Unwary Heart

by Anne Hampson

‘Fancy blushing and stammering like that!’

  ‘She’s still blushing.’

  ‘Did you see the way she looked at him? Proper smitten, wasn’t she?’ And each remark brought forth howls of laughter.

  Andrew looked up from the papers on his desk and, keeping her standing, said curtly,

  ‘There’s no need for me to tell you I’m surprised to find you here, Muriel. I suppose you expected me to send for you?’

  ‘No, I did not,’ she returned, and knew by the scornful curve of his mouth that he thought the worst of her, just as she had expected he would.

  ‘Come now, Muriel, I’m not a fool.’

  For a moment her eyes blazed; but the little flame of anger died almost at once. In spite of everything Andrew had given her the happiest hours she had ever known; she would not quarrel with him.

  ‘You think I came here just to—to see you again,’ she said quietly and with dignity. ‘But it isn’t true. I came because I needed the money—I have never gone out to work before, so I had to go where I would receive training. This was the only place.’ Speech was very difficult when he was regarding her with such cold indifference, and watching his long, lean fingers tapping the desk with a sort of restless impatience, it seemed impossible that they had ever curled tenderly round I hers. It seemed impossible that they had ever touched her at all, or that his arms had ever held her; those enchanted days and nights on the ship might never have I existed. He displayed no emotion at her presence, gave no hint of any pleasurable recollections of those lovely, intimate moments that to her had meant everything that was pure and sweet. To him it had all been a careless flirtation—enjoyed at the time, then forgotten for ever. If only she had had more experience ... But it still would have happened, she thought despairingly. Yes, even had she known what kind of man he was, even had she known he was going to trample on her love with such ruthless indifference. Love was a thing over which you had no control; it conquered even before you were aware of its attack, and then it left you crushed and broken and wishing you could sleep and sleep and not wake up until you were too old to remember.

  ‘So you needed the money, did you?’ Andrew’s voice was even and remote. She had the rather vague impression that he had given her words considerable thought. ‘I suppose your circumstances have changed since we last met?’

  ‘Yes, they have,’ she replied innocently, and then, after a slight hesitation, ‘We’ve never been well-off, I know I might have misled you, but—’

  ‘You never misled me,’ he cut in quietly. ‘I concluded from the first that your aunt had paid for the trip.’

  Muriel bent her head.

  ‘Yes, she did. Cruising is the only holiday she likes, but she had no one to go with and that’s why she asked me. I was a sort of ... companion.’

  His lips twitched slightly; he said in a dry voice, ‘You didn’t spend much time with her.’

  She hated his tone, knew that she would hate his expression even more, and kept her head averted. After a while she respectfully inquired the reason for his sending for her.

  Andrew stared at her bent head in disgust. So he’d been right; she had ready the pathetic little story of changed circumstances, of her dire need of a job—any job. And what did she expect now? Nothing, he thought with a faint curve of his lips. She was already fully aware that her plan had failed. Tomorrow she would not be here.

  ‘I merely wished to satisfy my curiosity.’ There was something unfathomable in the way he said that, and Muriel raised her head sharply. But he appeared to be giving his whole attention to the papers before him. ‘You may go now.’ He spoke in the impersonal tones of the employer, and after waiting to see if he would raise his eyes to look at her, Muriel turned and walked unsteadily from the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Her first impulse was to leave the factory, and that evening she made a tentative remark about not liking the work. This was greeted by an astounded silence at first, and then by an onslaught of angry protests from everyone except her brother.

  ‘The work isn’t that bad,’ Fred snapped. ‘I thought you were doing very well.’

  ‘You can’t leave,’ her mother said fretfully. ‘However are we to manage without your money?’

  ‘I always said you didn’t want work,’ Dil put in wrathfully. ‘But if you think you’re going to sponge on us again then you’re very much mistaken!’

  ‘Please don’t say any more about it,’ Muriel begged at last, making a little gesture of defeat. ‘I won’t leave.’

  ‘Then why did you talk as though you intended to?’ Mrs. Paterson complained. ‘It’s so terribly worrying.’

  ‘I don’t like the work, that’s all. But it doesn’t matter, I won’t leave, so none of you need worry.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ Fred said with sudden interest, ‘I saw Peter on my way home and he told me that Mr. Burke sent for you today. What did he want?’

  ‘Mr. Burke?’ Dil gasped. ‘The Mr. Burke?’

  ‘There’s only one. What did he want, Muriel?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ she faltered, aware of her sister’s narrowed, curious eyes. ‘He only wanted to know if I—if I liked my work.’

  ‘If you—Does Mr. Burke usually concern himself with the ragtag and bobtail in his factory?’ Dil inquired smoothly of her husband.

  ‘How the dickens should I know?’ He turned to Muriel. ‘Peter said he spoke to you when he was in the department. Didn’t he ask you about your work then?’

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed nervously, wondering how she could extricate herself from this tangle in which she was so rapidly becoming involved. ‘He did ask me if I were happy at the factory.’

  ‘And then he sent for you to ask the same thing all over again?’ Dil observed with thinly-veiled scepticism. ‘He must be an unusually considerate employer.’ She paused and then went on evenly, ‘Do you remember your odd and unexplained remark about the “bosses” as you called them? It strikes me that you knew this Mr. Burke before you went to work at the factory.’

  Noticing Muriel’s discomfiture, and sorry that he had broached the subject which had caused it, Fred was about to interrupt when Muriel banged down her knife and fork and turned angrily on her sister.

  ‘Just what are you insinuating?’ she demanded. ‘Nothing—nothing at all. I’m merely thinking it very odd that a man in Mr. Burke’s position should be so interested in one of his factory girls—’

  ‘Dil, be quiet!’ Mrs. Paterson interrupted at last. ‘Your remarks are disgusting!’

  ‘Why did he send for you?’ Dil pursued, ignoring her mother. ‘And why are you looking so very uncomfortable? You mentioned, if I remember rightly, Mr. Groves—but there’s no such person, so you really meant Mr. Burke, didn’t you? Where did you meet him?—that’s what’s puzzling me.’

  Muriel stood up, pale and angry, and feeling sickened by her sister’s remarks.

  ‘I refuse to be questioned like this. Mr. Burke sent for me to inquire about my work. You can believe that or not, but it’s the only explanation you’ll get from me.’ ‘But, Muriel,’ her mother said sharply, ‘why all this secrecy? I must admit that you’re making it appear you have something to hide.’

  ‘I’m not hiding anything. I’ve told you, he merely asked about my work.’

  Dil began to laugh.

  ‘I can’t think how you came to meet him in the first place,’ she said, ‘but it’s clear that you know more about him than you’d have us believe. Play your cards right and you may be an asset to us all yet—’

  ‘I think you’ve gone mad!’ Muriel stood there, white to the lips, her fingers clenched, staring from one to another. Then she turned and fled from the room.

  ‘What have I done that both Andrew and Dil should think me rotten and cheap?’ she whispered, her eyes brimming over with tears. ‘If only Daddy were here I could tell him everything—but I could never tell them,’ and in a sudden abandonment of grief and despair, she flung herself on the bed and wept bitterly into her pi
llow. But Dil didn’t mean what she said, Muriel thought after a little while. She wasn’t herself these days; she would be all right again once her baby was born. No, Dil could never really mean the hateful things she said.

  The matter was not mentioned again, much to Muriel’s surprise, and for the next week or two life was almost placid—something entirely new in the Paterson household.

  Dil had actually begun making baby clothes and there were times when, observing her guardedly, Muriel felt convinced she was taking a delight in her task. Occasionally, having finished one of the absurdly small garments, she would hold it up, ostensibly examining it, yet, Muriel suspected, waiting for her family’s praise. Muriel found a strange content in helping her; she added all the final touches, sewing on ribbons and bows, all blue, for both Dil and Fred had set their hearts on a boy.

  ‘It’s funny how everyone wants their first to be a boy,’ Muriel said dreamily one evening as she sat with Dil by the fire, working on a little coat which she was trying to finish before bedtime.

  ‘They’re better than girls, that’s why,’ Dil said emphatically. ‘Especially when they grow up. Women are such cats.’

  ‘Oh, how can you say so?’ Muriel laughed, half in amusement, half in protest. ‘You shouldn’t call your own sex cats, Dil.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the truth. Take our own family, for instance. Aunt Sarah, she’s a cat—and so is Aunt Edith. And what of Christine? Who wants a child that’s likely to grow up like her?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Christine—’

  ‘Oh, no? You haven’t ever crossed her, Muriel, that’s why you don’t know her. I shall always remember the Christmas Aunt Sarah took pity on the poor relations and invited us over for the day. I had a doll—it wasn’t to be compared with Christine’s, but for some unknown reason she wanted it. We fought like two tigers over that doll and she’d have scratched my eyes out if I’d let her get near enough. You were a little too young to remember, but whenever I think of Christine I recall the incident of that doll.’

  ‘All children squabble,’ Muriel said in defence of her cousin. ‘Christine’s always been very nice to me.’

  ‘Perhaps...’ Dil’s eyes narrowed strangely. ‘You ever come to have something she wants—then you’ll see her in her true colours.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I shall ever possess anything she would want,’ Muriel returned ruefully.

  ‘No, I guess you’re right,’ her sister agreed. ‘Oh, money! If we had to be poor, why couldn’t our relations have been poor, too?’

  But Dil’s grumbles became less frequent; her quarrels with her husband almost ceased. He had received a wage increase and Muriel felt sure that if they had a house of their own Dil would be content.

  Aunt Sarah and Uncle Herbert were celebrating their silver wedding a fortnight before Christmas, and all the family received invitations. Dil would not go, so Fred also refused. Mrs. Paterson declined because, she said, she could not bear to spend an evening in surroundings which would remind her so vividly of all she had given up on her marriage.

  ‘I wouldn’t enjoy it at all. As for Derek, I couldn’t possibly let him go; he would disgrace us all with his behaviour and his slang. No one would ever believe he went to such a nice school.’

  ‘Nice school?’ he echoed with a broad grin. ‘We had a riot today.’

  ‘Riot?’ Muriel looked dismayed. ‘But, Derek—’ ‘Take no notice of him,’ his mother interrupted scathingly. ‘That’s only another of his fairy tales. Last week it was the spanner.’

  ‘The spanner?’ Muriel looked blank.

  ‘Oh, you didn’t hear about the spanner that dropped from an aeroplane into the school grounds and missed Derek’s head by inches, did you?’ Fred laughed, and Derek had the grace to redden.

  ‘Well, it’d have been jolly exciting if it had,’ he returned with a grimace, and then, in order, apparently, to demonstrate just what kind of a school it was to which he had won the much-coveted entry, ‘Old Killer Jackson called me a bog-eyed bat yesterday, and all because I put “were” for “where”. As though anyone could help a little thing like that! And he often calls us scaleless jellyfish and constipated earwigs—’

  ‘Oh, Derek, you’re the limit,’ Muriel laughed. ‘It’s time you stopped this romancing. Have you forgotten how old you are?’

  ‘All right,’ he flashed, red with indignation. ‘Ask Billy Thomson when he comes here on Saturday! Taffy called him the son of a spineless toad the other day—Don’t you believe me now?’

  ‘I do not,’ she replied, and they all laughed. Derek, speechless with indignation, glared at them all in turn and then buried his head in his Latin book again. They never believed you when you were telling the truth, he thought angrily ... and then remembered the boy who cried wolf.

  ‘Amo, amas, amat,’ he murmured savagely to himself.

  ‘A what?’ said Dil, frowning.

  ‘You wouldn’t know a thing about it! It’s all to do with love!’

  Strangely, Dil kept her temper; in fact, she actually seemed amused, and there was a good-humoured smile on her lips as she turned her attention to what her mother was saying.

  ‘We can’t all refuse, Muriel—yes, I know what you’re going to say; Uncle Herbert didn’t come to Father’s funeral. But it doesn’t matter; we mustn’t be spiteful about things like that. I won’t have any argument, so you may as well resign yourself.’

  Muriel bit her lip; she supposed she would have to do as her mother wished, but she didn’t feel very enthusiastic about meeting Christine again just now. She had been so inquisitive about the cruise, so puzzled about Muriel’s reticence, that it was certain she would bring the matter up again at the first opportunity. There would be a long evening this time, whereas before—when she had gone to return the clothes Christine had lent her—she had had to leave almost immediately in order to catch her bus. Muriel had timed her visit carefully, so as to avoid her cousin’s questioning. On this occasion, however, there would be no escape. If only she had not sent that letter there would have been no need to tell Christine anything. But the letter had revealed so much; it not only told of her love for Andrew, it also contained the very confident, ‘I shall be bringing him to see you very soon after we arrive home.’

  No wonder Christine had said, ‘But, Muriel, you seemed so sure of him when you sent that letter.’

  Yes, after only four days she had been sure enough of him to write with complete confidence. She had been sure of herself, too, sure that Andrew was the only man she would ever love. It had all happened so quickly, she realized now; but at the time her love—or rather, their love, as she had so confidently thought then—had developed so smoothly, so naturally, that it seemed she had known Andrew all her life.

  Had it happened only four months ago? It seemed more like four years since his light and flippant goodbye had taken that new-found happiness from her heart and left instead this dumb pain which she felt sure would remain with her for ever, no matter how long she might live.

  ‘You can wear one of those dresses Christine gave you,’ Mrs. Paterson suggested, breaking into Muriel’s unhappy thoughts. ‘They were both very nice.’

  ‘Oh, no! I couldn’t wear one of those,’ she protested. ‘I never really liked them.’ That was true, of course, but by no means the chief reason for her not wishing to wear one of them.

  ‘What else can you wear?’ Dil interposed. ‘You know what Aunt Sarah’s parties are. You haven’t anything else that would be in the least suitable.’ She paused for a moment, eyeing her strangely. ‘What’s the matter with them? You’ve stuffed them away in a box under the bed as if they were bits of rag—’

  ‘Oh, be quiet!’

  Dil looked astonished.

  ‘You needn’t snap,’ she said in an aggrieved tone. ‘I don’t know what’s come over you this last month or two.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Muriel bit her lip contritely. ‘I’m sorry, Dil,’ she said again. ‘But it’s just that I don’t want to w
ear either of those dresses, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to wear one,’ Mrs. Paterson insisted. ‘Choose which it is to be and I’ll get it cleaned.’

  ‘I won’t wear either of them. They’re much too old for me.’

  ‘Old? And how old is Christine?’

  ‘I know there’s not a great deal of difference in our ages, but they suit her. I’m going to wear the dress Daddy bought me.’

  ‘That thing!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘It couldn’t have cost one tenth as much as the others!’

  ‘I don’t care about cost,’ Muriel returned stubbornly, and although her mother argued, it was to no avail. Muriel fetched down the demure little white dress and shook it from its wrappings.

  ‘I don’t think it needs cleaning; I haven’t worn it much, and I’ve kept it wrapped in tissue paper.’

  ‘Yes, you would keep that wrapped in tissue paper,’ her mother snapped irritably, ‘and leave the others pushed away in a dusty trunk. You’re far too sentimental, child, and it will get you nowhere. Oh, why can’t you be sensible and wear something decent!’

  ‘I intend to wear something decent, Mother,’ she replied quietly. ‘This one is decent—the others are not. Aunt Edith was right when she said they were disgustingly low-cut.’

  ‘Don’t be silly! Christine wore them, and she knows what is fashionable.’

  ‘I’ve said that they suit Christine, but they don’t suit me!’

  ‘You get on my nerves,’ her mother said exasperatedly. ‘You won’t even try to be fashionable. And I’m surprised at you taking any notice of Aunt Edith; she had no dress sense even when she was young.’

  But Muriel would not argue further; she pressed the dress and hung it in the wardrobe, a shadow crossing her face as she remembered the pride in her father’s eyes when first she had tried it on for him to see.

  ‘You’ll have all the boys falling over themselves to dance with you when you wear that,’ he had said fondly. ‘But don’t you go falling for them, my darling, I don’t want to lose you yet awhile.’