Let love abide

by Norrey Ford

  "Do you love Paul, Sally?"

  "So much, I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

  "All right. But I'd give a lot to know whether he loves you."

  "He does. That's why he mustn't know about Simon."

  "But why? Surely he'd be the first to want to help?"

  "Of course he would. That's just the point. The Winn family are deep enough in this mess already; they might live down Caro's being engaged to Max, but if Paul was engaged to me—who would believe the Winn family weren't head and shoulders into this tax evasion business? It's so terribly important for a lawyer to come into Court with clean hands. I must push Paul away from us."

  "Caroline Winn? Engaged to that awful Max Shand? Sally, I don't believe it. What were those two stupid men thinking of to allow it?"

  "Remember they haven't seen much of Max. He hardly ever comes down here now. Caro's father apparently went into Max's financial affairs and was satisfied—but I'm sure Max didn't tell him everything, because Paul didn't know about the garage. Think of Max as we first saw him, when Simon brought him to this house. We all fell for him."

  "That's true. He is charming and has that open, candid manner which is so engaging."

  "And Caro's father is keen for her to marry. He's got rather a thing about that, so naturally he'd be disposed to favour any personable man who came a-courting. But I'm wrong about the engagement. It was to wait till her twenty-first birthday."

  "Does Simon know? He was awfully keen on her, poor boy."

  "He knows Caroline is in love and likely to-be engaged. I told him that at once, but of course he knew she was out of his reach financially in any case. I hadn't the heart to tell him it was Max."

  "He'll find out, now."

  "Worse than that, Caroline will find out about Max. She adores him. She's led an awfully sheltered life, spoilt by Paul and her father. It'll be a terrible blow, but in a way I'm glad it happened."

  "If it has saved that child from a miserable marriage, yes. But Sally, my pet—if you love Paul and he loves you

  "I've told him I can never love him. I think he believes me."

  "My poor little girl! So that's why you left your job? It needed sense and courage to do it, but I think you were right and I admire you for it. But you've put me in a spot."

  "You?"

  "If I respect your decision about Paul, I must support you against Daddy and Simon. And I do. I believe you are right. But—"

  Sally groaned. "But Simon needs Paul? And Simon is your favourite. If you back me, you've got to throw Simon to the wolves. Poor Mummy! I'm awfully sorry for you, and I'm trying hard not to be awfully sorry for me. What on earth are Daddy and Simon jawing about in there? Let's make them a cup of tea, and pretend nothing horrible has happened. We can't do anything about it till to-morrow, anyway."

  'Isn't it to-morrow you have your interview for that new job?"

  The girl clapped her hand to her forehead. "Oh, glory! I utterly forgot."

  "Ring up and tell them you can't go. Stay at home with me until this Simon affair is settled. Daddy will give you some pocket-money, and I'd love to have your company."

  "You tempt me. But I feel I ought to be earning my keep. All this is going to cost money. You and Daddy will have enough to do without supporting a great idle lump of a daughter."

  "We'll talk it over. What about that kettle?"

  Edith March went into her bright, neat kitchen and filled the aluminum kettle under a chromium tap. This was her own place. This orderly, shining, green-and-cream slit of a room, with its window giving on to the garden, the bird-table and, she had to admit, the dustbin and the coal-house door, was her battleground and her thinking-place. Here she shed her few private tears, nursed her joys, her ambitions for the children. Its tidiness spoke eloquently of her week's loving service for her darlings.

  She wondered vaguely if her mother had ever longed for a really satisfying heart-to-heart talk about that young George March who'd captured her daughter's heart and mind; and remembered that, though she had talked about George at dreadfully boring length to anybody who would listen, she had found it utterly impossible to talk to her own mother. What happens? she wondered. When does this awful gate of silence clang shut between ourselves and our nearest and dearest? Sally had been a gawky, confiding creature at twelve years old. Now, she pulled back into her shell like a timid tortoise if conversation took a confidential turn.

  When Sally and her mother carried the tea-tray in, the two men were sitting silent; as there was no fire, they stared gloomily at the dog, who had given up his pleasant Sunday afternoon occupation of searching for an imaginary flea and was miserably

  examining his conscience, uncomfortable as the target of two pairs of eyes.

  Sally thought, how lucky we are to be women! When a tragedy happens men can only talk, or gloom silently, but women have work to do whether they like it or not.

  George said, "I've telephoned Samstead. He's coming round after church."

  Sally's hands shook as she poured tea. Mr. Samstead was an old pet, but he played whist and droned endlessly about the First World War. Max was a million times cleverer than poor old Samstead.

  Oh, Simon!

  Sally found the role of daughter-at home such a novelty that she almost enjoyed it. She experimented in cookery, and discovered a talent for flower arrangement. But Simon's difficulties were a shadow over them all, and she missed Paul. However busy she kept herself during the day, he was her first thought on waking, her last thought at night.

  Old Mr. Samstead adopted an optimistic waitand-see attitude which exasperated Simon and made it harder for Sally to resist the unspoken pressure of the family's desire for Paul.

  One afternoon, when her mother was at the Townswomen's Guild, she answered the doorbell and found Paul standing there. For a moment she was too surprised to speak. Her heart pounded in such a ridiculous way that she felt sure it must betray her, and she found time to be thankful for her new navy-and-white cotton dress with the scarlet patent-leather belt.

  Paul looked surprised and slightly disconcerted. "I didn't expect to find you at home. I thought you'd be at your new job, whatever that is."

  She collected herself and invited him in. "I'm

  staying at home for a little while with Mummy."

  He smiled down at her. "And all this time I've

  been envying some bloke with a secretary who could

  spell. Your successor has no idea. She blames the

  typewriter, but it could spell well enough in your

  day. You wouldn't consider coming back—if only to save poor Ware's reason?"

  She shook her head. "Did you come to ask me that?"

  "No. I'm not pursuing you—please don't think that. I was passing, on the main road, and thought I'd leave a message for your brother."

  "For Simon?" She gave him a wary look. "What message?"

  He heard the tight note of fear in her voice, and was puzzled. Why should she be afraid, his lovely Sally? She looked adorable in that demure blue-andwhite thing, the short sleeves revealing golden-brown, firmly rounded arms; her bright hair was slightly untidy, and there was a small curl on her temple which he longed to touch. She was so sweet, she made a man's senses ache—yet she was tense, and there were shadows under her eyes which he had not seen before.

  "Caro tells me Shand will be home to-morrow." "Max—to-morrow? Oh, Paul, that's marvellous!"

  The change in her struck him to the heart. She was suddenly glowing with pleasure; a rosy flush came into her cheeks and her eyes shone. Her voice was vibrant with excitement.

  "You take a great interest in your brother's affairs," he said drily.

  She took his meaning, and said defensively, "This particular affair happens to be important to Simon."

  "Evidently." Suddenly he wanted to drive hard and fast, as far away as he could. It wasn't possible any longer to believe the story that it was Sally's brother who wanted to speak to Shand. Sally herself was too obvi
ously relieved and delighted. He knew she was fond of Simon, that the brother-and-sister link was close, but, if Shand meant nothing to her, why had she changed before his eyes into the starry-eyed, excited girl he now saw? Wasn't it obvious

  she still loved Max—obvious that she needed pretty desperately to talk to him?

  can't tell you," Sally was saying, "how grateful I am, and how pleased Simon will be. It was thoughtful of you to come."

  He hardly heard her. A cold tide of disillusionment engulfed him. If Sally still loved Max—the man his sister Caroline was to marry—so much in her behaviour became understandable. Why she had so positively turned down his own advances—why she had so abruptly left his employment—and why she had begged for Shand's address, giving the weak excuse that her brother wanted to speak to the man.

  He had believed Sally different from the women he knew—women like Brenda, who drew a man through the medium of his senses, with a scented skin, a porcelain profile, a low, velvety voice. Sally's magnetism was in her personality, her sense of fun, the way her warm, red mouth quivered to an unorthodox smile. He knew she was not a flawless beauty, this child—but he had believed she had an honest soul which shone through the flesh, irradiating it. She had spoilt all other women for him, for after the fine tang of her humour and, one had to admit, her temper, the others seemed flat, insipid.

  But, after all, she was like the others. She had made a show of giving Max Shand up, of not wanting to steal Caro's man; but she hadn't been able to keep up her fine, showy resolution. He felt sickened and longed to get away immediately. He had believed this girl the soul of truth and honesty.

  He became aware that she was asking him to have tea. "There are cakes fresh from the oven. My baking, I'm afraid—but I'm improving.,"

  "No, thank you. I have an appointment." "Then I must not delay you. I know how busy

  you are. Thank you once more for coming."

  He had not intended to say anything more, but he

  said quickly, "Sally, Caroline loves him very much.

  Day She hopes to be engaged on her twenty-first birth- "

  With a flash of temper, she cried, "Paul—you blind fool! Oh, you fool! Can't you see?"

  "I confess I don't. What are you trying to tell me?"

  She gave a quick, exasperated sigh. "Lawyers are just plain idiots about their own affairs, aren't they? Like the cobbler's children being always the worst shod. Is it any use my begging you not to let Caroline marry Max—that is, of course, Jeff?"

  "You might give me a reason."

  "Facts? That's all you can see, isn't it? If you don't see a big ugly fact right in front of your nose, everything is all right, isn't it? Can't you feel in your bones Max is all wrong for Caroline?"

  "But all right for you?"

  She checked as if he had hit her. "For me? Do you think I want him?"

  "Don't you?"

  "So we're round to that again, are we? Your thoughts are beaded all on the same string. No, I don't want Max. I loathe and detest him There are —other reasons."

  "What other reasons? I'm not going to break up my sister's romance without reason."

  She could not meet his searching eyes. "I can't tell you."

  He waited a moment, then shrugged. "Very well. I'll say goodbye, or I'll be late for my appointment."

  Furiously, he swung on his heel and flung out of the front door to cannon violently into Simon who was coming in.

  Simon looked from one to the other oddly. "Changed your mind about him, have you, Sally? Thank heaven for that. You got here quickly, Mr. Winn. It only came at lunch time." Then he turned to Sally with a puzzled frown. "Lunch time! Then how did you know about it?"

  "Know about what?" Sally asked dully.

  -".

  He pulled a blue foolscap sheet from his pocket. It was folded into four, a sight so familiar to both Sally and Paul that it was not necessary for him to add, "The summons. They've taken away all the account books and things from the office. Was it right for them to do that?" He turned once more to Paul. "Gosh, am I glad Sally sent for you at last!"

  CHAPTER NINE

  No ONE spoke. Simon stared at Sally's petrified face, and his voice died. Slowly, he realised he had committed an enormity.

  Paul was unmoved. He knew that respectable, law-abiding citizens received summonses for small technical offences and were not necessarily criminals but merely forgetful or unobservant or unlucky men and women who happened to have been caught out by an eager young policeman. He gave the boy a gravely reassuring smile, and held out a hand for the paper.

  'Don't let this scare you. Let me handle it—I'll be glad to. What have you been doing? Parking in the wrong place?"

  Simon kept his hold on the summons. "No, you can't. That is, Sally "

  "Let him have it," Sally said stiffly. "He'll have to know about it sometime. But I may as well tell you—" she turned to Paul—"that Daddy has been to Mr. Samstead. He's our family solicitor."

  Paul raised his eyebrows. "Samstead? He hasn't done a case in Court for donkey's years. Any prosecuting solicitor will make rings round him—and well you know it, Sally. That was unfriendly of you; you know I'd have acted for Simon gladly, in spite of—er, well . . . I daresay Samstead will manage a minor offence."

  "This isn't a minor offence. Go on, Simon. Tell him. You'd better both come in and sit down, it'll take some time. Oh—but you have an appointment."

  Paul considered. "To be honest, I hadn't one."

  "Then why were you rushing away?" asked Simon, who had just realised that Paul had been leaving the house when the collision happened. "I thought—I mean, Sally didn't send for you, did she? So why did you come?" He blushed crimson. "Oh, gosh, excuse me. That's no affair of mine."

  It was Sally who answered. "Max is home. Paul came to tell you."

  "Max home? Do you mean if I rang him up now he'd be there! But that's wonderful. Do you know, I thought old Maxie had walked out on me. Now he's here he'll help me to explain everything to the police, and it will probably be all right. You couldn't have brought better news—could he, Sally?"

  "That's what I told him."

  "Wait a minute," said Paul. "Is Max Shand involved in this summons business?"

  "But of course he is. Didn't Sally tell you?"

  "Sally has been as close as an oyster. Why, I can't think. Isn't it time somebody told me something?"

  He listened to Simon's story gravely, asking a quick question here and there, but mostly staring at the carpet. At the end he said, "Are you willing to get rid of Samstead and turn this over to me?"

  "More than willing," Simon said at once. "I wanted you from the first."

  "It is awkward, but I think the dear old boy may be thankful to be relieved of the case. Your father and I can arrange the matter tactfully. Now give me the details, one thing at a time, from the beginning."

  At one time during Simon's recital, Paul smoothed his face with his hand. "My poor Caro!"

  Sally said, "That's one of the worst parts. She'll have to know."

  "I asked you for facts a while ago. Why didn't you tell me this? Don't you think I was entitled to know?"

  "I didn't want to be the one to tell you. I didn't want you to know about Simon's case at all, until it had started. Then, of course, you'd have to know, and you'd have found out about Max—in time."

  "It will break her heart, poor child."

  "She's young and has time to get over it. It would have been worse for her to marry a criminal."

  Simon was staring as if they'd both gone mad. "You mean Caro—Miss Winn—was going to marry Max Shand? I knew there was someone, but I thought he was called Jeff something." His voice was tight with pain.

  "Jeff is Max, darling. You know his initials are J. M. Well, Caro calls him Jeff. It's his family name. Max is a name for casual acquaintances, outsiders —like us."

  The boy's face was dull red. "Why didn't you tell me? Did you have to wait till you could pile the agony higher?"

  "
I'm sorry, Simon, truly. I hadn't the heart to do it. You knew she was in love and about to be engaged. I thought that was enough."

  Simon stared at his clenched fists. "I'll take Max Shand to pieces with my bare hands, if I get ten years for it."

  Paul said, "Surely that's my affair?"

  Sally told him quietly, "Simon is in love with your sister. He knows he hasn't the ghost of a chance, but you must admit it's hard for him."

  "I do indeed."

  "You see?" Sally exclaimed desperately. "This is just what I wanted to avoid. You are getting involved. Simon's in love with Caro. That changes things for you. Not that he'd ever be able to marry her, she's been brought up to live with the kind of unobtrusive luxury Simon could never afford. Nevertheless, it makes the whole thing somehow—personal. You can't be objective about it, or treat it as just another case."

  "It could hardly be just another case, for me. Apart from Caroline, you are involved."

  She made a helpless gesture. "I know. Your sister, my brother. Don't you see—that's why I wanted to keep you away from it."

  He shook his head obtusely. "No, frankly I don't see. All I see is that you can't have had much faith in me, if you'd let Simon take a sticky case like this to an elderly has-been such as Samstead. Look,

  Simon, go and get into my car, there's a good fellow. I want you to take me to your office. We must go into the facts and figures—I know the police have taken the books away, but what we can't find, you must remember. I want to get a grip on things as quickly as I can."

  Simon nodded and slipped away. Sally said, "I'm coming too, I'll get a coat," but Paul held her by the arm.

  "I think I do know why you didn't want me to handle this affair, but I'm in it now, as much for my own sake as your family's. But you know the way I work, and you know personalities will be forgotten from now on. You've told me plainly and honestly that you can never love me. I accept that. It hurts like hell, but let us put it behind us and forget I ever mentioned love. Can you do that—for Simon's sake?"

  "It's not easy to forget such an—an honour, Paul. But if you wish it—"

  "You can depend on me not to raise the subject again. So that's out of the way. Now tell me as honestly as only Sally can—do you wish me to go ahead?"