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

by Mary Burchell

  He waited, with an air of not wishing to hurry her.

  *'As far as I understand it, some time ago—oh, quite a time before Brent fell in—became engaged to me, he made some—some—financial arrangement which involved a good deal of risk. If he brought it off it would be quite all right, but if he didn't, then he ... he would be left in a position that would make him seem dishonest, and—"

  "Just a moment, Harriet. This rather—vague generalization could cover a great many things, you know. From pinching money out of the till with the intention of ultimately replacing it, to some of the more questionable but generally admitted processes of financial juggling. Which covers Brent's little lapse?"

  "I. .. I don't know. He'11 have to tell you that himself." . "Oh? Is he coming to see me, too?"

  "I hope so. If you ... if you agree, Lin." She looked beseechingly at him.

  His mouth took on a slightly grimmer line.

  "Then you are acting as Brent's ambassador, at the moment?'

  "In a way . . . yes."

  "You either are, you know, or you are not," he told her dryly, and she began to feel, in a panic-stricken way, that she was losing touch with him—with the kind, helpful Lin who had first welcomed her in this room.

  "Lin, you can't imagine how I hate doing this!" she

  cried, from the depths of her soul. And because her nerves

  had been stretched to breaking point, and because she

  'suddenly remembered that letter and what would happen if

  she failed, the tears came into her eyes. "I ... I would have done anything—almost anything, rather than have come to plead with you like this. But what else could I do? If you won't help me, I—don't know what I shall do. **

  "My dear—"he got up and came around to her ''—please don't upset yourself. And for heaven's sake don't talk of pleading with me. There's no question of such a thing."

  "B-but there is," she stammered, feeling for her handker* chief, while a slight sob actually escaped her. "I'm s6 worried and—and you're the only person who can help me."

  "Well then, of course you can take it that I will do anything I can, Harriet, within the bounds of honesty." Even the pathos of the moment could not quite make the professional Lin forget the type of man with whom they were dealing. "Tell me just wnat it is you want me to do. Don't cry—there isn't any need." His hand pressed reassuringly on her shoulder for a moment. "And take your time."

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  She made a great effort to regain her composure and, after a moment or two, she looked up and managed to smile faintly.

  "That's better!"

  "I'm sorry."

  He laughed, and again she felt that slight pressure on her shoulder.

  "Go on now, and tell me the rest."

  "There isn't really very much else to tell. Brent desperately wants your good offices with—with the man who is most concerned in this. He is a friend and client of yours and-"

  "What is his name?"

  "I don't know. Brent will tell you all-all the details."

  If he wished to make a sarcastic observation at thi^ point, he restrained himself admirably. He merely said, "Your only job—wish, I should say—is to make sure that I will listen to Brent with an indulgent ear. Is that it? "

  "Yes.And-and-"

  "What else, Harriet?"

  "And please remember that—that Brent's happiness and welfare is also—also mine."

  She had to say that. It was almost the most important part

  of her mission. But, even so, her tongue stumbled slightly over the words.

  He didn't answer her immediately. He went over to the window, his hands in his pockets, and stood staring out abstractedly over the roofs. She was irresistibly reminded of that time she had told him of Dilys's departure. And, just as on that occasion, she longed to go to him and put her arms around him.

  When he spoke at last, he did so without turning around to look at her.

  *'Well, Harriet, of course I'll see Brent. And you can tell him that I will listen sympathetically to whatever he has to say, and help him if I can. '

  "Oh, thank you! When-"

  "Wait a moment. There is something else which I feel I ought to say to you, though it's a bit difficult to know how to do It—" he passed his hand over his hair in that characteristic gesture of perplexity "—or to do it with decent objec-tiveness."

  She waited, watching him expectantly, and then he went on, choosing his words carefully.

  "I realize that you couldn't have made yourself do this, Harriet, if you hadn't been very deeply fond of Brent. It's meant great pain and nerve strain and, I suppose, a certain amount of humiliation for you. You probably believe that it is one isolated, terrible occasion, never to be repeated. But, my dear, I've known Brent Penrose longer than you. And when I hear you say that his happiness and welfare are also yours, I con't help being very fearful for your future with him."

  "You .. . you needn't worry." She had to say something because he paused so long. Then she realized that she had to say something that would sound eager and convincing. "I kriow he is going to be different, if he can have this one chance. It's so cruel that it should happen now, when— when—"

  "When you were going to make a happy new start together." He completed her absurd bit of sentiment for her with a slight grimace. "Well, Harriet, far be it from me to discourage a penitent, nor hit a man when he's down. But I wish I could feel half as reassured as you seem to do. I felt bound to give you that one warning. I don't think I expected

  it to carry much weight, because I realize that it's not so much that you have any illusions about Brent, as that you love him in spite of what you know."

  She wanted to protest wildly at having these sentiments put into her moutn by Lin, of all people. But they were the proof that she had created the impression she had striven to create. The impression she had come to London to make. She had to accept what he was saying and smile gratefully as though she felt she could hardly have put it better herself

  "When does Brent wish to come and see me?" He was back now on practical details.

  "Could you. . . could you possibly see him this afternoon?"

  "I suppose so. Can you get in touch with him right away?"

  "Oh, yes. I... I'm to meet him when I leave you."

  "Near here?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I think you'd better send him up as soon as possible, Harriet."

  "Oh, thank you! You don't know—I can't tell you how grateful I am."

  "Please don't mention it. Are you ^oing home today?'' ' "No. I'm staying overnight with Maxine—with my sister."

  "I see. Is everything all right at Fourways?"

  "Oh, yes. I... I wished T could have told Mrs. Mayhew where I was going and have brought a message for you." ,

  He smiled slightly.

  "I quite unoerstand that you couldn't very well. And, similarly, I can hardly send a message to her. But look after her well for me, Harriet."

  "Indeed I will!"

  "And yourself, too, a little."

  She smiled and gave him her hand. He held it for a moment—but only a moment—in his strong, warm fingers. Then they bade each other goodbye, and she went out through the other office again, receiving a friendly smile from the efficient secretary as she went.

  Outside once more, she could hardly keep herself from running, she felt so happy, so relieved, sofwilaly excited.

  It was not orUy that she had accomplished most success-

  fully what she had gone to do. Nor even that the unspeakably dreaded meeting was over. It was the way he had spoken to her, looked at her, smiled at her. As though she were still a dear friend and of some concern to him.

  It was true that she had been forced to emphasize afresh her supposed devotion to Brent. But even that recollection could not dim the radiance of joy that half an hour with Lin had given her.

  When she rejoined Brent, she was still smiling.

  He was no longer sitting
down when she first saw him. He was walking up and down, up and down, his hands in his pockets and his head bent, as though he were entirely intent on the small pebble that he was kicking along the path. And she supposed that here, at least, was some small mdication of the nerve strain he must surely be suffering, even though he had hidden most of it so well.

  He looked up as she come within hailing distance. And so happy was she that she actually cried out joyfully to him:

  "It's all right.''

  ''Good girl!"

  He was beside her in a moment, and caught both her hands in his. "You really managed it?"

  "Yes, ofcourse." She was almost absurdly confident, now that her part was all over. "He says you are to go up right away, and he'll talk things over with you and do anything he can, within—within reason," she finished, deciding not to make that rather delicate reference to honesty. "He's promised that he will listen sympathetically. And I... I impressed on him—" she flushed with sudden shame as she remembered this "—that it meant a ... a lot to me. Now don't ever ask me to do anything else for you, " she cried with unexpected sharpness, because for a moment the shield of her temporary happiness had been pierced by the cruel remembrance that, in all this, she had really deceived Lin.

  But no passing irritation—for so he assessed it—could disturb the completeness of Brent's congratulatory delight.

  "You're a splendid girl, Harriet! And I never will ask you to do anything else for me. This is enough for one lifetime!" And he actually kissed her. But with such spontaneous gratitude and good spirits that she found it hard to be annoyed.

  "What will you do while I'm gone?" he wanted to know. "Wait here?"

  "No. Indeed, I won't,*' Harriet assured him promptly. "I've done all I promised to do. I'm going to see Maxine now, and forget that you exist.''

  He laughed.

  "How shall I know where to find you?"

  "Maxine's number and address are in the telephone book. But please. Brent, don't come bothering me unless it's something terribly urgent. I want to enjoy just one afternoon and evening with my sister.''

  , "Don't you even want to know the result of my interview with Lin?" He was actually faintly hurt at her lack of interest.

  "Not especially. At least—all right, you can telephone me this evening, if you like." And then, as she reminded herself that, even now, the result of this interview might have serious repercussions for her, "Yes, yes, of course. Telephone me this evening."

  " I will," he promised.

  Then he left her, to go and deal with Lin as best he could. And Harriet, still with her heart almost singing within her, boarded a bus that would take her within a few blocks of Maxine's flat.

  It was a peculiar experience, to return to the familiar surroundings which, yet, had no feeling of home for her. If any place seemed like home to her now, it was Fourways. And she thought of it, with sudden, unbelievably nostalgic affection as she climbed the two flights of stairs to Maxine's abode.

  However, nothing could have exceeded Maxine's joyous welcome. And feelmg that "home" was represented as much by people as by places, Harriet hugged her sister delightedly and said over and over again how happy she was to see her.

  "It was such a marvelous surprise when I received your wire," Maxine told her. "And, by tremendous luck, I'm free this evening. It's too heavenly. And you're looking wonderful, Harriet."

  "So well, you mean?"

  "Oh, that, too—yes. But happy and . . . and kind of radiant, and as though the world's a very good place."

  Harriet laughed and actually blushed.

  "Well, it is a very good place today,'* she said.

  She pulled off her gloves and ran her hands through her hair. And at that moment Maxine screamed rapturously: *'Harriet! You're engaged! You never told me."

  It was true. She had never told Maxine, because it would have been impossible to explain the situation in detail and equally impossible to maintain the fiction with her, that the mock engagement was a real engagement. Maxine would have wanted to know too much and to suggest too much. Her intention had been to say nothing at all about it until the whole thing was over, and then perhaps to give Maxine some shortened version of the real facts, in as casual a manner as possible.

  It had been inexcusably silly of her to forget that she was still wearing her ring. And only her state of bemused happiness over the interview with Lin could account for such a lapse.

  *'Who is it, dear? And when did it happen?" Maxine was still pouring out questions.

  "Oh, Maxine—it isn't really official or anything. I don't usually v/ear the—the ring on that finger. I'm not even sure that...."

  "But who is it?" persisted Maxine impatiently.

  "Brent Penrose.'

  Maxine obviously raked through her jumbled recollections of the people who had figured in her sister's letters.

  "What? The good-looking brother of the girl who jilted Lindsay May hew?"

  "Yes."

  "But I thought—" Maxine groped in her memory afresh "—I thought you said he was rather the outer edge. Bit of a bounder and not even completely honest.''

  "Did I say that?"

  "Yes, of course you did. In the early days. Recently, you haven't said anything about him."

  "Oh, well, I was mistaken. In the beginning, I mean." Maxine regarded her sister speculatively.

  "You haven't just been swept off your feet, have you, pet? I mean—when you say it isn t really official, and that you don't usually wear your ring, it sounds a bit hole-and-cornerish. I don't very much like it."

  Harriet was sadly tempted to say that she hadn't much liked it, either. But to start explaining to Maxine now would involve her in too much. When it was all safely over....

  She sighed, wondering if there would ever be such a time. "It's all right, Maxine," she insisted reassuringly, "I'm not taking any of it very seriously."

  "You took a very handsome ring," commented her sister shrewdly. "But perhaps you may decide not to keep it. Is that it?"

  That was so exactly "it" that Harriet smiled as she agreed.

  "We-ell" said Maxine doubtfully, and left the rest unexpressed.

  As a matter of fact, the one word, drawn out like that and accompanied by so thoughtful a look meant many things. It meant that she supposed it was all right, if Harriet said so, and that in any case, her sister was entitled to her private affairs. But, most of all, it meant that Maxine was surprised by some subtle change in her sister. Something that suggested that she had learned a good deal in the months since she left London and had become a much more experienced and complicated person.

  However, it was not in Maxine to linger analytically over any discovery or impression. So presently she dismissed the matter entirely—or almost entirely—from her mind, and the two sisters settled down to a long exchange of news and gossip, which was interrupted only by the pleasant diversion of making tea.

  It was during this prolonged meal that the telephone rang. And although it was Maxine who went to answer it, Harriet looked expectant, as she never had in the days when she lived here. At that time, no one telephoned her. Every telephone message was automatically for Maxine.

  "It's for you, Harriet."

  The slight note of surprise in Maxine's voice marked still further the change that had taken place in her opinion of Harriet.

  Harriet took the receiver, and immediately Brent's voice, pitched on a note of cheerful congratulation, sounded in her ear.

  "Total victory, Harriet. Thanks for preparing the ground so well, my child. Everything went perfectly."

  *'0h, Vm so glad, Brent.'* She spoke with sincerity. "You mean there is no further need to worry?"

  "Not the slightest. You can sleep soundly tonight in the knowledge that, in the tradition of all the best fiancees, you have saved your beloved from disaster.**

  She didn t answer that.

  "Hello! Are you there?**

  "Oh, yes. Fm here. When do we go back home?'*

  "By the midday tr
ain tomorrow.

  "^fot earlier? *'^

  "No. There are still one or two things to arrange. Minor details, that *s all.*'

  "Very well. I'll meet you at the station. **

  "Not before then?**

  "No.**

  "You're quite sure you wouldn *t like to come out with me this evening and celebrate?**

  "Quite sure, thank you.'*

  "Very well.*' He gave a rueful laugh. "Till tomorrow.*'

  As Harriet replaced the receiver, she found Maxine's somewhat puzzled gaze upon her.

  "Was that your nance? Your Brent?" Maxine inq^uired.

  "Yes," Harriet said briefly, disliking the description.

  "Good heavens!*'

  "Why?** Harriet looked amused and surprised.

  "Nothing. I was just thinking—I've been more cordial to the coal man, myself But I suppose it's a difference in temperament."

  "1 daresay,** Harriet agreed. And they left the subject there.

  But when, half an hour later, the telephone bell rang again, Maxine said: "I wonder if this is for you, too,'* as she went to answer it.

  "Oh, no. Brent has no further reason to phone,** Harriet replied positively. "I arranged with him—**

  "For you," Maxine reported, this time without surprise.

  * * Are you sure? Is it Brent again?''

  "I suppose so," Maxine said, as she handed over the telephone.

  But it was not Brent. It was Lin who said: "Harriet, could you arrange to see me again before you leave town? There is something I want to discuss with you."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  To THE BEST of her belief, Harriet exchanged nothing but the most commonplace remarks with Lin, concerned entirely with arrangements for her to visit his office again the next morning. And yet, as she slowly replaced the receiver again, Maxine remarked positively, "That wasn 't Brent."

  "No," Harriet agreed absently. And then, more attentively: "No, it wasn't. How did you know?"

  "Because your manner was entirely different."

  "Oh?"

  "That's the man you're fond of, Harriet."

  Harriet managed to laugh protestingly.

  "How can you possibly say such a thing? We only exchanged half a dozen sentences. And all of those were completely prosaic.''