Moonrise Over the Mountains

by Lilian Peake

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “What do I want? You should know what I want. I want an explanation as to why you’re going to advertise for a buyer to replace me when I’m still in charge, while I’m still on your payroll. I want to know why you’re firing me without even having the courtesy to tell me first, so that I can look for another job.”

  He responded coldly, “Who told you I’m advertising for another buyer?”

  “My—Nobody told me. I—I just know.” She rushed on, “Why didn’t you give me a better chance to prove myself? You said yourself you had confidence in my ability. And I told you I had to learn the job almost from scratch. Your fiancée taught me nothing...”

  He rapped on the desk. “Who told you I was going to advertise for another buyer?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “Was it your father?” She would not answer. “It must have been. I asked the personnel manager to draft the advertisement. Your father must have received a copy. It was confidential and he should have kept it that way. I trusted him.”

  Gayle thought wildly, Have I put my father’s job in jeopardy? “It wasn’t my father’s fault,” she cried. “He didn’t tell me. You mustn’t blame him. I saw the advertisement on his desk just now when I called in to see him. He tried to hide it, but I made him show it to me. Please,” she stared at him white-faced, “sack me, if you must, but not my father. This job’s his life. It would break him if you dismissed him, too.”

  He answered quietly, “Plead your own case, if you must, but not your father’s. I accept your explanation of how you came to see that advertisement. He’s done nothing wrong. In any case, I wouldn’t dream of dismissing him. This firm values highly the loyalty of its employees.”

  “So I’m not loyal? Is that why you’re sacking me?”

  He walked round the desk and looked into her distressed, upturned face. Then he walked away. “Let’s consider the matter rationally, Gayle. Your sales have been, to put it tactfully, low. If I were to be unkind, I would call them disastrous. No business can be run as a charitable institution or as an exercise in philanthropy. I’ve warned you time and again if a buyer doesn’t deliver the goods—that is, a high or reasonably high profit margin, then that buyer is on his or her way out.”

  “But I’ve hardly had time—”

  ”You’ve had plenty of time to prove your worth.” He looked at her from across the room. “Believe me, it was not an easy decision to come to, to throw out the daughter of one of our longest-serving and most loyal employees.”

  “But,” she turned her head from side to side as if trying to throw off a terrible dream, “we’re doing better. Our profits are increasing—slowly, but they are increasing. Isn’t that something in my favour?”

  “Yes. And I’m aware of your improved sales. Look, Gayle, let’s clarify one point at least. I haven’t dismissed you. On my return this morning I discovered you were at last getting better results, so I gave instructions for the advertisement to be put aside.”

  “But to be kept in readiness?”

  He frowned down at some paper on his desk.

  His cool, unemotional attitude goaded her into a blind, thrusting anger. “How can I work with that threat hanging over my head?” She stood quickly. “I’m resigning, Mr. Pascall. You can put your advertisement in the newspaper. I’m going this minute to write my letter of resignation.” In her anger she did not really know what she was saying, but to her dismay, he took her up.

  “You do that, Miss Stuart. But I’ll save you the trouble of returning to your office.”

  So, instead of asking her to stay, he was encouraging her. He must have been hoping, waiting for this, humiliating her to the point where the only way she could salvage her selfrespect was to offer her resignation.

  He searched in a drawer. “Paper.” He pushed it towards her. “Pen.” He took it from his top pocket.

  Turning white with the realisation of what she had done, she sat down. But there was no going back. She had committed herself and he had accepted. As she wrote, her hand shook and the fact that he was watching every word that came from the pen did not make it easier for her.

  Her hand was still shaking as she handed the letter to him. As he read the formal words of resignation, his eyes did not flicker. He folded the letter, looking at her as he did so.

  “This firm requires two months’ notice from its buyers. You therefore have two more months to work for me.”

  “Two months?”

  “It will take all of that time to find a suitable replacement, one who comes up to my high standards.”

  The tears began again. “So I’ve failed? I told you, I told you I hadn’t got it in me. You wouldn’t believe me,” she choked. “Why did you have to put me through this—this humiliation, simply so that I could prove myself to be right and you wrong?”

  She made for the door. “Gayle!” But she went into the corridor, running along it and making for the escalator. In the lift she would have had to face others, and that she could not do.

  Blinded by tears, she stepped on to the moving staircase. Her way was blocked by customers so she fretted until she reached the bottom. She stepped off and swung on to the second escalator which took her to the fashion floor. Half-way down, something made her look back. Ewan Pascall was standing just behind her. He was following her. Why?

  She stepped to the left to squeeze past the people in front of her. Her eyes were still blurred and she missed her footing. She plunged down the moving steps, feeling her limbs, her hips, her shoulders and her head pounded by the relentlessly moving stairs. The ground crashed into her and she lay winded, helpless and stunned, and she thought she would never be able to get up again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ewan, white-faced, was bending over her. “Get a doctor!” he rapped out to an assistant. Others, staff and customers, gathered round. Someone tried to help, but Ewan said, “No, no, don’t touch her. There may be some broken bones.”

  The voice on the Tannoy rang out, “Is there a doctor in the store? A doctor, please, required urgently on the first floor, at the foot of the escalator. A doctor, please, at once...”

  Out of the crash emerged a woman, grey-haired, compassionate, concerned. “I’m a doctor.”

  Everyone moved back as she bent down and slowly, painstakingly, her hands moved skilfully over Gayle’s inert body. At last she said, smiling into Gayle’s dull, tear-swollen eyes, “No bones broken. You were lucky.” She straightened. “Is there someone here in charge?”

  “I’m the owner,” Ewan said. “Hospital?”

  “I don’t think so. She needs rest, a few days off work to recover. You realise she’ll have-to go home, Mr. Pascall?” Ewan nodded. “Her own doctor must be contacted. He’ll examine her thoroughly, make sure there are no internal injuries. You can lift her now. Do you need an ambulance or is there a car available?”

  “I’ll take her, thanks. And thank you sincerely for your help, Doctor.”

  The woman smiled. “Only too glad to be of assistance. Lucky I was here.” She smiled down at Gayle. “A few days, with luck, and you should be back to normal. Goodbye!”

  Feebly, Gayle thanked her and the woman walked away. Ewan lifted Gayle into his arms and took her, amongst sympathetic murmurs, upstairs to the rest room. With gentleness he put her down on the bed. “Your father will want to see you.”

  “Don’t bother him,” Gayle murmured, but Ewan had pressed a bell near the bed. The welfare officer answered and tutted when she saw Gayle. “I heard someone was hurt, but by the time I got there the injured party had been removed. All right, dear?” Gayle nodded.

  “Get Miss Stuart’s father, will you, Mrs. Jones?”

  When she had gone, Gayle could think of nothing to say. But she could not stop herself thinking. In a few weeks, she told herself, I’ll have no job. I’ve resigned. Why was I so foolish? I wish I could withdraw my resignation. Then Ewan would sack me, Wouldn’t he? How stupid can I get? She moved
her head restlessly, opened her eyes and saw Ewan looking down at her. His eyes were brooding, unreadable, and as she met them she remembered how tear-stained her face must be. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I was careless. I shouldn’t—”

  His hand came over her mouth and stopped her talking, then it moved and his fingers lifted away the hair which had strayed over her cheeks.

  Herbert was deeply concerned. “Gayle, love.” He sat on the bed. “They said you fell. How bad are you?”

  “Could be worse,” said Ewan. “Luckily there was a doctor in the store. No bones broken.”

  “What exactly happened?”

  Gayle looked at Ewan, pleading silently with him to find an acceptable explanation. “Your daughter, Herbert, was in too much of a hurry to get back to her work. We’d had a—little talk and she precipitated herself out of my office so fast I thought she might hit the opposite wall. She didn’t, but as she seemed hell bent on a collision course with someone or something, I thought I’d better follow. I was standing behind her on the escalator, but that was the wrong move.” He smiled down at her. “I should have put myself in front of her, then I could have caught her as she fell.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, but it brought a frown to Herbert’s face. It seemed he had guessed the sequence of events. A quarrel—yet another—with the owner of the store.

  Angry words, tears—her eyes still bore the after-effects—an impulsive escape from his presence. Then the accident.

  “I’d better take her home, hadn’t I?” Herbert asked.

  “I’ll take her, Herbert. She’ll have to be carried.” He flexed his arm muscles. “I’ll do that, provided she’s left me with sufficient energy to take her weight after her verbal onslaught. My word,” to Herbert, “you were right about her fighting spirit. It erupts at the touch of a button. She’s got the right name. Gayle—hurricane force!”

  Herbert laughed and even Gayle managed a smile. Her father left her with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to get home early.

  “Now, Miss Stuart,” said the managing director, “if I lift you. into my arms, you won’t slap my face, kick your legs and demand to be put down?”

  She gave him a tearful smile, lifting her arms like a small girl to show how willing she was to let him carry her.

  “It’s a sad thing to say,” he muttered as he slipped his hands under her and picked her up, “but the only time she’s docile and obedient is when she’s literally had the guts knocked out of her. I really believe I could almost ask her anything now and she’d say yes.” He looked into her eyes. “Would you?” But she turned her face to his shoulder. He laughed and carried her out of his office, down the back stairs and into his car.

  At home he lowered her gently on to the couch. “What’s your doctor’s number?”

  “It’s on a card next to the phone. But please don’t bother, Mr. Pascall. I’ll—”

  ”The doctor at the store said your own doctor must see you,” he answered firmly.

  When he returned from the hall he said, “He’s on his way. I was lucky, I caught him just before he left to go on his rounds.”

  “You needn’t wait. I’ll let him in.”

  “You’ll stay where you are until you’ve been examined.” He wandered about, looking at the family pictures on the mantelpiece and the piano. Gayle as a little girl holding her father’s hand. Gayle as a young teenager, standing beside her mother in the garden. Gayle’s parents, her mother sitting on her father’s knee and laughing at the camera.

  “Is it long,” Ewan asked, without turning round, “since your mother died?”

  “Nine years.”

  “When you were—what, thirteen?” She nodded. “And you took over the running of the house?”

  “Rhoda, next door, has been wonderful.”

  “Your future mother-in-law?”

  Gayle was so long in answering Ewan turned. “Yes,” she said at last.

  The doctor came and Ewan let him in. “Do you want me to wait outside?” Ewan asked as they entered the living-room.

  “You’re a relative?” the doctor asked.

  “No, no,” Gayle said hastily. “A—a friend.”

  The doctor accepted the description with equanimity. “As far as I’m concerned, if Miss Stuart has no objection, you can stay.”

  Ewan walked to the window and for the whole of the examination stood there, staring out, hands in pockets. Gayle explained to the doctor what had happened. When he had completed his examination, he told her she had been lucky. “Nothing wrong inside, but you’ll be bruised and shaken for a day or two. You’ll need a few days off work. I’ll give you a medical certificate.”

  “No need,” said Ewan, turning at last. “She works for me.” The doctor’s only reaction was to say, “Fine. Then all’s well. You won’t expect her back until she’s fully recovered.”

  Ewan nodded and saw the doctor out. He returned and looked down at Gayle. “You’re lucky to have got away with only bumps and bruises.” He smiled. “Stupid girl, aren’t you?”

  Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away. “There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Pascall.” But she said it with a smile.

  “Since I’m your friend—your word—you must call me Ewan. I’ve told you before.”

  “I had to give the doctor an acceptable description of your—your relationship to me.”

  “You could have called me your enemy. It would have been more accurate. I’m hardly your friend, Gayle, be honest.”

  She did not answer. She wished he would go away. Her pulse rate would not return to normal until he did. If only she could lift her arms to him again—but this time for a very different reason. To put them round his body, pull him down, hold him close, feel his lips seeking hers as they had done before, not this time for passing pleasure but for desire motivated by love.

  He moved away. Had he sensed her longing for him and was putting himself at a safe distance?

  “I’ll make you a cup of tea. Where’s the kitchen?” She frowned. “And you can save your breath. I’m waiting on you, doing your bidding.” He grinned. “Obeying your instructions—better, my girl, than you obey mine! Now, where are the cups, the milk, the tea?”

  A few minutes later there was the rattle of crockery, the hiss of the kettle, the opening and shutting of doors. Gayle sank back and drank in the sounds. Ewan was in her kitchen, touching her and her father’s possessions, doing something for her. She must make the most of it because it would never happen again.

  Ewan gave her a cup of tea and sat in her father’s favourite armchair, drinking his. She thought of his house, the coolness and the gracious beauty of his living-room; the value of his possessions compared with the everyday quality of hers and her father’s. His landscaped gardens compared with the utilitarian smallness of theirs. Just about enough, Rhoda had once said, for hanging out the washing.

  Did he notice the difference, and if he did, how was it affecting him? Was he placing her in the category in which his mother had placed her, beneath him, not to be encouraged, to be kept firmly in her place? And he had told her to call him Ewan! Why, for fun? Because afterwards he could laugh at her for it?

  “How will you manage when I’m gone?” It was a question which, in the light of what had happened between them in his office, had a ring of the future about it. It was a question to which she simply did not know the answer.

  “Is your next-door neighbour, your future mother-in-law, in?”

  “No. She goes out to work.” How much lower on his social scale did that place them? “But don’t worry, when I’ve rested, I’ll be able to look after myself. Thank you for asking.” She smiled up at him.

  “Well, it’s the least a man can do for his woman friend.” He smiled at the discomfiture his words produced. “I’ll send your father home early.”

  She thanked him again for his thoughtfulness. Then he was gone.

  Herbert came home early. He told Gayle that Mr. Pascall had almost bundled him out of the offic
e. “It worried him, he said, to think of you lying here alone.”

  “Such consideration,” Gayle commented, “from the unfeeling Mr. Ewan Pascall.”

  “You’re wrong about him, Gayle. I’ve known him a great deal longer than you and he always does his best for his staff.”

  “He’s ruthless and hard,” Gayle muttered, closing her eyes and lying back against the pillows. Even though she loved the man, she told herself, she had to face facts. “There’s something I ought to tell you—”

  ”I know all about it, dear. He came to see me. You’ve resigned.”

  She turned large, hopeless eyes to her father. “And he accepted it. I thought he might tear the letter up, but her voice wavered, “he gave me the paper and pen.”

  “It was precipitate of you, you must admit. You took a calculated risk, didn’t you, and it didn’t come off.”

  “It wasn’t that. I—I don’t think I really knew what I was doing, I was so angry with him. Dad, is he—is he advertising for another buyer?”

  “Not yet. He said he’d give you a chance to find something else first. Withdraw your resignation, Gayle,” Herbert urged. “He’ll understand. Tell him you didn’t mean it.”

  “No!” she answered fiercely. “I’ve been humiliated enough. I’ll just have to find another job.”

  Which was exactly what she said to Rhoda and Melvin when they came in that evening.

  “It’s a pity,” Rhoda commented. “You and Melvin will need every penny you can both earn to buy furniture and everything. Couldn’t you tell Mr. Pascall you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Not a chance, Rhoda. He wouldn’t let me. He couldn’t get my letter into his hands quickly enough.”

  Melvin sat on Gayle’s bed when his mother left them. He took Gayle’s hand and said thoughtfully, “We’ll buy an engagement ring soon.” He did not seem to notice the slight stiffening of her fingers. “I’ve got some money put aside.” He bent down and kissed her. “No one to spend it on but you.” Gayle was touched, but she made a feeble attempt to put off the inevitable. “You should be saving it, Mel, for—for our future.”