Across the Counter

by Mary Burchell

“Anyway,” he went on hastily, “she’s quite a friend of the family and inclined to throw her weight around. You’ll have to keep an eye on her.”

  “I intend to do so,” replied Katherine with an air of cool decision that made him smile and look more like the Malcolm she knew.

  He asked her some more questions about her new job, but in spite of all his efforts—and hers, conversation began to become a little strained. And she realized with a fresh chill in her heart that instead of the free flow of thoughts and ideas that had always existed between them, any talk had now become a manufactured thing.

  Nothing could have more painfully underlined the fact that everything was over. She was already looking at Malcolm across an ever widening gap. And because she would not cling shamelessly to the vanishing moment, she decided this was the time to say goodbye.

  As she reached for her bag and gloves, he asked quickly, “Are you going?” And she thought she detected a note of relief as well as distress in his voice.

  “Yes, Malcolm. We’ve said it all, you know. Repetition will only embarrass us. And people who have once been fond of each other should never do that.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But it seems as though there must be something else to say. If I could only tell you how sorry—”

  “No, please don’t, Malcolm. One shouldn’t apologize for these things. They just ... happen. It’s no good pretending they aren’t horrible, but there’s not a thing one can do about them except take them with what dignity and ... and good feeling one can.”

  “You’re being fantastically generous, Kate.”

  He wanted, she saw, to show the utmost appreciation of her attitude. But she also could not help knowing that he must be wishing profoundly that this scene would end. Well, she wished it, too. The relationship that had once been the loveliest thing in her life had suddenly become insupportable.

  She rose and held out her hand to him across the table, thus forestalling any possible idea he might have had of kissing her. And a little awkwardly he took her hand and held it tightly for a moment.

  “Goodbye, my dear, and thank you ... for everything.”

  “Goodbye, Malcolm, even though we shall probably have to meet sometimes still, but only as ... as casual acquaintances. No—” as he made a move to accompany her “—please let me go alone. It’s easier that way.”

  And even as he hesitated, uncertain whether he should take her at her word or not, she withdrew her hand and walked quickly out of the hotel.

  This time she did not slacken her pace on the short journey to her own quarters, for at last the only thing that mattered was to be alone.

  She reached her hotel in a matter of minutes, collected her key without the necessity of exchanging more than half a dozen words, and went upstairs to her room.

  It had seemed quiet and simple and inoffensive when she had left it. Now it looked to her like a cell. A cell in which she was imprisoned with her own unspeakable misery.

  Tossing off her hat and coat, she flung herself on the bed. Now she could cry as much as she liked. There was no one to hear or know or care.

  But although the ache in her throat and her heart remained as acute as ever, the tears just refused to flow. She lay there in a sort of stupor of wretchedness, an occasional salt tear trickling down her cheek to the corner of her mouth—but that was all. Until at last, worn out by excitement, distress and a very early start that morning, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

  It was almost completely dark when she awoke and for a moment she could not even remember where she was. Then, with a fresh anguish that made her catch her breath, she remembered it all. She was alone in what was practically a strange city—and she had lost Malcolm.

  True, she was in fairly easy reach of her home, and on a momentary impulse she almost decided to go there. But though she longed passionately and suddenly for the dear familiar company of her own people, she knew quite certainly that she could not, in her present state of mind, cope with their affectionate comments and inquiries.

  She might hide her distress from strangers. But in order to put a brave face on things before her own family she must have a little more time.

  She would go to see them on the weekend, she told herself. By then she would be better able to face them. Or so she hoped. But not tonight—not tonight.

  For a little while longer she went on’ lying there. Not because she had any sensation of resting, but because it was sheerly impossible to make herself get up and face whatever might come next. Then as the more resolute side of her began to reassert itself she suddenly found this negative form of escape insupportable.

  This is just crazy, she thought as she got off the bed. I’m only making myself feel worse. I’ll change and go and find somewhere to eat. Even if I’m not hungry I’ve got to behave like a normal being.

  The effort did make her feel a little less aimless and hopeless, and by the time she emerged into the street once more no one could have supposed that her trim, well-groomed, charming exterior hid a heart that felt dead and empty.

  As she walked along, it struck her that Morringham seemed singularly lacking in nightlife. The streets that had been wide and impressive in the October sunshine now looked dark and cold and unfriendly. Or was it just that her own state of mind had changed so radically in the last few hours?

  She supposed she would eventually come across some sort of cafe or restaurant. Or possibly she would be wiser to try to distract herself at a film, and chance getting a sandwich and a cup of coffee later.

  She paused undecided at a corner, and as she did so another girl hurrying from the opposite direction nearly ran into her.

  “I’m sorry—” Katherine stepped aside and then saw that the other girl was Aileen Lester, who pulled up immediately and exclaimed, “Hello! All alone in Morringham?”

  This so exactly described Katherine’s state, both literally and figuratively, that it was a moment before she could produce a relatively cheerful smile and say, “I was looking for someplace where I could get a meal.”

  “Don’t they serve anything at your hotel in the evening?”

  “Yes, but in an extraordinarily depressing room and, judging from the lunch, nothing good.”

  “Oh. Well, there’s not a great choice of places. You could try...” The other girl hesitated, then in a faintly condescending sort of tone she said, “You can come with me, if you like. I’m going to a party.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Katherine wondered what on earth had prompted the invitation since it was difficult to ascribe it to sheer good feeling on Miss Lester’s part. “But I don’t think I could wish myself on strangers like that.”

  “You could, you know. It’s a big informal sort of affair, and one extra wouldn’t matter.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “You’d meet several of the top people from the store there. It would be a chance of getting to know some of them.”

  “Really?” Katherine hesitated, for the prospect sounded so much more attractive than supper on her own. And if it was becoming increasingly obvious that what Aileen Lester wanted to do was to demonstrate her own important position in the Kendale’s hierarchy, perhaps there was no real harm in that.

  “Why don’t you decide to come?”

  “Is it something to do with the store?” Katherine asked.

  “Indirectly, yes. And now I come to think of it, you’d certainly have been asked anyway if they’d known about your being here. You’ve probably met the host. He comes from Bremmisons.”

  “The ... host?” A terrible chill suddenly engulfed Katherine.

  “Yes. Malcolm Fordham, that good-looking architect. He’s just become engaged to Geraldine Kendale, who’s a great friend of mine. They’re throwing a joint party at the Grand to celebrate. It will be perfectly all right if I bring you. Come along.”

  “No!” Katherine spoke more sharply than she had intended, and Aileen Lester looked at her curiously in the light from the nearby street lamp. “It�
��s nice of you to suggest it, but I ... I don’t think I’ll come.”

  “Because of Malcolm Fordham?” inquired the other girl with what seemed to Katherine uncanny perception. “Certainly not! What should he have to do with it?”

  “I wondered. Your manner changed completely when I mentioned his name.”

  “Nonsense.” Katherine gave a little laugh that did not sound convincing even to herself. “You’re imagining things.”

  “But you’d almost decided to come, hadn’t you? And then the mention of Malcolm Fordham put you right off.”

  “Not at all,” said Katherine with a great effort. “When I realized it was something so intimate as an engagement party, I felt I really couldn’t thrust myself in. But I mustn’t keep you or you’ll be missing the fun. Thank you for asking me, but I think I’ll have a quiet meal on my own and an early night.”

  It sounded horribly dreary, even to her. And Aileen Lester gave an affected little shiver and exclaimed, “You funny girl! Fancy preferring that. Well, have it your own way. If you walk straight on for about a hundred yards, you’ll find a not bad coffee bar. Nothing half as nice as you’d get at the party—but the coffee itself isn’t bad.”

  So Katherine bade her good-night and walked straight on, trying not to think of Aileen Lester—and heaven knew how many more—all hurrying toward the Grand to celebrate the fact that Malcolm was going to marry Geraldine Kendale.

  The thought of it made her feel so sick and distracted that she was tempted to walk right past the coffee bar. But she was tired of walking the dark streets now, and seen through the window the little place looked warm and friendly and the lighting was discreet and soothing.

  She went in, found a corner seat that promised a certain degree of seclusion and ordered coffee. But when it came she hardly tasted it. She just sat there stirring it aimlessly—and thinking of Malcolm at the Grand with Geraldine Kendale.

  It was possible, she supposed, that the party had already been arranged when she met him. No wonder he had looked so appalled.

  Or was it, perhaps that in the immensity of his relief at getting all awkward explanations over he had decided that the occasion called for a special, if impromptu, celebration?

  It was hard to say which idea hurt more. Katherine only knew that in all her life she had never felt more unspeakably alone and forlorn and deserted. Almost anyone, Aileen Lester had implied, would be welcome at that happy celebration. Only she—the girl whom Malcolm had once loved—had no right at the party. No place among all those who were probably even now drinking to the happy future of Malcolm and another girl.

  And at that thought Katherine really reached the last ebb of wretchedness. Now, without the privacy that at least her little bedroom had afforded, she could have cried very easily. But one just didn’t burst into tears in a coffee bar—even in a strange place where no one knew or cared about one.

  Instead she leaned her forehead on her hand and shut her eyes. At least she could allow herself that doubtful luxury. For absolutely everyone she knew even passingly in Morringham would be at that wretched party, and if some casual stranger thought she had a headache, what did it matter?

  Apparently it did not matter at all. Because she went on sitting there for some time undisturbed. Then to her secret irritation someone came to a halt beside her table. She refused to look up, telling herself that if she took no notice he would go away.

  But he did not go away and after a moment an oddly familiar voice said, “What’s the matter, Miss Renner? Are you ill?”

  And to her astonishment and confusion, Paul Kendale sat down opposite her on the other side of the table.

  CHAPTER THREE

  If Katherine had been less taken aback she might have produced the standard excuse that she had a headache. But the sight of Paul Kendale sitting opposite her completely froze her powers of invention and for a moment she just stared at him without saying anything.

  Then because one had to find some sort of words, she asked in a slightly husky little voice. “Why aren’t you at the party?”

  “What party?”

  “To celebrate your sister’s engagement to ... to Malcolm. Malcolm Fordham,” she added in a belated attempt to appear on suitably distant terms with him. But this was defeated by the shaming fact that uncontrollable tears came into her eyes at the mention of the party, and though she blinked them back she thought he had noticed.

  “I didn’t want to go,” was his simple reply. “And anyway I was busy elsewhere. Come to that, why aren’t you there if you know about it? You’re a friend of his, aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t want to go, either,” replied Katherine, without conviction.

  “Sure?”

  “How do you mean—sure?”

  “I thought there was an undecided note in your voice,” he said lightly, and she was immediately reduced to silence.

  He got up then—but not to go away, it seemed. He said, “I’ll get you another cup of coffee. That looks pretty cold and cheerless. Have you had anything to eat?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t want anything,” she declared, but again without much conviction.

  “When did you have your last meal?”

  It was not really his business, of course. But it was difficult not to answer his abrupt questions.

  “I suppose ... at lunchtime. And I did have a cup of tea later—at the Grand.” She winced suddenly at the remembrance.

  “Alone?” he asked unexpectedly.

  “N-no,” she was startled into saying.

  “I see.” She wondered what he did see. But before she could think of any way of asking he went on, “Well, you don’t seem to have been overeating. You must be starving by now. What will you have?”

  “I’m not hungry. I don’t w-want anything,” she repeated.

  “Nonsense,” he said, and went away to the counter with an air of being able to decide for her.

  Left alone, she absently took out her mirror and compact and did a few running repairs, noticing disgustedly as she did so that she looked dreadfully pale and that there were Slight shadows under her eyes. If he pressed his inquiries further, it would not be difficult to plead the conventional headache.

  When he came back with two cups of coffee and some appetizing-looking toasted sandwiches, she managed to smile more normally and say, “It’s very kind of you. I feel I’m rather imposing on you.”

  “Not at all. I didn’t have to stop and inquire unless I wanted to.”

  “No, that’s true. Why did you?” she asked with a curiosity she could not quite suppress.

  “I don’t know,” he replied frankly. “Except—” he frowned thoughtfully “—I had a queer feeling that I knew what was wrong.”

  “You couldn’t!” She looked at him with startled eyes.

  “Do you want me to guess?” He smiled at her dryly but not unkindly.

  “No! At least—” Again curiosity got the better of her, “Well what did you think was the matter?”

  “I supposed Malcolm Fordham ditched you in favor of my sister.” He spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that she almost thought he must be reading her thoughts aloud.

  There was quite a long silence. Then she said in a low voice, “How did you know? How could you know? I didn’t know myself until a few hours ago.”

  “When I told you about the engagement back there in my office, wasn’t it?” he agreed. “That was when I first suspected something was wrong. You looked as though I’d hit you between the eyes when I told you about Geraldine and Malcolm Fordham.”

  “Did I? I thought I ... hid it better.”

  “You were pretty gallant about it,” he assured her. “But I suppose few of us could take a blow like that and continue to look unmoved. Were you engaged to him?”

  “Not ... officially.”

  “Oh—” he made an impatient gesture “—these engagements that never have a clear definition and are always going wrong!”

  He should talk, she th
ought indignantly, recalling what Malcolm had said, and she was very much tempted to ask, at that moment, what his own relationship to Aileen Lester might be. But as it could not by any stretch of imagination be considered to be her business, she refrained. Besides, her own affairs were sufficiently demanding.

  “I don’t want you to think that Malcolm behaved ... well, too badly,” she explained anxiously. Because after all it was not for her to make ill feeling among Malcolm’s future in-laws.

  “No?” He looked skeptical.

  “It was just ... one of those things.”

  “Is that his version of it?”

  “Partly. But partly my interpretation of it, too. After all, people do get engaged to the wrong girl—or man. What is one to do if the right one comes along later?”

  “Are you asking me personally or is this purely rhetorical?”

  “Oh—” she smiled faintly “—I don’t think I was actually seeking your views. I was trying to ... to—”

  “Whitewash Malcolm?” he suggested dryly.

  “No. Not really. I’ve been trying for hours to see his point and to accept a difficult situation. I do see that he just couldn’t help falling for your sister. And once he’d done so, I would rather be told frankly and have a clean break. He didn’t pretend that I’d overestimated our ... our relationship or anything like that—”

  “Big of him.”

  “Well, some men would, you know. It would have been fairly easy to imply that I’d assumed too much and leave me feeling humiliated as well as everything else. Instead he told me he considered we had been engaged even though it hadn’t reached the ring stage—I don’t know why I’m telling you all this!”