Let love abide

by Norrey Ford

  She sighed faintly. "Yes, I'll be glad to be home, though you've all been wonderful to me."

  "Tush, a pleasure. Now have a sleep before lunch."

  She lay back and closed her eyes obediently, but her mind raced. She had misgivings about Caro's plans for bringing Paul and Brenda together. They were old enough, experienced enough, to manage their own lives. If they loved one another, they would find the way back. No wonder Brenda wanted him again. Paul was—unforgettable.

  As a pleasant languor overcame her, and her eyelids drooped more naturally, she fell into a pleasant day dream, of which Paul was the hero. Once—just once—he had kissed her. One did not forget a thing

  like that. One's mouth, perhaps, would always remember and burn a little whenever his name was spoken. Even after he was married to Brenda?

  She shifted uneasily, frowning, unable to accept Caro's conviction that those two were made for each other.

  At tea-time, Mrs. Fraser staggered in with a tray for three. "Mr. Paul's home, and he'd like to have tea with you and the lassie, if convenient."

  "Tell him I shall be delighted, Mrs. Fraser."

  Mrs. Fraser pursed her lips. After a searching glance at Sally's bright face, she brought a looking-glass, comb and powder to the bedside table. "Titivate yourself, then. Mr. Paul's a bonny man even if that Miss Worth has got her claws into him. A good-looking lad is better than doctor's tonic at times. That's right. Eh, it's pretty hair ye have—you're lucky there."

  Paul took both her hands and held them tightly. "Let me look! Yes, this is my Sally. I'll soon be biting your head off in the office."

  Caro said indignantly, "Don't you dare! Does he, Sally?"

  Sally gave Paul a mischievous glance. "Frequently. Usually because I've done something silly."

  Paul took three sandwiches together and bit into them. "That's right. Like filing R under Q."

  "Like what?" said both girls together.

  He gave his great laugh. "All our cases at the Assizes were polished off yesterday, so I spent this morning in the office. By the way, the staff sent kind regards."

  Sally could imagine how Miss Moffat and Miss Downes had torn her to shreds this last week, and smiled secretly at Paul's blissful ignorance of office under-currents.

  He went on, "I was hunting for correspondence with Putney and Warbeck, but went one letter too far. I opened the files at Q instead of P. What do you think I found?"

  Caro giggled. "Mice?" But Sally looked anxious. What enormity had she committed?

  "Raybould!" he said triumphantly. "I knew I'd given you that wretched form and, you silly young juggins, you'd filed it—under Q, not R—instead of taking it to the Court office."

  Caro saw Sally's distressed face. "He's teasing, Sally."

  Paul chuckled. "She'll never live it down. Old Ware laughed till his chins wobbled."

  Sally said tensely, "But I didn't."

  "My dear girl, I found it there myself."

  Tears of annoyance sprang to her eyes. "I'm positive I never saw that form."

  A chill descended on Paul's manner. She saw with despair that he thought she was trying to wriggle out of a mistake, refusing to accept responsibility. It would be so much easier to admit an error, to apologise gracefully.

  He said stiffly, "If you suggest I put it there myself "

  Caro, anxious for the success of the tea-party, intervened. "Does the silly old form matter so much?"

  "It could have been serious," Sally told her. She turned to Paul. "Please don't think I'm afraid to admit a mistake. In this case, I know I never saw that name."

  He seemed impressed by her earnest tone. He put down his cup. "What makes you so sure?"

  "Raybould was my mother's maiden name. Simon's second name is Raybould. If I'd dealt with it in any circumstances, I'd have noticed."

  Paul nodded judicially. "Yes, you would. It would stick out like a sore thumb. So we come to the question of—how? or who? Let us reconstruct. I signed those things in the morning, popped them in your tray as I went out to lunch. What next?"

  Caro clapped her hands. "This is as good as a detective play. You're wearing your Court face, Paul. Go on. Motive? Opportunity?"

  "Who had that, Sally?"

  In the light of Paul's direct question, her mother's theory sprang to Sally's mind. Brenda Worth! She certainly had opportunity and—in the light of Caro's revelations—she had motive, too. She believed Sally to be her rival in Paul's affections.

  A painful blush crept up Sally's throat and flooded her cheeks, her forehead. So deep a blush that brother and sister stared at her in amazement.

  It was just possible to say Brenda Worth had, with others, the opportunity. To explain her motive was out of the question. But once Paul had his teeth into a problem, he never left it until he had worried the truth out into the light of day. She knew, now, how it felt to be in the witness box, with. Paul's merciless questions hitting hard and fast.

  "I think, after all, I must have done it myself," she stammered. "It couldn't have been Moffat or Downey, or Mr. Ware or Mr. Enoch. So—" she forced herself to a brief smile—"that only leaves me."

  Paul nodded, frowning, and went on stirring his tea abstractedly until Caro took the spoon from his fingers. "It doesn't matter, does it?" she asked lightly. "Everyone makes mistakes."

  "Everybody," said Paul, with deliberate emphasis, not looking at either of them.

  The fun had gone out of Sally's tea-party. Now Paul thought she had been lying to save herself, until driven into a corner and forced to admit her guilt. She was relieved when Mrs. Fraser came for the tray, and Paul offered to carry it downstairs for her.

  Sally heard the mellow gong for dinner, and knew Brenda Worth must have arrived. She would sit next to Paul, cool, poised, exquisite; knowing always the right things to say, never getting entangled in awkward situations or talking too much because she was shy; never blushing like a winter sunrise. Brenda was determined to recapture Paul, and had Caro for a powerful ally. After dinner, Caro

  would leave the two together to talk business. How much business would be discussed, with Brenda's bare shoulders gleaming like polished marble in the dusk, her seductive perfume in Paul's nostrils?

  Unconsciously she strained her ears for sounds which would mean dinner was over, but she only heard a maid bringing her tray. She thanked the girl, but could not eat. Food choked her when she thought of the two downstairs. Perhaps tonight Brenda would get her wish. Paul might be proposmg this very moment.

  Her mind, her heart, protested at the idea so violently that she sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet with both hands till the knuckles showed white.

  She was not—she couldn't be—in love with Paul herself? "I am not!" she said aloud. She pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. The sooner you go home, Sally March, the better for all concerned! Such absurd notions! What about Max?

  Her heart seemed to have deserted her, leaving an empty hollow. In the light of Paul's personality, Max appeared shallow, second-rate. Now at last, she could see Max as Simon saw him. His facile charm had dazzled her temporarily, but after a short time in daily contact with a man like Paul Winn, she could distinguish true from false, the genuine from the sham.

  She loved Paul. And he was downstairs this minute, with the woman he loved. True, they were estranged, but that was only a lovers' quarrel, as Caro said. Tonight, Brenda was determined to end it—and Brenda was magnificently lovely.

  She examined this new, strange feeling which had alighted like a singing bird, uninvited, in her heart. Was it, in fact, only a natural gratitude, coupled with the perfectly normal attraction any girl felt towards a good-looking man with charming manners? Paul had been kind to her when she was ill and away from home. Yesterday she had considered herself in love with Max. Today she was in love with Paul.

  Why, it was just weak and silly. She and Paul had become friends who understood and liked each other, that was all.

  She tried to force herself out of a mood she considere
d a product of weakness and homesickness; almost a mood of self-pity, which she despised. She opened a book, but the adventures of hero and heroine could not hold her racing thoughts. She picked up the white sweater she was knitting for Simon in cable-stitch. The pattern took all her attention; so much so that she was startled when the bedroom door opened and Brenda Worth entered with her swift graceful walk.

  She was wearing a ballet-length grey dress, soft and filmy like a rain-cloud or a lost, lovely ghost. She wore a slim shining necklet and tiny earrings, which sparkled like dewdrops; she was obviously astonished to find the room occupied.

  "I'm so sorry. I usually use this room for tidying up—I wasn't told there was anyone . . ." Her voice trailed away as Brenda recovered from her surprise and recognised Sally. She reddened with annoyance, her lovely face hardened till it was almost ugly. "Do I have to find you behind every door? What on earth are you doing, hidden away up here?"

  Sally's hands shook with nerves. She did not want to quarrel with Brenda, who was a guest in this house, but no one should speak to her like that and get away with it.

  Her mild tone hid her anger. "I'm having 'flu. But I am not hidden away."

  "Paul swore to me . . ." the other girl began angrily, then checked, biting her lips. After a deep-drawn breath, she started again. "Then why, may I ask, did none of the family tell me you were here?"

  Sally picked up her knitting as if to continue with it. "Possibly because it's none of your business, Miss Worth."

  Brenda could hardly contain herself. She swept forward as if to lay violent hands on the girl in bed. Even her long, exquisite lashes could not soften the

  hard glitter of her eyes at that moment. "I must know—are you in love with Paul Winn?"

  Sally's mouth was dry. It required a desperate effort to keep cool and answer smoothly, "That again is not your business."

  "That means you do love him. But you won't get him. Paul loves me. We are engaged—or practically so. What has passed between us is too definite to be disregarded. If you are running after Paul, he'll soon see through your little game. Influenza, indeed! I suppose he believes that! I think it's nothing but a cheap little plot to get yourself underneath his roof and thrust yourself before his notice. Paul will see through you, never fear. He's no fool."

  Sally lost her temper. "I am a guest here, and this bedroom is not mine. All the same I'm occupying it at the moment, and I advise you to get out, quickly. I don't care who you are or if you're engaged to Paul a thousand times over—you shan't make such accusations to me. I don't believe you are engaged to him, and frankly I couldn't care less, one way or the other. But if he marries you, I pity him, for you're possessed by unreasoning, uncontrolled jealousy, and that is of all things the hardest to live with. Now please leave my room."

  For a moment Sally thought Brenda would strike her. They glared at each other, dislike bare between them. Brenda's mouth was a thin line; the skin drawn tightly over the high bridge of her nose made it white and peaked. Then, defeated either by what Sally had said, or by something in her own thoughts, she swung away from the bed and hurried out of the room.

  Sally covered her face with her hands. She was not crying; some things are past tears. Was it possible Paul thought her illness a sham, a ruse to thrust herself under his notice? In her overwrought state it seemed probable, and there was no one at hand to speak words of plain common sense. Even when she remembered Paul had sent for her, and she

  was in bed by doctor's orders, she feared Brenda would plant her suspicions in Paul's mind—perhaps in Caro's, too.

  After a long time she grew calm again, and was able to think more clearly. No, of course neither Paul nor Caro would think anything so idiotic! At least she would console herself with that. It wasn't likely Paul would allow such a suggestion to be planted in his mind. But what was important was that Paul should never for a moment suspect her change of heart. He believed her to be in love with a legendary Max. So long as he continued to think that, she was proof against any insinuations Brenda cared to make.

  If the quarrel between Paul and Brenda had been made up, there were no outward and visible signs of it. Caro reported that they had been shut up in the library together for ages, and that Paul had driven Brenda home.

  "He went out early this morning, so that's all I know." She was too excited over Jeff's visit to talk about Paul, a circumstance for which Sally was truly thankful.

  "Jeff wants to be engaged on my birthday. Do you think twenty-one is too young?"

  "That depends on the people concerned. What does your father say?"

  "He wants me to marry. He says his invalidism would only really hurt him if it tied me to his wheel chair. He won't let me do things for him, he has a man. He's not a bit selfish or exacting. He truly wants to see me happily married to the right man."

  "Then if you're certain Jeff is right for you, there seems no reason to wait."

  "That's what I wanted you to say. Look, I've pressed the dress your mother brought for you. Such a pretty turquoise, it will be gorgeous with your hair. So up-to-the-minute, too! You didn't buy this in Tidwell."

  "I made it myself."

  "You are clever, Sally. Will you teach me?" "Willingly. But why? You can afford to have your clothes custom made."

  "It's a thing one should know. I've learnt to cook, too. I expect I'm the domesticated type at heart. Shall I come and help you dress after lunch? Jeff will be here at four."

  Sally was more concerned about her next encounter with Paul than with meeting Caro's wonderful Jeff. Of course, she wished Caro wasn't in love with Jeff, because of Simon, but the man meant nothing to her. Whereas Paul . . . ! Would she be able to disguise the fact that she loved him, or would her tell-tale face give her away? Thank goodness, anyway, for Jeff. Interest would be centred on him.

  Properly dressed and with the light make-up which was all her youthful complexion needed, she found going downstairs an adventure. Caro settled her comfortably on the library sofa, with a pile of new magazines. The long windows stood open to the terrace, and with the warm scented air and the sunshine slanting in across exquisite furniture and great bowls of flowers, Sally felt a wave of wellbeing and happiness. And on the crest of the wave came Paul. He strolled in through the open window, wearing white shorts and sports shirt, and carrying a tennis racquet.

  "Hello, Sally." He put his racquet on the table. "Just been having a game. Our next-door neighbours have a hard court. Do you play?"

  "Only in the park. At the moment my knees feel like blancmange."

  He sat beside her. "Look, Sally," he said Quietly, "I owe you an apology."

  "Not for your godmother's germs, I hope," she laughed.

  "For something which I feel is important to you. I know you didn't file that Raybould paper. I know you never even saw it."

  She sat upright, her eyes wide. "How?"

  He leaned back and crossed one muscular tanned leg over the other. "By looking for facts, my girl. I follow my own advice, you see. You didn't do it, but somebody did. Somebody of a jealous nature, someone who had—or thought she had—reason to be jealous of you. Someone who was alone in your room that day. Which brings us to—Brenda Worth. You knew she'd done it, didn't you?"

  She said quietly, "Yes, I knew."

  "I guessed you'd spotted the culprit when you suddenly stopped denying it and said it must have been you after all. Why didn't you speak?"

  "Miss Worth is your friend, and Caro's. And—and I don't think she has cause to be jealous of me."

  "Brenda doesn't need cause. She's a charming girl, but she has a grave failing, of which I'm trying hard to cure her. She is absurdly jealous."

  Sally said nothing. She thought Paul underestimated the extent of Brenda's jealousy. No doubt she soft-pedalled it in his presence, but her last night's performance could hardly be called absurd. It was almost insane. She remembered the wild gleam in the girl's eyes, and shuddered.

  Paul went on, "Jealous people deserve pity, because to a
certain extent they can't help it Luckily I understand Brenda. So—given the facts, it was easy to spot her hand in the affair."

  Sally gave him a brilliant smile. "It's a relief to be exonerated. I minded so much that you should think I was trying to wriggle out of responsibility."

  "I did think you were, but only for a few minutes. That's why I owe you an apology. After that, I knew you were speaking the truth."

  "What puzzles me is how you knew."

  He gave her arm a friendly pat. "In my job one develops a sixth sense. One does not so much listen to the words, as watch the person who speaks them. You, my dear Sally, are so transparently honest it's almost frightening. Now—do you forgive me?"

  "There's nothing to forgive. But I do appreciate your telling me all this. I must be careful. Can you

  be quite sure of your sixth sense? Does it always work?"

  He smiled. "With one exception—a woman in love. The man who said, `All's fair in love and war' meant it to apply to women. They will lie and lie—to get the man they want, or to defend him."

  "That must make your job difficult sometimes."

  He agreed heartily. "A woman in love is the one thing I dread. Even the oath means nothing to an advanced case. Her love exacts a loyalty which transcends any other."

  "For a bachelor you know a lot about women."

  "Not at all. That's about the only thing I do understand—that and their jealousy. One is up against those two factors in Court so often. Never mind about that—tell me about Sally. Are you still in love?" He twisted round till he could see her face.

  "Deeply in love," she said firmly. She had no hope of hiding her feelings from his searching eye, so the next best thing was to put on a bold front and let him think her love was still for Max.

  He spread his hands helplessly. "There you are! To get him you'd lie like a trooper, wouldn't you? Oath or no oath?"

  "I'm not on oath, nor in the witness-box," she reminded him. "But—yes, I believe I would. I'd do anything in the world to win the man I loved."