Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other

by Mary Burchell

  She crossed the hall resolutely to him.

  "Norman.'* She wished her voice hadn't sounded quite so subdued and quiet as she said his name.

  But he swung around at once, with a delighted smile, and took both ofher hands.

  "Leoni dear, this is delightful. I've been looking forward to our evening all day.''

  "Oh, Norman, so have I!" That was true enough, even if something else had superseded it in her thoughts during the last five minutes.

  "Come along. I've got a taxi outside. I didn't think we'd bother with the car this evening. And what you need—" he regarded her with critical kindliness "—is ^ nice toning-up drmk and a good meal."

  She smiled. "Why do you say that, I wonder?" It was an anxious little challenge, really, but he didn 't take it up. .

  "Oh—just because it's cold and a dreary evening outside, and when one's finished the day's work, a little festivity is called for."

  "Oh, I see."

  She didn't know that Norman was much too tactful to tell any girl that she looked pale and under the weather. So she concluded thankfully that she had successfully hidden her feelings, and went out with Norman to the waiting taxi.

  They drove to an expensive and intimate little restaurant, where the food was superb and the drinks far beyond Leoni's powers of estimation. She only knew that the rich amber-colored stuff, which Norman insisted on her having before her meal, made her feel warmer than she had all day, and as though all her problems and worries were much simpler than she had imagined.

  He didn't ask her much about what she had been doing, and he certainly asked her no questions that were diflficuh to answer. Most of the time—rather unexpectedly—he talked about himself, and gave her an amusing account of some of his work.

  And, after a while, Leoni found herself thawing out from the frozen sense of shock that had seemed to numb her faculties, and she smiled across the table at Norman and created, even for herself, at least the illusion that she was enjoying herself

  "You're really a very busy person, Norman, aren't you?'* she said thoughtfully.

  "Not so busy that I can't find time to enjoy myself most times." He smiled at her.

  "Well—yes. I can imagine that. But, even in the matter of enjoying yourself, I would think you're kept pretty busy. I mean—you seem to go everywhere and know nearly everyone and—and do everything."

  "I'd call that rather a sweeping statement of the case," Norman told her with a laugh. "But I can't say that I'm ever at a loss for something to do—either work or play. I hope I balance the two reasonably well. A man who can't is usually set for failure in one way or another.''

  "Yes." Leoni considered that. "I suppose what I was really thinking was that it's quite extraordinarily nice of anyone so busy and popular as you are to find time to take me out like this."

  "But, my dear Leoni, I like taking you out. That's part of the well-chosen pleasure, you know," he assured her. And, though his ey^ sparkled with amusement, there was no doubting the sincerity of that.

  She didn't answer immediately and, after watching her serious expression for a moment, he said, "You don't really find it strange that anyone should want to take you out for the evening, do you?"

  "N-no.' She sought rather wildly for anything in her own behavior that could justify the way Lucas had behaved. Then she jerked her mind back to the present. "No—of course not. Except that I 'm sure there are lots of unusual and charming people whom you could take out if you wanted to."

  "But, my dear, you are unusual and charming. What about that?''

  **Do you think so?*' She looked at him rather wistfully, and certainly without any deliberate coquetry.

  "Why, of course." He met her eyes, smiling. Then, to her surprise, his glance dropped and he colored slightly. "Don't you know just how unusual and charming I think you?"

  Leoni was just starting to say no, when something in the situation struck even her inexperienced judgment as significant.

  Did Norman mean^he couldn't mean—that he found her more charming than anyone else? That he thought he was falling in love with her?

  Mingled with the warmth and gratification of knowing that anyone could regard her like that—especially the worthwhile and popular Norman—was an extraordinary little thrill of panic. She didn't want any other complication on her hands! She had enough to trouble and puzzle her this evening without her having to examine her feelings toward Norman, or fit any hopes or suggestions of his into the scheme of things.

  With a pleasant casualness, born of anxiety rather than any social knowledge, Leoni smiled at him. "I'm glad you approve of me," she said lightly. "Now I won't feel guilty aoout taking you away from any of the other nice ways you might have spent your evenings. Do tell me—what play are we going to see? "

  Without hesitation he followed the lead she had given him, and began to tell her about the brilliant revue they were going to see. It was her first revue? Then she would enjoy the novelty of it. She liked lavish staging and beautiful dresses? Then, according to all reports, there would be plenty in this show to please her.

  He made not the slightest attempt to put things back on the rather tense and serious footing on which they had been for a few moments. No one would know better than Norman that, with a girl of Leoni's type and inexperience, it would be unwise—not to say unkind—to rush things.

  Leoni felt vaguely but passionately grateful to him for interpreting and indulging her mood so exactly. Oh, he was a dear, was Norman Conby. Any girl who put herself in his care would never have to worry about emotional crises and

  J38 Take Me With You

  unexplained heartaches. He actively wanted the happiness of those who were dear to him, and he was a man who would go to a great deal of personal trouble to see that their happiness was secured.

  It was quite characteristic of him that, for the rest of the evening, he kept things on a basis of lighthearted friendliness, so that Leoni had nothing to do but enjoy herself and know that she would be looked after completely but unobtrusively until she was deposited safely at home, once more at an hour that Mrs. Daeram would consider reasonable.

  How much I should like Norman if I had never met Lucas! thought Leoni, during a moment of self-examination when her attention wandered from the stage to her own affairs. But I do like him, of course. I like him most awfully. In fact I don't know that I've ever liked anyone so much before.

  But liking was something very different from the emotion which had made her few short meetings with Lucas so deliriously happy, the past fortnight of unexplained silence so unbearable. Not that she ought to be thinkmg along these lines, of course, after what had happened this evening. And, in any case, wasn't there perhaps more happiness to be foundf with someone whom you liked and trusted to the fullest extent than with someone who could make you so intensely wretched as well as so dazzlingly happy?

  Then she reminded herself that it was absurd to indulge in these theoretical questions. There was no choice before her on the lines she was imagining. Lucas was a married man who, if he had once been very much estranged from his wife, appeared to have revised his opinion very thoroughly now.

  And even with dear Norman, thought htoni, there's no question of anything but affectionate friendliness and one hint. I wonder if I'm really a bit fast and silly to start imagining things the moment a man is nice to me.

  This sobering thought kept her very grave, until the mood on the stage changed to one of such hilarious amusement that Leoni found herself smiling and then laughing in company with everyone else.

  "That's better," Norman whispered beside her. "I wondered a little while back if you were enjoying yourself—you looked so grave."

  "Of course I'm enjoying myself," she assured him ea-

  Take Me With You J59

  gerly. **I was just thinking for—for a moment about something.*'

  He didn't ask her what it was, perhaps because there was little chance of saying anything just then, but he quietly put his hand over hers as
it rested on the arm of her seat, and something in the clasp was so immensely comforting and acceptable that Leoni found herself wondering all over again if it was more important to like a man than to feel that your happiness could be made or ruined by him.

  The performance ended sufficiently early for him to take her to a very smart and fashionable snack bar, where Leoni was regaled with peculiar but delicious little savories and something to drink, which he assured her—since she seemed anxious on the point—would not go to her head. Then he took her all the way home by taxi.

  "It's been lovely, Norman—every bit of it," she told him earnestly when she realized they must be nearing home.

  "I'm very glad, Leoni. Let's do it again soon," he said. "I shall be out of town again for a few days, but I'll ring you up when I get back."

  She thanked him—perhaps all the more sincerely because there was no need to make any sort of arrangement or decision at that moment. Leoni, just then, wanted nothing so much as to be alone and to bring some sort of order and coherence out of her confused feehngs and thoughts, before she had to decide on any definite course of action.

  As though he sensed that—though of course it was impossible that he should, since he knew nothing of what had happened in the hall of the office building that evening—he said nothing specific to Leoni about future plans.

  Only when he was standing on the sidewalk, saying good night to her by the light of an almost blatant moon, he took her hand and said, "If ever you're troubled or worried about something, and don't particularly want to tell Mrs. Dagram about it, I'd like.to think you would tell me and let me see if there were any way I could help."

  "Why, Norman, how sweet of you!" The slight unsteadiness of her voice was partly because she was moved and partly because she wondered with a start if, after all, she had done anything to betray herself that evening.

  But before she could feel that any more words were

  necessary, he lightly kissed the hand he was holding and said, "Good night, my dear. Bless you.*'

  And then he got back into the taxi, and Leoni turned and went into the house.

  There was a light in the dining room, and she went in there, expecting to find Mrs. Dagram or one of the girls up late.

  No one, however, was there except auntie, and she was enjoying a meal that should have worried a considerably younger digestion than hers at this hour of the night.

  "Hello. Out enjoying yourself again?" was her not very friendly greeting. Auntie, Leoni was aware, didn't really like her—in fact, in some obscure way, resented her existence.

  "Yes." Leoni took off her hat and went over to the fire to warm herself "I've had a lovely evening. I went out with Norman Conby."

  "That's that young solicitor, isn't it?"

  "He's a lawyer."

  "Same thing, but it sounds smarter. Do you want a piece ofcake?"

  "No, thank you. We had something after the theater."

  "What did you go to see?"

  Leoni told her. " "Hm! glorified music hall," auntie remarked contemptuously, but Leoni refused to be drawn into an argument.

  Besides, suddenly an idea had come into her head, and she very much wished to know from auntie if it were correct.

  "Was Mr. Morrion at the theater tonight?" she asked abruptly, and without bothering to lead up tactfully to the subject.

  There was a moment's hesitation. Then auntie said, "He was. How did you know?"

  "I saw him leaving the office with Miss Rayter."

  "Hm, yes. He brought her, and then came to fetch her away afterward. Seems to be hanging around quite a lot again lately. She'd do well to give him his marching orders."

  Leoni was so furious at this estimate of the comparative worth of Sophie and Lucas that for a moment she could say nothing. That was fortunate because, by the time she had

  Take Me With You J 61

  found words, she had also realized that they were better left unsaid.

  If auntie knew that the silence was stormy, she showed no sign of the fact, but went on stolidly eating her sftpper. And after a moment Leoni said quietly, "Good night. I m going to bed."

  "Best place for you at this time of night," Auntie retorted. "Good night."

  Slowly Leoni went upstairs to her room.

  If anything had been needed to complete her misery and bewilderment, this was it.

  So he had taken her to the theater, and even fetched her away again. He was "hanging around quite a lot," was he?

  Somehow the picture this presented was odious and humiliating—both for him and for Leoni.

  But why was it? What had happened? Nothing in her last evening with Lucas had suggested anything but a wider gulf between him and his wife. And now they seemed—Leoni shuddered at the word—reconciled in some inexplicable way.

  In the next moment, she told herself with remorse that it was wicked to regret a reconciliation between husband and wife. In the colorless generalization, of course, that was true. But—Lucas and Sophie Rayter! It was unthinkable, after all that had happened. It was almost indecent

  Sitting on the side of her bed and not bothering to undress, Leoni tried to solve the hateful puzzle. Of course there had been a time when he was infatuated with Sophie-he had said so himself, if not in so many words. But that was so long ago. And yet it was, no doubt, part of the essential Lucas.

  Did one perhaps, given certain circumstances, slip back into that sort of enslavement? Had something happened that made him see Sophie in something the same light as he had seen her in the old days?

  For her part, Leoni felt, she could only see her as she had been at the cottage that night. Hard, self-confident and rather terrible.

  In any case, it was Lucas's own affair—not hers.

  And then, at that incorrect reflection, Leoni's grief and indignation and sense of injustice came to a head.

  No! That was the whole point. That was what made it so

  monstrous. It was not only Lucas's affair. It was hers, as well, after the confidences he had made to her. That he should decide to patch things up with his wife was indeed his own affair. But somehow—in some way—he should have found an opportunity of telling Leoni quite frankly what had happened.

  Not that he had ever made love to her. Not, Leoni hoped, that he had any idea how deeply her own feelings were involved. But, by virtue of the friendly candor that existed between them, she was entitled to know of this sensational change in his affairs and his feelings.

  Was that presuming too far on their friendship, she wondered for an uncertain moment.

  But—no. At least he had no right to leave her without a word, day after day, as though she were of so little importance in the scheme of thmgs that it hardly mattered whether she were bewildered or not.

  Very little about their own relationship had been put into words between "them, she assured herself with scrupulous fairness. It was possible, even, that she had been sufficiently silly and romantic to read more into his words and his looks than he himself had ever intended. But, putting their friendship at its lowest estimate, she was entitled to some word on what had happened. She had not deserved to be ignored.

  Leoni could not have believed that she could feel so anery with anyone. Least of all with Lucas, who had been her childhood's hero and her girlhood's romance.

  If only, as well as being angry with him, she could have felt she loved him less!

  That was the best of only liking someone. If you had reason to feel furious with them, you just stopped liking them. But if you loved them, being furious didn't seem to make much difference.

  The sound of auntie coming upstairs reminded Leoni at last that time was passing, and rather hastily she got undressed and went to bed. But even then she lay wide awake, thinking and thinking of what had happened, and of how Lucas must have changed. Finally, the only thing that soothed her to sleep was the remembrance of Norman-kind and affectionate—on whom one could always rely.

  Life at the office was certainly not easier after that. Sh
e

  had a nervous dread that something—she was not sure what—would happen that would put Lucas in a still worse light.

  Her mood of anger, though it returned from time to time, was by no means constant. There were moments when she forgot all about being angry and indignant, and thought that nothing in the world could matter, if only she could have Lucas again as he had been.

  At times like this, one cowardly part of her suggested that the moment was almost bound to come when he and Sophie would grow tired of each other again. Then her pride would indignantly remind her that a man who could change so often and so rapidly was not worth any girl's respect.

  In other words, the sooner she forgot Lucas, the better, for he certainly seemed to have forgotten her.

  More than once, Leoni told herself, she had reason to be thankful that she worked in such a big office. No one so junior or so unimportant as herself was ever called to take dictation from the actual heads of the firm, and any communications from real authority were made either through the private secretaries or through the chill and sterilizing channel of Miss Robinson. Consequently, Leoni had no fear—or hope—of meeting Lucas unawares.

  There was, of course, always a slight chance of an encounter on the stairs or in the elevator, but Leoni's usual times of arrival and departure were very different from his and, from experience, she knew she was unlikely to repeat that meeting in the entrance hall.

  In fact, as time went past, Leoni came slowly to the painful conclusion that her association with Lucas had just broken off in ragged ends. There would be no awkward contretemps to set a final seal on the end of their friendship. And equally there would be no explanations that might lessen the pain of loss or the sense of injustice. The chapter in her life that contained Lucas had simply come to an inconclusive and unsatisfactory end.

  Conscientiously, she applied herself with even more earnestness to her work, in the hope of keeping unhappy thoughts at bay. And if this did not exactly result in the removal of heartache, at least it earned the grudging approval of Miss Robinson, who did not scruple to profit from