Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  'But I thought we weren't going to tell anyone until you got back,' she exclaimed.

  'Exempting my secretary, in whom I've complete trust,' he said flatly. 'She's essential to my routine—I should have thought that you'd have realized that by now. I've given her all the instructions this afternoon and she'll see to everything for next week. All you'll have to do is your own personal packing and the last-minute things like going to the hairdresser.'

  'I see,' she said rather stiffly.

  'Oh, and fixing up Susan to give you moral support,' he added dryly.

  'I'm planning to arrange that with her this week-end.' Mir­anda decided to ignore the ironic little sting in the tail of his remark.

  'Does she know?'

  'Not yet. I simply asked her to keep the thirtieth free for me.'

  'Well, don't be mysterious too long,' he enjoined, glancing at his watch. 'Give her fair warning so that she can get her new dress or whatever you want her to wear. And remember what I said about that.'

  Miranda nodded, touched by his unexpected understanding and the implied generosity. But she had already made her plans regarding Susan's dress and foreseen the blew it might present to her friend's slender budget. Nevertheless, she felt the fresh surge of love for him melt away the stiffness his brusque mien had induced and it gave her courage to say impulsively: 'What time will you be out of the meeting?'

  'Why?' .

  'I'll wait for you—then see you off at the airport.'

  He drained his glass and pushed it away. 'I'd rather you didn't. I'll probably be rushing at the last minute.'

  'It doesn't matter.' Something made her persist in spite of his obvious reluctance to agree to her request. 'It's worth it to me, even if it's only a few minutes.'

  He stood up abruptly and nicked at a speck on his lapel. 'I hope you're not going to be a possessive wife,' he said.

  A crispness in his tone made this remark fall short of the jocular, and the eagerness died from Miranda's face. Her parted lips closed, then tightened. 'There's a difference be­tween caring and possessiveness,' she said in a voice that wasn't quite steady. 'I think I can recognize it, Jason.'

  'You'll be one of the few women who can, at least in my experience.' He waited with scarcely concealed impatience while she gathered up her bag and magazine and slid along the banquette. The table was set too near for ease in escaping the otherwise intimate corner and she caught her knee against one of the unseen supports beneath, making her stumble. His hand came out to steady her. 'Why do girls always make for these nooks that are so difficult to extricate oneself from?'

  'I don't know.' She sighed under, her breath for the ache in her knee. 'Why do men always stand aside until we've got in, so that they can sit at the end?'

  'So that we can get out easily to pay for the drinks.' He pushed open the door, his car keys already jingling in his hand. 'I'm sorry to rush you, but I'm going to be late.'

  'It doesn't matter.' She sat stiffly in the car and stared straight ahead. It came to her that they had almost quarrelled. Not quite, but the atmosphere was there, the kind of culture on which the seeds of argument could flourish. The thought sent a chill through her and his remark about possessive wives began to repeat itself over and over in her brain. Was that how quar­rels began between lovers? As easily as that?

  The word 'lover' lingered and brought a tiny furrow to her brow. Despite the fact that she was to marry Jason it was still strange to think of him as her lover, even more difficult to believe they were on the brink of marriage.

  I still don't know him! she whispered soundlessly. How could one love a man yet not know him? And yet it seemed as though she had known his features, his tall form, the way he moved and the sound of his voice for ever. She shook her head, and became aware of the car slowing down to a standstill a few yards from the junction of the main road and Willow Grove.

  'Do you mind if I drop you here?' he said. 'It'll save me that one-way detour at the other end of your road.'

  'Of course not.' She took a firmer grip on her bag, knowing she must get out of the car yet reluctant to make the move. 'I'll see you when you get back, then. Have a good trip.'

  It didn't seem that he was going to make any move towards her, and after a brief glance at his shadowy face she reached for the door handle.

  'Miranda…'

  She turned back instantly.

  'You understand by now that I have two lives; my personal life, and Carona-Steele?'

  She stared at him through the shadows, the movement of her head almost afraid.

  'I try to keep them apart, though it isn't easy, nor is it always possible—Carona-Steele is too demanding. Too demanding to allow the distraction of a woman.'

  Her mouth felt stiff. 'You want to change your mind?'

  'What about?' He sounded puzzled.

  'About me.' She dared not look up and an ache was be­ginning to race through her body.

  A muffled exclamation escaped him. His hand slid from the wheel. 'Listen to me. This is exactly what I'm getting at, Mir­anda. I made a certain observation a while ago, to which you took exception.'

  'I didn't!'

  'You did, if not in words then in the quality of your silence since that moment. You wanted to see me off at the airport, but in this case it's better if you don't. I'm travelling with another businessman whom I'm meeting there. You'd simply be stand­ing around and there'd be no time for exchanges of sen­timents.'

  'You mean I'd be a distraction,' she said flatly.

  'I wasn't going to say that,' he said in cool tones, 'and don't start putting words into my mouth. All I'm trying to point out is that there'll be many times when my work has to come first—and this is one of them. If only women would realize that and not persist endlessly…' He broke off with an impatient sigh and a gesture that struck chill into Miranda's heart. 'It would save a hell of a lot of trouble,' he added.

  'You sound as though you speak from experience,' she whis­pered.

  'I do.'

  The flat response did nothing to take away the chill of des­pondency. She took a deep breath, trying to appear calm. 'You said you were late,' she reminded him.

  'That's better.' With a typically male carelessness he shrugged mockingly, seeming to slough off the air of the small, and to Miranda, tense incident. 'I'll see you after Mos­cow—and don't look so forsaken! It'll be all right after The Day.'

  A slight smile, another of those chaste kisses that left be­wilderment and a sense of dissatisfaction, a laconic, 'Out you get,' and she was walking the short distance to Syrian Lane.

  Her heart felt curiously leaden as she let herself into the silent flat, and she had the feeling she was beginning to wake from a dream. The doubts crowded in on her, no longer suppressible.

  It'll be all right after The Day…

  But would it? Did Jason take marriage as seriously as she did? His proposal had been as sudden as unexpected, and the reason for it no secret. He wanted her, she didn't doubt it, but was she being naïve and foolish to believe that he must have some love for her, to desire her so much he wanted marriage, and that time would bring them closer in understanding? She had not made any secret of her own feelings, yet Jason had been rather conservative about his own, as though he was quite satisfied now that the arrangements were all settled and she had accepted his ring.

  She looked down at it; the central sapphire, her birthstone, in a cluster of diamonds. She dared not think what it had cost—the trays brought for her inspection in the jeweller's had given no hint of anything so unromantic as price. Jason had prac­tically chosen this one, seeming to divine it was the one she liked best of all, but she had hesitated a long while, suspecting that it was frighteningly expensive. Then Jason had-tired of indecision.

  'That's the ring,' he had said briefly, and given her no chance to demur.

  Slowly she drew it from her finger, and her eyes grew wist­ful. He must love her the way she secretly longed and hoped… It was just that she had to realize he wasn't a
sentimental kind of man. He was accustomed to making firm decisions, to know­ing what he wanted and getting it, and to people obeying him without question. Tonight had to be discounted. He faced a last-minute conference, a long flight and a packed agenda at the end of it, and there was always that certain tension about business trips behind the Curtain, in spite of his unconcerned attitude towards this one.

  And so she stilled the doubts, even though she knew she was making allowances for him. But wasn't that part of what love was all about…?

  * * *

  She had expected the days to drag while he was away: some­what to her surprise they flew.

  That week-end she said good-bye to working days at Carona-Steele, ostensibly to begin her annual vacation but in reality for good. Nothing occurred to necessitate her consulting his secretary, and no summons or query came from that re­doubtable personage, nor did any sudden surprise rumour ripple like wildfire through the building.

  Yes, it had been sensible to defer to Jason's wisdom, Mir­anda decided. Nevertheless, she felt a sense of loss as she tidied out her desk drawer and transferred the few personal items it held into her bag. It would have been wonderful to announce her own momentous news and watch its reception. She would love to see Rena Harvey's face…

  She had to content herself with telling Susan and Ray that evening, whose reaction helped to make up for the flatness of her departure from Carona-Steele. As she had feared, Susan betrayed aggrievedness once she had got over the three stages of incredulity, disbelief, and dawning conviction that her leg wasn't being pulled.

  'You might have told me,' she cried indignantly. 'I wouldn't have breathed a word to a soul, you know that.'

  'We decided it was the best way. Jason didn't want a lot of fuss.'

  'Well! You and J.S. You know, now I think of it I've noticed you going dreamy-eyed when he's around.' Susan pouted. 'And I thought we didn't have any secrets.'

  Tactfully Miranda steered the discussion towards wedding fashion and Susan soon forgave her in the excitement of plan­ning what she would wear.

  Miranda had already decided on a semi-informal dress of ivory terylene voile with the currently fashionable very full sleeves and close-fitting Victorian style bodice. There was silver threadwork edging the neckline and scalloped wrist­bands, and afterwards she would be able to wear it for parties or special occasions. So the following morning they con­centrated on Susan's dress, finally choosing a lovely shell pink silk that suited her delicate colouring perfectly. Afterwards they went back to Miranda's flat to meet Jean, newly arrived from Edinburgh to take up residence under Mrs. Saunders' maternal wing.

  She was a sunny-natured girl, inclined to be on the boister­ous side, and entered wholeheartedly into helping Miranda begin her final preparations for the great day.

  Suddenly there seemed a host of last-minute items to shop for and things to do if she were not to have a mad last-minute rush. A gorgeous set of pale blue matching cases arrived on the Monday; dress case, two smaller cases, overnight bag, and a beautifully fitted beauty case, which Jason had ordered and forgotten to tell her about, and the following morning brought a heavenly bouquet with the card: 'See you soon,' which set Miranda alight with joy and Jean with curiosity to see him.

  It was Jean who bounded up the stairs, two at a time that evening, to gasp breathlessly: 'Phone for you—a personal call—it must be him!'

  'From Moscow!' Miranda squealed. 'It can't be!'

  But it was Jason calling her from Moscow.

  At first she could only stammer when the call was connected and she realized she was really talking to him. His voice waxed and waned, strangely unreal across sea and continent, yet un­mistakably his. Her heart raced with pleasure and the joyous little affections bubbled on her lips. But there was no time for them. After the brief opening courtesy he spoke crisply and quickly, and when he finished Miranda's mouth drooped with disappointment. Something had cropped up unexpectedly.

  He wasn't coming back tomorrow.

  He had to break his journey to meet a business contact in Prague. A new development made this essential and there was no way of postponing the commitment.

  'But when…?' faltered Miranda, prepared for the worst.

  'Friday. Late Friday, I'm afraid.' He sounded weary.

  'But that's the day before…'

  'As long as it isn't the day after,' he said dryly. 'Now don't worry. And don't come to meet every flight if you don't hear from me. Have an early night and get your beauty sleep.'

  'But that means I won't see you until—'

  The line crackled and his voice receded into the distance. She thought he said something about a cable, but the gist was lost in the overlay of static moments before the line crackled, and went dead. A moment later the dialling tone buzzed and there was nothing she could do but replace the receiver.

  Panic wasn't far away as all the awful 'mights' presented themselves. He might not get back in time! He might be de­layed longer than he expected. The wedding might have to be postponed! Cancelled!

  Jean offered soothing assurances that nothing of the kind would happen. Men like Jason hopped international flights like Miranda hopped on the Underground, she said firmly. He'd be back all right.

  Miranda wished she could feel as confident. And even if he did it was going to make things awkward. They were leaving on the afternoon flight on the Saturday, and if Jason didn't land in before the early hours of Saturday morning he was going to end up flying half-way round the world in those two days, with a few hours' stopover in London to get married, she thought hys­terically.

  She fretted all through Wednesday, and on Thursday de­cided to telephone Miss Mayo. It was a little deflating, even if a relief, to hear that he had been in contact with the office and Miss Mayo was in full possession of his schedule. There was nothing to worry about; everything was under control.

  'You'll be a nervous wreck by Saturday,' Jean told her sternly. 'Do you know what I think? I think we should go out for the day tomorrow. I know! Let's go to Brighton. How about it?'

  Miranda shook her head. 'I can't. I'm going to the hair­dresser in the afternoon. And I might miss the phone.'

  'That phone!' Jean waved her hands and sent the standard lamp rocking. 'If this is what love does I hope I escape it a while longer.'

  Later, Miranda wished with all her heart she'd taken Jean's impulsive advice. If they'd gone on that jaunt designed to cram full that day of nerve-racking tension she might not have been at home when Susan called. And Susan might have paused and pondered the wisdom of acting the tutelary herald.

  But she didn't. Jean decided to go and look up long-lost relations at Willesden, and obviously found them, for she had not returned when Susan arrived shortly after eight that even­ing.

  Miranda was pleased though surprised to see her, knowing that Susan did a baby-sitting job every other Friday and this was the booked one.

  'Ray's there holding the fort—or rather the baby,' she ex­plained, looking round the room, at the open suitcase on the bed, the beautiful ivory dress hanging under its transparent cover, and the new undies of cobwebby nylon lace laid over a chair back in readiness for when Miranda dressed the following morning. 'Where's Jean?' she asked.

  Miranda told her, then added excitedly: 'Miss Mayo rang up this afternoon—he'll be back on the evening flight. About nine, she thinks, and he's going to ring me as soon as he gets home.' Miranda sighed happily. 'She was so sweet—you know how cool and off-putting she usually is—and she wished me hap­piness and said she'd arranged the cars, and Libby has every­thing laid on at Byrne Square, and my luggage would be collected at nine in the morning, and if there was anything at all she could do personally I had to ring her at her home tonight. She asked was I nervous, and if I was I should have a long luxurious soak and then sip a cup of hot milk in bed and read myself sleepy and forget about tomorrow. As if I could! But I—' She stopped as she noticed Susan's stiff, unsmiling expression. 'Susan—what on earth's the matter?'
<
br />   'I—I—' Susan licked dry lips. Suddenly she looked as though she were going to weep.

  Miranda stared, searching for an explanation and suddenly finding one. Dismay clouded her face. 'You haven't come to tell me you can't come tomorrow? Oh, Susan! You can't let me down! I'll—'

  Susan gave a choked exclamation and swung round. 'Oh—I wish I hadn't come. I wish—how am I going to say it?'

  'Say what?' Alarm flared in Miranda's eyes. She dropped the jacket she was folding and took a step forward. 'What? What do you have to say?'

  Susan sank down on the end of the bed and avoided Mir­anda's apprehensive gaze. 'I wish Jean was here. Maybe I—' She gulped. 'You're going to hate me, but I have to tell you, in case it is true, and tomorrow will be too late.'

  An icy hand clutched Miranda's heart and a certain name seared into her brain in letters of fire. Jason! It could only be Jason. 'What?' she almost screamed. 'Susan, tell me!'

  'Well,' Susan took a deep breath, 'the news is out now—in the office. Naturally, everyone got a surprise and everyone's talking about it. Except Jim Grayson—you know big Jim, the maintenance man, who always pats you on the shoulder and calls you "Beautiful", even old Miss Bates who's as ugly as sin. But he said he wasn't really surprised because his mate, Tom—the security man, you know?—told him he'd seen you and J.S. leaving the building together one night ages after everybody had gone, but he kept his mouth shut because that's his job and anyway he doesn't hold with gossiping about other people's affairs.'

  Susan paused again, and Miranda clenched her fists to stop herself shaking Susan.

  'Well,' Susan went on, 'somebody asked: why all the sec­recy? and Rena turned on me, wanting to know if I'd known all along and why hadn't I told her. I was a bit narked at the way she spoke to me and so I told her it was none of her business. And then—' Susan gulped and looked up unhappily at Mir­anda's shocked face.

  She swallowed hard. 'I can't remember word for word every­thing she said, but she made me promise faithfully to talk some sense into you before it was too late. If I didn't she was going to come here to see you herself.'