The Disturbing Charm

by Berta Ruck

  CHAPTER I

  THE CHARM NEGLECTED

  "Few people realize that Love is a hybernating animal."

  Extract from Private Letter.

  Olwen Howel-jones sat at her War work in room 0369 on the sixth floor ofsome Government offices called----

  We will call them The Honeycomb.

  The entrance to this hive of activity was near Charing Cross, and itscourtyard was one continual procession of cars, cyclists,motor-cyclists, dispatch cycles with little side-car mail vans, also ofmen in every conceivable uniform; most of them (as befitted a swarm ofsuch bees!) were decorated with wings.... Goodness knows how manytelephone extensions The Honeycomb possessed! Lifts carried you up tofloor after floor. Each floor was packed with cells that had beenbedrooms and private sitting-rooms, each cell with workers makingVictory-honey (and perhaps with odd drones watching them do it). Thewhole place with its come-and-go of clerks, messengers, telephone girls,civilians, typists, switchboard girls, and their khakied male superiors,was in a never-ending buzz.

  The small cell marked 0369 had big windows that looked up and down theStrand: it held three workers.

  Olwen's roll-top desk stood back to back with another; the two backsscreening off her colleague of the other desk. This other desk had anunusual feature. From behind it there came a stream of comments indifferent voices, so that it seemed as if several unseen people weresitting there. These voices were:

  FIRST VOICE--A natural girlish treble that slightly rolled its R's; being the voice of one Mrs. Newton, in charge of cell 0369, who possessed the gift of mimicry.

  SECOND VOICE--A masculine drawl that died away of sheer superiority in the roof of the mouth, after the fashion of one Major Leefe of that Department.

  THIRD VOICE--Rollicking and boyish, intersected by loud "Ha's" and "Bai Jove's" in the manner of Lieutenant Harold Ellerton, also of The Honeycomb.

  Mingling with the click of the typewriter, at which the third girl satin a further corner, came the sound of one or other of these voices.Thus:

  FIRST VOICE--"Miss Howel-Jones, what is the French for 'land'? Aeroplanes, I mean?"

  A murmured "_atterrir_" came from Olwen, immersed in her work, whichmeant dividing the morning's correspondence into four batches: A, B, C,and D.

  SECOND VOICE (after a moment of paper-rustling)--"Er--yeh ... yeh! Wha' have we heah? Letters to be translay' into Fren'. Yeh. Mrs. Newton, will you atten' to thi' too?"

  THIRD VOICE (after more rustling)--"_Damn_ this nib. Oh, sorry, Mrs. Newton; didn't mean to say damn before you."

  FIRST VOICE--"Not at all, Mr. Ellerton; I am a married woman myself."

  FOURTH VOICE (A Scots-Canadian accent)--"Is that so? What I demand of a woman is that she shall be a rrreliable worrrrkerr. I don't assk what she does affterr hours, I----"

  Here all the voices ceased.

  For a quarter of an hour no sound came from behind that desk, but thatof papers being turned, regularly and methodically. Then the busy Mrs.Newton, not the mimic, spoke.

  "Just turn up the Q. M. G. file for last month and see if there's aletter with this reference."

  She gave the reference, and Olwen, after a minute's search in a manilla"jacket," handed over the letter, leaving a slip of paper sticking outof the jacket in its place. Having written "Mrs. Newton" and the dateupon that slip, she turned again to her letter-trays. The rustling ofpapers was resumed. Then the voices again:

  SECOND VOICE--"Claim for missing kit, wha'? How do f'las manage to be always losing kit? Do _I_ lose kit? Haven't _I_ always goh' millions pairs bags all beau'fly press'? 'Sides, isn't even in ah sec.' Room Two--Fi'----Fi'."

  THIRD VOICE--"Ha! Reference A. B., stroke two bracket nine oh one two two dated two twelve seventeen. Do they, bai Jove!"

  FIRST VOICE--"Aren't there any more 'C's,' Miss Howel-Jones?"

  "Not this morning." Olwen's little black head was bent over the "D"correspondence, which she dealt with herself. "A" letters were handed tothe typist, who carried them into cell 0368, next door. "B's" and "C's"were to be thrust into the basket that stood on the top of thatdesk-screen, from behind which a hand came up ever and anon to takeletters.

  With real enjoyment the Welsh girl worked on.

  How amazingly she had altered, in all these weeks, from the one ideaed,feverish little emotionalist she'd been in the autumn!

  Yes. Change of scene and of daily work had laid potent hands upon theplastic, fundamentally sound nature of this young girl. Routine hadhypnotized her with its rhythmic monotony. She felt the peculiarattraction of being a tiny cog in all this huge machine of War work. Newthoughts, new feelings, new interests packed her life; new friends, too,were a revelation to her.

  Now came Mrs. Newton's more frivolous voice.

  "_Arlette_, _Bubbly_, and _Cheep_, that's my record so far _this_ week;and tonight I'm going to _Pamela_ for the second time; all thanks to onevery young youth getting four days' leave from the Front!"

  Olwen laughed. The solemn little typist, however, rose to take theletters with a look that practically said, "Some people may be heads ofrooms, but they don't seem to realize there's a war on!" and as she tookthe sheaf of papers to be signed in cell 0368 she all but slammed thedoor behind her.

  "Seventeen; _not_ the best phase of English maidenhood, neither washednor kissed," went on the voice of the unseen Mrs. Newton. "Ah! It'snearly lunch time."

  "I shan't be able to lunch with you today, Mrs. Newton," Olwen saidrather quickly. "My Aunt that I stay with is shopping in town today,so----"

  "Say no more," returned Mrs. Newton's voice. "I've got Aunts myself. Imean I had before I was married. By the way, I told Fascinating Fergusthat I can hear him telephoning his dinner engagements in the next room.He said, with that aggressive face of his, that there was nothingprrivatt in those. I said, "Then why drop your voice when you're doingit?" And why does he, I ask you, insist on being a Tower of Silence inhere, when he _longs_ to be considered a perfect Devil outside? Keepinghis girl friends _well_ round the corner, nobody ever having seen_one_!... Swank!"

  "Oh, he's not as bad as all that," murmured Olwen.

  "He's all right at heart perhaps," came from the other side, "but I_should_ like to take a scraper to him!"

  And herewith there merged from behind the desk the source of all thevoices that had been holding forth, in the person of Mrs. Newton.

  Her Nile-green silken sports coat alone had cost more than her month'ssalary could have paid; her hair was arranged as carefully as thoughthere was no thought but of her own extremely pretty looks beneath thebroad velvet band that snooded her, but for all that, she was efficient.Clever, too, at darting the arrows of a bright mind at chiefs andcolleagues alike. She "took in" most things, not in any disguisedfashion, but by turning full upon whatever it was she wished to observea pair of large, pale grey and pretty eyes, amused and passionless asthose of a sea-maid. Their stare was even emphasized at times by thegesture of a slender forefinger and by the clearly-audible "Ah" of thattreble voice.

  Olwen enjoyed her thoroughly; her appreciation mingling with a wonderwhy she did not sometimes bitterly resent Mrs. Newton and her remarks.

  Yes, two months of War work on The Honeycomb had taught Olwen alreadymore than the A, B, C, and D of her job. Self-possession, serenity andpoise, all newly acquired, were to be noticed now about the young girlas she sorted her letters (very different from the leisuredcorrespondence of her Uncle), and smiled, partly at some thought thatshe was holding in reserve, and partly at her fellow-worker.

  Mrs. Newton began again, "Do you know what I think is the keynote of F.F.'s character?"

  "Fascination, you seem to make out," suggested Olwen, that divided smiledeepening upon her lips. She sometimes thought that Mrs. Newton dweltupon the subject of their chief for her (Olwen's) benefit, and she wasprepared for it.

  "Ah! But I mean the _real_ keynote. I
t's _jealousy_," declared the youngmarried woman. "He's a _jealous_ thing. Hates any other man to have ashow at all. Must have everybody doing their best work, just for his_beaux yeux_ (not that he's got any, except those teeth). Yes; ourFergus must be IT in this Honeycomb. He must be _The_ Great Captain----"

  She stopped abruptly as the door of cell 0369 opened to frame the blackhead, square shoulders, red tabs, and empty sleeve of the man of whomshe'd been speaking; the chief of their section, Captain Fergus Rosshimself.

  "Mrs. Newton," he said, in the tone of business unalloyed, "have theysent up to you a letter that was taken in error to room 0720? A letterfrom A G 6, dated the 22nd?"

  "It's here, Captain Ross," replied the head of the room in her demuresttreble. "Miss Howel-Jones was attending to it.... Here it is."

  "Right. Thank you," said Captain Ross.

  His bright dark glance took in the letter that Mrs. Newton handed him;it passed over the filed stack of other letters; it swept over the twodesks, the typing-table, Miss Lennon's back, the calendar, the pinned-upMatania drawing on the wall, the green electric-light shades, the glasson the mantelpiece holding freesias, the chairs, the waste-paperbasket--in short, over every object in the room but one.

  For Olwen Howel-Jones, bending absorbed over her work, Captain Ross didnot spare a fraction of his glance.

  "Mrs. Newton, I am going out to lunch now," he announced. "Should therebe any enquiries, I shall be back before two-thirty."

  "Very well, Captain Ross."

  (Exit Captain Ross.)

  Then Mrs. Newton in Major Leefe's voice, "Wha'? Old Ferg' gone t' lunch?_Bet_ you he's taking out some gir', Miss Howel-Jo'."

  Olwen smiled undisturbed as she went to put on her her hat.

  Twenty minutes later she was sitting at a table for two in a Sohorestaurant, opposite to Captain Ross.

  This meeting was not due to any arrangement.

  What had happened was that some weeks before, Olwen, having explored alllunch-time haunts within a mile of the Honeycomb, had found this tiny,Continentally-appointed restaurant that she chose to call "The Aunt inTown." This had been on a fishday, and the fish had been deliciouslycooked, as Olwen had reported afterwards. Perhaps Captain Ross did notoverhear her mentioning the restaurant's real name to Major Leefe.Anyhow, there is no reason to suppose that it was not by chance thatCaptain Ross happened upon "The Aunt in Town" upon the very next Friday.As he saw Miss Howel-Jones sitting at a little table by herself, wasn'tit natural that he should join her? He knew the girl, apart from theoffice, knew her Uncle. Absurd if he hadn't come up. But, as you see,there was a vast difference between his just taking the chair oppositeto her, and his having planned to meet her. He did not attempt to payfor the chit's lunch. So that was that.

  Certainly the fish-curry was excellent.

  Captain Ross had already announced that he was fond of fish for lunch.

  Consequently he took to haunting that restaurant on Fridays. Why shunit, merely because Miss Howel-Jones lunched there on that day?

  As he would have told you, however, he made a definite rule of never"going out to lunch" with any woman working on The Honeycomb. With othergirls, from other Government offices--well, that was another story.There was, for instance, a fair-haired Miss Somebody (who rang him up,Mrs. Newton had declared, three times a day), but she worked at theinstitution we will call The Rabbit Warren. There was also a prettylittle friend of his on The Ant Hill. But from The Honeycombitself--nope. Work and social relations must be kept strictly apart.

  Olwen had been made to realize that from the first time she had set footin the courtyard under those arches and that clock. She had been firstastounded, then hurt, then finally she actually wanted to laugh at thedifferent Captain Ross he now was from the one she had met at Les Pins.

  The change had been sudden as the cut of a knife.

  Over there on leave he had idled about the pine-woods and the _plage_;he had teased her as if she were no more than a pretty child; once hehad given her chocolates; once--ah, that once!--he had held her hand....

  Here, idleness was the last thing of which he could be accused. He nolonger teased her with laughter and allusions to "_most_ little girls."He had given her no more chocolates. As for hand-holding, why! She mightnot have had any hands. To be a fellow-worker with him on The Honeycombseemed enough to transform any young woman into teak or granite as faras Captain Ross was concerned.

  He had his code.

  "I guess no girl friend of mine would ask me for a job where I work,twice," he'd told Olwen when they had first met in London at her Uncle'shotel. The Professor's niece, greatly daring, had retorted, "Do you meanshe'd get it the first time of asking?"

  "She'd get 'it,' sure thing. In the neck," the young Staff-officer hadexplained grimly. "She'd know better than to ask the second time."

  So, exactly as he was not taking her out to lunch, Captain Ross had notsecured for her this post on The Honeycomb. He had told Jack Awdas toget it for her, through his friend Major Leefe. A very different thing.

  Olwen had "given up" the subtle reasonings of the sex.

  Today he was obviously in a bad temper. Why? After he had ordered hisown lunch, he turned to her with an edgy politeness.

  "I hope you enjoyed the show last night, Miss Howel-Jones."

  "Show----?" said Olwen, forgetting for a second that she had been takento the theatre by Mr. Ellerton, the young R.N.A.S. officer.

  "Yes; you were too occupied to notice who else was in the house, Iguess. I was in the dress-sairrcle. I looked right down upon you in thestalls."

  Now, Olwen was losing her habit of the vivid blush that used to scorchher. She merely coloured up slightly but prettily as she returned, "Oh,were you?" and proceeded to eat her fish and to discuss the play--whichhad been _Romance_. She had thought it lovely.

  Captain Ross informed her definitely that he himself had no use for suchsentimental balderdash; and then told her he guessed it made her prettylate, going back all the way to Wembley Park (where her Aunt lived)after the theatre. He hoped that at least young Ellerton took her allthe way home.

  "Yes, thank you; he did."

  "M'm. Last train from Baker Street, I presume. And then you've a longtrail from the station to your house. In the drive, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but we didn't go by train at all," the girl explained. "Mr.Ellerton managed to get a taxi to take us all the way back from town."

  "In war-time?" Captain Ross's black-cat-like face was a study inrighteous indignation. Then he took a lighter tone, tilting his chincontemptuously. "Well! If Mr. Ellerton's got money to burn that way it'sno concairrrrn of mine. Taxis out to Wembley Park with a girl who'semployed in the same office as he is. That's Ellerton's lookout. Not thekind of thing I'd care to be seen doing myself. (No, I won't haveanything to drink. A ginger-ale, waiter.) Still, if he thinks that's allright in war-time and for folks on War work together, I've nothing tosay."

  The ghost of a smile hovered about Olwen's red mouth as Captain Rosswent on saying this "nothing."

  "Sweet as honey to any girl he takes out, no doubt. The regular navalflirt. He held your hand in the theatre, or some foolishness of thatsort, I daresay."

  "He didn't!" retorted little Olwen, quickly, and then a message seemedto come to her, whispered, perhaps by the generations of girls in lovewho still survived in her blood. Upon that instinct she added, "He did_not_ hold my hand----in the theatre."

  The finest judge of women in Europe rose swiftly enough to this. "Isthat so? You mean he only held it in the taxi going home. A much betterscheme altogether."

  Olwen, still refusing to meet the aggressive brown eyes that challengedher over the jar of mimosa on the table, retorted, "I didn't say so."

  "It was so, though. Wasn't it?"

  "I shan't tell you," said the girl, whose hand had not been held byanyone since that magic evening in a boat. "Why should I?"

  "Don't trouble to tell me. I know."

  "Then why d'you ask me?" she returned with a little r
ipple of laughter."Besides, why should you mind?"

  "'_Mind?_'" retorted Captain Ross, laughing in his turn, but louder. "IfI'd nothing worse than that to 'mind' about, I shouldn't be the busy manI am."

  He turned to the menu; and Olwen, going on with her lunch, rememberedMrs. Newton's verdict, "He's a _jealous_ thing!"

  She ought to have been wildly delighted....

  Curious! She was only flattered; amused.

  She felt oddly conscious today, that (to parody a superannuated song),she was _not_ the only girl in the world, and he was not the only boy.That little restaurant alone was crowded with girl workers, busy as shewas, being taken out to lunch by khaki of every grade and age; and, bythe way, there was something to be noticed about all these girls andyoung women from Government offices. Once, a girl worker found it hardto hit the mean between being fluffily unsuitable or unbecominglysevere. Today these girls were approximating to a new type; pretty but_durable_. The London day that began in the office and ended inrestaurant and theatre with an "on-leaver" without the possibility ofgoing home to change, had done way with fripperies, but had broughtdecorativeness into the worker's kit. _That_ was why skirts were short,coats impertinently neat, and hair done so that it stayed done.

  "Sensible" shoes, too, were now made in pretty styles; and since taxiswere problematical on wet days, rain-coats and rain-hats were at lastbecoming things. This mixture of utility and attractiveness was a giftof war-time to British girlhood.

  Olwen gained by it. She also gained by the consciousness that there wasmale companionship in the world besides that of Captain Ross. Further,she knew him so much better, now! Possibly, she was not leftuninfluenced by the daily sallies of Mrs. Newton at the young officer'sexpense (for who knows the power of the comment that shows friend orlover from another's point of view?). No longer was she lacerated by thethoughts of those other girl friends "kept well around the corner."Altogether Olwen realized that it was a good thing she no longerimagined herself desperately in love with Captain Ross, since he, thoughinterested in all girls, was not "seriously" attracted by her.(Otherwise, she concluded, he would have said so by this time.) She wascured; she no longer wore a Charm to win him....

  That Charm! One night at Wembley Park the ribbon that held it had comeunsewn. She hadn't had time to stitch it. It hung over her mirror. Oneday, perhaps, she would attend to it; but she was always busy now. Itdidn't seem to matter....

  Captain Ross rose to go. Olwen could picture the expression with whichhe'd presently look into cell 0369 to "see" if the workers had allreturned.

  She was generally just five minutes behind him.

  Today he paused, and said abruptly, "Speaking of theatres--there's aconcert or show of some sort on at the Phoenix Hut, that Americanplace, next Monday. Awdas rang me up about it. He'd be very pleased ifyou'd go."

  Mischief danced in Olwen's averted glance. "How jolly! But how funny ofMr. Awdas not to ask me himself! What time is this concert, CaptainRoss?"

  In a wooden voice Captain Ross said, "It starts at eight. If you'ddinner, say, at seven o'clock here, I could take you along afterwards."

  "_You_ could? But you never take girls out from The Honeycomb."

  "That's so," agreed Captain Ross, with firmness. "But this is Awdas'sshow. You'll be with him. So shall I. Good-bye."

  He put on his red-banded hat, thrust his stick and gloves for a momentinto the cross of his belt as he saluted woodenly, and turned.

  Olwen burst into a merry laugh. "Captain Ross!"

  He turned again.

  "It's all right; I was going to that concert anyhow," she told him.

  "I'm going with the girl who sings; you know Miss van Huysen!"

  Miss Golden van Huysen was now one of Olwen's best friends.