"No?** He turned his head and smiled at her deliberately in the moonlight. "But when you do speak, you have some very pointed things to say. Roddy seemed to think so, anyway.**
Her heart gave an uncomfortable thump.
Roddy, of course, had been at liberty to pass on to Dilys and Brent the information that she knew a disturbing amount about their affairs. But she wished he had not done
so. She was not sure, at the moment, whether Brent regarded her as a fellow conspirator or a threat to his plans. She only knew that she very much disliked both roles.
"What did Roddy say about my—style of conversation?*'
"For one thing that you had a long and informative chat together last night. *'
"Oh.''
They walked on in silence, though she noticed that he was deliberately trying to slow down their pace. Presumably so that they might have more time for their talk.
"Are you quite sure that you like your job at Fourways, Harriet?'' he said presently, m a friendly, thoughtful tone.
"Quite sure, thank you.
"But not sufficiently to refuse a similar position, at a better salary, somewhere else, I presume?"
"I don't have to consider that question. I haven't been offered any dazzling alternative,'' Harriet retorted curtly.
"But you might be. It could be arranged."
She turned her head and smiled full at him, with such frank scorn that even he was slightly taken aback.
"Don't be so silly," she said cheerfully. "And stop talking like a cheap stage villain. I have a sister who does
f)rovincial tours sometimes, and I'm sure she'd adore your ine of talk. It's almost too good to be true. What you're really trying to say is that you're dismayed to find that I know too much about your rather contemptible scheming, and will I please move on to a safer distance where I can t indulge in any damaging talk? That, in fact, you would even be prepared to go to some trouble to find me such a place, if I would kindly go there. Am I right?"
For a moment she really thought she was about to see the rare spectacle of Brent angry.
Then he laughed, and retorted genially, "Right in every particular. What about it, Harriet?
"Nothing about it," returned Harriet briskly. "You might just as well have stayed in by the fire and kept warm."
"What do you mean?"
"Just that. That you're wasting your time talking to me on these lines."
He frowned, but more in puzzlement than in anger.
"But why—if we find you a much better billet?"
"Because I like my present one, thank you, and have no intention of changing.
"You mean you like the idea of staying, and making mischief?**
"No, I mean I like the idea of staying."
"You know, you*re putting me in a very awkward position."
"You must be almost used to that," replied Harriet, who was beginning to enjoy herself and was tingling with a sense of exhilaration, which had nothing to do with the crisp night air. "But what makes you think that I am increasing the awkwardness of your position?"
"Well, I came out this evenmg prepared to keep everything on a friendly footing—''
She interrupted him with a laugh of real gaiety. "Don't tell me that this is where you produce a heavy, blunt instrument," she exclaimed mockingly. "We're much too near to the house for you to be able to dispose of the body satisfactorily."
He smiled, but she noticed that it was a singularly thin, cold smile for the charming Brent.
"Oh, no. I don't go in for dramatic extremes," he assured her. "I was only going to say that I wish we could have arranged this in a friendly way. But, if you're determined to remain here, of course 1 shall have to take other steps to protect myself "
She was silent for a moment. Not from any sense of dismay, but because she was considering whether she would give him her contemptuous assurance that she had no intention of exposing him.
He apparently mistook her silence for reconsideration of the position.
"You don't think it might be better to go, after all?" he suggested, as they walked up the short driveway together. No, no. Of course not.' She dismissed that imr"**^**'
"I have every intention of staying at Fourways. I like it here, and—"
"You know, I think perhaps Roddy was right about you, after all," he interrupted, in tne most agreeable tone.
Her sense of exhilaration suddenly deserted her, and she didn't want at all to ask what Roddy had said about her. Only, not to do so might look as though she were afraid.
'* Well, what was Roddy's opinion about me?'* She managed to keep her voice light and mocking.
He turned, with his hand on the handle of the side door, and smiled at her in the moonlight with quite extraordinary malice.
"He said he thought it was doubtful if we should be able to persuade you to go because he rather thought you were in love with Lindsay yourself I dismissed the idea at the time, because, frankly, I don't see how Lindsay could inspire an undying passion. But now—in the face of such an obstinate and unreasonable determination to remain—" He broke off and laughed, with an air of amused speculation.
"Don't be absurd!" The door was open now, and she pushed past him angrily into the hall. "That's the silliest of many silly things you've said this evening."
And without giving him a chance to say anything else she ran up the stairs.
He stood looking after her, she knew, but it was inipossi-ble to tell from the back that anyone was agitated. Fortunately there was no one to see that she was pale and wide-eyed, and that her teeth were clamped down angrily on her lower lip.
At the top of the stairs, she ran full tilt into Lindsay.
"I'm sorry!"
They both exclaimed together, and he put out a hand to steady her.
"I—I just ran out to mail a letter," she explained unnecessarily.
"And ran all the way back, judging by appearances," he said with a smile.
She managed to laugh, felt thankful for the rather dim light on the landing, and turned toward her room again as he started down the stairs.
He turned back and said almost peremptorily, "Harriet!"
She stopped, and he came up to her.
"Did Brent go to the mail box with you?"
"No. He—was out for a walk, and met me coming back." She saw him frown doubtfully.
"Did he do or say something that upset you?'*
"Why—no. No, of course not. What made you think so?"
For answer, he took hold of her, gently but quite firmly, and turned her so that the light fell on her face.
**I thought you looked a little agitated.**
She wished she could have laughed that off carelessly. But the feel of his fingers on her arms, the recollection of what Brent had said and the degree of agitation it had caused her, made that impossible.
The best she could achieve was an almost impatient little movement, which freed her immediately. "No. You're just imagining things, ** she told him.
He did not repeat his previous injunction that she should let him know if she had any trouble with Brent so that he could deal with it. Perhaps he felt he had been officious, and that her impatient movement was her way of telling him so.
At any rate, he turned away again at once. And Harriet went on rather slowly to her room, realizing unhappily that however much Brent might distress her with what he guessed or said or did, Lindsay was probably the last person m whom she could confide.
CHAPTER SIX
During the next week or so, life at Fourways underwent several changes.
To begin with, instead of Lindsay returning almost immediately to London, he found that, owing to the sudden illness of his local partner, he had to take over the temporary management of the Barndale office. This meant leavmg the London part of the work largely in the hands of his principal assistant there, except for occasional twenty-four hour visits when his own presence was essential.
In addition, Roddy, too—to his mother's open delight-se
emed inclined to settle down at home again for a while.
'*He seems so contented here," she confided thankfully to Harriet. *'And he's so much less restless and nervy. It makes me hope that he is at last getting over the effects of that dreadful business. And certainly it seems as though he has freed himself from whatever that objectionable entanglement was. At any rate, he doesn't appear to be fretting after any girl left behind in London, does he?"
Harriet said with truth that he did not.
Fortunately—since there was now a bigger household to cope with—Harriet had some additional domestic help, too. A successor to the temperamental cook had been found. And if, as she herself claimed, her strong suit was the *'good and wholesome" rather than '*any of this fancy stuff," she had, by way of compensation, an easygoing and stolid disposition that might also have been described as "good and wholesome." At any rate, she caused none of the crises in which her accomplished predecessor appeared to have delighted.
To Harriet, the new order of things was both delicious
and distressing. In the absence of both Lindsay and Roddy, she would probably have been able to feel less acutely concerned with the ever present threat of disaster. But, with them both there, and Dilys a constant visitor, she was continually reminded that the pleasant, unruffled surface of life at Fourways was only a surface, and beneath it lay all the elements of tragedy.
On the other hand, just to have Lindsay around the place was a secret delight. She admitted it to herself now.
To Roddy or to Brent—even to herself, in her more common sense moments—she might protest that Lindsay did and could mean nothing to her. But she knew now that life changed for her as soon as she heard the sound of his key in the door. It was not that he took a great deal of notice of her—or that she even wished him to do so. It was enough that she should see his tall, powerful figure standing in the hall as he paused to examine letters left on the table; or that she shouM find him lounging in comfortable relaxation in a chair by the fire; or hear his authoritative yet pleasant voice in serious discussion with his mother or modulated to a note of amused indulgence for Priscilla.
She experienced a thrill of almost physical delight when his keen, bright eyes rested on her, even if only while he addressed some commonplace remark to her. And best of all she loved the way his eyes could sparkle with sudden, unexpected amusement, and crinkle a little at the corners even though his mouth would remain serious.
She realized—as every girl in love before her had realized—that there was a delightful charm and significance about his smallest action or characteristic movement. It was a discovery of momentous importance to her, for instance, that, although such a powerfully built man, he moved with extraordinary grace and swiftness. And when she was alone in her room at night it was not even necessary to close her eyes in order to visualize him in a dozen different scenes that had really photographed themselves upon her con-sciouness during the day.
With so many tiny happinesses to irradiate life, it was impossible for Harriet to be anything but radiant herself. And since nothing is more infectious than happiness her good spirits had their effect on the people around her. Mrs.
Mayhew declared that she was the most cheering influence that had ever come into Fourways.
Only, sometimes, something would happen that would force Harriet back into a ruthless realization of the true state of affairs, and then she would wonder how it was that she could be so irresponsibly lighthearted most of the time.
Such an occasion was the unfortunate time when Lindsay—with obtuse determination—arranged for Dilys to drive her into Barndale for the weekly shopping.
Usually, nowadays, he drove her in himself But on this particular occasion he had to make one of his hurried visits to London and without even consulting Harriet firmly arranged for Dilys to do it in his stead.
He merely told Harriet of the arrangement just before he went to catch his train.
Dilys could, of course, if she wished, telephone some excuse—or even send Brent once more in place of herself. But to do the first would be pointed and, it she resorted to the second, it would not, Harriet decided, be much of an improvement on the original arrangement.
Dilys did neither. She called for Harriet at the appointed time, looking very much like an illustration out of vogue, zs she sat at the wheel of her car in yellow and black bird's-eye tweeds, which emphasized the fairness of her hair and the deep gold of her skin.
"tfillo." She greeted Harriet without marked warmth, but without any snow of resentment and, as soon as she had started the car again, she began some harmless sort of conversation about nothing in particular.
It was the first time they had been alone together since that revealing evening with Roddy. Indeed, now Harriet came to think of it, it was the first time they had ever been alone together. And, without the distraction of other personalities and other impressions, Harriet began to have a much clearer idea of Dilys as she really was.
Until now, she had put her down as a fortune hunter and a vamp. The sort of girl who always let her head rule her heart, out who was not at all averse to having an emotional flutter provided it did not interfere with her more practical plans.
Now, glancing at the fine bones of Dilys's face, and the wide, not ungenerous curve of her mouth, she realized that
it was not quite as simple as that. Mrs. Mayhew—and, indeed, most people—believed that Dilys was "the one with the stiffening,** simply because she had a self-possessed and positive manner, while Brent shamelessly idled through life as the engaging philanderer.
But he is the determined and ruthless one, under all that frivolity and matinee stuff, thought Harriet, in a sudden flash of inspiration. She is rather easily swayed by events, and, above all, by the people she's fond of.
And so much did the discovery astonish her that she cut across what Dilys was saying with the impulsive query, "Dilys, are you very unhappy?'*
There was an odd little silence. And then, instead of making the conventional protest, which Harriet was beginning to expect, she said slowly, "You mean about Roddy— and Brent?'*
It was incredible! She saw the problem simply in terms of Roddy and Brent. Lin—whose tragedy it was in Harriet's eyes—hardly came into it, for Dilys.
"Yes," Harriet replied baldly, realizing that it was no good trying to make Dilys see it from her point of view.
"I suppose I am, Harriet.** Dilys made not the slightest attempt to hedge. "But—though I know it*s a truism to say so—time softens everything. And I know there'll be a time when I shall look back and wonder why certain things hurt, and I'll realize that the solid, material things outweigh all... all the others in the end.**
"I suppose Brent is responsible for that bit of hollow philosophy, ** commented Harriet.
"Oh—** Dilys caught her breath on a protesting little laugh. But it was not really a very amused laugh. Then she glanced at Harriet and said, "Roddy told you more or less everything, didn *t he? * *
"I imagine so.*'
"And now you *re thinking very badly of me?**
"Of you? No—not just now,*' Harriet said, realizing surprisedly that this was true. "I don*t imagine it's nice, being pulled to and fro between the two people you really love.
"It isn't. It*s hell," Dilys said, and, drawing the car to a standstill by the side of the road, she took out her cigarette case. "Smoke?**
"Thank you." Harriet seldom smoked, but she thought this was an occasion when it might help conversation.
And sure enough after she had lit both their cigarettes from a Ughter, which was obviously as expensive as her case, Dilys went on, "It's nice of you to understand that I do love them both. That I'm not just being capricious with Roddy. I love him—only I also love Brent. I always have. And, m a way, been a bit responsible for him, too."
Harriet thought of Brent smiling that thin, cold smile of the completely calculating, but knew this was not the moment to argue that he was perfectly capable of looking after himself
/> "Is he younger than you are?" she asked, in a carefully controlled voice.
"Oh, no. About five years older. But there were only the two of us, and he was always the most wonderful older brother to me. He's always been good-looking, you know, and gay and—"
"What Priscilla calls a lovely man," Harriet supplied obligingly.
Dilys laughed again, that little half-protesting laugh. "Very well. I know he's almost too good-looking, and that some people think he's weak and frivolous."
"I don t think he's weak," Harriet stated dryly.
"No?" Dilys looked faintly surprised. "Well, he is in some ways. He used to get into scrapes that weren't exactly his fault. And then he always had very expensive tastes—we both have, come to that."
"Dilys, dear, so have lots of people, but they have to curb them," Harriet said mildly.
"Yes, I know. I'm not pretending that we're exactly a worthwhile couple," Dilys exclaimed, with a sort of impatient candor. "One shouldn't whine, but it wasn't entirely our fault. Our parents were really rich and terribly extravagant. Everything was on an unbelievably lavish and luxurious scale when we were children—all the time our tastes were being formed. They were killed in a train smash when I was twelve and Brent seventeen, and there wasn't a penny when all the debts were settled up. We went to an aunt and uncle who were just the other extreme. They believed in austerity for austerity's sake, and not owing a penny to a soul and saving for your old age and being buried: with
handsome respectability, and all that sort of thing. They thought we were almost potential little criminals with our outlook, and we thought they were cruel and repressive. Neither of us was right, of course. We merely both acted according to our dispositions and upbringings. '
She paused and blew a somberly thoughtful smoke ring or two.
"And what happened?" Harriet prompted her.
"Brent was pusned into a job as a junior clerk at thirty bob a week, and I went to a school where there were no expensive extras and life was very real and earnest. I hated every day of every week of every year of it. My uncle intended me to be a teacher, but I intended to be a mannequin. And the moment I was able to escape, I did. Brent, meanwhile, hadn't remained a clerk for more than a few months. You can't see him entering up letters and getting there on time and being grateful for a fortnight's holiday in the year, can you?" She laughed shortly. "He was all sorts of things by turn—or sometimes simultaneously. A skating instructor, a car salesman, a professional dancing partner, and something that is called a publicity manager, but which I know," she stated with bitter realism, "embraced a lot of odd and probably shady things. I don't know why I'm telling you all this—except that, in some queer way, you're real and decent and self-respecting. And I want you to know that, though I'm none ot those things, maybe that's a little bit because they were rather far out of reach for me."
Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other Page 29