Unwary Heart

by Anne Hampson

  With a little sob she closed the wardrobe door. It seemed incredible that anyone so kind, so gentle and considerate, could have been so quickly forgotten. Even Derek did not seem to miss his father now.

  The following week Peter asked her to work on the Saturday morning—they were behind with an important export order, he said—and she agreed readily, intending to give Dil the extra money towards the pram. Having a little money already saved, she decided to spend the afternoon in Barston and buy a few things for the baby, so she went to work in her best suit, protecting it with a clean overall while she worked. And when, at about a quarter past twelve, she emerged from the cloakroom looking very striking and attractive Peter’s eyes widened with appreciation.

  ‘You look very smart this morning, Muriel; got a date?’

  She smiled, and gave him a quick, appraising glance. She liked what she saw; for he was a physically fit young man, lithe and athletic-looking with clean-cut features and an attractive smile. His hair was dark brown with lighter tints, and it was brushed back from a wide, intelligent forehead. Fred had said that Peter attracted the girls as honey attracted the bee, and Muriel had already discovered the truth of this. But Peter was clearly not interested in any of the girls working under him. Not interested in any except Muriel... ‘No, I’m going shopping, that’s all.’

  ‘Will you be in Barston all the afternoon?’

  ‘I don’t know ... yes, I suppose I will; I have to get my lunch first.’

  ‘Then let me meet you later on. We could have tea in town and then go to a show.’

  ‘It’s very nice of you to ask me, Peter, but my mother expects me home for tea.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must hurry or I’ll miss that twelve-thirty bus.’

  ‘What about tomorrow, then?’ he persisted. ‘I have a little car; we could go for a run.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I help at home on Sundays.’

  ‘I think you’re just making excuses,’ he said, keenly disappointed. ‘Don’t you like me, or is it that you have a boy-friend already?’

  ‘I have no boy-friend, and I like you very much,’ she smiled. ‘But I really am busy on Sundays.’

  ‘All right.’ He shrugged resignedly. ‘But if you have no boy-friend there’s still hope. I’ll see you on Monday.’

  ‘Yes. Goodbye, Peter.’

  She arrived at the bus stop breathless, and took her place at the end of the queue. Her foot was on the step when the conductor put out his hand.

  ‘Sorry, miss, there’s too many standing already.’

  Muriel stepped back on to the pavement and stood uncertainly, wondering whether it would be quicker to walk to the town centre or wait for another bus.

  There was a stream of traffic behind the bus, waiting for it to move, and glancing casually at the first car, a new-looking Bentley, she saw Andrew at the wheel. For the briefest moment their eyes met, then Andrew, a heavy frown darkening his face, returned his attention to the road and the car glided softly away. Muriel watched its slow progress behind the bus, telling herself that it was utterly ridiculous to think of his offering her a lift, that she didn’t want one. It would be unbearable to sit there beside Andrew... ‘But he could have nodded,’ she whispered, her lips trembling convulsively. ‘He could have nodded in recognition.’ The tears stung her eyes, threatening to escape on to her cheeks; with a supreme effort she forced them back and began to walk slowly towards the centre of the town. How could he have looked through her as though they were complete strangers? She felt crushed and despised as she raised her head to pick out the car from the congestion of traffic. But it was gone, leaving only the memory of that cold proud face and the sudden frown that had crossed it.

  Twenty minutes later she was passing the Midland, Barston’s largest and most luxurious hotel—and there in the entrance, fur-coated and elegant, stood her cousin. There was no chance of passing unobserved, for even as she lowered her head and increased her pace, Christine’s soft, husky voice floated to her.

  ‘Muriel!’

  She turned, endeavouring to hide her guilt by saying, with affected surprise,

  ‘Hello, Christine, I never expected to see you here!’ ‘You’re quite a stranger, darling. Why haven’t you been to see us?’

  It was on the tip of Muriel’s tongue to remind her that she hadn’t been invited to do so, but she refrained.

  ‘I don’t go out very much—and you do live rather a long way off, you know.’

  ‘What are you doing now that Uncle Henry is dead? You sold the shop, I hear?’

  ‘Yes; I’m working. I managed to get a job at—’

  ‘Yes, you must be. But how awful! Are you hating it?—going out to work after having been your own mistress, so to speak? How is the family?’

  She wasn’t in the least interested, Muriel thought, and for no apparent reason she was remembering again her uncle’s excuses when asked to her father’s funeral.

  ‘They’re all quite well, thank you, Christine. Dil expects her baby any day now.’ She looked about her. ‘Are you waiting for Aunt Sarah?’

  ‘No—’ Christine’s face suddenly glowed. ‘Do you remember my telling you about a young man I had met?’

  ‘The one you said you were going to marry?’ Muriel put in with a faint smile.

  ‘Yes—wasn’t it dreadful of me?’ Christine chuckled. ‘It had always been so easy, you see, and I was sure I could make him crazy about me without the least effort. That’s why I was so confident when I told you about him. But it’s been much more difficult than I imagined. Do you know, that until a couple of weeks ago he never gave me more than a cursory glance! I could hardly believe it! However, he has noticed me now and I’m meeting him here in—’ She glanced at her watch. ‘He ought to be here now; he had some business to attend to after leaving the office, so he may be a little late. We’re having lunch at the Midland and then going on to his home; his mother has invited me to dinner.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘I hope I impress the old girl.’

  ‘I’m sure your young man’s mother will like you,’ Muriel said, casting Christine an appraising glance. ‘It just couldn’t be otherwise.’

  ‘Flatterer!’ she laughed, but with obvious gratification. ‘Oh, Muriel, I’m so thrilled! You have no idea what it’s like to be really in love! I’ve thought I’ve been in love before, but this is it.’

  Muriel looked down at her hands; if Christine had forgotten what she had told her then she was glad. But she rather thought her cousin inwardly scoffed at her own love affair, thought she had not been really in love. Whichever it was, she felt heartily thankful that she had escaped the awkward questions she had expected at her next meeting with Christine.

  ‘I must go now,’ she said. ‘I have some shopping to do.’

  ‘Goodbye, darling,’ Christine gushed. ‘We’ll be seeing you at the party?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And, Muriel...’ for the briefest moment she paused, ‘I’ll keep that promise I made when we were kids. You will be my chief bridesmaid.’

  ‘Are you engaged—oh, I didn’t think—’

  ‘No, not yet—but I’m sure it won’t be long. Perhaps I’ll have some more to tell you next week when you come to the party. Goodbye, darling, and love to the family.’

  ‘Goodbye, Christine.’ Muriel made her way to the pedestrian crossing a few yards farther on; she was just about to cross the road when something made her look back. Christine was moving towards the car that was drawing to a standstill in the forecourt of the hotel and Muriel couldn’t resist waiting to get a glimpse of the man who had at last gained her cousin’s affections. But that car ... Andrew emerged and her whole body went rigid; she stood frozen to the spot, unable to move even had she wished.

  ‘Andrew...! It can’t be!’ She passed a hand over her eyes, shaking her head as though to see more clearly. He had taken her cousin’s arm, so only their backs were visible as they passed into the hotel. No mistake; those broad, imperious shoulders she would know anywhere.

  Andr
ew and Christine ... Andrew and Christine... How long she stood there repeating their names she did not know; her mind and body were too numbed by the shock to be able to think or feel. But it seemed like the measureless aeons of eternity; it seemed she had repeated those two names a million times. Andrew and Christine—

  A klaxon awoke her from her stupor; insensibly she must have stepped off the pavement and was dimly aware that she held up the traffic. A taxi driver put his head through the window of his cab.

  ‘Just give the wire when you’ve finished your daydreaming, miss. But don’t let us hurry you,’ he said, and with a tremendous effort she dragged herself to the other side of the street.

  Had the events of the past few moments really happened? They seemed so unreal that she felt like a dreamer in a half sleep; she turned swiftly as though expecting to see her cousin standing there still, or stepping forward to meet someone who wasn’t driving a black car at all; someone who didn’t smile in that particular way, or walk with that particular grace, or tower above everyone else with that air of majestic splendour. In fact, someone who was an absolute stranger to Muriel...

  But Christine wasn’t there, and Andrew’s car was, and Christine’s words were ringing in Muriel’s ears.

  ‘I’ll keep that promise I made when we were kids. You’ll be my chief bridesmaid.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Muriel went into the gardens surrounding the Cenotaph and sat down, her shopping forgotten. Andrew and Christine ... it began all over again. She shivered violently; stupid to have put on a suit, and more stupid still to sit here in the cold. Not a soul except herself in the gardens ... Impossible to take her eyes off the building opposite; somewhere behind those red walls Andrew was lunching ... with Christine. She knew just how he would be looking, thrilling his companion with that indulgent smile on his lips and that teasing light in his eyes. ‘And then they’ll drive into the country, to Andrew’s home.’ She was talking quite audibly, but was scarcely aware of it. ‘His mother is sure to approve of Christine—perhaps she’ll advise Andrew, tell him what a suitable match it would be.’ Yes, Christine had just about everything Andrew could desire in a wife: beauty, polish, self-assurance, and, perhaps the most important, she was the only child of a very wealthy man; a man who did a great deal of business with Andrew.

  Yes, his mother was certain to approve of Christine.

  Andrew had shown her a snapshot of his mother, Muriel remembered—a tall, stately woman with her son’s arrogant features. But there was a certain something in her eyes seldom seen in his, something which had convinced Muriel that she would find it much easier to forgive than he would.

  Muriel found her thoughts racing on to the future. Christine married, on her honeymoon, with babies—‘Oh, why must I torture myself like this!’ she cried in anguish. ‘I must forget—put them both out of my mind.’ But the torture went on, holding her in its cruel grip until, suddenly, she realized she was weeping, that the tears were spilling on to her cheeks and down the front of her blouse. A furtive glance told her that she was still the lone occupant of the gardens, and, bringing out a handkerchief, she wiped her face. Then she rose and went to the gate. Five minutes later, having no recollection of the walk up Market Street, she found herself in the shopping centre. Only then did she catch sight of a clock. Ten minutes past three ... she must have been sitting in the gardens for over two hours! They had left the hotel and she hadn’t noticed. By now they would be at Andrew’s home. There were several hours before dinner; perhaps they would go for a long walk together, or perhaps they would just sit cosily by the fire and talk—‘I won’t keep on thinking about it, I won’t? But even as the whispered words left her lips, a wild tremor of panic swept through her as other, even more dismaying thoughts took possession of her.

  The cruise! Now that Andrew and Christine had become so friendly it must enter some time into the conversation. And when it did, Christine would know everything. She would know that Andrew was the man over whom Muriel had made such a complete fool of herself. Muriel fairly writhed with shame and humiliation until, suddenly, it dawned on her that Andrew, too, would find himself in an unspeakably embarrassing position. The thought gave her an unaccountable feeling of hope. Andrew, she felt sure, had never been in an embarrassing position in his life and, try as she would, she couldn’t imagine his being in one now. No, he would manage to wriggle out of it, and by so doing, he would be saving Muriel’s face, too. Just how he would do this she had no idea, for she could not visualize how the conversation would go once the mention of the cruise had been made. All she could do was dwell wretchedly on the matter the whole week-end, and by the time Monday morning came round she had decided that she must see Andrew and find out what had happened. As soon as she felt reasonably certain that he would have arrived she slipped away from her work and ran swiftly across the yard to the large, newly-built block of offices. Andrew’s secretary looked her over with surprised disdain and said curtly that he was engaged.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to leave a message?’ she added.

  ‘No—no, I must see him. The matter is very urgent. I’ll leave my name and come back later. Will you tell him that Miss Paterson wishes to speak to him on a very important matter?’

  She returned at eleven o’clock. Andrew’s secretary informed her that he would not be at liberty that day, and he had given her instructions to take a message.

  ‘I can’t leave a message,’ she said, relief pouring through her at the sure knowledge that the cruise had not yet been mentioned. For if it had, Andrew would see her no matter how busy he might be. ‘Will you please tell him that the matter is a personal one?’

  Miss Cook eyed her curiously, and opened the door of Andrew’s office. In the brief moment before she closed it behind her Muriel saw that he was alone. Her eyes widened. He just didn’t wish to see her ... was still under the impression that she was running after him!

  ‘Mr. Burke is sorry, but he’s too busy to see you,’ Miss Cook said brusquely when she returned.

  ‘I must see him—it’s most important—’

  ‘Mr. Burke said that if you persisted I was to tell you that there’s absolutely nothing you could wish to see him about.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Paterson; I must ask you to leave. Those are my instructions.’

  Muriel stared at her incredulously.

  ‘He told you to order me out of the office!’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that, Miss Paterson. Mr. Burke is too busy to see you, that’s all.’ Her colourless eyes took in every detail of Muriel’s slender figure, and Muriel flushed vividly as she read her expression. It was plain that Miss Cook was wondering just what had been going on between her boss and this girl from the factory.

  Muriel’s eyes flickered at last to the closed door; something in their expression caught Miss Cook’s attention and with a swift stride she was at the door, her hand resting determinedly on the knob.

  ‘I’m afraid I have no more time to waste,’ she said. ‘If this concerns your work you should make your complaint to your foreman. Good morning, Miss Paterson!’

  For a moment Muriel stood there, staring at Miss Cook through a sudden mist of tears. Then, with a little shrug of helplessness, she turned and stumbled from the room. Once outside her control gave way, and great sobs shook her frame. The reason for wanting an interview with Andrew seemed no longer important; the only important thing was that he had given that hateful woman instructions to order her out of the office.

  The rest of the morning seemed interminable; she prayed for lunch-time, feeling that the break must bring some sort of relief. But it brought none. She wasn’t hungry, and at ten minutes past twelve she left the canteen and returned to the workroom. It was clear that Andrew thought she was running after him, but as so many weeks had passed without her making any attempt to see him, she found his conduct this morning inexcusable. He could have granted her an interview if only to see whether or not his suspicions
were correct.

  She strove to dismiss that humiliating little scene in Miss Cook’s office from her mind, but it was replaced by even more unbearable thoughts. She tortured herself by reading the announcement of the engagement, by living through the weeks that followed, and even by going with Andrew and Christine on their honeymoon!

  ‘It must end some time,’ she whispered on a choking little sob. ‘This couldn’t possibly go on for ever.’ Yes, time healed everything, so it was said. When they were married this torment would begin to lessen; gradually—very gradually—she would get used to the idea of Andrew and her cousin as husband and wife. She would be able to visit them, if asked, without feeling one tinge of emotion—‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t. Not if I live to be a hundred!’

  Impatiently she got up from her stool; if she went on like this she would be reduced to a state bordering on insanity. She must put them out of her mind, concentrate on other things ... but what things?

  As though in answer to a prayer, Peter came into the room.

  ‘Why, Muriel, what are you doing here? You haven’t had your lunch already?’

  ‘I’ve had a little.’ Unconsciously she brushed a quivering hand through her hair, and Peter looked at her frowningly.

  ‘Don’t you feel well?’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite well, thank you, Peter.’

  ‘You certainly don’t look it,’ he said with a touch of anxiety. ‘Sit down for a while. Would you like a cup of tea? I’ll fetch you one from the canteen.’

  How good he was, she thought, comparing him with Andrew.

  ‘You’re very kind.’ She looked up at him and managed a wan smile. ‘But I did have some tea just now.’

  Peter brought a stool and sat down, pulling her on to the other one beside him.

  ‘You’re unhappy over something,’ he said gently. ‘Is anything wrong at home?’

  ‘No—why should you ask that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I can’t think of any other reason for your unhappiness.’

  Did she show it so very plainly, then? With a determined effort she produced a laugh; a poor little laugh it was true. Nevertheless, it was a beginning, and one had to begin somewhere.