Secret Honeymoon

by Peggy Gaddis

  After they were seated, there was a slight commotion at the entrance to the dining room, caused by the arrival of half a dozen people in whom the others in the room seemed greatly interested.

  Cathy glanced that way and her heart turned over.

  For Edith Kendall was leading the group, resplendent in violet lace and diamonds, followed by Elaine Stovall, her hand slipped possessively through Bill’s arm, her blond head tilted back, her lovely, laughing face toward his down-bent one as though they shared some exquisite, intimate joke. Behind them were two other couples, of the town’s most elect.

  Maggie said dryly, “Let the trumpets blow and the festivities begin. The Dowager Queen has arrived with her court!”

  “So that,” said Mark thoughtfully, “is the Dowager Queen!”

  “No one else but,” said Maggie.

  “Impressive, no end,” Mark agreed, but there was a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. “Who’s the gorgeous blond babe—not the Crown Princess?”

  “Prospective,” said Maggie. “The tall guy with her is the Crown Prince.”

  Mark’s eyes went swiftly to Cathy and back to Bill, who was not yet aware of their presence. He was still bending, absorbed, above Elaine, who was using her hands in little fluttering gestures, to illustrate some story she was telling.

  “So that,” observed Mark thoughtfully, “is the guy.”

  Cathy looked swiftly at him and their eyes tangled. The color surged upward in her face and she said breathlessly, “I—I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Mark struck a match, watched it burn, and deposited the end in an ash tray, his eyes apparently absorbed in the tiny, brief-lived flame. “You’d be surprised how much I know about him—his name, for one thing, is Bill—”

  The orchestra blared forth with a blast that, as Maggie, jumping a little, complained, almost blew the soup out of her plate. A moment later the floor began to fill with couples. Among the first on the floor were Bill and Elaine, and it was as they began to dance that Bill glanced incuriously around the room and his eyes found Cathy.

  She had been watching him, and when he saw her, there was not time for her to turn her gaze away. For a moment they looked straight at each other; then Bill’s eyes went swiftly to Mark, to Maggie, and back to Cathy, and even across the room, Cathy could see the change in his expression.

  She was not at all surprised, and she had had time to brace herself a little, when Bill danced Elaine to their table, paused and said with every evidence of surprised delight, “Well, Cathy—this is a surprise. Hello, Maggie.”

  Elaine looked with cold, unfriendly eyes at Cathy as Bill presented her; Mark, on his feet, was eyeing Bill with a curious intentness, but his manner was cordial as the two men shook hands.

  “Won’t you join us?” asked Mark politely.

  “Thanks, we’re with a party,” answered Bill, and looked down at Cathy. “How about giving me a dance, Cathy?” He glanced at Mark and said politely, “Do you mind?”

  Mark said, his eyes on Elaine, “Not a bit—provided you don’t mind Miss Stovall’s giving me a dance?”

  Elaine’s eyes had gone over the officer appraisingly, lingering on the insignia on his shoulder, and now those limpid blue eyes were warm and friendly.

  “I think that would be lovely,” she said, and her voice was musical.

  Mark said, “Then what are we waiting for?” and held out his arms.

  As Mark and Elaine moved away, Bill looked down at Cathy and said, “As the major has just asked—what are we waiting for?”

  Cathy looked almost piteously at Maggie, and Maggie said gruffly, “For goodness’ sake, go on and dance. I’ve reached the age where good food that I didn’t cook myself holds more charm for me than dancing—or companionship either.”

  Cathy got up. Bill’s arms went about her, and she set her teeth hard. She wasn’t at all sure that she could endure the exquisite strain of being in Bill’s arms, here in public, remembering to dance when all in the world she wanted to do was to creep close to him and be held there for the rest of her life.

  Bill said when they had gone halfway around the floor:

  “He’s quite a guy, Cathy.”

  “He’s—wonderful,” she said huskily.

  Bill’s arms tightened a little. “I don’t seem to care much for the way you say that,” he said.

  “Miss Stovall is—beautiful,” said Cathy huskily.

  Bill’s jaw hardened.

  “Miss Stovall is very beautiful and very cloying, and a mental lightweight not to be taken seriously for an instant,” he said sharply.

  A little of the tightness that was almost pain loosened in Cathy’s heart and she smiled at him, though with tremulous lips. Bill, looking down at her, murmured under his breath:

  “Oh, darling—darling. Don’t look at me like that—unless you want to be kissed, right here in public.”

  “I don’t think I’d mind,” she told him unsteadily.

  “But when there’s a moon outside, and the roses are outdoing themselves, kisses are too precious to be wasted in public,” said Bill under his breath. A moment later he had danced her to one of the long French doors that stood open to the silver-white beauty of the night.

  Beneath the thick darkness of a giant live oak, his arms drew her close and hard against him, and for a long, long moment they were silent, savoring to the full this exquisite moment.

  “Darling heart,” said Bill very low, “my dearest darling.”

  “I love you, Bill,” said Cathy huskily.

  His arms tightened. “Soon, sweet—very soon, now,” he promised, and with that she was content. There was room in her heart only for the perfect beauty of this moment, when Bill’s arms were tight about her and when Bill’s kisses on her warm mouth were flooding her again with that ecstasy beyond anything she had ever known.

  When they turned to go back into the clubhouse, she gave a little soft laugh and said unsteadily, “I’d better go and do things to my face, or everybody will read our secret the moment we step into the room!”

  Bill kissed her and said, “Is your lipstick kissproof?”

  “I’ve never had the chance to try it out before,” she answered him gaily. “But you look quite all right. You look wonderful to me, Bill.”

  He reached for her again but she laughed and slipped away, going in through the main entrance across the lobby to the powder room. Bill selected a cigarette and lit it before going back through the French door to the dining room.

  Cathy had the powder room to herself and was shakily glad for that. It gave her a moment to pull herself together. She sat on a bench before the dressing table and put her face in her shaking hands, savoring the loveliness of those precious moments with Bill. Her heart was singing; Bill loved her, and everything was going to be all right soon, now, he had said—very soon!

  Cathy laughed and leaned toward the mirror to smooth her lipstick and to brush her straight nose with a dust of powder. Behind her the powder room door swung open and Edith Kendall marched in.

  “Oh, here you are,” she said curtly to Cathy.

  Cathy went on smoothing powder on her nose, touching her fingers; amazingly, they were not trembling, she was pleased to note. Mrs. Kendall stood looking down at her with angry eyes.

  “I might have known,” she said thinly. “But I thought you’d behave like a lady in public, anyway.”

  Cathy snapped shut the lid of her compact, dropped it into the small yellow bag that hung over her arm, and stood up. She faced Mrs. Kendall calmly, with her head back.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” she said coolly. “And I’m even more afraid I don’t care.”

  She started to brush past Mrs. Kendall, but that lady’s hand shot out and closed over her arm, to Cathy’s startled anger.

  “I’m talking about you slipping out of doors with Bill the minute he arrives,” said Mrs. Kendall furiously. “Knowing that he is engaged to Elaine—”


  Cathy stood very still, for a moment forgetful of the woman’s hand closed tightly over her arm.

  “Engaged?” she repeated incredulously. “Bill is engaged to Miss Stovall?”

  And then she barely managed to smother a little laugh. Did Mrs. Kendall think she could make her believe that? But of course, Cathy reminded herself, Bill’s aunt had no way of knowing that Bill and she were married.

  “I’m giving a tea Sunday afternoon to announce their engagement,” said Mrs. Kendall sharply. “It’s a most suitable marriage and the two are simply mad about each other. You—you’ve always been a bad influence for Bill, but you’ve got to leave him alone, do you hear me? I do not propose to stand by and watch you mess up his life.”

  “I quite understand that. You much prefer to mess it up yourself,” returned Cathy. For a moment Mrs. Kendall was still, blinking a little as though astounded at Cathy’s words.

  “How dare you—” she began, on an almost strangled note. And then she pulled herself together and said sharply, “Don’t fool yourself, my dear. Bill knows on which side his bread is buttered. Bill’s been desperately poor; he knows what it means, and he has no intention of risking his financial security by going against my wishes. Bill will do as I wish, because he knows the cost of opposing me.”

  Cathy studied the other woman curiously.

  “Mrs. Kendall, you are fond of Bill, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

  Mrs. Kendall was obviously puzzled, both at the question and at its quiet tone.

  “Certainly I am fond of him,” she answered. “Bill is like my own son. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

  “Except let him live his own life, and find his own happiness,” said Cathy quietly.

  “By which you mean let him marry you!”

  “Bill is grown and of legal age—and a bit more,” Cathy pointed out. “You have no right to let Bill do anything—or to attempt to stop him. Nor has he any reason to permit you to interfere in his life.”

  “I interfered, as you put it, in Bill’s life at a time when he was in desperate straits, just after his mother died.”

  “I’ve always wondered why you waited that long to step in,” said Cathy frankly. “You were right here in town, you knew that she and Bill were having a grim time of it. I wonder that the luxury and comfort you were enjoying while they starved didn’t seem to bother you a bit.”

  Mrs. Kendall’s plump chin went up and her eyes were frosty.

  “Bill’s mother was foolishly proud. She would accept nothing from my husband.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t believe that.”

  Mrs. Kendall’s face became congested with angry color.

  “Do you dare call me a liar?” she gasped in outrage.

  “I’m afraid I’m not very impressed by your efforts to help Bill and his mother,” said Cathy. “And I’m not too impressed by the fact that you are demanding the right to twist his whole life to suit your selfish ends, just because you have shared with him money that should have been his rightfully, with no strings attached to it.”

  Mrs. Kendall panted. But she fought down her fury so that she could speak at last, her voice low-pitched, thin-edged, shaking a little with her outrage.

  “I do not have to answer to you for anything I have ever done or said. You are too unimportant. I am merely warning you that you are making a fool of yourself, and that Bill is going to be helped by my wishes. He will marry Elaine—a most suitable marriage. And if you keep on running after him, you’re going to look very silly indeed when that happens.”

  Cathy said coolly, “When that happens.”

  “Why, you little upstart!” Edith Kendall flamed—but at that moment the door was thrust open and a chattering group of women came in, looking a little startled at the sight of the two women drawn up against each other, both pale, both with flashing eyes.

  Cathy chose the opportunity to escape a scene that was rapidly getting out of hand. She was sick with disgust and shaken by the ugliness through which she had passed. But even as she closed the door behind her, she heard Mrs. Kendall saying something that sought to smooth over the situation, and the other women politely abetting her.

  Cathy’s one desire was to escape, to get away from the club. But she remembered Mark and Maggie, and knew that they must be wondering about her. She had been unbearably rude to Mark, whose guest she was; she must make amends. And so she pulled herself together with an effort and went quickly back into the dining room, whose wide doors opened on to the dance floor. The floor was crowded just now, for the orchestra was playing a sentimental old-fashioned waltz and the older members of the Club were taking zestful advantage of it.

  As Cathy threaded her way back to her table, she saw Maggie and Mark dancing. Maggie’s color was high and her eyes were bright and Mark was smiling down at her with warm affection. Cathy knew how much this evening meant to Maggie and not for anything in the world would she have done anything to spoil it.

  She made her way back to the table and sank gratefully into her chair; grateful for its support because her knees were shaking. Grateful for the fact that Mark and Maggie were dancing, and that she had a badly needed moment to collect herself before they came back.

  She saw, when her eyes had cleared a little and she could be aware of what was going on about her, that Bill was dancing with Elaine. Elaine had tucked her head a little against his shoulder, and they were not talking. Bill’s eyes were searching for Cathy, and as he found her, someone tapped him on the shoulder and he relinquished Elaine to her new; partner and came straight to Cathy.

  “What’s up?” he asked swiftly.

  Cathy lifted miserable eyes to his.

  “I’m afraid I’ve botched things for you badly, Bill,” she told him huskily. “Your aunt and I have just had a polite brawl—not too polite, either.”

  “Oh?” said Bill, quietly, and waited.

  “She didn’t like my dancing with you, but she liked even less my straying into the moonlight with you, and she told me off in no uncertain terms,” said Cathy, holding herself quiet with an effort. “She warned me off you and assured me that your engagement to Elaine would be announced at tea Sunday.”

  “She did, did she?” Bill’s jaw was set and hard. “It looks as though Aunt Edith and I had better have a showdown—and soon.”

  Cathy looked at him piteously.

  “Honestly, Bill, I didn’t want to quarrel with her. I tried not to—but she dislikes me so violently—” Her voice broke.

  “Aunt Edith is a very possessive lady who likes her own way. Pity she can’t always have it,” said Bill acidly. “I’m about fed to the teeth with giving in to her—especially when she starts trying to push you around.”

  Cathy smiled at him tremulously, her eyes misty.

  “Look, angel sweet,” said Bill and covered her hand with his in a little caressing movement, “stop looking all big-eyed and teary. Leave this to me. Trust me, darling, and try to believe I honestly know what I’m doing, will you? It’ll all come right, Cathy—I swear it.”

  Somehow, Cathy had hoped desperately that he was going to say, Come on, darling, we’ll tell Aunt Edith now that we are married and that she can take the Kendall estate and jump into the lake with it. There’s no amount of money in the world big enough to justify our going on like this … She tried not to be bitterly disappointed that he still was not ready to face his aunt with the fact of their marriage. She tried with all her strength to accept his assurance that everything was going to be all right, but when the waltz ended and Mark and Maggie came back to their table, and Bill rose, he still had said nothing about facing Aunt Edith, He was still planning deviously and secretly.

  Bill departed, Mark seated Maggie and took his own chair.

  “That was fun!” Maggie said happily. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Mark.”

  “Why don’t you two go ahead and dance?” suggested Maggie as the orchestra struck up again. “I’ll catch my breath and relax. I haven’t
danced in years—but I loved it! The man’s good, Cathy!”

  As they danced she found her eyes sliding to the table where Edith Kendall was once more enthroned in all the proud majesty that was the breath of life to her. She was smoking, with ostentatious daintiness, a long thin cigarette in a carved ivory holder. Those at her table were hanging on her words with polite attention. As the mazes of the dance brought Cathy and Mark near the table, Mrs. Kendall looked up and gave Cathy a look of such cold malignancy that Cathy set her teeth hard in her lower lip and turned her head away.

  Mark, without seeming to do so, had caught the swift exchange of glances. His good-looking mouth thinned a little, and his arm tightened about Cathy protectingly.

  “Stick your pretty chin out, Darling,” he said, his lips against her ear. “Don’t let her get you down. Remember who you are: Lieutenant Catherine Layne, of the U.S. Army Nurse Corps. Remember that she is ‘nothing but a nothing’—a fat, overbearing, domineering old dame whose come-uppance is long overdue, but likely to smack her down any minute!”

  Cathy gave a little shaky laugh and said half under her breath, “Mark, I love you for that!”

  For an instant Mark almost missed a step. The next moment they were moving smoothly once more, and he was saying lightly—though there was nothing light about the look in his eyes—“Thanks, pal, but couldn’t you just make it ‘I love you—period’?”

  Cathy caught her breath and her eyes closed for a moment before she said softly, “I wish I could, Mark—I wish I could.”

  Mark nodded, his face sober.

  “Oh, well, I didn’t really think you could. I’ve been watching you when Kendall was around,” he said dryly.

  She didn’t dare to speak because her voice was not to be trusted. And Mark said after a moment, “Don’t let it get you down. After all, I’ll get over it.”

  Warmly, eagerly she said, “Of course you will, Mark—and you’ll find another girl.”