by Maggie Ford
“No!” The cry forced itself from her. Conveying exactly what he had wanted to know, it sent a surge of relief and joy through his breast. Going to her, he kissed her, briefly at first, but as the tingle which the kiss prompted in her brought her arms about his neck, he pressed his lips down on hers more urgently, the same feeling shooting through him.
While he had been away she had slipped out of his mind, but after a while, and as the days of fun and sun drew closer to their end, her face had come back and all he could think of was having her in his arms again. At times like that he was sure he was head over heels in love with Mary Owen, so different from the other girls who hung about with him, the wealthy, pampered, silly girls.
“I’ve missed you, Mary my darling,” he whispered between kisses. His loins ached for her. “God, how I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Geoffrey,” he heard her whisper against his lips.
Tonight. He’d have to have her tonight. A hotel room somewhere…
A sound by the office door made them jump clear of each other. Both saw him at once. It was Geoffrey who found his voice first, Mary not daring to utter a word. With an effort, he made all appear casual, as though however he was caught and whoever he was caught with should make no odds. And it shouldn’t. Henry knew him well enough not to be shocked.
“Henry? What’re you doing in this neck of the woods?”
Henry’s expression didn’t change but beneath the bland contempt could be read something else, though what it was Geoffrey couldn’t define. “I saw the office door open. I see now why it hadn’t been locked. Who usually locks it? Mr… ?”
“I sometimes do, Mr Lett.” Mary’s voice sounded surprisingly efficient, if a little high and rapid. “The office manager often trusts me with the key.”
“Yes, I gather you are doing well here.” Henry’s tone was one of quiet assertiveness. “Clever girl, Miss Owen.” Geoffrey’s ears, however, detected quite a different meaning to that appraisal, one which he understood straight away. “Well, lock up when you’ve finished, Miss Owen,” Henry added evenly, his inference still acute. “Are you in tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” she answered, this time in a small, defeated voice, as though she too had detected the connotation to the words “Clever girl”.
Geoffrey felt obliged to spring to her aid.
“See here, old man,” he began, but Henry had already turned on his heel and was gone down the stairs.
* * *
It was unusual to see Henry in such a mood. He was normally a man who preferred to keep his feelings to himself, much as his father had done. To see him now pacing the morning-room, so full of passion, brought his brother up sharp, though he still saw no reason for all this “hoo-ha”, as he liked to term any business that had an unnecessary ring to it.
He flung himself into one of the ample armchairs, the leather puffing up around his shoulders. “So you caught me at it, kissing the office girl. So what? Why all the hoo-ha about a kiss? You should know me, Henry – I usually do love ’em and leave ’em.”
“Not on the premises you don’t.”
“Oh, come off it, old man!”
Geoffrey leaped up from his seat and went to a small occasional table that held a Lalique statue of a slim young dancer in a long, wide-skirted dress, a cigarette box, a table lighter and a crystal ashtray. Opening the box he extracted a cigarette, closed the lid with a sharp little click, stuck the cigarette in his mouth and flicked the heavy lighter, all with swift angry movements. Sucking in a lungful of smoke he blew it out with the same angry motion.
“What’s so special about the premises?”
Henry turned his head towards him. “It’s just not done, old man. If one of the staff had come back…”
“What if they had?”
“Well, what do you think? Think how would they have treated Miss Owen after seeing what you two were getting up to.”
Geoffrey sucked in another lungful of smoke and blew it out in exactly the same manner as before. “Come on, Henry, we weren’t having it off on the office floor, now were we? A kiss, for God’s sake.”
Henry had begun to pace the room. “If I hadn’t turned up when I did, who knows, maybe you might have gone further.”
“Huh! I could find better places than that to enjoy the favours of a girl. I know how to treat ’em. A nice dinner, champagne, flowers.”
“I know that all right.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Geoffrey challenged, riled enough to glare at him. “So you’ve got your mind more on business than enjoying a good time. But I prefer a good time. And I’m playing the field. I’m not pledged to any girl as far as I can see. At my age I’m not exactly looking to be tied down. Until I do, should it be any of your concern if I look for a little bit of pleasure? I do my share in the business and keep pleasure separate.”
“It is when you start taking your pleasure with someone like—” Henry stopped himself abruptly, then went on, “With someone on our own doorstep.” But Geoffrey had noted the sudden pause. He began to grin.
“What’s the matter, Henry? Fancy our Miss Owen yourself, do you?” He saw a faint colour come into his brother’s cheeks, noticed the lips tighten briefly. His grin began to widen. “That’s it, isn’t it, old man? You do fancy her. And you going all pious on me. Well, that’s a turn up for the books.”
He stubbed out the half-finished cigarette in the ashtray. “Who’d have believed it? Staid old Henry Lett with a fancy for a bit on the side with our own little office girl. You dark old dog!”
Henry moved over to square up to him. “You can cut that sort of talk out, Geoffrey. I feel nothing like that for Miss Owen. To me she’s a damn good worker, and clever—”
“So you said when you came up on us, but I took it you meant something quite different. She knows where she’s going, that one. And now she has both of us slavering after her. Can’t go wrong, can she?”
Henry’s open palm flashed out and caught his brother a smack on the cheek. Geoffrey’s hand came up to touch the quickly smarting place, but then let his hand drop, the grin that had briefly left his lips returning.
“My, my! You do fancy her. I’m sorry you feel so strongly about it all, old boy, but I think she has her sights set on me rather than you.”
“It’s not the way you imagine.” Henry had stepped back a pace, upset by his flash of rage. Now he turned his back on his brother. “I see her as a vulnerable young girl to be protected. She doesn’t know the world enough.”
“Oh, I think she does.”
Henry ignored him, speaking as though to the window from which he was now looking out on to the grounds below, where his mother was talking to the gardener. “I’ll tell you this, Geoffrey, if you lead her to believe all you tell her when none of it’s true – if you let her think you love her then cast her off and leave her stranded, I’ll make sure you—”
“I do love her.” Geoffrey felt himself gasp – not audibly, but his chest filled with the sharp intake of breath. His brother seemed no longer in the room. All he saw was Mary Owen. All he felt was this strange surge of love that had come and taken him so by surprise.
Nine
Only moments before seeing Henry Lett standing there, Mary had felt the familiar arousal flooding over her and knew Geoffrey had been aware of it too. But whatever might have come of it had been ruined. After the exchange of words, Geoffrey, with a hasty apology to her, had hurried after his brother, leaving her standing there alone.
Her tummy going over a little, she had listened to the raised voices in the passage below. Then the downstairs door to the restaurant slammed and she had stood in the silence, uncertain what to do. She had waited, but Geoffrey did not return. Finally, taking hold of her wits, she had gathered up her hat and dolly bag, and, locking the office door, dropped the key in among the lipstick, cream, powder, purse, comb, mirror and handkerchief, to follow in the wake of the two men, by then gone.
That they’d been arguing over her
was obvious. That they found need to gave her no sense of achievement, merely confusion. The older brother’s manner had been odd, to say the least. If he had merely disapproved of what he had come upon, his business premises being used as a seedy rendezvous – well, then, of course he was within his rights to upbraid her as an employee. But he had seemed more shocked at finding the man to be his brother. And it had been more than that, even – those hints, as though he had taken it all personally, that strange look on his face, one she still couldn’t define or forget, so that after he had left with such noticeable abruptness, any further time she spent with Geoffrey would have made her feel cheap and tarnished.
She felt poorly equipped to deal with things like this. The moment had preyed on her mind and grown in strength as she made her way along the passage behind the restaurant to the muffled sound of diners, and into the twilit street. She was allowing herself to be dazzled by Geoffrey Lett: what he had said earlier in the year – “When we marry, maybe” – was still etched on her mind, the words perhaps not as genuine as she had believed, for all he had spoken them so earnestly at the time. He had never again mentioned the word “marry” and she’d not had courage enough to raise it, even now conscious of her status for all he’d taken her to Paris and had made love to her. She was beginning to realise that Geoffrey’s word, like most everything about him, had to be taken with a pinch of salt; arrangements and promises alike were made without thinking – many had been the time he said he’d meet her only to tell her he wouldn’t be able to keep the date, leaving her to wonder if some other girl hadn’t turned his head for that evening. And their meetings were so few and far between; surely if he was in love with her he’d have made it a point to see her more often than he did?
All the way home these things had nagged at her. The world of Geoffrey Lett wasn’t real – at least, for her it wasn’t, more a dream, like peeking at something through a window, longing to be part of it but unable to touch. Worse, it was causing her to feel ashamed of her own life and where she lived. Not all at once and not, at first, obviously, but her feelings had begun coming out in little things she said, often some disparaging remark dismissing her aunt as a doddery old fool, a nuisance, a drag, when not all that long ago she had looked on her with kindness and affection and respect for what the woman had once been – a bright and efficient lady’s maid – not what she was now.
Geoffrey Lett, she had concluded on reaching the dingy district where she lived, was better kept at arm’s length. Better still, she would keep away from him altogether. It was as some of the old people said: if you get above yourself you often raise your nose so high you don’t see the muck you’re about to tread in – and muck sticks to rich and poor alike. Better to take heed of it and try to forget being discovered with her lover by his own brother. But the weeks had not lessened the shame. Neither did they diminish the memory of the wonderful weight of Geoffrey’s naked body on hers, though she vowed to get her feet back on to firm ground and put the memories from her.
Even now, a month later, still traumatised by the event, she was giving him no opportunity to be alone with her. She made sure to be the first to leave at night, hurrying off through the last minutes of daylight at quarter to six, though the days were fast becoming shorter. Only once, two weeks ago, had she been delayed. Geoffrey, apparently having been awaiting his chance, cornered her. At the end of the day, the lights in the office – its few and tiny windows necessitated them being on winter and summer to help eyes see the work more efficiently – having been turned off, he approached her and started to speak, but a voice from the manager’s office interrupted him. Making a hurried excuse, Geoffrey had moved on past her on the pretext of having a word with Mr Baines and she had slipped out.
For two more weeks Geoffrey stayed away from her and the office. Then suddenly, at three-thirty one afternoon, with everyone at their desks, Mary gasped, seeing him in the doorway, his fair handsome features full of animated excitement. But he wasn’t looking at her.
“Listen, everyone,” he began in that free and easy way he enjoyed with high and low alike. “I’ve had it passed to me that a very special person will be lunching here on Saturday. The booking has been made for a party of six, in the name of none other than…” he paused for effect, then went on with scarcely controlled emphasis “…the Prince of Wales.”
A awed murmur went round the small office. Mr Baines gave a gentle cough to bring his small staff back to attentiveness, and Geoffrey continued.
“Now, if anyone happens to be in the office, occupied in doing a little overtime, shall we say, then I shall allow you down, one by one, for a peek at him. Just a peek. That’s if you care to.”
If they cared to? No amount of humphing and clearing of Mr Baines’s throat could stop the buzz of excitement. Mr Geoffrey was a wonderful stick to allow them, his employees, this privilege. None paused to take note that Geoffrey himself was overrun with excitement, as was his brother, already talking to Samson about the special menu to be put on. The Prince of Wales’s patronage would make the name of Letts known throughout London, just as it had been for many many years after the old King Edward had patronised the place when he was Prince of Wales, way back in 1892. The Great War and an entirely new set of people with new pleasures had obscured the memory, although Letts still treasured the crest By Appointment of HM King Edward VII. This new appointment would secure Letts’s reputation yet again; they would reap bookings by the wealthy, the titled, heads of state, even foreign royalty, for years to come. Geoffrey looked at Mary, smiled, and left.
* * *
“I want you to come with me, Mary. Will you?”
Mary stared at Geoffrey, caught between not wanting to be lured again and wanting desperately to go with him, to attend a private little party thrown by the Prince of Wales himself in someone’s luxury penthouse - dear God, not something to cast aside lightly.
Both Lett brothers had been included in the invitation to this intimate gathering, as a special thank-you for lunch and later dinner at their wonderful establishment. The Prince was reported to have remarked on its amazing decor, its dazzling setting, the warmth of its welcome, the politeness of its staff and the smooth efficiency of its service. “Better than anything in Paris,” he was heard to remark with an easy, youthful, slightly high-pitched chuckle.
Mary had been granted her turn to peek at the smooth young features and was surprised how boyish he looked. To her eye he seemed unexpectedly vulnerable for a member of the royal family which she, like many, considered to be full of dignity and confident bearing that made whoever they turned their eyes upon immediately bow or affect an instant curtsy.
“He looks so young,” she whispered to Geoffrey standing behind her as she peeked around a screen erected for the purpose of shielding the royal glance from the proletariat.
Geoffrey had taken her there after most others had taken their turn. Left until last, she began to suspect him of trying to punish her for avoidance of him. But now she knew why she had been left until last. As he stood behind her in that secluded space behind the screen, she felt his hand steal around her waist.
“He is young,” he said, and the hand moved up underneath her blouse. “Young and handsome. Like me,” he added with a hint of flippancy. “Has his fair share of female admirers and makes best use of them. Not like me. There’s only one female I care for.” His tone, low already, became even lower. “That’s you, Mary.”
At his touch, her first instinct had been to draw away from him, but she hadn’t. And now her body leaned against his almost of its own volition.
“Henry has cried off from this evening,” he crooned, his hand still cupping her breast, sending shivers of delight through her. “Mother isn’t too well, still grieving the loss of our father, and Henry felt he needed to be with her rather than living it up with royalty.”
This last had a sarcastic ring to it to which Mary’s only response was a small twitch of a smile. That was what she liked about him, that light a
pproach to most things in life, even though he too must have felt his father’s going acutely.
“So, I have to go alone,” he continued in the same crooning voice. “Unless you come along with me.”
“Me?” The word wrenched itself from her, and she was sure it had been heard clear across the restaurant above the discreet tinkle of cutlery. Though no one looked up, she repeated the query more softly.
“You,” Geoffrey whispered, his face leaning forward so that his cheek touched hers. “I want you to go with me. I am allowed to take a lady guest.”
Mary’s breathing threatened to choke her. Her heart began thumping against her ribs with sickening blows. She did indeed suddenly feel sick. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t face… royalty. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I doubt if he’ll even expect you to curtsy. This is supposed to be an informal little do before he goes off to India – his first proper formal royal engagement. He says he needs to be with friends and unwind. It seems his parents have no idea about his giving an informal party. They prefer him to be surrounded by equerries and all sorts of official people when he mixes with ordinary people like us.”
Mary felt her lips twitch again as Geoffrey referred to them both as ordinary. At this moment she felt anything but ordinary – scared stiff, but not ordinary. Geoffrey, himself far from ordinary, was actually inviting her to accompany him to a tête-à-tête party being given by the Prince of Wales. Women fell over themselves to dance on the same floor as he, to be breathing the same air; to actually touch him or be spoken to by him went beyond their wildest dreams. And here she was about to share the same small private penthouse room with him, maybe be asked to shake his hand, have him smile at her, speak to her. She felt faint – sick and faint.
“Oh, Geoffrey…” He thought this much of her, to want her to be with him on this unbelievable occasion tonight. “I… I’ve nothing to wear.”