Denham—who appeared to be sympathetically intrigued by the spectacle of anyone working as hard as Thea at anything but acting—provided her each morning with what she called "a good, hot breakfast to keep you going. Miss Thea." (She was now "Miss Thea" to Denham.) Then she departed for college before Geraldine was even awake. She was away all day, and when she came home she usually spent the time between then and Geraldine's departure for the theater in her own room, studying.
True to his promise, Stephen telephoned during the first week and Thea did find time to go clancing with him. After • that, she allowed herself one evening a week out with Stephen and occasionally yielded to his eager persuasions and refrained from pressing the "once only" rule too far. On Sundays she often went home with him.
Of Lindsay she saw nothing. He was busy on a new production Geraldine said once, with that casual air she reserved for all subjects not directly concerned with herself And Thea, though she would very willingly have made an opportunity to see him, felt that possibly the more she remained an impersonal "case," the better.
These were really very happy days for Thea. She was entirely free from the natural restrictions she had known at boarding school, and equally free from the restraint put on her in the holidays by the kind of hfe that "poor mummie" had insisted on living. She was doing well in her classes and could reasonably expect to be earning an independent living in a matter of months. In addition, she had the warm
and constant friendship of Stephen. And perhaps that counted most of all.
All the same, when he once more raised the question of her working in his firm's office, she rejected it.
"Stephen, it's nothing to do with not liking your company and friendship enormously—and valuing it, too. It's only that I think both my job and our friendship will flourish better if they 're kept apart."
"All right." He smiled at her. "Have it your own way, so long as I've a claim on your evenings and your company."
"You'll always have that," Thea told him witn an answering smile. "And as for the job—well, if I go on doing well at the business college, I ought to get a very good job straight from there, without any. recommendation from even the kindest of my friends.''
"Independent little thing, aren't you? "grinned Stephen.
Thea thought for a moment of her extreme dependence on Lindsay Varlon, and said, "I daresay it's because I have to have so much provided for me at this point that I do rather look forward to standing on my own feet in every way."
"Does Geraldine rub it in a bit?" Stephen asked a little indignantly. "Make you feel what a lot she's doing for you?"
"Geraldine?" Thea repeated inquiringly. And then she recollected herself "Oh ... oh, no, she doesn't. As a matter of fact, she never talks about it or emphasizes it in any way. It's just that one has it in the back of one's mind, you know."
Stephen nodded sympathetically.
"I wish she were a nicer person, and were more of a companion for you," he said with a frown.
"Why, Stephen—" Thea leaned across the table of the cosy little Sono restaurant where they were having dinner, and patted his arm. "You don't need to worry about that. She IS reasonably kind and friendly, you know. And if you want to know the flattering truth—" she smiled at him "—I wouldn 't ever feel the lack of friends, so long as I had you and your darling mother to rely on."
Stephen flushed with pleasure. But almost immediately the slight frown returned.
"Thanks, Thea, dear. I'm glad to hear you say that. But
there's something that's worrying me a bit on that very account."
"Worrying you?" It was so difficult to associate worry with the easygoing and optimistic Stephen that Thea looked astonished.
"You see, there is a chance—well, rather more than a chance—that I may be sent to the States during the next few months on a survey and series of consultations for the firm. It'd be a big thing for me, of course, and I'd be away, say, four or five months, possibly a little more. Several of my father's people are over there, and it would be a wonderful chance for mother to come with me and see them all aeain. She'd love it, and in the ordinary way, we should both nave jumped at it. But—I hate leaving you just now, Thea. We both do."
"But, my dear! You mustn't dream of letting that affect your plans," Thea cried earnestly. "How simply sweet of you both even to think of it. But Stephen, of course you must go, if you have the opportunity. It would be a chance in a million. And though 1 would naturally miss you, I'll be working hard and filling my time, and, as far as Ufe with Geraldme is concerned, it's perfectly comfortable and satisfactory. It isn't as though you'd been gone for a year or two. The time will pass quite soon—all too soon for you and your mother, I daresay—and think how interesting it will be having letters from you both, and all you '11 have to tell me when you come back. Why, Stephen, I 11 be looking forward to it all the time. And by the time you do come back, you'll probably find me installed in a marvelous job and throwing my weight about in my own apartment—or whatever I have."
He laughed and caught her hand in his.
"You are a sport, Thea," he declared, with his face clearing completely. "You sound as excited as if you're going to have all the fun and experience yourself "
"Well, you can get lots of vicarious thrills out of enjoying your friends' pleasures at second hand," Thea declared.
"And you really won't feel too badly, left on your own at the very time you will be changing over from training to a real job?"
Thea shook her head.
"Moral support is always very nice, of course," she
admitted. "But it*d be ridiculous if I couldn't manage that much on my own. I'm grown up, Stephen—I think you sometimes forget that—"
"Well, you don't look it, you see," he interrupted.
"I'm nearly twenty,"Thea insisted.
He laughed and said, "No wonder I thought I detected a few silver threads among the gold."
Thea laughed, too.
"Anyway, as far as one can see, I'm through the really problematical part of my life—I mean this part of it. Accord-mg to all foreseeable events, I shall just pass on fairly Ipamlessly from business college to a job. So what is there to worry about?"
Stephen considered this.
"Nothing, I suppose, if you put it like that," he admitted.
"It's just that I hate to feel that, in an emergency, you have only Geraldine to turn to."
I "In a real emergency I would probably turn to Mr. Varlon," Thea stated simply.
"Would you?" Stephen looked surprised.
"Yes. After all, he is—has been very good to me."
"Met you at the station on a rather whimsical im.pulse of good nature," Stephen said dubiously. "It's not so much, is It?"
"It's a good indication of how he regards other people's problems," Thea said, feeling that was as far as she could go, in view of the fact that Stephen knew only a small fraction of the truth.
"Um-hm," Stephen agreed. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps Lin would be a good friend at a pinch."
I'm sure of it," Thea declared. But I'm eoually sure that I won't need anything like that," she added with a laugh. "And now tell me some more about the American trip. It's simply thrilhng. Is it nearly sure? And when would you be going? '
Stephen laughed at her enthusiasm.
"Well, it is practically sure, if I'm willing to take it on. And I am, after this conversation with you," he said, with a quick, smiling glance at her. "I think we should leave in about a month's time."
In spite of all her reassurances to the contrary, Thea did uffer a small stab of regret when this definite term was put
to her happy times with Stephen, but she concealed that nobly.
"Will your mother close the house? Oh! what will happen toDarry?'*
Stephen laughed again.
"We're keeping the house open for him, of course."
"You're not!''
"Well, perhaps not solely on Darry's account," Stephen conceded. "It's old Emma's h
ome, too, you know, and anyway, it doesn't do the place any good to have it shut up so long. So Emma will stay on and Darry will still be king.'
"Oh, I'm glad. I'll go down and see the poor pet sometime, if I may."
"Of course you may. Go down weekends and have a break whenever you like. Mother will be only too glad, and old Emma will be very pleased to have company and look after you,'' Stephen declared.
"That's lovely." Thea's spirits were finding their usual high level again. "It will keep me from missing you both too much."
"Then it's settled,'' Stephen said.
And settled it was—as was everything else to do with the departure of Stephen and his mother, which seemed to Thea to come upon her with incredible speed.
Mrs. Dorley stayed in London for a few days from time to time, and had Thea with her as much as possible when she was shopping and making her various arrangements. And then on most evenings Stephen took them both to a theater, or to some special place for dinner, or they dined quiedy at the hotel and had a pleasant evening together.
On their last evening, Lindsay Varlon took out his sister and nephew to dinner and—though she felt she might well have expected to be excluded from a purely family party like this—Thea, too, was invited.
It was the first time she had seen Lindsay Varlon since he had driven her back from Surrey on that Sunday evening nearly three months ago, and her first pleased impression was: He's just as distinguished and interesting looking as I remembered. I wish I saw more of him.
He greeted her with a kindly smile but with no more than the casual interest of an acquaintance, and Thea hardly knew whether to be relieved that so little sense of obligation
was imposed upon her, or to be disappointed and slightly piqued that she caused him so little interest.
During dinner the conversation ranged quite naturally over the Dorleys* coming journey and the people they were going to see.
"The only thing that worries me is the fact of having to leave Thea on her own," Mrs. Dorley said presently.
"But she's still with Geraldine, isn't sher" Varlon looked surprised—even slightly alarmed, Thea thought.
Oh, yes, of course. But what sort of support is Geraldine, my dear Lin? What I want to say is that I nope you will keep an eye on the child.''
"But will 'the child' permit me to keep an eye on her?" Varlon asked, with a slight smile. "I find her new air of independence most charming, but it also makes me feel quite superfluous in the role of general guide and protector."
"Oh, Mr. Varlon, I don't look so independent!" Thea cried protestingly. "And you needn't talk as though I scare you because we all know that it takes much more than me to scare you."
Varlon's handsome smiling eyes rested on her for a moment.
"I don't mean there is too much independence, Thea. In fact, the proportion is altogether delightful," he assured her. "It is only that I wouldn't dare presume to look after you unless you give me categorical permission to do so."
The slightly teasing note that crept into his tone told Thea Quite well that he was remembering their conversation in tne car, and her stumbling explanation that his championship might do her more harm than good.
^he flushed a little, but she smiled, too, as she looked down and said, "I give you permission to do so."
"Thank you, my child." He held out his hand to her and they solemnly clasped hands on the bargain.
"Well, that's settled," Mrs. Dorley said, with an air of amused relief "I don't suggest Thea will need any kind of supervision. But I want her to know that she can come to you in an emergency."
"She can always do that," Varlon replied gravely.
And then Stephen asked wasn't it time they went and danced, before the floor got too crowded?
So Thea and Stephen went away to dance and left Mrs. Dorley and her brother to discuss the arrangements she was making to see one or two people for him while she was in the States.
After that the rest of the evening went very quickly, and it seemed to Thea that, with all her five weeks preparation, goodbyes were being said before she was really jjrepared for them.
They were made a little easier for her by the fact that Varlon took Stephen and Mrs. Dorley to their hotel first and then drove Thea the further quartermile to Geraldine's apartment. There was therefore nothing in the way of ceremonious farewells. Mrs. Dorley merely kissed Thea with added warmth as though she were saying good night to her after a specially nice evening.
Then while she said goodbye to her brother, Stephen unself-consciously put his arms around Thea and kissed her warmly, too.
"Don't fret, darling—" he had never called her darling before "—but don't find some much nicer chap to go out with once a week before I come back, will you?"
"There isn't a nicer chap than you," Thea told him with a laugh, but she blinked her lashes rather hard, because she suddenly felt very much like crying. "Goodbye and have a wonderful time.'
"Coming in front with me, Thea?" Varlon asked at that moment. And with a final tight squeeze of Stephen's hand, she got back into the car.
Sentimental goodbyes didn 't seem to be much in Lindsay Varlon's line, because he drove off immediately, hardly giving Thea time for a last hasty wave of her hand.
For a few moments there was silence, and then Thea said in a rather small voice, "I'm going to miss them terribly.'*
"Yes, I suppose you are, he agreed. And then, quite abruptly, "It isn't my business, of course, but are you and Stephen rather specially attached?"
Thea was considerably taken aback, not able to decide whether that curt tone might be taken to indicate that the oflficious uncle was looking after his artless nephew, or that the question was of purely academic interest.
"I... we like each other very much, of course. We're excellent friends but—nothing more."
*'I see. Thank you for not resenting the question."
**I did, rather, '* Thea said.
"I'm sorry.*' He smiled as he drew up the car outside the entrance to the apartment.
'*Why did you want to know, anyway?" she asked with sudden curiosity.
''Oh—" he shrugged slightly "—one likes to have these situations clear. What are you doing next Sunday?"
"Next Sunday?"
"Yes. Would you care to come out with me, or have you something else on hand?"
Thea flushed with a pleasure that was astonishingly acute.
"I'm not doing anything. And—and I'd love to come, of course."
"Very well. Then I'll call for you round about half-past eleven. We'll have lunch somewhere up the river and—oh, decide what we want to do after that.''
"Thank you. That sounds lovely."
"Not at all," he told her with the faintly mocking smile. "Thank you for trusting yourself with the big bad wolf"
"Oh, I never said-"
"No, I know you didn't. Run along now, and I'll see you on Sunday," he said with a laugh.
So Thea " ran along," and when she got in and found that Geraldine was not yet home and only Denham was there, she exclaimed on the impulse of the moment, "Oh, Denham, I'm going out with Mr. Varlon on Sunday. Isn't it lovely?" because she knew Denham shared her weakness for Lindsay Varlon.
"Yes, Miss Thea—very nice." Denham looked at her in that speculative way she had. "I shouldn't say anything about It to Miss Marven if I was you, though.''
Thea paused in the act of pouring herself some lemonade and turned to stare at Denham.
"Wouldn't you, Denham? Why not? Don't you think she would—approve?''
"I think she wouldn't be too pleased that it wasn't her instead of you," Denham replied knowingly.
"Oh." Thea finished pouring out her lemonade and sipped it thoughtfully. "Do you mean that Geraldine rather—rather regards Mr. Varlon as her property?"
"It wouldn't be for me to say how she regards him, Miss Thea. But if I was to say anything ....'*
"Yes, Denham?" Thea spoke rather anxiously.
"It'd be that Miss Mar/en regards m
ost gentlemen as her property. Unless, of course, they're young like Mr. Stephen and not the style she fancies."
"Oh,"Thea said again. And then .... "Do you think Mr. Varlon is very much the style she fancies? Denham, I know I shouldn't gossip and ask questions, but is there—was there anything between those two?"
"Well, Miss Thea—" Denham smoothed her dress doubtfully and folded in her thin, pale lips, as though she might thereby repress any real indiscretion "—there's no saymg she didn't run after him. In her own way, you understand."
"And he?" Thea found it was his attitude that most breathlessly interested her.
"It's difficult to say. You can never quite tell when Mr. Varlon is serious and when he's laughing at himself or other people. But she's had checks signed by him. Miss Thea, I do know that. And checks usually mean only one thing," Denham added from the depths of her vast experience.
Checks, Denham?" Thea found that she hated the idea so sharply that it hurt. And then, suddenly remembering the arrangement that he must have with Geraldine concerning herself, she cried, "But when did you see them? Since I came here?"
"I couldn't say for sure. Miss Thea. No, probably before that, because you 've been here only a few weeks.''
"Oh, I haven't Denham! I've been here about three months. Do think! Was it before then? It's—it's rather important."
"I can't see that it is, Miss Thea." Denham was evidently sorry she had said so much and a little affronted by Thea's eager efforts to pin her down. "And I couldn't say I'm sure. Anyway, you'd best forget about it. It's not my business and, if you'll forgive my saying so, it's not yours either. Miss Thea."
"No, I know it's not. But—but there could be an explanation "A dry smile from Denham expressed admirably
what she thought of such a naive notion. "Yes, there could! Oh, well, I can't go into it now, but don't jump to conclu-
sions, Denham. Anyway, I daresay you're right about it being best not to mention this Sunday outing to Geraldine. Though what I'm to do on the day itself I don't quite know. He's calling for me."
The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell Page 49