Harriet opened her eyes wide at this frankness.
"You do see them clearly," she exclaimed.
"Of course.'* Something of Mrs. Mayhew's usual crisp manner returned. "I never can understand people allowing their affections to blur their judgement. I adored my husband, but he was a great worry to me. Roddy is much the same."
"Your other son doesn't give you much worry," Harriet remarked and for the life of her, she could not help making that sound a little defensive. ^
"Lin? Oh, no." The old lady laughed softly. "Lin is very like me. Strong-minded and able to look after himself"
Harriet thought of Dilys and said, "Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" Mrs. Mayhew repeated sharply. "There is no 'perhaps* about Lin. He is able to look after himself better tnan anyone else I know.**
"Splendid, mamma,*' exclaimed Lindsay with mocking approval, as he came back into the room. "Who thinks I am not?*' .
"Well, Harriet here put it no higher than 'perhaps.' *'
"Really?** He turned an amused glance on Harriet. And then he laughed. "Oh, that's just a private little tit for tat, mother. I told Harriet that I thought she needed some looking after sometimes. She is handing back the challenge."
"No—really, it wasn't that," Harriet protested. But they all laughed, and she was glad the subject had ended like that.
Only as she ran upstairs to take off her outdoor things, she thought: He called me Harriet. I wonder if he did it on purpose. I was mad when Brent Penrose did it. But Fd like Lin to call me Harriet.
When she came down again, Lindsay was talking about Dilys. She had returned that day, it seemed, and would be coming over soon after tea.
"Did she enjoy her visit?" Harriet asked, urged on by the
desire to know, even now, whether there was not some satisfactory explanation of a perfectly open visit to London.
"Yes, though she said it was cold. These friends of hers live somewhere on the Yorkshire coast, I believe. Pretty bleak there, this time of year, I should imagine," Lindsay replied with feeling.
And Harriet said that no doubt it was cold in Yorkshire, and thought of Dilys sitting across the table from Roddy in a London restaurant while he gazed at her with open admiration.
True to her promise, Dilys arrived soon after tea, and Harriet heard her and Lindsay greeting each other affectionately in the hall. But because she suddenly felt sick and disgusted and quite extraordinarily depressed, Harriet slipped away to the kitchen and pretended that domestic duties kept her engaged for most of the evening.
Later, Dilys went out with Lindsay. And Harriet told herself that she was very thankful and wondered why she felt so intensely miserable.
Mrs. Mayhew also seemed faintly depressed and restless, an unusual thing for her. Although she suffered a good deal of ill health, she was an extraordinarily lively person and usually excellent company. But she talked very little that evening and announced her intention of going to bed a good hour earlier than usual.
Harriet made no comment on this. She knew that nothing is more trying than solicitous and pressing inquiries when one feels miserable and wants to be left alone. She guessed . that the old lady was more disappointed than she had admitted and was suddenly missmg her Roddy, for no special reason, more than she had done for some months past.
So she just made a little more fuss about her employer than usual, found her an amusing book, settled her comfortably in bed, and brought her a hot drink.
"You're a kind child," Mrs. Mayhew said, looking at Harriet over her spectacles. "I didn't ask for this, did I?'
"No. But sometimes one likes a few attentions without the trouble of asking for them," Harriet told her with a smile.
"Profoundly true," her employer agreed, and, drawing Harriet down, she kissed her good rtight.
It was the first time she had shown any open affection and Harriet guessed that it was not her way to bestow lavish caresses. The kiss was all the more appreciated for that and Harriet went downstairs feeling happier.
She took a book and sat down by the fire, pretending to herself for some while that she was interested. But presently she found that she was not turning the pages. Instead, she was wondering what Lindsay and Dilys were saying to each other and how much longer the deception was to go on. That was what was so depressing. The atmosphere of untruth—of which even she herself was a part.
And at that point, Harriet made a sudden decision. Roddy's and Dilys's affairs might be their own. They must tell the truth or lies, as they pleased. But she herself was not going to be involved in a false position any longer. She was on good and trusting terms with Lindsay. It was ridiculous for her not to tell him the truth about her visit to his flat. That much of the tangle was her own affair, and she was entitled to elucidate it. He could think what he would about Roddy's misstatement. Probably, like herself, he would eventually put it down to his brother's desire to forestall any further questions or guesses. But at least he should know that it was she who had brought Roddy home and that she had never set eyes on him before that evening.
77/ tell him tonight, if he doesn't come in too late, Harriet decided, and felt extraordinarily relieved by her decision.
Indeed, when a little later, she heard rapid steps on the gravel driveway outside the window she was so made up with the idea of Lindsay coming in and having a heart-to-heart talk with her that she completely forgot that he had left the house in his car.
Only when the doorbell rang—with a sound of peremptory harshness in the silent house—did she realize, with surprise, that this could not be Lindsay.
Late callers were very unusual at Fourways. In fact, she could not recall anyone else having come at this hour since she had been there. And, feeling it was better that she, rather than Priscilla, should investigate, she went out into the hall and opened the front door.
As she did so, the light from the hall streamed out onto the steps, clearly showing the man who was standing there.
With a sort of fascinated astonishment, she realized that it was Roddy Mayhew.
"Hallo," he said. "I'm the prodigal son. Vm sorry to turn up at this hour, but blame the ous service, not me.*'
"That's quite all right," Harriet said. "Come in. I'm Miss Denby, your mother s new companion. She'll be very glad to see you. She went to bed about three-quarters of an hour ago, but I doubt if she's asleep yet."
"She isn't expecting me, is she? Actually, I told Lin I wasn't coming.'
Harriet was still standing with her back to the light, but, even so, she noticed that he narrowed his eyes as he looked at her.
"No, she isn't expecting you. But she will be very pleased you changed your mind at the last minute."
He laughed. A clear, affectionate, boyish laugh. And tossing his hat on the hall table he went springing up the stairs without further discussion.
Harriet looked after him.
It was inevitable that he should be his mother's favorite, she realized with surprised finality. Now that he was clearheaded and normal, she could see how impulsive and engaging he was. And that infectious laugh had all the more gaiety and charm because she instinctively contrasted it with the haunted gloom of the previous mood in which she had known him.
A dangerously attractive boy, she thought. And, even as she thought it, she felt a little indulgent toward him. At any rate, to the extent of deciding that he was probably in need of a meal after his long journey and seeing to it that there was one ready for him Nvhenever he might come down from his mother's room.
It was half an hour before he came downstairs again. Long enough for Harriet to wonder, a little dubiously, what she was going to do about her intended disclosure to Lindsay ifhe should come in first.
However, she was spared any decision on that point. Roddy came down again before there was any sign of his brother's returning.
As he came into the dining room, Harriet was standing by the table, almost directly under the light, and he fetched up short a few yards away from her seat and said, puzzled
ly,
/ '
"You know, I think I know you. Haven't I seen you somewhere before—if I may use the classic phrase?*'
She smiled faintly.
'*Yes. You know me very slightly."
"And yet I can't put a name to you."
"You didn't know my name."
"Didn't I? What did I know about you then?"
Harriet's smile deepened to something like roguish amusement.
"I should think what you knew best about me was that I have a strong arm," she told him. "You were very glad of its support. I brought you home from a party one evening when you were feeling ill."
"Did you? That was remarkably nice of you," he said and gave her his very charming smile. Then suddenly he stiffened slightly, like an animal that suddenly senses danger in the undergrowth, Harriet thought. "When was that?" he asked sharply.
She was fleetingly sorry for him. But she said quite deliberately, "It was one Saturday evening, about three or four weeks ago."
"Good lord!" He sat down slowly at the table. "Of all the filthy luck!"
Harriet remained silent, and after a moment, it seemed to dawn on him that his exclamation must require some explaining.
"No, I don't mean that. At least—" he rubbed his hand over his eyes perplexedly "—it was damned kind of you, and I'm grateful. Only—the situation's a bit complicated. You see—" He broke off and studied her, as though trying to decide how much to say.
Harriet remained silent—waiting to see whether he would extricate himself from this with the ease of a practiced liar, or merely improvize with the clumsiness of the naturally truthful person who had become involved in unwelcome deception. She thought that a good deal of her future opinion of Roddy Mayhew depended on the way he handled the next few minutes.
"Does anyone here—my mother or my brother—know that you met me before?" he asked slowly at last.
"No."
"But—'* he recalled something uneasily "—didn't Lin open the door for us, that evening you brought me home?"
"Yes, he did. But on that occasion, he took me for a highly undesirable young woman who was making a fool of herself and you. When I turned up a couple of days later, as a respectable and responsible companion for his mother,^ he naturally didn't connect the two. I doubt if he took more than one glance at me that first evening. He probably had the very vaguest impression of me."
"And you didn't remind him of it?"
"Well... no. I wasn't particularly proud of the figure I had cut," Harriet explained dryly. "Nor gratified by the conclusions he had drawn."
In spite of his obvious anxiety, Roddy laughed.
"I say, I'm terribly sorry!"
"It really doesn't matter. That part of it, I mean."
Roddy slowly cut himself some cold meat, and considered the situation further.
"Then as things are," he said, without raising his eyes, "it suits you just as well as me that we just shouldn't mention having met before? Just forget it, eh?"
In that moment Harriet would have very much liked to confirm the relief that was creeping into Roddy's tone. But the idea of being—even in so small a degree—a fellow conspirator was unthinkable. Besides, she had already decided to speak frankly to Lindsay about her own part in the business.
"No," she said distinctly. "I'm afraid it doesn't suit me. I had already decided to mention the matter to your brother. I don't hke being in this rather false position and—"
"But, good heavens!" he interrupted her with annoyance and genuine surprise. "Why exaggerate the whole thmg to these proportions? What interest is it to Lin that you did me -some casual kindness one evening and that he misunderstood your motives? I mean—what mterest can it possibly be to him, considering that he hasn't even identifiecl you as the girl in question? why not drop the whole business?"
"Because it didn't end there, did it?" Harriet said coolly.
"It didn't... ? What do you mean?"'That startled wariness was back in his manner, and again Harriet felt her heart ache for him, however much or little he might be to blame.
"Look here. At least let you and me be frank about this." Harriet sat down opposite him, and leaned her arms on the table. "I happen to know that, for some reason best known to yourself, you told Lin—you told your brother—that the girl who brought you home that night was the girl with whom you, were—were entangled. A girl who, for some reason or other, was proving an annoyance and anxiety to your family. In other words, you identified me as that girl. I don't like the position, and I want it cleared up. *'
She saw the line of his mouth tighten nervously.
"Tm sorry,*' he said slowly. '*Of course I wouldn't have wished that on you if I'd had the faintest idea that you were ever going to turn up in our lives again. I... I picked you out for the role just because I had no idea who you were and supposed you would never have any connection with us again. It—
** It was a safe alibi, you mean? "
He glanced at her uneasily.
*'All right. It was an apparently harmless answer, which stopped my brother asking me any more pressing questions. You seem to know an awful lot about this, by the way," he added, with boyish resentment.
"Well, there is one other thing I know, too," Harriet told him, with sudden decision. "I know that it was of overwhelming importance to you that your brother, of all people, should not guess the real identity of the eirl."
Without moving his head, he slowly raised his eyes and looked full at her.
"You mean—you know "who she is?"
"At least, I can make a very shrewd guess."
"My God!"
He buried his face in his hands, as though the situation had suddenly become too much for him, and for several moments there was silence in the room, except for the suddenly unnaturally loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Then Harriet moved at last. She got up and came around to where the boy was sitting, hunched disconsolately over the table.
"Listen to me," she said, putting a not unfriendly hand on his shoulder. "None of this is my business—except in so far. as the Saturday evening directly concerns me. Please
clon*t think Tm presuming to judge you or—" her mouth hardened a little as she thought of Dilys "—or anyone else," she finished, with scrupulous fairness. *'But don't you think you're playing your brother a pretty dirty trick?"
To her surprise, he raised his head and looked at her unhappily.
"Of course it's a dirty trick!" he exclaimed with angry impatience. "You don't suppose it's by my wish that I'm deceiving my own brother, do you?"
CHAPTER FIVE
For several seconds, Harriet considered Roddy's angry, hurt cry of protest. It was more illuminating than anything else he had said so far and finally convinced her that he was not the instigator—or, indeed, the principal supporter—of this unpleasant piece of deception.
Still keeping one hand on his shoulder, she reached out with the other one for a chair, and sat down quite near to him.
"Look here, I don't want to be inquisitive, or to force your confidence," she said,"but don't you think it might be a good idea to tell me a bit more about how matters really stand?''
*'Why should I tell you anything?" He shot her a sulky glance. **You seem to know a deuced sight too much already."
She smiled a little.
"Well, it might have been more comfortable for both of us if I hadn't known anything at all about this," she agreed. "But since I have been involved—by you yourself," she reminded him ruthlessly, "don't you think it might be better that I know the real state of affairs, rather than make uneasy guesses which may prompt me to the wrong actions?"
Again she received that sulky glance.
"You mean you're threatening to blow the top off things, unless I satisfy your curiosity,'' he said.
"Don't be silly," Harriet told him equably. "I don't mean anything of the sort. If you don't want to tell me any more—then don't. But, in my present state of knowledge, I see no reason why I sho
uldn't clear up a misunderstanding
concerning myself, which has made me feel uncomfortable and foolish on more than one occasion already."
He was silent for a few minutes, either considering the reasonableness of this or else groping for another way out. Then he said crossly, without lookmg at her, "Well, what do you want to know?
Presented with complete capitulation, expressed in this crude demand, Harriet was not sure for a moment what it was that she really did want to know. Then one problem overrode all others.
"Which of you two does Dilys really mean to marry?" she asked deliberately.
To her surprise—and a little to her distress—Roddy gave a short, bitter laugh.
"My dear—what did you say your name was?"
"Harriet," said Harriet absently, because she could not think of herself as the correctly behaved Miss Denby in that moment.
"My dear Harriet, if I knew the answer to that question, no problem and no deception would exist," he declared impatiently.
"You mean she is dangling you both on a string?"
"Oh, no. No, nothing as simple as that. Things never are as simple as that," he said, ratner wearily. "She's engaged to Lin and shea's in love with me. That's the situation, in an oversimpUfied form."
"It could be simplified a good deal further," retorted Harriet dryly, "if she would tell your brother quite frankly how she feels and break off the engagement. Why not?"
"Because she and her damned waster of a brother are up to their chins in debt. They need money—lots of it. And Lin is the best catch in the county," exclaimed Roddy violently.
Harriet opened her eyes wide in astonishment.
"Do you mean to say that it's as crude and shameless as that?"
"What do you mean—crude and shameless?" He seemed to resent the expression.
"Well—that^s what it is. Can't you see it? Did she just deliberately set out to get your brother because she needed a rich husband to pay her debts and keep her brother in idleness?" inquired Harriet contemptuously.
"Oh, no." Even Roddy seemed to see that his beloved
J
behavior looked questionable, put in that light. "No, it wasn't quite like that She and Brent came to live here—**
Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other Page 27
