Love Him or Leave Him

by Mary Burchell

  ‘Yes. I’ll get Robin—I’ll get a friend of mine to take me round this morning and see about hiring a typewriter. I gatecrashed into his office before, but it will be better if I have a machine of my own.’

  ‘Certainly. It’s a pity I didn’t bring any of the firm’s stationery with me, but of course I wasn’t expecting to do the final drafting here. Still, you can make do with plain stuff.’

  ‘Yes. I had to yesterday. But I know the layout of all our office printing. I can give a fairly good imitation of it.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent!’ Mr. Pennerley declared. ‘I’ll go along now, if you’ll excuse me. Meet me here at one o’clock for lunch, and I’ll let you know how things stand.’

  ‘Very well,’ Anne said. And not until he had taken himself off did she realise that she had blithely jettisoned her day with Robin, in favour of some intensive work for Mr. Jerome.

  Fortunately, Robin was the sweet-tempered type of person who understood that there were times when one must make these ruthless rearrangements.

  He frowned at first over the abandoning of their plans for the day, and muttered something about David that did not sound particularly complimentary. But when Anne explained anxiously, all over again, that this was something very special and important, he gave a vexed little laugh and said:

  ‘All right, Anne. If this is really what you want to do, it isn’t for me to object.’

  She thought perhaps she ought to say something about its not being what she wanted to do, so much as what she felt she ought to do. But a sudden access of truth held her silent.

  Unquestionably, she wanted to do this thing for Mr. Jerome—for kind Mr. Pennerley, too, of course, if it came to that—and no outing with Robin or anyone else would have made up for losing this opportunity of saving the day so far as the firm of Jerome & Pennerley was concerned.

  Robin good-naturedly drove her round until they found a place where it was possible to hire a typewriter.

  ‘Happy now?’ inquired Robin, with an amused glance at her satisfied expression, as she sat beside him, hugging the portable typewriter on her knees.

  ‘Yes, rather! I hope, after all this, that Mr. Jerome agrees to the arrangement.’

  ‘Good heavens, why shouldn’t he?’

  ‘Well, this is something very special, Robin.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. This is the third time you’ve told me so,’ Robin said, with good-natured irony.

  ‘Oh—sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right. I just wondered why you thought David might decide against your doing the job, just because it’s important. You’re in a better position than most to handle it with some knowledge.’

  ‘Ye-es. But he may feel that, officially speaking, I have an—an unfortunate history,’ Anne said, with a little grimace.

  ‘Oh, rubbish! You think too much about that one mistake of yours,’ Robin declared airily.

  That was balm to Anne’s wounded self-respect, and she accepted it gratefully.

  On their return to the hotel they found Mr. Pennerley waiting with an air of satisfaction.

  ‘Everything is settled,’ he told Anne, after introductions had been made between him and Robin. ‘If you’ll kindly come along, complete with typewriter, directly after lunch, we’ll get down to business.’

  ‘O-oh. You don’t think it would be better for me to bring back my notes and do the typing here?’ suggested Anne, thinking of Deborah.

  ‘No, no, that’s all arranged,’ Mr. Pennerley assured her, with the air of a good stage-manager. ‘Miss Eskin—Jerome’s fiancée, you know—was most helpful, and—’

  ‘Was she?’ Anne could not hide her surprise.

  ‘Yes. Rather naturally, really. We explained how important the whole thing is, and she very kindly undertook to put a room at your disposal. So you can go right ahead, Jerome can sign everything and—as you said yourself—we shall have saved a whole day.’

  ‘I’m glad—Miss Eskin—was nice about it,; Anne said thoughtfully, trying to imagine a helpful and co-operative Deborah, and not succeeding very well.

  Still, she was not stupid, and would certainly understand that her fiancé’s interests were also her own. Indeed, thought Anne, this had probably been a most fortunate way of demonstrating to her how foolish her suspicions of yesterday were, and that nothing but business was concerned.

  It seemed that Deborah really had done some reflecting along these lines. For, when Anne and Mr. Pennerley arrived at Greenslade that afternoon, she welcomed them almost cordially and said quite pleasantly to Anne:

  ‘You can have this little room behind the dining-room. There’s a good big table there, and no one will disturb you.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘And since it looks as though you’ll be doing quite a lot of work for David, you may as well leave your typewriter and things there,’ Deborah continued, as though there had never been a wry word about her working for David.

  ‘Funny girl! I suppose she thinks it’s all right so long as Mr. Pennerley is there,’ thought Anne amusedly.

  But aloud she said:

  ‘Thank you. That would be very convenient.’

  She went upstairs with Mr. Pennerley, and was rather touched to find herself being welcomed almost enthusiastically by Mr. Jerome.

  ‘Pennerley has explained to you about this contract with Firth & Farraday, I take it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s Firth & Farraday, is it?’ Anne looked suitably impressed. Indeed, something of the controlled excitement of the two partners entered into her too, and she felt warmly at one with them—as though she really did belong to the firm again, and minded very much about its success and failures.

  Perhaps that was what made her say:

  ‘I’m grateful to you for agreeing to use me, Mr. Jerome.’ He had been examining some papers, but he looked up at that, and, for a moment, his penetrating dark eyes rested on her kindly, and with full understanding.

  ‘Pennerley assures me that we can rely on you for completely conscientious and devoted work,’ he said. ‘I have no reason to think otherwise myself.’

  Anne knew suddenly that this was his way of saying that the previous unfortunate error was forgiven and not to be referred to again.

  ‘Oh, thank you! Thank you very much, Mr. Jerome,’ she said earnestly.

  To which he replied:

  ‘Well, let’s get to work.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  For Anne it was really a most extraordinarily exciting afternoon. Never before had she been admitted so far into the inner counsels of the firm, and she felt she had a personal stake in this campaign to secure the contract with Firth & Farraday.

  Every word in the letter was weighed and considered. Every figure was checked and re-checked. And she even had the supreme gratification of suggesting a phrase personally and having it accepted as ‘exceedingly apt’.

  In the back of her mind was the pleasant feeling that everything was working out smoothly. Her relations with Mr. Jerome was more harmonious—and certainly far more personal—than they had ever been before. And even the uncomfortable tension with Deborah had disappeared.

  Anne felt affectionately disposed towards all the world—even Mr. Jerome. And, as she looked at him, leaning back against the pillows, his dark, clever face alight with interest and enthusiasm, she thought—perhaps, particularly Mr. Jerome. For the very last scrap of her anger had melted when he had looked at her so understanding and as good as told her that he trusted her again.

  When all the discussion and dictation was over, Anne went down to the quiet little room which had been set aside for her, and typed devotedly. Never had she taken greater pains with her work. Not an erasure, not a badly spaced fine was permitted. The whole thing was a model, and if time had not been growing rather short, she would have given herself the pleasure of hanging over it admiringly for five minutes longer.

  But speed was the essence of the job, and so she returned to Mr. Jerome’s room to find both him and Mr. Penne
rley in excellent humour, after what had been obviously a thoroughly enjoyable discussion about percentage profits, or something equally enthralling.

  ‘Finished already, Miss Hemming?’ said Mr. Pennerley genially, for he had really been throwing his weight about rather on the subject of his excellent secretary, and the great mistake of allowing her to become lost to the firm.

  But Mr. Jerome only smiled, and held out his hand for the work.

  ‘Sit down, Miss Hemming, while I go through this.’

  He waved her absently towards the foot of the bed, and, a little shyly, Anne sat there, and watched him while he read. Mr. Pennerley leaned over his shoulder to read too, and from time to time one or other of them would murmur, ‘Good!’ ‘Excellent!’ which might, of course, have been self-congratulation or favourable comment on Anne’s work.

  ‘Yes, he really is good-looking,’ Anne thought. And she was not referring to Mr. Pennerley, who—though the kind of pleasant-looking fellow who makes a good husband—was not one to cause girlish hearts to flutter. ‘I never thought about it much before, but of course, it’s a face with very good bone structure. He’ll still be good-looking when he’s fifty. And his eyes are nice, when he isn’t being nasty. And—’

  ‘Very good, Miss Hemming.’ Mr. Jerome looked up at that moment, disconcerting her slightly by giving her the curious impression that he had almost read her thoughts. ‘I’ll just sign this, and then perhaps you’ll see that the whole thing catches the afternoon post.’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Jerome.’

  He took his fountain-pen from the table beside the bed, and examined the nib attentively, trying it, rather unnecessarily, against his thumbnail.

  ‘Oh—and, Miss Hemming, if you haven’t made any plans for seeking new employment at the end of your holiday, would you care to return to—or, shall we say, regard yourself as not having left—Jerome & Pennerley?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Jerome,’ Anne said softly. ‘I should.’

  ‘Very well, then.’ Mr. Jerome signed, and handed the sheaf of papers to Anne, with a smile which could only be described as brilliant.

  There was no further discussion than that, but Anne went downstairs again with her heart singing. It was indeed an exciting—an enchanting—afternoon. She didn’t stop to analyse just why Mr. Jerome’s approval made her see life in such a light. She just accepted the fact that it was so.

  Back in her room, she carefully folded the letter and enclosures, put them in the beautifully typed envelope, took them out again and checked the enclosures once more, and then returned them all and stuck down the flap of the envelope before she could yield completely to one of those nervous obsessions which make one unable to be absolutely final about something important.

  She had just reached this point when Deborah’s voice, rather subdued, called her by name, just outside the half-open door.

  ‘Miss Hemming, are you there?’

  ‘Yes.’ Anne came up to the door, and was surprised to find Deborah standing there, a little flushed, and looking a great deal more put out than she had ever seen her before.

  ‘Miss Hemming, something rather unfortunate has happened,’ Deborah explained, a trifle breathlessly. ‘I was bringing a whole pile of David’s papers down here to you and—I don’t know how—I dropped them. They’re all out of order, in a dreadful muddle. Do you think you know enough about them to put. them back in their right order? He’ll be furious otherwise.’

  At any other time Anne might have been astonished at being appealed to by an obviously placatory Deborah. But so many incredible and flattering things had happened in the last twelve hours that this incident seemed quite in the picture.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, in a reassuring tone. ‘Where are the papers?’

  ‘I left them just where I dropped them, on the upstairs landing,’ Deborah confessed. ‘I tried to put them to rights, but I’m afraid I only made things worse.’

  ‘All right—don’t worry.’

  Anne had never imagined herself saying such a thing to the self-contained Deborah Eskin, and it faintly discomfited her to see such confidence quenched by so small an accident. A glance at the clock showed her that she still had plenty of time to catch the post, and she went upstairs.

  For a minute or two Deborah hovered on the lower stairs, as though reluctant even to contemplate the confusion she had caused. And, almost immediately, she went away altogether—perhaps afraid that Mr. Pennerley might come out and make some comment.

  ‘She must be much more in awe of Mr. Jerome than I ever supposed,’ Anne thought, as she rapidly sorted letters and papers. ‘No doubt it was a few strong words from him that put her right over my position. I thought something must have happened, to create quite such an improvement in the atmosphere.’

  As she rose from her knees, with the rearranged papers, Mr. Pennerley looked out of the bedroom and said:

  ‘Oh, I wanted to catch you, Miss Hemming. Here are one or two other letters for posting. You might slip them in at the same time as the Firth & Farraday one, will you?’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’ She took the letters in her free hand. ‘Do you know if Mr. Jerome wanted these papers put away downstairs?’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Just general correspondence for filing, I imagine.’

  Mr. Pennerley spoke over his shoulder into the room.

  ‘Do you want your general filing taken downstairs, Jerome?’

  ‘Yes. I thought Deborah had already taken it.’ Mr. Jerome’s voice sounded good-humoured, even a trifle careless for him. ‘She seemed to think she knew of a likely place. Ask her.’

  ‘I’ll ask her,’ Anne said quickly, and went downstairs.

  To her amusement, and a little to her embarrassment, Deborah was waiting at the foot of the stairs again, with something of the air of a conspirator.

  ‘Did you manage all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Where shall I put these now?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ Deborah came into the small room with Anne, and showed her a deep drawer in the table where her typewriter stood. ‘I thought that would be a good place.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Anne said. Then she glanced at the clock and said: ‘I must run. I have to catch the post.’

  She arrived at the post-box with ten minutes to spare, counted over her letters, gave the one to Firth & Farraday an affectionate little pat, for luck, and slipped them all into the box.

  Then, with a delicious sense of relaxation and wellbeing, she strolled slowly towards her hotel, really allowing herself time to think over the fact that she was no longer an ex-employee, but was once more a member of the firm which—she realised now—of all firms in the world, was the one to which she wished to belong.

  Robin, knowing that she would be occupied all the afternoon, had revised his plans and spent some time at his office, but she knew that he would put in an appearance some time during the evening.

  She had a leisurely bath, tried a different way of doing her hair, and put on a Laura Ashley dress which she had not yet worn. It gave her a faintly festive feeling, without being too unpractical, if Robin and she decided to go walking after dinner.

  As she had expected, Robin appeared in good time for dinner and, in the pleasant way which was typical of him, noticed immediately that she was wearing a new dress. ‘That’s charming!’ He surveyed her with open approval. ‘I haven’t seen it before, have I?’

  ‘No.’ She smiled. ‘I thought it looked a bit festive.’

  ‘Fine. Are we feeling specially festive?’ he inquired.

  ‘I am. Everything went marvellously this afternoon. And Mr. Jerome asked if I’d like to come back into the firm, Robin.’

  Robin glanced at her, with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

  ‘You gave yourself the pleasure of refusing, of course?’

  ‘Certainly not! I accepted.’

  Robin laughed, but a little vexedly, she thought.

  ‘I understand you’d had enough of David for a li
fetime,’ he said, a trifle dryly for him.

  ‘Oh, that was all rather exaggerated,’ she explained hastily. ‘He wasn’t very kind, and I wasn’t very sensible. But really the whole incident has grown out of all proportion. Anyway, he was most awfully nice, and I know he’s sorry for his behaviour, and so I’m sorry for mine.’

  ‘Very satisfactory,’ Robin commented, still with that touch of uncharacteristic dryness. ‘Did he say he was sorry?’

  ‘N-not exactly.’

  ‘I see. Well’—he gave a quick, rather impatient sigh—‘if that’s what you want, I won’t crab about it. But this means there’s no hope of having you in my office?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Robin.’

  She was aware suddenly that his disappointment was a good deal sharper than she had expected. To her, the suggestion that she might like to work in his office had been quite a casual one, not to be taken very seriously. But she saw that, to Robin, there had been a definite possibility on which he had counted a little too much.

  ‘Robin, I’m very sorry if you’re disappointed. I don’t think I should seriously have considered any post outside London, you know. All my friends and interests are there.’

  ‘All of them?’

  She flushed and hastily amended that.

  ‘Nearly all of them, Robin. Don’t think I under-value your friendship, and the fact that it’s largely owing to you I’ve had such & wonderful, memorable holiday. Only—’

  ‘I know.’ He reverted suddenly to his usual cheerfulness. ‘ “Home is where the heart is.” Maybe I’ll take a trip to London myself during the autumn, and we’ll have some fun together.’

  ‘I’d love that!’ she declared sincerely.

  After that they finished their dinner, paused to have a few words with Mr. Pennerley, who was returning to London that night, and then went out to take their favourite stroll, along Rydal Beck towards the Rothay. And, since it was a beautiful evening, and Anne, at least, felt relaxed and happy, there seemed nothing to mar a cloudless present and future.