by Peggy Gaddis
“We could have tea, I suppose. There’s a little shop where Maggie and I go occasionally—it’s not bad,” she yielded and Elaine assented eagerly.
The place was determinedly quaint. Cypressville had not taken wholeheartedly to the idea of afternoon tea, so only two or three tables were occupied.
The waitress, in her “quaint” flowered print dress and yellow apron took their order and departed.
Elaine took out a handsome blue and gold enamel cigarette case, complete with lighter, and extended it to Cathy, holding a light for her before she lit her own cigarette. She studied Cathy curiously for a moment before she spoke.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” she said frankly.
Cathy’s fingers tightened on the cigarette and she looked down to shield whatever revealing light there may have been in her eyes.
“I can imagine,” she said quietly. “I’m afraid I don’t stand very high in Mrs. Kendall’s affections.”
“Oh, Bill’s talked about you, too,” confided Elaine. “Bill thinks you’re the gal that hung the stars and polished the moon and sees to it that the sun comes up on schedule every morning.”
Color flowed into Cathy’s face and her eyes were starry.
“Too bad,” Elaine went on coolly, before Cathy could manage her voice for an answer, “that Aunt Edith holds the purse strings so tight and that she’s so hell-bent on choosing Bill’s wife for him.”
The waitress came with their order. Elaine fussed over hers and the waitress took it back and changed it. But eventually it was satisfactory, and the waitress departed.
Elaine spoke after a moment. “Your Major’s quite a guy, Cathy. I like him.”
“I’m glad—only he’s not my Major,” answered Cathy, striving for a light tone.
Elaine looked up at her sharply, her blue eyes speculative.
“Is it true he’s disgustingly rich?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” answered Cathy curtly.
“He’s a pal of yours and you don’t know whether he’s a millionaire or a pauper?” exclaimed Elaine, unbelieving.
“All I knew about him was that he was a darned good pilot, and that we were both working for the same boss!” said Cathy, and there was color in her cheeks.
Elaine nodded thoughtfully. “Look here, if you’re not in love with the Major, and have no matrimonial aspirations in his direction, do you mind if I make a few passes at him? I believe I could do myself some good with him! I think he liked me at the dance.”
Cathy blinked, so astounded that for a moment she could not catch her breath or manage speech.
Elaine grinned impishly.
“You see, I can always tell when a man could be persuaded to like me quite a lot. I think the Major could, and—well, it would be fun to see what might happen,” she drawled.
Suddenly Cathy was swept by a quite illogical anger.
“Mark is a very fine man, with a wonderful future, and a lot of ambition,” she said slowly and distinctly. “I won’t have you trying to make a fool of him.”
Elaine’s eyebrows went up delicately.
“Then you do think I could,” she suggested gently.
Cathy’s regard took her in: the shoulder-length hair that was silken pale gold, curling away from her vivid, oval face; the great darkly blue eyes with their long, gold-tipped lashes; the exquisitely curved body in its powder blue sharkskin dress that set off a pale, honey-gold tan so deft and so exquisitely balanced one knew instantly it came from a sun lamp.
“I think you could,” said Cathy briefly, and added with a little flash of her eyes, “Only I intend to stop you, if I possibly can.”
Elaine pushed her tea cup away from her and folded her arms on the edge of the table and studied Cathy indolently.
“You don’t look the dog-in-the-manger type, Cathy,” she drawled. “I would have thought that one man would be quite enough for you—especially if the man was Bill.”
“I’m not in love with Mark.” Cathy stated her position flatly. “But I admire and respect and like him enormously. And I don’t propose to sit idly by and watch you sniping for him—unless you’re in love with him, of course.”
Elaine pursed her lovely mouth and then smiled.
“To tell the truth, I believe your Major is a realist,” she said.
“I keep telling you he isn’t my Major—”
“But you keep behaving as if he were!”
“And I don’t know what you mean by calling him a ‘realist,’ “ Cathy finished.
Elaine shrugged.
“Oh, I don’t think he goes in for lovey-dovey stuff, any more than I do,” she explained. “I believe that he would look on marriage as something that might be fun, and all that, but not necessarily a life-and-death matter. He’s out for a good time instead.”
Anger boiled over in Cathy. “If that’s the attitude you have toward Mark, then I’d appreciate it a lot if you’d leave him alone.”
Elaine continued looking at her, her eyes cool, narrowed a little; and she nodded, scrubbed out the tip of her cigarette and said coolly, “So you are in love with him!”
“I’m not. Don’t be silly.”
“Of course you are,” said Elaine. “And I wonder where that leaves Bill? He’s pretty crazy about you, believe it or not.”
Cathy drew a long hard breath and clenched her hands tightly in her lap, fighting to steady her voice, before she risked speech.
“Look, Elaine,” she said at last in a voice deceptively quiet and almost steady. “Bill and I have been in love with each other since we were little more than children. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t been in love with him. Love is something that grows and deepens and can’t be wiped out by just a flash. That’s the way I feel about Bill.”
Elaine nodded, her eyes slightly narrowed.
“But you are terribly concerned for the Major’s welfare,” she pointed out dryly.
“Naturally,” answered Cathy, her head high. “Because he’s a fine person and because I think he deserves a better break than you’re offering him.”
She broke off and her color deepened at the derisive look that was dawning in Elaine’s eyes.
“Oh, what’s the use of trying to argue with you?” Cathy flashed, and went swiftly out of the tea shop and along to where the Betsy-Bug was parked.
Cathy’s mind raged; what business of yours is it if she starts making passes at Mark? Mark was quite competent to look after his own affairs of the heart; he would never have attained his present age, unmarried, if he hadn’t been. So what was there to get all steamed up about, she demanded crossly of herself as her foot trod on the accelerator and the Betsy-Bug roared an indignant protest.
However, as for Elaine’s calm insistence that she, Cathy, was in love with Mark—why, that was just plain idiotic. Because Cathy was in love with Bill—moreover, she was married to Bill! She drew a sharp breath at that; even though only she and Bill knew it, the fact still remained. She just couldn’t possibly be in love with Mark, she insisted, and was dimly frightened at her own angry insistence. The necessity of insisting so furiously shook her badly and her thoughts were jumbled when she turned the nose of the Betsy-Bug into the drive beside the neat little cottage.
Chapter Nine
Cathy slid the car into the garage and got out. The door to the kitchen was open, and as she approached it, a tall figure suddenly blocked it, and her heart did the craziest possible acrobatics.
Mark, his shirt sleeves rolled well above his elbows, one of Maggie’s substantial gingham aprons tied about his lean middle, a kitchen fork in his hands, stood eyeing her severely.
“A fine thing!” he said sternly. “Here I’ve been standing over a hot stove all day, working my fingers down to the knuckles to get you an elegant dinner, and you come straggling in here at all hours—and don’t you dare tell me you’ve been working late at the office, for I telephoned the office.”
Cathy laughed, a small, shaken, breathle
ss laugh.
“Mark, you idiot!” she managed. “I thought you’d gone fishing.”
Mark grinned at her warmly.
“I did,” he assured her cheerfully. “But it seems the fish in these parts have a very strict union and knock off biting along in the late afternoon. So we came back to town, and of course I wanted to prove to you and Maggie that I had been fishing, so I brought my catch out here. There was nobody home, so I cleaned them and got them all ready to fry. Maggie whipped in for a minute, announced that the baby had arrived and was a fine bouncing boy and she wouldn’t be back for supper but I could carry on. She seemed to think you’d arrive eventually.”
“Oh, so the Warrens have another boy—that’s nice,” said Cathy, idiotically, because she couldn’t, beneath the confusingly tender regard in Mark’s eyes, think of anything else to say.
“I was ever so pleased,” said Mark politely.
She laughed, and said, “Ummm—that smells good, whatever you’re cooking!”
“Whatever I’m cooking! Madam, those are fighting words to a man who has spent a broiling hot day luring little fishes out of their ancestral domain,” said Mark reprovingly. “Run along and wash your face and hands and be careful of your ears, or I’ll scrub ‘em! And then come back and set the table. Scoot now.”
Cathy “scooted” and when she came back, Mark eyed her contentedly.
“I love Maggie dearly,” he confided. “But this is something to dream about—just the two of us here like this. Can we eat in the kitchen?”
“I don’t know why not,” agreed Cathy. She spread a cloth on the small table beside the window and began setting it with the new peasant china of which Maggie was so proud.
Mark was in hilarious spirits, and Cathy was only too happy to note that. Their meal was simple, and seasoned with laughter and cheerful conversation; neither could remember one they had enjoyed more.
They dawdled over coffee and cigarettes before beginning to clear the dishes, and it was thus that Bill found them when he walked into the kitchen.
There was a startled moment when the three of them merely stared at one another. It was Bill who spoke first, with an edge of chill in his voice.
“How very cozy! I hope I’m intruding? I meant to.”
“You are,” said Mark firmly. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
Bill’s face was cold and set.
“I wouldn’t think you would,” he said angrily. “Though as a matter of fact I did; and then I heard sounds of merriment and followed them—naturally.”
Mark’s eyes were definitely hostile, but his tone was noncommittal.
“Naturally,” he agreed politely.
“Will you have coffee, Bill?” suggested Cathy faintly.
Bill flung her a glance as hostile as the look in Mark’s eyes and said “No” very flatly. And then he turned back to Mark.
“You seem to be making yourself quite at home around here, Major,” he said, and his tone was insolent.
Mark smiled. “It’s a gift,” he said gently.
“One that’s likely to get you a sock in the jaw, don’t you think?” Bill’s tone was ugly.
“Bill!” gasped Cathy, outraged.
“You keep out of this,” snapped Bill.
“Don’t speak to her in that tone,” said Mark, on his feet now, his fists doubled.
“What business is it of yours how I speak to—my wife?” demanded Bill savagely.
For what seemed to Cathy a long, long time, the two words seemed to quiver in the air; words that could be seen and felt and heard.
Mark stared at Bill, thunderstruck, completely incredulous; and then his bewildered eyes turned to Cathy and he made a little gesture with one hand as though he would reach out to her. But before the gesture could be completed his hand dropped, and he said huskily, “Oh—no—Cathy, you wouldn’t fail to tell me—”
“We were married almost six weeks ago,” said Bill shortly. “Secretly.”
Mark looked swiftly at Cathy, his brows drawn together in a puzzled, unhappy frown.
“Is that on the level, Cathy? Are you married?” he demanded.
“I—yes, Mark—oh, I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t tell you before.”
Mark turned sharply on Bill, his eyes blazing.
“And who the hell are you that you had to marry a girl like Cathy secretly? Are you so damned important that your nuptials have to be arranged in secrecy? And how the hell did you ever get a girl like Cathy to consent to such an arrangement?” he demanded.
“Mark—please! You don’t understand,” Cathy wailed.
Mark turned to her and all the fury and the hostility vanished from his manner. His eyes were gentle—and a little sick.
“No, I don’t understand, Darling,” he said, and even Bill realized that the little endearment slipped out without his being aware of it. “But I want to understand, Cathy. I’ve got to understand. It’s all so—so—well, tell me about it, Cathy.”
“It’s not your affair—” began Bill, blustering.
Mark’s eyes slued around to him, but Mark did not turn his head.
“Well, maybe I intend to make it my affair,” he said. “Cathy has no male relative to look out for her interests.”
“She has a husband,” said Bill.
“And what a husband—a secret one!”
“Will you behave—both of you!” said Cathy. Her voice trembled and tears threatened. “Bill and I are keeping our marriage a secret until—until we can persuade Bill’s aunt to be decent.”
Mark’s eyebrows went up.
“And what in blazes has Bill’s aunt got to do with it? You’re twenty-one, aren’t you?” he asked Bill.
“Bill’s aunt controls the Kendall estate,” Cathy explained rapidly. “It should be Bill’s, but she can disinherit him, if he marries against her wishes.”
Her voice died beneath the look of simple astonishment in Mark’s eyes. “And that’s the reason for this secrecy?” he demanded incredulously.
Bill’s face tightened. “I wouldn’t expect a man who’s always had a great deal of money to consider it very important,” he said tightly.
“I’m glad you wouldn’t—because I’ll admit frankly that it seems to me very unimportant indeed, compared to having Cathy as one’s wife,” said Mark flatly.
“It happens that I love Cathy well enough to want to be able to take care of her decently.”
Mark nodded. “Some fellows like to work to take care of their wives,” he pointed out.
“Why, you—” snarled Bill.
Cathy pushed him back, using both hands to do it, now that Mark seemed willing to stay put.
“Stop it, Bill. This is disgraceful,” she said. “After all, Mark, this—this really doesn’t concern you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my pet,” said Mark quickly. “It concerns me a hell of a lot, because I love you, too…. You might have given a fellow a hint, Cathy,” Mark flung at her then.
“I’d—promised Bill—” Her voice stuck in her throat.
“And anyway, you’ve known all along that she was engaged to me,” Bill pointed out unpleasantly.
“Engaged—sure. But not married,” stated Mark. “And the fact that you and Cathy were engaged didn’t seem to slow you up with Elaine, so why should I give it any more importance than you did?”
“Cathy understood about Elaine.”
“I don’t think I did, Bill. I’m not quite sure I do now,” Cathy cut in swiftly. Bill looked at her, annoyed.
“You knew Elaine and I were not in love with each other and that we were just stringing along together because of Aunt Edith.”
Mark spoke with a restrained violence.
“It seems to me, Kendall, that this Aunt Edith of yours is having a hell of a lot more to say about your and Cathy’s lives than either of you, yourselves.”
“I think Cathy and I could work this out without your interference, Major—and I think we could both bear it if you took yourself off
, don’t you?” said Bill, his tone mild, but his jaw hard and his eyes blazing.
Mark snatched up his cap, became conscious of the apron, ripped it off and flung it violently from him.
“Now there, I think, you’ve got something,” he said.
As he started toward the door, Cathy said swiftly, “Oh, Mark—I’m so terribly sorry.”
“Skip it,” said Mark roughly, and the door banged shut behind him.
Cathy drew a long, hard breath and turned to Bill. Her head was high and her chin was tilted at a defiant angle.
“I don’t seem to care very much for the way you have behaved tonight, Bill,” she told him.
“Oh, come off it, sweetheart,” Bill coaxed, coming closer to her, his hands out, obviously meaning to take her into his arms; but she avoided him. “Of course I was jealous. You are my wife, and no man is going to sit idly by and let some other fellow make time with his wife. You should have told the guy, Cathy.”
“I promised, remember? You said when two people hold a secret, it is still a secret; but once the third person knows it, it stops being a secret—remember, Bill?”
“Sure, of course I remember, only I never thought anything like this would develop.”
“Nor did I,” Cathy said unsteadily. “I originally thought that once we came back to Cypressville, we would announce that we were married and everything would be all right. Then you never did apologize for the scene in New York, and I forgave you anyway.”
He looked at her. “I’ll tell Edith, Cathy—I’ll have it out with her in the morning. I’ll make her see it my way, and we’ll announce it—”
And Cathy, to her own surprise, heard herself saying quietly, but very firmly, “No, Bill!”
Bill stared at her, puzzled.
“What do you mean—no?” he asked sharply.
“Just what I say—that I don’t want our marriage announced. I don’t care whether Mrs. Kendall is pleased or not; all I want, Bill, is a divorce.”
“Oh, come now, sweet, I don’t blame you for being upset and peeved with me—I’ve got it coming to me. But I’ll make it up to you—I swear I will, Cathy. Just trust me.”
“No, Bill!”
“Look, sweet,” he said coaxingly, “you’re all upset and twisted in your mind and I don’t blame you. It’s been a worrisome business, but it’s all over now. I’ll tell Aunt Edith about us, and if she doesn’t like it, she can lump it! But tomorrow morning, I am going to announce to the world at large that you’re my wife.”