seem strangely l
eaden…

  She dithered too long over her choice of dress for the evening and his knock at the door came at exactly seven o'clock. There was no time to change her mind yet again and remove the lavender voile Juliet dress in favour of the more trendy polka-dot satin with the huge sleeves? Susan had been crazy about the blue and silver dotted frock that had cost far more than her budget really allowed, but she had a lingering doubt about whether it suited her as much as the softer flowing voile with its close-fitting bodice embroidered with silver. J.S. haunted the sophisticated night-spots; goodness knew where he planned to dine tonight, and she'd die if she let him down…

  She hurried to open the door, and the moment of anxiety expired instead as she saw his encompassing glance and the kind of warm light in his eyes that can make a woman feel beautiful.

  She flashed him a smile that held unconscious appeal and said shyly: 'I'll just get my wrap…'

  Her heart was beating tensely as she went downstairs and got into the car. He had said little beyond a conventional greeting, and she wondered if she were imagining an air of restraint about him, one she had not formerly noticed in his manner. He drove away, and all at once her spirits plummeted into de­jection. It was silly getting excited, as though it were a special date; silly even bothering to take her out just to laugh over that stupid excuse last night… She turned suddenly, ready to blurt out all her thoughts, and his intent profile wavered towards her for an instant before he returned his attention to driving.

  'I'm feeling remiss,' he said, before she could speak, 'you look so charming I should have booked a table somewhere where I could show you off.'

  The compliment took her off balance and made her lips part with pleasure. The flagging spirits promptly soared again and she wondered if he intended taking her back to that Hadean cavern where the lighting effects could turn the most ordinary apparel into the unusual and the unusual into the extraordinary… 'Yes, the Rotunda is a bit dim and smouldery, isn't it?' she ventured.

  'I'm not taking you to Charlie's' he said coolly, and touched a switch along the dash. Music came from the radio, and he lapsed into a silence without divulging anything further con­cerning his plans for the evening.

  But for the moment it didn't matter; she felt quite content to relax back in the luxurious car and watch the cavalcade of the city lights flash by. It did not seem very long before he swung the car into a quiet residential avenue and she caught a glimpse of a black and white sign on tall dignified iron railings. She thought it said Byrne Square, then she forgot it as they stopped outside a tall Georgian house with six steps leading up to its imposing panelled door.

  J.S. got out, walked round the front of the car to open the passenger door, and held out an escorting hand. 'I thought we'd dine at home tonight,' he said easily. 'We'll be able to relax and talk more easily.'

  His home! She faltered, looking up at the dark façade of the house, uncertain what to say to this and more uncertain of those dark-curtained enigmatic windows which gave no hint of what lay behind them; Jason Steele's house.

  Before she could respond the door opened and a woman stood outlined against the oblong of amber light. She was quiet and pleasant-faced, and Miranda's heart gave an unwarranted bump of relief as she heard the woman say, 'Good evening, Mr. Steele,' and saw that her neat blue belted dress was actually a well-cut overall.

  'About ten minutes or so, Libby,' he said, turning to slip Miranda's wrap from her shoulders.

  Libby nodded, taking the wrap from him.

  He opened a door to the left of the long hall and motioned Miranda to enter. She found herself in a warm, booklined room with scarlet and blue Turkey carpeting and dark leather buttoned armchairs. A desk stood near the tall window and on it stood a silver tray with crystal glasses and tantalus.

  It was not the kind of room she had pictured him in, or rather, it was not what she would have expected to find. If she'd defined her imagined picture of his personal background she would have expected something like the striking white and bur­gundy scheme of his office suite, not this decidedly old-fashioned study. There was a portrait above the fireplace, in oils and heavy gilt frame, of a strong-featured man, who, de­spite the stiff wing collar and sombre black Edwardian tailor­ing, was so like Jason in features as to be quite startling.

  'My grandfather,' said Jason, following the direction of her glance. 'My father wouldn't have him in the boardroom! The portrait,' he added, seeing her eyes widen. 'He was a tyrant.'

  She thought better of remarking on the resemblance and failed to see Jason's mouth twitch. 'Martini or sherry?' he asked.

  'Sherry, please.' She stayed near the fireside, the ball of ten­sion beginning to reform inside her. A disturbing thought had suddenly occurred, bringing instant conviction that she had been rather foolish. Surely she had read far too much into two of his recent statements. Last night he had said, 'We'll talk about it tomorrow,' and this morning, 'I'll pick you up at seven.' And she'd dressed for a special occasion… But he'd said nothing about taking her out to dinner—hadn't he just remarked in the car? 'I should have booked a table some­where…'

  Miranda's heart sank. She'd taken too much for granted. Probably he had just intended to take her for a drink, for half an hour or so, long enough to dismiss the silly engagement nonsense and have a giggle over it, and then he'd found her dressed to go on the town…

  'If you want me to drink it for you, say so.'

  She started. He was standing in front of her, holding out the glass of sherry, and something in the sardonic grey eyes made her colour up. The rim of topaz in the cut crystal was perfectly motionless, but as she took the glass his warm fingers en­countered her own and the rim of topaz shimmered and tilted violently in her unsteady hand.

  'You look as though you've just discovered a painful truth,' he said softly.

  She turned away. 'Perhaps I have.'

  'If you prefer something else you don't have to drink that,' he said in the same soft tone.

  'It's a beautiful sherry,' she returned carefully.

  He rested one arm along the pale green marble mantelpiece and regarded her from under half-closed lids. 'You're wishing I hadn't made that somewhat presumptuous announcement last night, aren't you? And you're afraid to say so.'

  It was doubtful if any question could have been more cal­culated to throw her into confusion than this one. Pride screamed its affirmative that would answer the first and refute the sting in the tail, but the hurt wouldn't be denied, nor the anger that he could treat it all so coolly, It took an effort to appear outwardly calm, but she thought she succeeded as she moved a pace away and pretended to study a beautifully carved ivory figurine in the high-domed alcove at the side of the fireplace.

  'It might have saved a lot of trouble if you hadn't,' she said flatly.

  'What kind of trouble?' He had not moved.

  'Well…' her shoulders lifted with a wry little gesture, 'isn't it obvious?'

  'No, and I'm not anticipating any difficulty in dealing with any trouble that might materialize.'

  Her mouth compressed at the unconscious arrogance of this statement. 'I don't doubt it, Mr. Steele, but as you have so little understanding it would be rather pointless my trying to explain.'

  'Oh, Miranda!' There was pretended shock in his voice. 'No understanding? I did try to help. After all, I got the impression that your reputation was at stake. Or is that another old-fashioned idea these days? Don't girls care about their repu­tations any more?'

  'Of course they do!' She spun round to face him and her eyes sparkled stormily. 'And it's not funny! But it would have been better if you'd left me to deal with it in my own way, instead of—of the way you did, and making me look ridiculous.'

  'I never thought it was funny.' There was a changed note in his voice, and a distinct acidity as he added: 'The way I see it, the only rather ridiculous person is the worthy Mrs. Saunders.'

  He put his hands on her shoulder and an enigmatic smile touched his mouth as he looked down int
o her widening eyes.

  'But it was natural that she should make a fuss.' Miranda sighed and shook her head, her brief spurt of anger already subsiding. Jason's world and that of Mrs. Saunders were as far apart as two planets, and it was impossible to make him under­stand the kind of interest she would face and the embar­rassment of finally ending it. 'After all, it's her house and I'm still a comparative stranger.'

  'No, the woman's an idiot to jump to the conclusion she did,' Jason said forcefully. 'One look at you should have been enough.'

  She stared up at him, conscious of the warmth of his hands and the sudden silence of the room enclosing them in a sud­denly disturbing intimacy. His mouth curved again.

  'I think you're nearly as innocent as Mrs. Saunders,' he said softly. 'She's forgotten, a long time since.'

  'I don't understand.' She looked down, her heart beginning to beat quickly, almost as though it bucked at danger.

  'I know you don't. Mrs. Saunders has forgotten, and you have yet to make the first memory.' Imperceptibly he was drawing her closer and willing her to meet his gaze. 'Mrs. Saunders thought we'd been making love. But doesn't she re­member that lovemaking leaves certain delightful tell-tales in a girl's eyes? And a glow to illuminate them?' He bent his head till his mouth barely brushed her temple. 'I'm afraid you didn't have that glow, Miranda. Only a guilt without even a worthy sin to justify it.'

  A sigh shuddered through her and she caught desperately at senses that wanted to desert her. The warmth of his breath stirring the tendrils at her temple, and an increasing awareness of his masculine strength brought an overwhelming desire to offer provocation. If she were to turn her head just enough to… so that he could take her lips if he wanted to…

  She almost gasped aloud as the discreet tap came at the door. Jason's grasp slackened but did not release her while he called an acknowledgment to the housekeeper's reminder that dinner was ready.

  He smiled, then stepped back and picked up the glass of sherry she'd scarcely touched. 'It's time to eat—and you haven't finished your sherry.'