Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  'Meaning that one earns and the other pays,' he said ironi­cally.

  'No,' she said firmly, 'that's based on one of the biggest mis­conceptions in life today—that anything worthwhile has to be bought. Love and trust can't be bought, they have to be ex­changed freely. But too many people are afraid to give freely in case they don't receive in return.'

  Jason glanced at her, and saw by her expression that she believed utterly in the truth of her own words. Youth's phil­osophy before the Fall he thought cynically, but something stopped him voicing the thought.

  'There's a great deal more to it than that,' he said, smiling slightly. 'Anyway, I thought marriage was unfashionable among the young these days.'

  She was silent so long he looked up and surprised the shad­owy despair in her faraway gaze. 'What's the matter?' he asked. 'Only been two months in the big city and lost your illusions already?'

  The blue gaze narrowed and focused back on his face, and a sigh shivered through the slender shoulders. 'Why?' she said vehemently. 'Why is it this way? Back at home it's all wrong—promiscuousness is the daddy of the seven deadly sins. Here it's a sin to be chaste. They think you're abnormal if you don't jump into bed with every man who takes you out a couple of times. Come to our place! Come to bed! Come…' She gave a choked little murmur and hid her face, shaking her head con­vulsively.

  The silence was disturbing. Suddenly he felt out of his depth, and strangely shocked.

  'Who are "they"?' he said at last.

  'Oh, the girls I live with, and their men friends. I don't understand them and they don't understand me. All they can talk about is their wonderful freedom to live their lives the way they want to. They don't seem to understand that freedom can be as much a prison in its way as the discipline of an ordered society,' she said hotly.

  'In what way?' he asked curiously, his interest caught by her patent sincerity.

  'Because they can be just as tyrannical to those who don't wish to conform.'

  'How?'

  'By their scorn and ridicule. They have their freedom; all right. They can start a relationship, and stop it as soon as they choose to. They can experiment with every new idea in living and—'

  'New ideas?' he broke in. 'There aren't any. How on earth did you get mixed up with this lot?'

  'I answered an advert in the agony column. You know; fourth girl wanted. It was a lovely flat, and they seemed such good fun, and I hated the hostel I stayed in for the first two weeks. Anyway, you can't stay long in the hostels. It was only a stopover until I found a permanent place.' She paused, then went on as though some long-pent-up spate had at last found release: 'Sometimes I feel the need to be on my own, to have privacy, and they accuse me of being standoffish. If I won't join in their parties they say I'm a prude, prissy. But I have a right to my own life and my own principles. I don't try to moralize to them, so why can't they leave me alone?'

  'I think you're a little too young and naïve to understand the answer to that one,' he said quietly. He leaned back and looked reflectively at her. 'Tell me, how is it that you can talk so frankly to a stranger?'

  She started, and he got the impression that she was seeing him as a man for the first time. The thought piqued, and he added dryly: 'I didn't think prudish spoilsports confided so easily in strange men.'

  She looked away. 'I don't think I'm prudish because I hap­pen to have principles and resent other people belittling them.'

  'I didn't mean exactly that,' he said.

  She looked back at him. 'I know. But I've already told you; you're different, and you're completely impartial. That's why I told you.'

  'Sure you don't mean that I'm indifferent.'

  But the play on words provoked none of the response he would have expected from other women of his acquaintance. A warning instinct he never ignored told him to glance at his watch and discover that two hours had flown. He stubbed out his cigar, and instantly she took her cue from him, making it plain she was ready to depart when he gave the word.

  It was raining heavily when they came up to street level, and they ran the short distance to where the car was parked. After the background noise of the restaurant it seemed very quiet inside the car, only the soft patter of the rain on the windows breaking the silence.

  'Well,' he said briskly, 'where now?'

  She gave a small gasp of dismay. 'Oh dear! I-I'd forgotten for a little while.'

  'I hadn't.' He started the car and swung out from the kerb, weaving into the stream of cars wending their way from the theatres. 'I suppose there's only one answer.'

  He sensed her movement in the dimness. 'You—you're going to let me go back to the office?'

  'Good heavens, no!' He grinned to himself. 'I'm going to give you a bed for the night. I don't see why I should, but—'

  A horrified gasp silenced him. 'A bed? What do you mean? Where?'

  'At my place. Where else?'

  'No! But I couldn't! Thank you for—but I couldn't pos­sibly—'

  'Why not? Unless you have alternative arrangements in mind.'

  He knew by the dismayed silence that she hadn't, and he said dispassionately: 'As far as I can tell you have three alternatives open to you: the perils of a permissive party, the cold, un­comfortable great outside—Piccadilly's a favourite, I believe—or the comfort of a reasonably well-appointed bachelor's pad in a highly respectable square. So what's it to be?'

  'You know it can't be any of those.' She sighed despairingly. 'If only you hadn't come back tonight!'

  'But I did.' He took a swift glance sideways and saw her staring ahead. Her face looked deathly pale, and a possible reason for this occurred to him, making him hover between anger and mirth. Controlling both instincts, he said sar­donically: 'You don't trust me. You think I may have designs on your innocence.'

  'I don't know what to think,' she said in a small bewildered voice.

  'It's such a terrifying idea, isn't it?' he mocked softly.

  'Terrifying isn't the right word.'

  'I forget. You're such a stickler for the correct definition, Miss Meake. Disgusting, maybe?'

  'No. Just sad, I think.'

  The quality of that emotion in her voice tipped the balance of his own attitude. Abruptly he braked and pulled the car to a halt. Making no effort to subdue his anger, he slewed round to face her and saw her shrink away against the passenger door.

  'Don't look at me as though I were some lecher bound on a cheap thrill. I'd be the first to admit that I like women, but not to the extent you seem to suspect. When I want amusement I certainly don't find it with little scared innocents who appear to have stepped straight out of a Victorian sermon.'

  She recoiled, and he drew a deep angry breath. 'Now listen, young woman, I'm giving you one last chance. Take it, or go to the devil and this great permissive city you're so scared of.'

  His hands trembled as he grasped the wheel and put the car into motion again. 'There's an hotel down here. I know the manager. I'll book you in for the night where you'll be safe, and after that you're on your own. If you've any sense you'll find yourself a new home—or go back to Evesham. Kids like you should never be let loose in London in the first place.'

  Suspicious sounds, as though stifled by a handkerchief, reached his ears and evoked only a renewal of irritation. 'And for God's sake try not to snivel when we go in.'

  'How can I?' she wailed. 'I've no money. I told you—'

  'I remember.' He turned into the quiet terrace and headed for the high dark bulk of the big building at the far end. 'I doubt if many respectable hotels would take you in minus lug­gage at this time of night, no matter how much money you had. I'll see to that, and if you're wise you won't argue.'

  Slowly she got out of the car and lagged behind his brisk steps as he hurried up the short, tree-lined drive. Under the light of the stone portico it looked as though she might begin fresh protests, then she sighed as she looked up at him and her face closed. 'I'll repay you as soon as I can,' she said stiffly. 'Thank you
for the meal, and—'

  'Forget it.' Wanting only to be out of it, he escorted her inside and gave terse instructions to a somewhat surprised night porter. It took only a few minutes, and he bade her a brusque good night and escaped thankfully to his car.

  By the time he reached Byrne Square he had almost but not quite succeeded in banishing Miss Miranda Meake's woe­begone countenance from his mind. He rarely saw the need to analyse his impulses or his actions, except for those pertaining to the world of business, and he saw no reason to begin now. But what an odd child; he didn't think they made them like that any more. All the odder when overlaid with the glib phil­osophy they all had, as though they'd found the magic formula that could change the world overnight. Well, the world cer­tainly needed something.

  Jason yawned, overcome by a sudden wave of intense weari­ness, Monday: Bonn. Wednesday: Stockholm. Thursday back to London, and New York the following Monday… The prospect of the next two weeks held no joy whatever. Maybe he'd be able to take a break after the American trip. He could stop-over at—

  The phone interrupted his weary musing. Muttering, he reached for it, and in an instant his lassitude vanished.

  'Lissa!'

  'Surprised?'

  'Very.' He released a pent-up breath. 'But I didn't—'

  'I know, darling, but listen, may I come and see you?'

  'Of course,' with a slightly unsteady hand he groped into the cigarette box. 'But I thought you—'

  'You thought wrong, my sweet.' interrupted the soft, breath­less little voice that could still wield its once extremely potent effect on his senses, 'but never mind about that—there's a most peculiar character loitering outside this booth. You see, I've been staying with Claire, but I'm home a week sooner than I planned, because James suddenly decided to have those people we met at Mummy's last Easter over for the week-end—you know what an idiot he is over a title—and he insisted that I come home.'

  Jason made a sympathetic noise into the phone, even as his mouth curled with derision; James was no idiot, but he was one hell of a snob… what the devil had Lissa ever seen in that pompous ass…?

  'So,' she went on with a sigh, 'I must obey the command. The soonest flight I could get was tomorrow afternoon, so I fixed that and phoned James to expect me then, and then not half an hour afterwards they rang to say there'd been a can­cellation on this evening's flight and did I want it? I was going to say no, and then,' there was a small pause for breath, the catch of which he heard quite plainly, 'you see, Claire and I were talking about you just as the phone went—she was asking if I ever saw you these days—and so I thought…'

  Jason found his own voice suddenly constricted. 'Yes,' he prompted.

  'It—it's been such a long time,' she whispered. 'Almost a year. I've missed you so much, and I still feel guilty because I hurt you. So I thought, if I took this early flight, perhaps I could make you forgive me… perhaps… So I just came. Have I done right, my darling?'

  'Don't make me answer that,' he said huskily. 'Where are you?'

  'At the air terminal.'

  'I'll come and get you.' His glance slid to the clock. 'I'll be about twenty—'

  'No,' she broke in, 'I'll take a taxi. I should be with you very soon.'

  'Have you eaten?'

  'On the flight. Don't bother about anything—I just want to see you again. Oh, Jason, it's so wonderful to hear your voice again.' There was a sigh, then the sound of a kiss over the wire and a small, intimate chuckle. 'Just light the candles for me, darling, the way we used to…'

  The soft husky voice stopped, then there was a click and the line went blank.

  Jason's earlier mood had fallen from him like a dropped cloak. His heart was speeding as he hurried down to the cellar to select a bottle of wine. Quietly, he didn't want to disturb Libby on her evening off… Pity he had no flowers… come to that, there were no candles! He put out the centre light, leaving only the soft glow of the wall brackets burning, switched on a bar of the fire and glanced round the warm, inviting room.

  Lissa…

  How was it she unfailingly knew when he most needed her…?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Even at the hour of nine a.m. on a wet, depressing Monday morning a certain air of intrigue was rarely lacking in the staff rooms of Carona-Steele. Not a little credit for this not unusual state was due to the measure of consideration Carona-Steele had for their employees. Someone, somewhere, had realized that cold wet employees with that Monday morning feeling were liable to take a goodly portion of the morning to settle themselves into the frame of mind to earn their salaries; some­one, somewhere, had also realized that no feminine member would achieve that desirable state until she was assured she looked her best. The anonymous someone had acknowledged the challenge and ordained that there must be ample facilities for coping with damp clothing, dripping brollies—and the glamour morale of the feminine section of the staff.

  The fifth floor ladies' room was no exception to this policy. There were airing racks and neat lockers, and, more important, well lit mirrors, black glass make-up tables that would not have disgraced a five-star hotel, ample facilities for washing, and dispensers for tights, tissues, perfume, and everything else the modern miss might need.

  'No dark ones left in my size—who the devil is supposed to keep these things loaded?' grumbled a very young voice. 'Bother! I can't go in like this!' The speaker exhibited a long slender thigh clad in punctured nylon. 'I put my finger through them and didn't have a spare pair. What am I going to do?' she wailed, when no one seemed disposed to sympathize.

  'Take what's going—or go holey, darling,' advised a husky voice from the other side of the room.

  The unfortunate Susan of the holey tights heaved a sigh of despair and opened her purse. Her lips moved in silent reckon­ing to the counting of coins, then she gave another wail. 'Damn! It'll leave me short for the day—even the cheap ones. Miranda…? Can you lend me fifteen p.? Please… I'll pay you back tomorrow without fail, I promise.'

  She stared imploringly at Miranda through the mirror, im­patient at the lack of response.

  'I'll have to skip lunch—or walk home tonight if you don't,' she added urgently.

  Miranda put down her comb and without speaking reached for her bag. She sorted out the coins and put them down on the black glass in front of Susan.

  'Gosh—thanks!' Susan murmured fervently. 'I'm in your debt for ever.'

  'How true,' said the husky voice across the room.

  Susan ignored it. She got the pack of tights from the ma­chine and hurriedly changed. When she came back to the mirror for the final scrutiny of herself Miranda was still stand­ing there, motionless.

  'They're not too bad,' Susan prattled on, 'except they've got those gathered bits instead of a proper toe. I like the shaped ones best—wish they'd put Lady-Mist in that machine. But I suppose the management make a profit on them—like every­thing else. No one'll kid me they—Miranda! What's the matter? You look as though you'd seen a ghost.'

  'Do I?' Miranda turned away from the mirror. 'I'm just nat­urally pale. Are you ready, Sue?'

  'Yes. I—'

  'She's been looking as though the chopper was about to fall all week,' said Rena Harvey, brushing past Susan. 'What've you been up to, young Meake?'

  'Nothing.' Miranda's mouth tightened as she watched the tall, svelte figure of the older woman move towards the door. Rena Harvey saw too much—and talked too much. Gripping her handbag strap too tightly, Miranda waited impatiently for her friend. Sue and her tights had broken into a conversation on which Miranda had been a shameless eavesdropper as she stood in front of the mirror. But she'd still heard enough to take the colour from her cheeks.

  So he was back.

  Miranda sat down at her desk and uncovered her typewriter. If only Rena Harvey knew how close to the truth were her teasing words! Exactly nine days had passed since that night she'd taken leave of her senses and tried to take possession of Jason Steele's office. Afterwards, d
uring the endless week-end that followed, she'd wondered if she'd dreamt it all. His unex­pected advent and furious discovery of her presence, his un­compromising threat to fire her, his surprising volte-face in taking her out to dinner, and its even more surprising den­ouement. But the waking-up in the strange hotel room the next morning had not been a dream, no matter how many times she had pinched herself during the breakfast served to her by a stolid-faced waiter, and when the receptionist blandly assured her that the bill had been taken care of.

  What had prompted his strange action? A deep, latent chiv­alry in a man cast hard in a ruthless twentieth-century mould? A man whose amorous affairs constantly fired the curiosity of the office grapevine?

  By the time the week-end had dragged past and Monday morning loomed to the face Miranda's nerves were taut to snapping point. All that morning she waited for the summons that meant the end of her job, and when it had not arrived by five o'clock she had hardly dared to breathe her relief. Then she had heard that he was away. In Bonn.

  So he hadn't been in at all.

  On Wednesday the infallible Rena let drop that he was headed for Stockholm, that he was expected back the following day, and would be in New York the following week.

  Miranda had wild thoughts of going sick on the Thursday. By the time he got back from America he might have forgotten all about her. But it needed only one second thought to pinpoint the weakness of that bright idea; all he needed to do was leave the edict. Did she think he would bother to summon her in person? Even though… 'Before I give myself the pleasure of firing you personally and throwing you out of the building…'

  But he had taken her out to dine. He'd turned perfectly charming—she'd never been out with a man who could be quite like that; urbane, man-of-the-world, attractive in a way that fascinated even as it secretly scared her… He couldn't fire her! Or could he?