At last, amid the puffing and whistling of engines, the clatter of milk cans, the shouting of porters and the rumble of luggage trucks, the train drew into Euston station, wound slowly the length of the long platform and came to a standstill.
For a few moments Thea just stood there clutching her case and feeling stunned. Somehow, she had never imagined it would be like this. Not this milling, roaring confusion, in which one could pick out no individual and hardly even tell in which direction to move.
Then she remembered that in her letter she had said she would wait by the barrier in case someone had come to meet her. Oh, surely, surely someone would have come! She realized now that she had never really accepted the fact that there might be no one.
But there would be someone. Her cousin would know-better than she herself—the bewildering confusion of arriving at a big London terminal. Even if she could not be there herself, she would have sent her maid, or her dresser, or one of her servants. She would never leave her wretched little
country cousin, however tiresome, to cope with a great, strange, dark, crowded London on her own.
Slowly, because of the crowd, Thea moved toward the barrier, telling herself at every step that her troubles were nearly over, because she could not allow herself to think that the worst of them might be only just beginning.
She surrendered her ticket and then moved to the side of the barrier, anxiously studying the faces around her, trying to identify one of them as belonging to a successful actress or, failing that, to a quiet, reliable woman who might well be a confidential maid.
Surely, surely among all this crowd there must be someone for her.
But no successful actress or quiet, reliable maid materialized. A thousand people greeted a thousand other people, but no one greeted Thea. Once or twice she was pushed back against the railings by the crowd of people, but she clung desperately to her position because this was the only place where she could be identified, and even now, any minute. Cousin Geraldine might come.
Anything might nave delayed her—a busy, popular woman like that. Or her car might have broken down. Or she might not have been able to get a taxi. Even now Thea had only waited a few minutes, though it seemed like hours.
If would be ridiculous—unthinkable—to start crying like some silly, frightened baby, in a ereat, crowded station. Once she had convinced herself that no one was really coming, she would have to take a grip on herself and think of what she was going to do. She would wait ten minutes more—well, perhaps quarter of an hour. Though, now that the crowds were thinning, it seemed less and less likely that-
"Pardon me," a deep, pleasant voice said beside her. "Are you Miss Pendray?'*
"Oh, I am!" Thea turned with a great gasp of relief to face—not a successful-looking actress or even a quiet, reliable maid—but a tall, slightly raffish, extremely good-looking man, rather past his first youth. "But how did you know? ' she asked the next moment, suspicion prompted by the anxieties through which she had just passed. "Did my cousin send you?"
"Well—not exactly. I came as a result of your letter to her.
however, and I thought I recognized—" his glance traveled over her with amused appreciation "—the little navy hat with the light blue turned-back brim. Also the hair.*' Then he added thoughtfully, "So that's what is meant by 'a sort of yellowish gold.'It'svery beautiful."
Thea was so much astonished that she even forgot to ask what he meant by saying that her cousin had not sent him, but that he had come as a result of the letter. Suspicion and relief struggled together in her mind, but just then he produced her own letter from the pocket of his extremely expensive-looking overcoat, and at this reassuring piece of evidence, relief surged uppermost for the moment.
"Is this all your luggage?" He took her case from her.
"Yes. I thought I could have my trunk sent on later if— that is-"
"Yes, of course," he agreed, without putting her to the necessity of explaining the unexplainable. "Come along, this way. I have my car waiting."
"Have you? But. .. but where are you taking me? And who are you? I don't even know your name, you know," Thea pointed out anxiously, as she followed his tall, imposing figure, and marveled at the speed with which he seemed able to make his way through the crowd.
That made him stop so abruptly that Thea found herself almost against his arm before she could resist the pressure of other people from behind.
"No, of course you don't. I'm so sorry—I don't know why I assumed you should know me. I'm Lindsay Varlon."
"Are you?'' Thea said politely, and waited.
That slight cynical smile, which hardly ever seemed to leave his lips spread suddenly to his eyes.
"That doesn't convey anything to you?" he suggested.
"I'm-afraid not. Should it?"
"No. Not necessarily. I'm producing the play in which your cousin is acting at the moment.''
"Oh, I see! Then you're taking me to her apartment?"
"Certainly." He regarded her still with that not unkind amusement. "I'm really not an agent for the white slave traffic, though I see you are still wondering a little whether I am."
Thea blushed.
"I... I didn't really. Only mummie always said—"
"That Was very sensible of mummie," he assured her gravely. "A lovely child like you shouldn't be left standing around in a crowded railway station. Come along.'*
She followed him then without any further protest to the long, low, shining car that was drawn up along with others in the waiting-car stand.
^'Are you coming in front with me?" He deposited her case in the back of the car.
"Yes, please, if I may."
"You may," he assured her, and having settled her in the front seat with him, he reached over into the back of the car for a very magnificent fur rug. "You'd better have this. You must have got cold waiting."
"Oh, thank you." She spread it over her knees with a naive enjoyment in the sense of luxury that it gave her. "It's a beauty, isn't it?"
He looked faintly surprised, but agreed after a moment that it was.
"You've got a lovely car, too," Thea added, with all the appreciation of one who never stinted praise where praise was due. "What make is it?"
This time he was really surprised.
"Oh, a Rolls," he said, as though he hardly knew other makes existed.
"I say, how thrilling! I've never been in a Rolls-Royce before."
"Haven't you?" Again he gave her an amused glance as they slid out of the station and turned westward. "You seem to have a lively appreciation of small pleasures, Miss Pendray."
"I don't call a Rolls-Royce a small pleasure," Thea said. Then she lapsed into silence for a few minutes and surreptitiously studied her companion.
In the light from the passing street lamps she had a very clear impression of his strong, sharply cut profile, and although his whole air was faintly lazy, there was a suggestion of considerable strength in his big figure.
It's an obstinate chin, thought Thea. But his mouth isn't. She studied his mouth with its slightly full, well-shaped lips, but lacked the experience to recognize that it was self-indulgent. She liked the way his eyes were set, she decided.
and they were dark and intelligent and saw most things, unless she was much mistaken.
Then she realized with a start that there were a dozen things she wanted to ask about her own affairs and here she was spending the time in watching this man and speculating about him. It was something ofa tribute to his personality that he could command her full attention at such a time.
*'Mr. Varlon ..." she began.
"Yes?"
"You said just now that my cousin hadn't sent you, but that you came because of my letter. How did you know about my letter?"
"Your cousin showed it to me."
"But without any suggestion that you—that anyone-should meet me?"
"Yes." He seemed disinclined to give any information other than the bare replies to her questions.
"Then—doesn't she know that you came?"
"No."
"What did she propose to do about me?"
"Nothing."
Thea digested that in startled silence.
"You mean—"
"Look here, child, this is an extremely embarrassing conversation." He didn't look in the least embarrassed. "You don't know your cousin at all, do you?"
"No."
"Well, I think I ought to warn you that there will not be the warmest of welcomes waiting for you."
"I ... I was beginning to think that,"Thea admitted in a low, troubled voice. "But then—why are you taking me to her?"
He shot a quizzical look at her.
"I can hardly take you to my own apartment."
"No, of course not!" Thea was shocked.
"You mean—why don't I take you to some kind woman friend of mine?"
"Well... well, could you?"
"I haven't any kind women friends. I'm not that sort of man," he told her dryly.
"Oh." Thea wondered irresistibly what sort of man he was, but didn 't see how she could ask.
"I could see nothing for it but to collect you from Euston and take you to Geraldine," he admitted. "Once presented with the/a/r accompli, she can probably be persuaded to do something about it."
"But she*11 be very angry, won*t she?'*
"Oh, yes—very, he agreed with what Thea could not help thinking was a certam amount of enjoyment. "But at least there wfll be an opportunity for us to talk things over.'*
"Us?" Thea said thoughtfully. "But you're not really in this, are you?"
She was faintly amused at the obstinate thrust of his lower lip, which rather transformed his mouth.
"I seem to be," he said dryly.
There was a short pause while Thea considered this. Then she said, "You must be a very nice, understanding sort of person."
"I'm not in the least a nice, understanding sort of person," he retorted, mimicking her tone rather cruelly. I'm a particularly hardheaded sort of person, one who is usually described as having 'no flies on me.' "
"On," said Thea and laughed.
She had an extraordinarily pretty and infectious laugh, and it seemed to cause a good deal of astonishment to the man with her.
"I think I missed that joke," he remarked dryly.
"Oh—it was just—well, I wondered why you bothered to come to the station. It seems a bit inconsistent," Thea explained, with an enjoyment that made him glance at her.
I've told you. You're much too lovely a child to be left standing about in a crowded railway station," he said shortly.
"But you didn't know I was lovely, did you—that is, if I really am. I might have had a snub nose and adenoids."
"God forbid! Even the hair wouldn't have rescued you from that." He smiled slightly.
"Well, then-"
"We're almost there," he interrupted her firmly. "You had better save your breath for discussion with Geraldine. You'11 need it."
"Very well," Thea said, considerably subdued by the prospect. "You . .. you will come in with me, won't you?" He suddenly appeared to her to be the only friend she had.
"Oh, yes. I'll come in with you,** he agreed as he drew the car to a standstill in front of an imposing block of apartments.
Even Thea*s small experience told her that this was life on a very luxurious scale indeed, as she followed Lindsay Varlon across the softly carpeted spaces of the entry hall and into the silent, delicately paneled elevator.
As they moved upward to the top floor, she glanced at her companion again to see if she could read anything hopeful from his expression. But though the slight touch of amusement was still there, she thought she saw grimness too. Which rather suggested that he was anticipating some sort of"scene,"Thea couldn't help fearing.
The door of the elevator slid back to disclose a small square hall, also carpeted with incredibly luxurious thickness. Opposite was a door inlaid in a simple but extraordinarily pleasing design in black and some very pale colored wood. On this door Lindsay Varlon knocked with the little black onyx knocker.
Thea found that her heart was beating very fast by now, and her breath coming with unfamiliar difficulty. But the maid who opened the door was reassuringly calm and courteous. Not a young woman, but with a pleasant smile and a very deferential air the moment she saw Lindsay Varlon.
"Is Miss Marvin in, Denham?*' he inquired as he stood aside for Thea to go in.
"Yes, Mr. Varlon.**
"Good. I've brought a visitor for her.**
Thea thought Denham looked speculative as Lindsay Varlon set down the suitcase in the hall and tossed his hat onto a chair. He kept on his coat, so evidently he was not expecting to stay long, Thea noticed with a certain amount of apprehension. She by no means felt ready to be left alone with her cousin.
"Come along.*'
He always seemed to be saying that to her, Thea thought, as she followed meekly in his footsteps.
He appeared to be a privileged visitor there because Denham made no inquiries of her mistress before opening the door into a long, low room where Thea gathered a
general impression of soft lamplight and firelight flickering on subdued rugs and curtains.
The girl—she really looked very little more—who was sitting in a low chair by the fire, looked up and said, "Hello, Lin.' Then she leaned back and surveyed them both with an extremely critical eye. "Well,'* she said, a little ominously." Who is this?"
"This, Geraldine, is your young cousin. '*
"And where did you find her?
"At Euston. Where did you think?"
"Lindsay!" She actually jumped to her feet. "Lindsay, how abommable of you! How dare you mix yourself up in my affairs like this? You had no right to go ferreting out this/ girl just to provoke me."
"Don't be ridiculous, my dear." He seemed quite unperturbed by the outburst. "Sit down. Miss Pendray." And Miss Pendray sat down, mostly because she felt her legs would no longer support her. "It was quite impossible to leave the child stranded like that."
"She was not stranded. What do you suppose other girls do when they have to manage on their own/
"I really don't know," Lindsay Varlon said without interest. "I'm only concerned with what this one was going to do."
"But why, Lindsay, why?" Thea saw with dismay that her very beautiful cousin was quite white with rage, and the pupils of her violet eyes had spread until her eyes looked black. "She's nothing to you and she's nothing to me—less than nothing. Let her fincl a job."
"Geraldine, don't be so miserable," Geraldine's producer said casually. "The child is alone, she was—frightened. Almost anything might have happened. It certainly won't hurt you to give her a roof over her head for a little while."
"For a little while!" retorted Geraldine contemptuously. "And then what? I'm not having any poor relation playing the hanger-on with me."
"You won't have to."
It was Thea who spoke, coldly and clearly, though her hands were shaking so that she had to grip them together, and the sudden sound of her voice reduced the other two to momentary silence.
"rm sorry you feel so badly about it, Geraldine." Thea*s voice was higher than she meant it to be and certainly not as steady as she could have wished. "And I do see now that I was assuming too much when I thought you wouldn't mind having me for just a little while and helpmg me to get on my feet. But I don't want to be a hanger-on—I don't intend to be a hanger-on. Please do believe me.*'
"When a girl of your age is helpless about earning her own living it usually means she doesn't intend to earn it," replied Geraldine sharply. But she seemed slightly calmed, and even mollified, by Thea's earnest speech.
Lindsay Varlon stood, meanwhile, with his legs apart and his hands thrust into his pockets, looking from one girl to the other as though he found the situation absorbing and, to a certain degree, entertaining.
^ know It must seem odd that I hadn't done anything about earning my own living yet, particularly as there was c
ertainly no capital behind me," Tnea explained nervously. "But I've only just left school and ... and ... I'll need a little training first."
She hadn^ meant to come straight to the vexed question of more money being spent on her, but was drawn to it by her acute awareness of tne problem.
"Of course you'll need some training."That was Lindsay Varlon's voice—cool, reasonable, even a little soothing. "Well, London is an admirable place for training to earn one's living."
"And who is providing this training?" Geraldine inquired with spiteful shrewdness. "You?"
"Possibly.^'
Both girls gasped, but for different reasons.
"What did you say?" Geraldine swune around to face him and then remamed struck into suoden stillness by angry incredulity.
"I said that I might possibly provide the child with her training," Lindsay Varlon stated categorically, but still with an air of careless amusement. "We can discuss that later. But she's tired now, and hungry, too, I expect. I have to go—and so will you, quite soon. Enderby wants a word with you at the theater before the first act. We can discuss this and all have heroics about it tomorrow sometime, but definitely not just before a performance. Give her a meal.
Geraldine, and the run of your charming guest room for tonight. The rest can wait until tomorrow.'
And very much to Thea 's astonishment, he coolly put two fingers under her cousin *s chin, tipped up her face and kissed her.
Geraldine appeared to find nothing unusual in this. She absently brushed her cheek against his in return.
"Well, it's disgusting of you, Lin, to have wished this on me, but since you have....
*'Exactly. Since I have, the situation must be accepted for the moment. Goodbye, my love, for an hour or so. Good night. Miss Pendray. Eat well, sleep well and don't worry. You'll weather this storm and many more before that yellowish gold hair turns gray." And with an amused and friendly little nod to her he went out of the room.
There was silence between the two girls while they listened to his gay voice calling somethmg to Denham. Then the hall door closed and they were suddenly acutely aware that they were alone together.
*'0h," Thea exclaimed, suddenly recollecting herself **I ought to have said something. I ought to have explained that I couldn 't possibly let him pay for my training.'
Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other Page 43
