Across the Counter

by Mary Burchell

  She wished him well, in a friendly, faintly impersonal way. She even hoped he would get his Geraldine, if that was what he truly wanted. It would be a relief to think that someone got what he wanted out of this sorry business. But beyond that, Malcolm and his affairs registered very little with her.

  Only Aileen Lester’s flat, unemotional tones seemed to follow her persistently. “You’ve broken the engagement to Paul. That’s all that really matters.”

  She went home presently, to the pleasant little house where she had lived very happily with the Fallodens, and she was relieved to find that Mrs. Falloden was out. Not that her kind and tactful hostess was one to ask questions. But it would have been necessary to explain at once that she was returning to London tomorrow, and this would inevitably have involved her in further discussion of a subject that was rapidly becoming unbearable.

  She went up to her room and began to pack. And all the time she tried to tell herself that there was absolutely no reason to feel so unutterably dejected.

  If the thought of Malcolm’s defection no longer made her wretched—and she had admitted that herself—then it should be a matter for congratulation that she was free of embarrassing entanglements in Morringham, and about to return to a very much improved position at Bremmisons. Why not?

  She asked herself that question several times. But each time she either shirked, or could not find, the answer. She was still in a state of unhappy confusion when Jane came home—and straight up to her room.

  “Katherine, may I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.” Katherine sat back on her heels and contemplated her almost fully packed suitcase as Jane entered.

  “Oh—” Jane stopped dead. “It’s true, then? You are going back to London tomorrow?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “The way one always knows things. Through the store grapevine. Though when I heard the story had started with Aileen Lester, I didn’t really believe it.”

  “It’s true,” said Katherine, absently rolling and unrolling a pair of stockings.

  “And is the other part true, too? She says you’ve broken your engagement to Paul Kendale.”

  “Yes. That’s true, too.” Katherine dropped the stockings back into the case and spread out her ringless hands.

  “Oh, Katherine—why?” Jane looked utterly dismayed. “I know it isn’t my business. But if you can possibly tell me—why?”

  She hadn’t really meant to tell anyone. She had meant even Jane and her mother to suppose that a genuine engagement had just foundered. But when Jane looked at her like that, with those troubled, affectionate, truthful eyes, Katherine suddenly longed irresistibly to tell just one faithful, well-wishing friend the truth.

  “Sit down,” she said slowly, “and I’ll tell you.” And as Jane dropped into a chair by the window, she herself came and sat on the side of the bed.

  “It never was a real engagement—” she was not quite sure if there was relief or pain in putting that into words once more “—that’s why it couldn’t go on. I just let Paul use me as a sort of ... of stand-in, so that his father wouldn’t either stampede him into marrying Aileen or create an impossibly embarrassing situation in which he had to refuse her in public.”

  “But you mean he asked you to do that? The skunk!”

  “Oh, no!” Katherine laughed protestingly at Jane’s vehemence, though it did her heart good to have someone put her interests before all others. “It wasn’t like that at all. The whole situation was more or less wished onto us before we knew what was happening.” Painstakingly, she tried to recreate for Jane the scene at the dinner party, but Jane looked only half-appeased.

  “I don’t think it was a very nice thing for him to ask of any girl in any circumstances,” she said firmly. “But then he’s not exactly a nice person, is he? If he were—” She stopped suddenly. Then she glanced at Katherine curiously.

  “Neither of you ever thought of it as anything but an act, I suppose? I mean—neither of you wanted to turn it into a real engagement?”

  “It’s odd you should ask that,” Katherine said slowly. “He did, at one point. Or at least, he said so—in that half-laughing, mocking way of his.”

  “And you didn’t want to?”

  “No, of course not. I was in love with someone else at that time.”

  “Oh—” Jane looked taken aback. “But you’re not now?”

  There was quite a long pause. Then Katherine said, “No. I’m not now.”

  “But still you don’t want to marry Paul Kendale?”

  “I simply had to put an end to the engagement.” Katherine spoke agitatedly. “It was a false situation, and it was creating complications all around.”

  “How, Katherine?” Jane asked patiently. And then Katherine found she had to explain all about Malcolm and the fact that he now loved Geraldine, and how there was a grave risk of Geraldine’s turning him down for some unspecified rich admirer unless the Kendale interest in the firm could be saved by someone else’s money.

  Jane wrinkled her smooth forehead in an effort to follow the complicated argument.

  “I haven’t got it quite clear,” she said as Katherine ceased speaking. “Are you telling me that you’re making this sacrifice for Malcolm Fordham? But you say you’re no longer in love with him.”

  “No, I’m not,” Katherine agreed quickly. “I started with the idea of clearing the decks for him and Geraldine. But then—that didn’t seem important anymore. What seemed important was that Paul’s position in the firm should not be threatened in any way.”

  “And in order to buttress that, he’ll probably have to marry some rich girl?”

  “I suppose so. Don’t make it sound so horrid. People do that sort of thing every day. Whether he does it or not is his own affair. My business is simply to see that he doesn’t get tied up with a girl who isn’t rich. In other words—me.”

  “Even though he loves you?”

  “He doesn’t love me! That’s never come into the picture.”

  “But he asked you to continue the engagement—seriously.”

  “Oh, Jane, it wasn’t as clear-cut as that! I don’t even know what his motives were for asking. And we never returned to the subject afterward. At least—not seriously.”

  “Well, then, I’ll put it the other way around,” said Jane slowly. “Even though you love him.”

  “I don’t,” cried Katherine in startled protest.

  “Don’t be silly, darling. Of course you do,” said Jane. “It’s in every inflection of your voice, and every rocky argument you put forward.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There was quite a long silence in the little bedroom. Then Katherine said shakily, “Jane, do you really mean that’s how I sound?”

  “Yes. That’s the way it happens sometimes. I suppose it’s nearly always the way it happens with strong, dynamic creatures like Paul Kendale.” Jane sounded almost matter-of-fact, perhaps in an effort to reduce the emotion in the highly charged atmosphere. “He’s not my cup of tea, Katherine. But I can see why some people could go overboard for him in a matter of days. He’s got loads of what’s called animal magnetism.”

  “Yes—I suppose he has,” Katherine agreed, and then was silent again, contemplating the immensity of the discovery that Jane had forced upon her.

  It was not Malcolm—the charming, selfish, slightly meretricious Malcolm. It was Paul—who had himself taken her engagement ring from her finger not more than a few hours ago.

  “Well—” Jane interrupted her thoughts at last with a little laugh “—what are you going to do about it?”

  “Do? There’s nothing I can do about it,” said Katherine bleakly.

  “Of course there is! There’s always a way back if you really want to take it—and don’t mind sacrificing a little bit of pride. If he wanted you to go on with the engagement seriously only a few days ago—and it can’t be more than a few days—then presumably he still wants it.”

  “There’s no certainty
of that.”

  “There’s a strong probability,” retorted Jane. “Go to him now and tell him you made a mistake—that you’re sorry you were such an idiot and that you love him, after all.”

  “I couldn’t possibly! We weren’t on those terms at all.”

  “Oh, Katherine, you make me mad! On what terms were you, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Completely unreal terms,” said Katherine slowly. “I didn’t even know the truth about my own feelings during those weeks of masquerading. How should I know about his? The one positive thing I do know about Paul is that Kendales is the love of his life. I can’t be of the slightest use to him in attaining his ambition there. I can merely take myself out of his path. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Darling, it’s so negative!” protested Jane.

  “Is it?” Katherine smiled slightly. “It feels horribly positive to me. But I know it’s the thing to do. I came into his life on a purely artificial issue. That’s why, when it comes to a vital decision, I ... I haven’t any real place there.”

  “And suppose he could see the choice in perfectly clear terms—you or Kendales—what do you suppose he would choose?”

  “I’ve no doubt whatever that he would choose Kendales,” said Katherine. “And frankly, Jane, I don’t ever want to hear him put that into words, or see regret in his face because he chose without knowing the full consequences. That’s really why I’m going while I still have the resolution to make the right decision.”

  “Very well. There’s nothing to argue against that.” Jane got up with a sigh. “My only consolation is that of course you’re much, much too good for Paul Kendale.” And on this note of almost aggressive loyalty, she went out of the room.

  It was Katherine’s last difficult task of the day. Jane must have communicated some part of the explanation to her mother, for no further elucidation was called for. Both showed, in the nicest and most affectionate way, that they were truly sorry to, have Katherine go, but neither argued with her decision.

  In principle, it was agreed that whenever Katherine came to Morringham, or the Fallodens visited London, they would make it their business to see each other. But Katherine knew that she was unlikely ever to come to Morringham again if the choice lay with herself. She would pass through the station on her way to visit her family. And that was the nearest she was likely to come to Paul again.

  Fortunately, the sun shone when she actually made her departure, which took something from the melancholy of the occasion. But when the goodbyes had been said, and she was finally in the train on her way to London, she felt dejected and almost frightened to think how much had happened to her since she had sped northward in the fond belief that she was rejoining a devoted Malcolm.

  At the station she took a taxi to her apartment. And although when she got there the place seemed to wear that slight air of melancholy that inevitably clings to all rooms that have been deserted for some time, there was a sensation of relief and even happiness when she stepped into her own little home once more.

  The very necessity of putting things in order kept her more acute misery at bay, and she continually reminded herself that on the morrow Mr. Arnoldson would be interviewing her and assigning her to some absorbing job at Bremmisons.

  But by about seven in the evening she had unpacked, shopped, dusted and completed all her minor domestic chores. It was then that she had time to realize that as yet her family had no idea of the change in her fortunes. No idea, even, that she was not still in Morringham.

  It was tempting to put off the disagreeable task of presenting them with a shattering disappointment. But they had the right to hear the news from her rather than from some other source. And steeling herself to the effort, she put through her call.

  As usual, it was her mother who replied.

  “Why, darling, you sound miles away. Where are you speaking from?”

  “From London,” said Katherine, raising her voice above the subdued note on which she had pitched it. “I’ve been transferred back to Bremmisons rather suddenly. They have a ... a special job for me.”

  “A special job? But how very disappointing! We thought we had you up here more or less until your marriage,” her mother protested. “What has Paul to say to this?”

  “N-nothing,” said Katherine. “It’s the best thing, really—”

  “It’s what, dear? I can’t hear.”

  “It’s the best thing,” repeated Katherine, raising her voice again, which had the effect of making her sound almost jaunty about it all.

  “I don’t think I’ve got it right even now. You sound quite pleased about it.”

  “I ... I am,” said Katherine. And at this thumping lie she glanced across guiltily at herself in the mirror, and saw that the tears were running down her cheeks.

  “Oh, mother, I’m not pleased about it! Only it was the best thing to do. Paul and I have broken our engagement.”

  There was such a long pause that she felt sure her mother had heard all right that time. Then Mrs. Renner’s voice said, “Darling, I’m very sorry. We all liked him so much.”

  “I know.”

  “Is it quite final?” Her mother sounded grave and troubled.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Kate, which of you made the decision? Did you quarrel or something? Because it’s easy to quarrel over the stupidest things, and it’s usually the girl who has to have the intelligence and generosity to make the first move toward reconciliation.”

  “We didn’t quarrel, mother. We just ... both decided it was best.”

  The exchange insensitively said “Pip-pip” at this point, and her mother said, “Would you like to reverse the charges, dear, and tell me more about it?”

  But Katherine felt she had had all she could stand. “There isn’t really very much more to tell, mother. At least not until I actually see you. It’s so difficult on the telephone!”

  “I know, dear. When shall we be seeing you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Katherine sounded more forlorn than she knew.

  “I thought you had a week’s holiday coming along quite soon.”

  “Why, so I have!” cried Katherine, inexpressibly comforted by this recollection. “I’d forgotten. How could I have forgotten? I’ll come home for that week, mother. I’ll be back for a whole week quite near P—all of you. Oh, how withering, as Charlotte would say!” She heard her mother give a relieved little laugh at this mild family joke, and she unselfconsciously wiped away her own tears with the back of her hand and smiled tremulously at her reflection in the glass.

  “I’ll write to you, mother, in the next few days. But in any case, I’ll be back quite soon, near Morringham, for a whole week. Oh, it’s wonderful!”

  And if her mother found “near Morringham” a curious way of describing her home, she gave no sign of the fact. She told Katherine not to worry too much, bade her an affectionate good-night, and hung up just as the exchange said “Pip-pip” again.

  I shouldn’t go, of course! Katherine walked around the room in her excitement. Or if I do, I mustn’t make the least attempt to see Paul. I might just catch a glimpse of him by chance, though. Oh, I’m being so stupid about this! What does it matter if I’m within three yards or a hundred miles of him? The real situation is the same.

  But nothing could make her believe that entirely. And, inexpressibly comforted by the thought of returning within measurable time to the place from which she had only just fled, she went to bed at last almost happy.

  Her interview with Mr. Arnoldson next morning was entirely satisfactory to both of them. Perhaps he was relieved to find that her broken engagement seemed to have had little effect on her enthusiasm for her work. While on her side she was gratified to find that she was to do something the same at Bremmisons as she had so successfully done at Kendales: report on a group of departments and draw up a scheme for organizing an imaginative sort of liaison between them.

  Sustained by the thought that she could and would return to
Paul’s part of the country within a matter of weeks, and genuinely thrilled by her new job, Katherine managed to keep absolute dejection at bay. But there were some very bad hours alone in the evening, when she recalled, on the one hand, that strange and magical moment when he had looked at her across the boardroom table, or on the other, when he had coldly and casually drawn her engagement ring from her finger.

  Inevitably, she also had her moments of embarrassment at work, when she met people who had seen the photographs of Paul and herself together. Either without thinking they asked the kind of question it was very difficult to answer, or they glanced curiously at her ringless hand and avoided the subject with ostentatious tact.

  Mrs. Culver, her old boss in Costume Jewelry, was the only one who spoke out frankly and with intention. She said, “What happened? Was the whole thing a mistake?”

  “You could put it that way. We just found we didn’t suit each other, after all.”

  “One should take a little more time about these things. Though I must say, in the photograph he looked handsome enough to make any girl lose her head,” Mrs. Culver conceded. “And I suppose he was a pretty good match?”

  “Most people considered him so,” said Katherine thinking of Aileen Lester. And after that the subject lapsed.

  Until, that is to say, one morning about ten days later when Katherine came into Costume Jewelry first thing, and Mrs. Culver greeted her with, “Have you heard about the Kendale wedding?”