The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell

by Burchell, Mary

  "Oh, yes!"

  "But where are you speaking from?"

  "From King's Cross. I... I've only just arrived, and I must speak to you, please. Could you possibly see me sometime this afternoon?" At a mutter from Brent, she amended that to, "early this afternoon."

  "Is anything wrong?" Lin's voice sharpened slightly.

  "Yes. At least, I mean—no, nothing to do with your mother or any of your family. She's perfectly all right

  It's ... it's just something to do with me, personally. Oh, please do see me!"

  He was astonished, she knew, but he would not have been Lin if he had refused that appeal. He said, *'Wait a minute," and presumably consulted someone or some engagement book. "Harriet, I can't meet you for lunch, I 'm afraid. I have an appointment I can't cancel. But—could you come here to the office?"

  *'0h, yes, of course!"

  *'About half-past two?"

  "Yes. Oh, yes—thank you so much."

  "That's all right. Are you in some sort of trouble?"

  "In ... in a way—yes. I'll tell you about it when I see you."

  "Very well. Do you know how to get here?"

  She felt sure Brent knew, so she said "Yes." And then she rang off and turned to face Brent.

  "All right?" he inquired sharply, though her end of the conversation had largely reassured him.

  "Yes. He'll see me m his office at half-past two."

  "Fine!" exclaimed Brent. "Now let's go and have a good lunch."

  Whatever anxieties he might have had while they were in the telephone booth were dispersed by now, and he at least enjoyecl his lunch immensely. Harriet did her best, but it was rather a poor best. And then he took her by taxi to Lin's office.

  This was near Lincoln's Inn Fields. And, without knowing that the suggestion gave Harriet the most curious, superstitious feeling, he undertook to meet her at what might well have been the identical bench on which she had sat and studied Mrs. Mayhew's letter all those months ago.

  Alone, Harriet went into the solemn, rather aged-looking building in which Lin had his offices, and presented herself in the outer room whose door bore the encouraging legend, Please enter.

  The girl who came to ask her business was undoubtedly the one who had answered her on the telephone. The pleasant, efficient voice was the same. And as soon as Harriet had given her name, she said, "Oh, yes. Mr. Mayhew is waiting for you." And showed Harriet into Lin's office.

  It was as simple as that.

  He had risen from his desk, and come across the room to greet her, with outstretched hand, just as though their last meeting had not been so dramatic and so harrowing. Of course, she knew, one had to resume normal relationships, and enough time had gone past for them both to be self-possessed and sensible. But, somehow, she had not imagined that it would be like this.

  "Come and sit down, and tell me what the trouble is.*'

  Possibly he said that to all worried clients. But she doubted if he regarded them with quite such kindly concern. And, when she had sat down in the chair he indicated, and he had resumed his seat at his desk, she suddenly thought that, after all, it was not going to be so desperately difficult as she had supposed.

  ''You must forgive me for coming to you," she began eagerly.

  "I shouldn't have forgiven you if you hadn't," he told her with a smile. "I'm glad you thought of me when you wanted help."

  She gave him a fleeting smile of gratitude, which was more timid than she knew.

  "It's about Brent," she said desperately. And she had no idea that only that fleeting smile kept him from hardening both his heart and his expression. "He ... he's in trouble."

  Lin carefully balanced on office ruler on his forefinger.

  "Not an entirely new situation for Brent, Harriet," he said, but without rancor.

  "No. At least—I mean there have been occasions when he has been unfortunate, and when he hasn 't taken the course that perhaps you or I would have taken. I don't want to tell a detailed hard-luck story, Lin, but Brent hasn't had an awfully lucky break in the early days. I suppose it's not very difficult to be scrupulous and absolutely straight when you've been brought up that way and never subjected to terrific temptation. ..." She knew she was doing this rather well, partly because, in a general way, she believed what she was saying. "Brent never had that advantage. But since he's been engaged to me—" she took a deep breath "—he's begun to see things very differently."

  She paused, and after a moment, Lin said gravely, "I'm

  glad to hear that, Harriet." And, as far as she could see, he meant it.

  '*But—but sometimes, Lin, even when you Ve turned over a new leaf, or made good resolutions, or however you like to put it, something out of the past suddenly catches up with you, after all. That. .. that's what has happened in Brent's case, and—"

  "Could you be a little more explicit?" Lin said courteously, and she had the curious, and not very reassuring impression, that the professional Lin had taken over from the personal Lin at this point in the interview.

  *'Well-" she swallowed slightly **-ril try. But it's a bit difficult, because I don't know all the details myself."

  He waited, with an air of not wishing to hurry her.

  *'As far as I understand it, some time ago—oh, quite a time before Brent fell in—became engaged to me, he made some—some—financial arrangement which involved a good deal of risk. If he brought it off it would be quite all right, but if he didn't, then he ... he would be left in a position that would make him seem dishonest, and—"

  "Just a moment, Harriet. This rather—vague generalization could cover a great many things, you know. From pinching money out of the till with the intention of ultimately replacing it, to some of the more questionable but generally admitted processes of financial juggling. Which covers Brent's little lapse?"

  "I. .. I don't know. He'11 have to tell you that himself." . "Oh? Is he coming to see me, too?"

  "I hope so. If you ... if you agree, Lin." She looked beseechingly at him.

  His mouth took on a slightly grimmer line.

  "Then you are acting as Brent's ambassador, at the moment?'

  "In a way . . . yes."

  "You either are, you know, or you are not," he told her dryly, and she began to feel, in a panic-stricken way, that she was losing touch with him—with the kind, helpful Lin who had first welcomed her in this room.

  "Lin, you can't imagine how I hate doing this!" she

  cried, from the depths of her soul. And because her nerves

  had been stretched to breaking point, and because she

  'suddenly remembered that letter and what would happen if

  she failed, the tears came into her eyes. "I ... I would have done anything—almost anything, rather than have come to plead with you like this. But what else could I do? If you won't help me, I—don't know what I shall do. **

  "My dear—"he got up and came around to her ''—please don't upset yourself. And for heaven's sake don't talk of pleading with me. There's no question of such a thing."

  "B-but there is," she stammered, feeling for her handker* chief, while a slight sob actually escaped her. "I'm s6 worried and—and you're the only person who can help me."

  "Well then, of course you can take it that I will do anything I can, Harriet, within the bounds of honesty." Even the pathos of the moment could not quite make the professional Lin forget the type of man with whom they were dealing. "Tell me just wnat it is you want me to do. Don't cry—there isn't any need." His hand pressed reassuringly on her shoulder for a moment. "And take your time."

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  She made a great effort to regain her composure and, after a moment or two, she looked up and managed to smile faintly.

  "That's better!"

  "I'm sorry."

  He laughed, and again she felt that slight pressure on her shoulder.

  "Go on now, and tell me the rest."

  "There isn't really very much else to tell. Brent desperately wants yo
ur good offices with—with the man who is most concerned in this. He is a friend and client of yours and-"

  "What is his name?"

  "I don't know. Brent will tell you all-all the details."

  If he wished to make a sarcastic observation at thi^ point, he restrained himself admirably. He merely said, "Your only job—wish, I should say—is to make sure that I will listen to Brent with an indulgent ear. Is that it? "

  "Yes.And-and-"

  "What else, Harriet?"

  "And please remember that—that Brent's happiness and welfare is also—also mine."

  She had to say that. It was almost the most important part

  of her mission. But, even so, her tongue stumbled slightly over the words.

  He didn't answer her immediately. He went over to the window, his hands in his pockets, and stood staring out abstractedly over the roofs. She was irresistibly reminded of that time she had told him of Dilys's departure. And, just as on that occasion, she longed to go to him and put her arms around him.

  When he spoke at last, he did so without turning around to look at her.

  *'Well, Harriet, of course I'll see Brent. And you can tell him that I will listen sympathetically to whatever he has to say, and help him if I can. '

  "Oh, thank you! When-"

  "Wait a moment. There is something else which I feel I ought to say to you, though it's a bit difficult to know how to do It—" he passed his hand over his hair in that characteristic gesture of perplexity "—or to do it with decent objec-tiveness."

  She waited, watching him expectantly, and then he went on, choosing his words carefully.

  "I realize that you couldn't have made yourself do this, Harriet, if you hadn't been very deeply fond of Brent. It's meant great pain and nerve strain and, I suppose, a certain amount of humiliation for you. You probably believe that it is one isolated, terrible occasion, never to be repeated. But, my dear, I've known Brent Penrose longer than you. And when I hear you say that his happiness and welfare are also yours, I con't help being very fearful for your future with him."

  "You .. . you needn't worry." She had to say something because he paused so long. Then she realized that she had to say something that would sound eager and convincing. "I kriow he is going to be different, if he can have this one chance. It's so cruel that it should happen now, when— when—"

  "When you were going to make a happy new start together." He completed her absurd bit of sentiment for her with a slight grimace. "Well, Harriet, far be it from me to discourage a penitent, nor hit a man when he's down. But I wish I could feel half as reassured as you seem to do. I felt bound to give you that one warning. I don't think I expected

  it to carry much weight, because I realize that it's not so much that you have any illusions about Brent, as that you love him in spite of what you know."

  She wanted to protest wildly at having these sentiments put into her moutn by Lin, of all people. But they were the proof that she had created the impression she had striven to create. The impression she had come to London to make. She had to accept what he was saying and smile gratefully as though she felt she could hardly have put it better herself

  "When does Brent wish to come and see me?" He was back now on practical details.

  "Could you. . . could you possibly see him this afternoon?"

  "I suppose so. Can you get in touch with him right away?"

  "Oh, yes. I... I'm to meet him when I leave you."

  "Near here?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I think you'd better send him up as soon as possible, Harriet."

  "Oh, thank you! You don't know—I can't tell you how grateful I am."

  "Please don't mention it. Are you ^oing home today?'' ' "No. I'm staying overnight with Maxine—with my sister."

  "I see. Is everything all right at Fourways?"

  "Oh, yes. I... I wished T could have told Mrs. Mayhew where I was going and have brought a message for you." ,

  He smiled slightly.

  "I quite unoerstand that you couldn't very well. And, similarly, I can hardly send a message to her. But look after her well for me, Harriet."

  "Indeed I will!"

  "And yourself, too, a little."

  She smiled and gave him her hand. He held it for a moment—but only a moment—in his strong, warm fingers. Then they bade each other goodbye, and she went out through the other office again, receiving a friendly smile from the efficient secretary as she went.

  Outside once more, she could hardly keep herself from running, she felt so happy, so relieved, sofwilaly excited.

  It was not orUy that she had accomplished most success-

  fully what she had gone to do. Nor even that the unspeakably dreaded meeting was over. It was the way he had spoken to her, looked at her, smiled at her. As though she were still a dear friend and of some concern to him.

  It was true that she had been forced to emphasize afresh her supposed devotion to Brent. But even that recollection could not dim the radiance of joy that half an hour with Lin had given her.

  When she rejoined Brent, she was still smiling.

  He was no longer sitting down when she first saw him. He was walking up and down, up and down, his hands in his pockets and his head bent, as though he were entirely intent on the small pebble that he was kicking along the path. And she supposed that here, at least, was some small mdication of the nerve strain he must surely be suffering, even though he had hidden most of it so well.

  He looked up as she come within hailing distance. And so happy was she that she actually cried out joyfully to him:

  "It's all right.''

  ''Good girl!"

  He was beside her in a moment, and caught both her hands in his. "You really managed it?"

  "Yes, ofcourse." She was almost absurdly confident, now that her part was all over. "He says you are to go up right away, and he'll talk things over with you and do anything he can, within—within reason," she finished, deciding not to make that rather delicate reference to honesty. "He's promised that he will listen sympathetically. And I... I impressed on him—" she flushed with sudden shame as she remembered this "—that it meant a ... a lot to me. Now don't ever ask me to do anything else for you, " she cried with unexpected sharpness, because for a moment the shield of her temporary happiness had been pierced by the cruel remembrance that, in all this, she had really deceived Lin.

  But no passing irritation—for so he assessed it—could disturb the completeness of Brent's congratulatory delight.

  "You're a splendid girl, Harriet! And I never will ask you to do anything else for me. This is enough for one lifetime!" And he actually kissed her. But with such spontaneous gratitude and good spirits that she found it hard to be annoyed.

  "What will you do while I'm gone?" he wanted to know. "Wait here?"

  "No. Indeed, I won't,*' Harriet assured him promptly. "I've done all I promised to do. I'm going to see Maxine now, and forget that you exist.''

  He laughed.

  "How shall I know where to find you?"

  "Maxine's number and address are in the telephone book. But please. Brent, don't come bothering me unless it's something terribly urgent. I want to enjoy just one afternoon and evening with my sister.''

  , "Don't you even want to know the result of my interview with Lin?" He was actually faintly hurt at her lack of interest.

  "Not especially. At least—all right, you can telephone me this evening, if you like." And then, as she reminded herself that, even now, the result of this interview might have serious repercussions for her, "Yes, yes, of course. Telephone me this evening."

  " I will," he promised.

  Then he left her, to go and deal with Lin as best he could. And Harriet, still with her heart almost singing within her, boarded a bus that would take her within a few blocks of Maxine's flat.

  It was a peculiar experience, to return to the familiar surroundings which, yet, had no feeling of home for her. If any place seemed like home to her now, it was Fourways.
And she thought of it, with sudden, unbelievably nostalgic affection as she climbed the two flights of stairs to Maxine's abode.

  However, nothing could have exceeded Maxine's joyous welcome. And feelmg that "home" was represented as much by people as by places, Harriet hugged her sister delightedly and said over and over again how happy she was to see her.

  "It was such a marvelous surprise when I received your wire," Maxine told her. "And, by tremendous luck, I'm free this evening. It's too heavenly. And you're looking wonderful, Harriet."

  "So well, you mean?"

  "Oh, that, too—yes. But happy and . . . and kind of radiant, and as though the world's a very good place."

  Harriet laughed and actually blushed.

  "Well, it is a very good place today,'* she said.

  She pulled off her gloves and ran her hands through her hair. And at that moment Maxine screamed rapturously: *'Harriet! You're engaged! You never told me."

  It was true. She had never told Maxine, because it would have been impossible to explain the situation in detail and equally impossible to maintain the fiction with her, that the mock engagement was a real engagement. Maxine would have wanted to know too much and to suggest too much. Her intention had been to say nothing at all about it until the whole thing was over, and then perhaps to give Maxine some shortened version of the real facts, in as casual a manner as possible.

  It had been inexcusably silly of her to forget that she was still wearing her ring. And only her state of bemused happiness over the interview with Lin could account for such a lapse.

  *'Who is it, dear? And when did it happen?" Maxine was still pouring out questions.

  "Oh, Maxine—it isn't really official or anything. I don't usually v/ear the—the ring on that finger. I'm not even sure that...."

  "But who is it?" persisted Maxine impatiently.

  "Brent Penrose.'

  Maxine obviously raked through her jumbled recollections of the people who had figured in her sister's letters.

  "What? The good-looking brother of the girl who jilted Lindsay May hew?"