by Anne Hampson
‘What happened after you told Andrew all about me? How did the conversation end?’ Christine watched her cousin intently, waiting for her reply.
‘I don’t think it’s important—’
‘You’ll answer me, for all that!’
‘I told him I was thinking of leaving the factory.’
‘What was his reaction?’
‘He ... didn’t want me to leave.’ Again Muriel was remembering Andrew’s anxiety, and for some quite uncomprehensible reason her heartbeats began to quicken.
‘I see...’
‘It was only because he knew I couldn’t afford to be out of work,’ Muriel put in hastily.
Why should he care? ... unless he loved her... ‘You will do what you intended,’ Christine said viciously. ‘You will leave the factory!—you have left. You will not go in tomorrow—understand?’
The angry colour surged into Muriel’s cheeks; her head went up in defiance.
‘I don’t understand, Christine! I shall not leave!’
‘Oh, yes, you will!’ Christine moved closer, her face livid, her hands clenched convulsively. ‘Because if you don’t, I shall tell Andrew all about that adventurous little design of yours! You’ve had your say, you’ve filled him with contempt for me, so this is only tit for tat!’
Muriel recoiled from her, Dil’s words again piercing her brain. Christine really thought that Andrew was in love with her; she had convinced herself that Muriel possessed what she wanted ... and she was revealing the real person behind the girl Muriel had foolishly looked up to and admired so much.
‘It doesn’t matter in the least what Andrew’s opinion of me may be,’ she said, knowing full well that she did not mean it. ‘I don’t intend to leave my job, Christine.’
‘Very well; I shall tell him tonight!’
‘No, not tonight!’ The words were out before she could stop them. ‘I—I—’ She stretched out her hands in a pleading gesture. ‘You don’t mean this, Christine; you’re angry and disappointed because Andrew doesn’t love you, but you wouldn’t stoop to a thing like that; it wouldn’t do you any good—’
‘Are you going to leave the factory?’
‘He doesn’t love me—Oh, how can I convince you?’
‘Are you going to leave?’
‘I can’t afford to be out of work—Christine, I beg of you—’ Muriel broke off, her brow creasing in puzzlement as it occurred to her that it was very odd that her cousin should be offering her an alternative at all.
‘Why are you giving me a chance? Why don’t you go down and tell him now? You would be sure, then, that he wouldn’t want even to speak to me again.’
‘I’d rather hold my trump card.’ Christine paused and then went on slowly and evenly, ‘It’s clear that Andrew hasn’t yet declared his love for you—perhaps he doesn’t love you at all—’
‘In that case, I should be giving up my job for nothing!’
‘If he does love you, however,’ Christine went on, ignoring the interruption, ‘he’ll find you and tell you so, even though you’ve left the factory. And when he does tell you he loves you and asks you to marry him, you’ll have no alternative but to refuse him—’ She paused to let that sink in, an ugly smile curving her lips. ‘You’ll have to refuse him, Muriel ... because of what I could tell him.’
For a long while Muriel stared at her unbelievingly as the full significance of her words became clear.
Christine actually wanted Andrew to declare his love; to ask her to marry him! She wanted Muriel to discover that he loved her...
‘I can’t believe anyone could be so wicked!’ she gasped, but no blush of shame leapt to her cousin’s cheeks.
‘I see you understand me. If I were to tell him everything now you would never discover whether he loves you or not; and if he does. I’d much rather you knew.’
So that the pain of refusing him would be almost more than she could bear, Muriel thought, unable to speak for the feeling of utter loathing that engulfed her.
‘I suppose you’re thinking that I can’t hold my trump card and play it,’ Christine went on. ‘But make no mistake, Muriel; I may prefer to hold my card, but if you don’t promise to leave the factory I shall go downstairs now and tell Andrew just what sort of a girl you are.’
‘Why do you want me to leave? I’ve told you I can’t afford to be out of work.’
‘That’s the reason...’ Turning away, Christine picked up her bag and walked to the door. ‘I’m making sure you receive some punishment for what you’ve done to me. Well? I can’t wait all night!’
‘You’re just doing this so that I’ll be out of work?—so that I’ll have no money?’ By this time Muriel would have believed anything of her cousin, yet her eyes were incredulous.
‘I’ve said I can’t wait all night, Muriel.’ Christine spoke very softly now, but with open impatience.
‘Very well, I really have no choice, have I?’ Muriel swept past her cousin and ran down the stairs.
She had a choice, she could let Christine carry out her threat and tell Andrew tonight. It would mean that Muriel would still have her job, for Andrew could not sack her for nothing.
‘It really can’t make any difference if he knows,’ she whispered, making for the cloakroom with the intention of slipping away unseen. ‘And yet I don’t want him to—’
‘Hello, so there you are; I’ve been looking for you, to ask you to dance.’
Muriel spun round to face Andrew, putting a hand on the knob of the cloakroom door as though for support.
‘To-to d-dance?’
‘Yes.’ A sudden frown crossed his brow as he noticed her almost deathly pallor. ‘Where have you been, Muriel? I thought you were dancing, but you seemed to disappear all at once.’
In a rather dazed sort of way she realized that he must have been keeping her under observation.
‘Christine wanted to speak to me,’ she quivered. ‘After all my trouble... she knows.’
‘Your aunt rather thought she had guessed.’ Andrew stopped, his eyes kindling angrily. ‘How did you get those bruises?’
‘Bruises? Oh, I—’ Hastily she put her hand behind her back. ‘I knocked myself.’
‘Knocked yourself, eh?’ A close inspection of her face convinced him that her nerves were taut almost to breaking point. ‘Were you going home? You were going in there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then get your things,’ Andrew said with quiet authority. ‘I’ll take you home in the car.’
‘You take me home?’ Muriel’s eyes widened; she was suddenly reminded of what Christine had said. ‘Why should you offer to take me home?’
A faint smile touched his lips, but he wisely refrained from saying too much.
‘You look so tired, Muriel, and it’s quite obvious that Christine has upset you. Also, your Aunt Edith was rather worried about you, and asked me to see you home.’
‘I’d rather get the bus,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind of you, but—’
‘Don’t be stubborn, there’s a good girl,’ Andrew cut in quietly. ‘If we stand here arguing we’re bound to attract attention.’
‘But I don’t want to go with you...’ Muriel tailed off weakly. Judging by his expression Andrew was determined to have his own way. He had some reason for it, she supposed, but was not interested. She felt too tired and miserable to care; her one urgent desire was to get home as quickly as possible and go to bed. ‘Very well, I won’t be many minutes.’
‘I’ll be saying good night to your aunt and uncle. You mustn’t leave without doing so, Muriel.’
‘No, I won’t.’
It was no use pretending that there was nothing strange in Andrew’s action or his attitude towards her, Muriel mused as the car sped smoothly along the wide road. Her mind began to dwell again on what her cousin had said, and it was some moments before she realized that, the main road having been left behind, they were driving at a much reduced speed along the edge of what appeared to be a large lake. Muriel sat
bolt upright in the car.
‘Where—where is this?’ she gasped in a trembling little voice. ‘We’re on the wrong road.’
‘There’s no need to be frightened, Muriel,’ Andrew said gently, bringing the car to a standstill on the grass verge. ‘I made this little detour because it’s quite early ... and because I want to talk to you.’
He was speaking so quietly, so reassuringly. It was incredible, but Muriel knew he was going to propose to her!
‘Take me home—I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say! If you don’t start the car up at once I’ll get out and walk!’
Reaching for her hand, he said with an odd mixture of anger and gentleness,
‘What has Christine been saying to you?’
‘Nothing of importance—Are you going to take me home?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Let me go!’ Muriel made a futile effort to free herself.
‘I had a long talk with Aunt Edith tonight—’
‘Please let me go!’
‘She told me all about that little adventuress design of yours on the cruise.’
Muriel’s struggles ceased abruptly.
‘Aunt Edith told you... everything?’
‘Everything.’
‘But—but—’ In that case, he ought not to be speaking in this gentle tone, or holding her hand; he ought not to have offered to take her home at all. ‘Is that what you want to talk about?’
‘I think the least said about that the better. Your aunt said you were very naughty, and I heartily agree with her.’ Although his voice held a hint of censure, it still kept its gentleness, and Muriel twisted round in her seat, scanning his face in the moonlight.
‘You don’t sound as though—Don’t you think it was very ... dreadful?’
‘Your aunt convinced me that you had been more foolish than wicked,’ Andrew replied calmly, and, after a slight pause, ‘We both have a little forgiving to do, Muriel, before we can put everything right between us.’
‘Put everything right? ...’ Muriel trembled from head to foot. ‘Andrew, what are you saying to me?’
‘I’m saying—rather clumsily, I’m afraid—that I love you.’
‘You never said that to me on the ship...’ The placid calm of the lake, silvered and shimmering in the light of a young moon, reminded her of the sea. ‘You can’t mean it—Oh, Aunt Edith can’t have told you the whole!’
‘I think she did, Muriel. I do mean it.’ Andrew’s voice took on a note of infinite tenderness. ‘I want you for my wife.’
A profound silence followed his words; vaguely Muriel remembered that she had come to the party to prevent her aunt causing a scene, expecting either to be totally ignored by Andrew, or at best, treated with cool indifference. Instead, he was asking her to be his wife.
‘I can’t think clearly—I didn’t expect—’ She raised her lovely eyes, revealing their unnatural brightness. ‘Is it true?’ she whispered. ‘Is it really true?’ But how could she doubt that look in his eyes? Here was something she had never seen before.
Unresistingly she let him take her in his arms, lifting her face for his kiss, and for a long moment there was again silence in the car. At last Muriel drew away from him.
‘But when...?’
‘At precisely the same moment as you, my dearest: when I pinned a spray of mountain flowers on to your dress.’
‘Madeira? But—’ Her eyes widened comprehendingly. ‘You’ve been fighting it? You didn’t really want to fall in love with me?’
‘I didn’t want to marry the type of girl I believed you to be,’ Andrew admitted frankly. ‘I thought you were exactly what you appeared to be, a good-time girl ... and that was not the sort of girl I had imagined I would one day fall in love with.’
‘You like me better as I am?’ Muriel looked at him in surprise. ‘You don’t like glamorous women?’
‘Isn’t it obvious that I like you better as you are?’
‘Yes ... yes, of course it is. You see, I thought you liked me to be poised and sophisticated; I was determined to keep it up for ever—’
‘Your aunt explained all that; she also explained why you wanted to marry a wealthy man. Tell me, my silly little goose, just when were you going to ask your husband for all that money? On your wedding night, when you could be sure he’d be in a generous mood?’
‘I never really thought about it—Oh, Andrew, it isn’t anything to laugh about!’
‘All right, I won’t laugh. I’ll kiss you instead...’
‘Andrew,’ she said when he had released her, ‘if I hadn’t been like that—if I’d been as I am now...?’
‘I’d probably have asked you to marry me before the first week was out.’ He gazed at her with an admonishing expression. ‘As it was, I thought it would be amusing to flirt with you, to make you feel you had me safely—Oh, dash it, darling, don’t let’s talk about it any more! Say you forgive me and then we can begin all over again.’
‘There’s nothing for me to forgive!’
‘Oh, yes, there is. I was bent on mischief from the start. I should have left you alone; instead, I caused you months of unhappiness.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t leave me alone, Andrew.’
‘Darling...’ He drew her head on to his breast. ‘Does that mean I’m forgiven?’
‘But I deserved it all—’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes, if you insist on my saying it,’ she whispered, ‘but I still think—’
‘Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll make you forget these past months. If it’s any consolation to you, I’ve also found them pretty grim.’
‘You’re much too good for me,’ she quivered. ‘I don’t deserve—’
‘Never let me hear you say that again!’ Andrew cut her short abruptly. ‘Never, understand?’
‘But you seem to think I’m perfect, and I’m not—not even a little perfect.’
‘There’s no such thing as a “little” perfect; one is perfect or one is not.’
‘Then I’m not.’
‘You are.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Don’t argue with your boss,’ he interrupted with mock sternness. ‘You can argue as much as you like with your husband, but while I’m still your boss I’m going to make the most of my superior position.’
Which reminded Muriel that she had promised her cousin she would not go to the factory again. Would Christine believe that Andrew knew all? Obviously she thought he would find it impossible to forgive her. Maybe he would have found it impossible had he heard the story from Christine instead of Aunt Edith. Dear Aunt Edith; she must have guessed—
‘Why did Aunt Edith tell you everything, Andrew? Did she have some idea that you loved me?’
‘Yes. She came here especially to see me and straighten things out between us; incidentally, I came to see her.’
‘About me?’
‘I felt there was such a lot I didn’t understand. I wanted desperately to discover I’d made a mistake about you.’
‘Oh, Andrew!’ Muriel snuggled against him, stopping herself, just in time, from saying once again that she was not worthy of him. ‘Aunt Edith told my mother that she was going to show you up in front of Aunt Sarah and Uncle Herbert; she said they ought to know—to know—’ She broke off, and Andrew finished laughingly,
‘Just what sort of a man I am.’
‘Isn’t she false!’
‘She’s a dear. She had to bring you to the party tonight for, she said, she didn’t think she could make much headway until I had seen you as you really are ... sweet and unsophisticated—Well, don’t blush like that my darling, you must get used to compliments, for you’ll hear them regularly from now on.’ Pausing for a moment, he added, without much expression, ‘Have we cleared everything up now?’
‘Yes ... I think so.’
Another pause.
‘You wouldn’t like to tell me what your cousin said to you?’ He was passing a thumb over her wrist; the action con
vinced Muriel that he had a very good idea what Christine had been saying to her, so there was no point in trying to hide from him her cousin’s true character. Besides, Muriel felt sure Christine would not believe that Andrew knew the truth, that she would carry out her threat and tell him herself.
‘She said that if I ... accepted you she would—Oh, I never said you loved me, Andrew!’ she added hastily. ‘On the contrary, I did my best to convince her that you didn’t. Please don’t think—’
‘I don’t, my dear. So Christine had an idea I would ask you to marry me?’
‘I don’t know why she should have thought so. I did say you seemed anxious that I shouldn’t leave my job, but—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Andrew’s voice was suddenly grim. ‘So she threatened to come to me, did she? Well, I’ll be waiting for her!’
‘Perhaps she won’t come; perhaps she’ll believe me when I tell her you already know, that Aunt Edith told you.’
‘Personally, I don’t think she’ll believe either you or your aunt—that is supposing she goes to your aunt, which I very much doubt. However, you needn’t worry your head about it; Christine will get more than she bargains for if she comes tale-carrying to me.’
‘She thinks that, even if you do love me, you’ll never forgive a thing like that.’ Muriel paused, looking at him oddly from under her lashes. ‘When I first met you I thought you were the hard, unforgiving type of man.’
‘Did you, Muriel? Well, you were right in a way. There are some things I can’t forgive, no matter how I try.’
‘I hope I won’t ever do any of those things,’ she returned fervently, pressing closer to him.
‘You won’t.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘When are you going to marry me, my love?’
