Across the Counter

by Mary Burchell

  “Stop putting your finger so unerringly and painfully on the spot,” Malcolm said with a slight grimace. “If she were madly in love with me, Katherine, I know as well as you that she wouldn’t talk this way.”

  “Then you mean she’s ... not?”

  He shrugged impatiently.

  “They say there’s always one who does the kissing, and one who turns the cheek. Well, if that’s the position—I accept it. In time I can make her love me—I know that. But I must have time—I must have time.” He softly beat one clenched hand into the palm of the other as he spoke, apparently hardly even remembering the love 'that had once existed between him and Katherine, and utterly oblivious of any pain he might be causing her by his candor now.

  “I can’t have her turn me down now, Kate. She must somehow be persuaded that this idea of marrying a fortune is unnecessary—”

  “But it isn’t unnecessary, if that’s the way she sees it,” Katherine said almost coldly, because only so could she hide the fact that she was both angry and hurt. “The money has to come from somewhere, you say. If Geraldine marries money—and that seems to be the casual way they arrange their affairs—that is the answer. What else?”

  “You know perfectly well what else!” He spoke so violently that she winced. “If Paul married money that would also answer the problem.”

  “If Paul—Oh! I see.”

  She was silent for a long minute, illogically revolted by the idea that Paul should be involved in these calculations.

  “Yes—you do see, don’t you?” Malcolm spoke eagerly, almost pleadingly. “It has to be one of them. It’s pretty well reduced itself to that. And I can’t let it be Geraldine.”

  “You mean that once more it’s I who have to be sacrificed?” she said, and for the first time in her life she thought Malcolm rather insufferable. The disloyal thought was gone almost as soon as it formed, but it left a small, searing impression on her mind.

  “It isn’t quite that,” Malcolm argued, still in that eager, half-pleading tone. “Though I realize I’m the last person in the world to have the right to ask you to make even the smallest sacrifice. But you don’t love him, Kate. And I do love Geraldine—desperately.”

  “How do you know I don’t love Paul?”

  “You said as much.”

  “I did?” She looked startled. “When?”

  “At the ball, when I first challenged you. You brought out the usual guff about liking and admiring him. But you hardly knew him. It was all you could do not to call him Mr. Kendale still. Kate, I know it’s a wonderful match—but your feelings simply can’t be involved. And in any case, Paul isn’t the man to make you happy, if you want my candid opinion.”

  “I don’t,” Katherine said, more curtly that she had ever imagined herself speaking to Malcolm. “And it’s ridiculous of us to talk of him in this academic sort of way. Paul is a man who makes his own decisions—whether he is engaged to me or not.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Impatiently Malcolm conceded as much: “But there isn’t much doubt what he would do if he weren’t tied to you—”

  “Really, Malcolm, you are contriving to say some offensive things to me tonight!”

  “Oh, Lord, Kate, I’m sorry!” There was real contrition in his voice. “I’m so shattered by Geraldine’s announcement and desperate about the future—I hardly know what I’m saying.”

  “I know the feeling,” said Katherine somberly, and she meant that literally and in no mood of reproach. All the same it silenced him, though he continued to watch her anxiously in the insufficient light from the old-fashioned railway lamp.

  It was almost dark outside now, and when Katherine stared out of the window she saw little more than her own troubled reflection in the glass.

  Of course—there was a rough sort of common sense about much that Malcolm had said, however tactless and hurtful his wording might have been.

  He did love Geraldine, and it was probably true that her temporary coolness owed much to the fact that she felt she could no longer allow herself the indulgence of marrying a comparatively poor man. Once that position was righted, she might well see Malcolm in a different light once more. At any rate, he seemed confident of that.

  Set against this was nothing but her own unreal engagement to Paul, which would in any case be coming to an end in a few weeks. It seemed rather paltry to refuse cooperation. And yet—

  “You think, if I were not there—” she was really speaking her thoughts aloud “—Paul would probably marry some rich girl rather than lose—”

  “Of course!” Malcolm did not even let her finish the sentence. “Aileen Lester, in all probability. And then the two old men would patch things up.”

  “Not Aileen Lester, I think,” said Katherine quickly.

  “No? Lots of people thought he would marry Aileen before you came along.”

  “Then they were wrong,” retorted Katherine with quite unnecessary vehemence. “He wouldn’t marry Aileen even if the alternative were to leave Kendales altogether.”

  “Don’t you believe it!” Malcolm looked surprised at her reaction. “Paul would pretty nearly sell his soul to retain his foothold in Kendales. You forget that his father virtually kept him out for years. This is his triumph, the reward for all those frustrating years. He’d marry anyone to prevent the position being snatched from him again.”

  “Not Aileen,” reiterated Katherine obstinately.

  “Well—” Malcolm glanced at her curiously “—he certainly took evasive action when the old man tried to stampede him. But he wouldn’t have known then just how much was involved.”

  “No,” agreed Katherine slowly. “He didn’t know then just how much was involved.” And suddenly she felt indescribably depressed.

  “Well, Kate?” As the train started again, jerkily, Malcolm leaned forward eagerly. “Are you going to help me?”

  “If Paul feels as you say, he’ll surely take action himself now he does know how much is involved.” She felt it was ungenerous to prevaricate. But why should she once more be the one who had to shoulder all the unpleasantness?

  “Not if Geraldine moves first. Why should he?”

  “Oh—I forgot that.”

  “Kate—” suddenly he looked young and haggard, in a way that touched her and reminded her faintly of the days when his lightest wish had been her concern “—I know I’m being horribly, almost indecently frank. But to you I can speak almost as to my other self—”

  She marveled that he could still say these things!

  “I love her. But I hold her lightly—insecurely. I know it. That’s the devil of the situation. Unless this threat to the Kendale holding is removed, I’ve as good as lost her. And you’re about the only person who can set the alternative in motion.”

  She supposed that was true. In a strange ironical way, it was true. She could give Malcolm his happiness, or withhold it.

  “While I was driving along just now, I was thinking and thinking about it,” Again he was speaking rapidly and almost feverishly. “And I saw suddenly that you were the only person who could help me. I didn’t see how I could ever have the nerve—the effrontery—to go to you and ask you to help me. And then, when I got in here and suddenly saw it was you standing by the window, it was like a miracle. A gift from heaven.”

  She had enough humor left to feel faintly amused that she could still seem like a gift from heaven to him, though in rather changed terms. But there was really nothing funny about the situation. It was just a very unpalatable rehash of events, in which she was once more the superfluous figure.

  “Kate—” he said again. And she realized that she simply could not keep him waiting for an answer any longer. She also realized that there was only one answer, unless she was to feel forever small and mean.

  “Very well, Malcolm,” she said quietly. “I’ll break my engagement with Paul, if you really think that will give you your happiness.”

  “Oh, Kate! You’re wonderful!” He came and put His arm arou
nd her, but she pushed him quickly away with a revulsion of feeling that astonished herself.

  “Please don’t do that—now.”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked contrite, even shocked. And she thought that possibly he saw his conduct for a moment with her eyes. “I’m just so—grateful.”

  “Well, you’d better not say that until the position is actually cleared,” she told him dryly as the train drew at last into Morringham station. “There’s a lot of ground to cover yet, Malcolm. I’ll do my part as quickly as possible. And then it’s up to you to see how it affects Geraldine.”

  “Everything will be all right.” He was wildly optimistic all at once. “I know it will be—now.”

  “I hope so.”

  She parted from him at the main exit of the station, refusing to let him take her home by taxi. She could not have said why, but she had had enough of Malcolm for the moment. The realization shocked her profoundly, but she could not deny it, even to herself.

  It’s just that the whole interview was so trying, she told herself. Tomorrow I’ll feel different.

  But the thought of tomorrow reminded her that it would not be Malcolm, but Paul, who would occupy most of her tomorrow. And the reflection disturbed her more deeply than she would have thought possible.

  The Fallodens were very sweet and interested about her day, and she somehow managed to produce an amusing and satisfactory account of her visit to the family.

  “I suppose your mother is especially delighted to think you’re marrying a local man?” Mrs. Falloden used exactly the same incongruous term to describe Paul as her mother had used. Perhaps that was the way mothers always looked at the satisfactory position of having a daughter settle near at hand.

  “Yes. She’s very pleased,” said Katherine, feeling both untruthful and undutiful. Then she escaped to her own room—though not to sleep.

  She lay awake for hours, listening to the nearby church clock chiming at intervals. And all the time she tried to remember exactly how she had once felt about Malcolm—and failed.

  Not that she felt any less blank and wretched about having lost him and the wonderful days when they had been everything to each other. But each time she tried to remember the charming, teasing, affectionate ways with which he had beguiled her, she saw no more than his strained, absorbed expression as he urged her to help him marry Geraldine.

  It was dreadful of him, she thought once. And then she felt sorry for him. But in a half-embarrassed and not at all romantic way.

  She must have fallen asleep at last. For she woke with a start to realize that rain was streaming down the windowpanes and that it was time to get up.

  “Oh, no!” she muttered, and very nearly pulled the bedclothes over her head. “A wet Monday morning, in addition to everything else!” Everything else being a possible scene with Aileen Lester and an inevitable one with Paul.

  As she doggedly made her way through the rain later, it seemed to her that the scene with Aileen was slightly the more distasteful of the two, possibly because it was the more imminent. But when she arrived in her office to find no Aileen yet there and a note from Paul asking her to come and see him, she decided immediately, in sudden panic, that fireworks with Aileen Lester were preferable to explanations with Paul.

  However, there was no avoiding the summons. And wondering anxiously if he wanted to discuss private or business affairs, she made her way to Paul’s office on the top floor.

  She need not have worried. It was not his way to mix work and pleasure. He wanted to discuss with her certain drastic alterations that he been proposed, in the light of her own report, and there was nothing in their conversation that might not have taken place between any two executives on the firm.

  In one sense, Katherine was gratified to be consulted like this. It was the ultimate proof that Paul had accepted her as a worthwhile addition to the staff. But part of her mind and heart was horribly and nervously occupied by the thought that before she left his office she must make it clear that their engagement was broken.

  She tried to tell herself that there could be no real pain—only acute embarrassment—in ending something that had never engaged her feelings. But this somehow had little effect on the curious lump in her throat, or on the unutterably forlorn sensation that came over her every time she thought of handing back her ring.

  “Well—” he leaned back in his chair at last, with an air of satisfaction “—I think that covers everything.”

  “Y-yes ... I think so.”

  “Something else you wanted to raise?” He looked inquiring.

  “No. Nothing to do with the work. Something more ... personal.”

  “More personal, eh?” He glanced at her in an amused and curiously indulgent way. “Well, what is it?”

  But before she could answer the telephone rang beside him, and while he was answering it she had to sit there in indescribably nervous silence, trying to think of the best way of blurting out her announcement.

  As he hung up, however, he seemed to have forgotten all about her abortive attempt to introduce a personal topic. He got up, scooping up the papers in front of him, and said, “They’re starting the board meeting half an hour earlier to suit the chairman, who has to go to London. And they want me to bring you along.”

  “To bring me along?” She looked so startled that he laughed.

  “There’s no need to be scared. Your report is one of the items on the agenda. You’re much more likely to be congratulated than shot at,” he assured her.

  Then he held open the door for her, and she had to precede him out of the room with her engagement still unbroken.

  The boardroom at Kendales was large and-impressive, and so were several of the gentlemen grouped around the table when Katherine and Paul entered. But there was a good sprinkling of very alert-looking people too, and among these, to her surprise and quite genuine pleasure, Katherine saw Mr. Arnoldson from Bremmisons.

  As she came forward to greet him, she suddenly saw that Malcolm was there, too—a discovery that so demoralized her that she had difficulty in replying suitably to Mr. Arnoldson’s greeting.

  A place was found for her near him, and Paul went and sat beside the chairman who—mindful of his London train perhaps—rapped on the table and opened the meeting with commendable briskness.

  Much that was discussed was familiar to Katherine. All of it was profoundly interesting. And in spite of herself she found her personal affairs slipping into the background of her mind as the bold plans for the future of Kendales were unfolded.

  Her own part was discussed and substantially approved, while other aspects were debated with a heat that bordered on fierceness. But throughout the morning’s proceedings there was one thing that emerged with increasing clearness to Katherine. The man who dominated the scene was Paul.

  She was not entirely surprised, but she was completely fascinated. He was known to her, she realized now, in a variety of moods—cynical, generous, obstinate, teasing—even relaxed in the background of her own family. But now she saw him in his natural element, and he took on a stature and an almost careless air of dominance that she found quite breathtaking.

  “Unorthodox—but brilliant,” she heard Mr. Arnoldson murmur once, and she instinctively turned her head to smile her agreement with him.

  “Yes, yes—you can well be proud of him,” said Mr. Arnoldson softly, for he was a kindly, not to say sentimental man at heart.

  “Oh, I am,” whispered Katherine in reply. And suddenly she made the astonishing discovery that she was.

  The warm, gratified, curiously excited feeling that she had been experiencing for some time was all at once defined for her. She was proud of Paul—in a glowing, almost possessive way.

  Stupid of me, she thought confusedly. You can only be proud of someone who belongs to you. And Paul does not belong to me. That was the whole point of last night’s talk. He doesn’t belong to me—in any way.

  And she glanced instinctively, almost guiltily, across the tabl
e at Malcolm.

  To her intense irritation, he was not looking at her or Paul or anyone else. He was idly sketching on the pad in front of him, simply waiting until his own part in the proceedings should come up. Paul might as well have been reciting the alphabet for all Malcolm was impressed.

  It’s just because it doesn’t concern him personally, Katherine thought angrily. He’s shallow and self-centered—that’s what he is!

  And then she realized that it was Malcolm of whom she was thinking these hard things, and the discovery shocked her so profoundly that she quickly looked away from him lest, in some indefinable way, he should sense her thoughts.

  She looked at Paul instead. And again that warm sense of elation and pride came over her so that she smiled and leaned forward, watching him, her eyes bright and her lips slightly parted in eagerness.

  It was part of his strength and his charm that he held his audience lightly, and as his glance swept around it paused for a moment on Katherine. For some reason she could not possibly explain, his color rose slightly and his faint smile deepened before his glance traveled on, leaving her as confused, and in some way excited, as if he had kissed her in front of them all.

  No one else had noticed, she felt sure. She even tried to tell herself that she had imagined the incident, or—if it had really happened—that it had no special significance. But she knew, as she sat there quietly beside Mr. Arnoldson, that in some inexplicable and rather terrifying' way, this board meeting was historic, not only for Kendales, but for herself.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The historic board meeting came to an end just after twelve o’clock. The chairman bade everyone a dignified but hasty goodbye and took himself off to the London train, while the others broke up into small groups, talking or arguing about either personal affairs or some aspect of the meeting.