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

by Mary Burchell

  "I should think not indeed! Geraldine made a scornful little grimace. '* A man hke Lindsay Varlon—hardly."

  "I didn't mean any criticism of him," Thea said quickly. "He's an extraordinarily nice man. But—"

  "Nice! Lindsay Varlon nice—in the role of'protector of innocent young girl!' " Geraldine laughed for the first time. *' Why, he's got one of the worst reputations in London.''

  CHAPTER TWO

  The firelight flickered on the deep wine-colored pile of the carpet, on the cream wall opposite, on the tulipwood table close to Thea's chair, and on her hands as they lay slackly clasped in her lap.

  Everything was very quiet in the apartment now. Geral-dine had been gone a couple of hours at least, and it was more than an hour since Denham had cleared away the remains of the meal she had served to Thea on the low table by the fire in the lounge.

  After that queer, unwelcome revelation about Lindsay Varlon, stated in Geraldine's clear, cool, uncompromising voice, Thea had wanted to ask all sorts of questions. She had wanted, too, to make more apologies and explanations to her cousin, because she had felt that Geraldine was by no means appeased. But there had been very little opportunity.

  In answer to the incisive remark about Lindsay Varlon, she had said feebly, "What do you mean?'*

  To which Geraldine had replied sharply, "What did you think! meant? Be your age. Or even a little more, if you can. It would help a lot."

  And then she had called Denham and gone into her bedroom, leaving Thea to her own devices.

  Presently Denham had come back and said, "Would you like to see your room, miss? And have a bit of wash and brush up. Then, when Miss Marven has gone to the theater, ril get you a meal. Mr. Varlon said you'd been traveling all day and would be hungry."

  So he'd said that, had he? He might have what Geraldine called a bad reputation, but he had the kindness and forethought to see that one didn't go hungry and miserable.

  While Thea thanked Denham and followed her to her room, she was thinking all the time of Lindsay Varlon and what Geraldine had said about him and what she herself had seen of him in their very short acquaintance.

  Her room, with its moss-green carpet and buttercup-yellow curtains and candlewick bedspread, was more of a dream room than any in which Thea had ever passed a night before. In her mind she contrasted it with the austere room she had shared with three others at school, and the various apartment rooms that were all she had known as "home" m many years.

  Denham had switched on the electric heater, shown her the luxurious green and yellow bathroom next door, and then had gone away—perhaps to prepare the meal, perhaps to satisfy some requirement of her exacting mistress. For Thea was sure Cousin Geraldine was exacting to anyone she employed.

  Because of some inner feeling, which she hoped was tact but feared was cowardice, Thea did not emerge from her room again until she heard the outer door close behind Geraldine. Then, after what she judged to be a decent interval, she came back into the lounge once more, and found Denham setting out a very tempting meal in the most comfortable place.

  "Oh, Denham, how kind of you!" Thea smiled gratefully at her. "I don't know why you should bother.'*

  "It's no bother, miss," Denham said kindly, and Thea couldn't quite decide whether the fact was that Denham was unable to perform her duties other than perfectly, or whether Lindsay Varlon had said something to her that accounted for this very welcome solicitude.

  "I'm afraid it was rather ... rather ... unexpected, having me appear like this," Thea ventured a little timidly, as she watched Denham's quiet, quick movements.

  "Miss Marven is never at her best just before a performance," returned Denham elliptically. "Things are always better in the morning, miss. So long as it's not too early m the morning, that is.'

  "Oh, are they?" Thea smiled, and felt her spirits rise considerably at this reassuring bit of intelligence. "Well, then I shall try not to worry.''

  "That's right, miss. Worrying never helped anyone and

  it's hindered a lot,*' Denham assured her sapiently. Then she left Thea to enjoy her meal in what suddenly appeared to be blessed solitude.

  After she had finished the meal, Denham cleared the table and retired to her own quarters again, while Thea lay back in a chair by the fire, completely relaxed, and allowed her thoughts to travel back over the events of this disturbing and extraordinary day.

  There was still, of course, the uncomfortable—possibly even stormy—discussion about her future to be faced on the morrow, but it was hard to worry about that at the moment. Besides, against all reason and common sense, Thea reassured herself with the thought that Lindsay Varlon would be there.

  Not that one was entitled to regard him in any reassuring light after what Geraldine had said—very much the reverse. Only, perhaps....

  For a moment Thea toyed with the welcome idea that her pretty, but obviously dangerous cousin might have tried to Slacken Lindsay Varlon's character simply through spite and a characteristic desire to make mischief

  But common sense and a certain clearness of vision— which sometimes served her very well instead of experience—combined to dispel this pleasing illusion. Deep down in her heart Thea knew that she had not been entirely surprised by that comment on him.

  It was very true that he had been kind to her personally, but even at the time, she had felt that this might be as much for a whim as for any conscientious reason. And she thought that his careless, almost arrogant good nature was very likely just the easy generosity of a man who took what he wanted when he wanted it, and had so far not been greatly thwarted over anything.

  Vm sorry, Thea thought with a sigh. / like him—I really can't help it. But I'm afraid this time Cousin Geraldine said something that can 'tjust be ignored as sheer unkindness.

  This brought her to the question of how she and Cousin Geraldine were going to adjust matters in future. Possibly, of course, Denham was right, and discussion might be easier and more amicable in the morning.

  But in any case, I'm not going to ask of her more than the absolute minimum of help, Thea decided firmly. I'd rather

  struggle along in any sort of difficulty than wring such grudging help from anyone.

  To Thea, who was by nature generous and tenderhearted, it seemed very strange that the successful, obviously prosperous Geraldine could behave so badly about anyone in trouble—even allowing for the fact that perhaps Mr. Thor-burn was right and that one must not expect blood to be thicker than water if money were involved. On the other hand she admitted to herself quite candidly that having earned her own money, Geraldine was entitled to spend it as she pleased—selfishly or otherwise—and that therefore the last word lay, quite legitimately, with her.

  And it mil be a pretty curt word, if Tm not much mistaken, thought Thea with a small, rueful grin as she recalled the lack of ambiguity with which Cousin Geraldine had expressed herself.

  For a little while longer Thea enjoyed the luxury of lounging meditatively by the fire, only slightly troubled by a pleasurable sense of guilt when she reflected that at the moment of her lowest financial ebb she was paradoxically living in a state of almost sinful luxury. But it s not for long, Thea assured herself.

  And then presently she found herself becoming overwhelmingly sleepy, and because she could not imagine that it would give Cousin Geraldine any pleasure to find her there when she came home, Thea went to her own room and to bed. There she slept immediately, with a degree of exhaustion to which her long journey, her many anxieties and the agitations of the evenmg entitled her.

  Thea had most genuinely not intended to avail herself too much of the luxurious living that appeared to prevail in Cousin Geraldine's flat. But, in point of fact, she slept until the devoted Denham appeared with an excellent breakfast, set out on a tray, and informed her that it was half-past nine.

  *'Half past nine!'* All Thea's school-training rose and reproached her. "I say, how frightful! I am sorry."

  "What are you sorry about, miss?" i
nquired Denham placidly as she drew back the deep yellow curtains and let in the pale yellow sunshine.

  "Well, it's dreadfully late, isn't it?"

  "No, miss. Miss Marven won't appear for another hour

  at least. You take your time and *when in Rome do as the Romans do,' as the saying is. Though why the Romans, I don't know. What they did was nothing to be proud of by all accounts. Feeding decent Christians to lions and such like."

  And with this stricture on the Romans Denham withdrew, leaving Thea to enjoy her breakfast at leisure.

  After that Thea bathed luxuriously in the green and yellow bathroom, using (though with commendable economy) some of the expensive-smelling green bath crystals and powdering herself with the enormous yellow powder

  Euff, which looked as though it belonged to a film star and ad never been intended for the delectation of a poor relation.

  Then she put on her cornflower-blue frock, which poor mummie had said made her look too young but which Thea herself secretly liked because it was the color of her eyes, and brushed her hair until it glistened with a satiny sheen, which suddenly reminded her of what Lindsay Varlon had said about it.

  "I suppose it is a nice, unusual color," Thea said out loud, studying it critically in the mirror. "He really sounded as though he did think me nice looking. Though I expect that is part of his stock-in-trade," she reminded herseli the next mmute, and felt extremely worldly wise.

  When she had finished all this it was still, by Denham's reckoning, not quite time for Cousin Geraldine to appear. But Thea decided it would look better to be obviously up and waitine for her cousin than to drift in as the last comer.

  It made her nervous to have to wait, of course, but that would be the same whether she waited in her own room or the lounge. So with a conscious summoning of all her courage, Thea opened her door, crossed the small hall and entered the lounge.

  Sitting in the chair by the fire, which she herself had occupied on the previous evening, was Lindsay Varlon, studying the columns of The Times with interest and that slight air of amusement, which even that solemn organ seemed powerless to quench.

  "Oh,^'Thea said. And then,"Good morning."

  "Good morning." He put aside The Times and stood up, and she saw that he was wearing a light gray suit of such

  admirable cut that Thea thought with a secret amusement that would no doubt have astonished him, / do like my villains well dressed, and he certainly comes up to standard.

  "Come and sit down,*' he said. *'How are you feeling this morning?'*

  "Perfectly all right, thank you." She couldn't help making that sound rather sedate in view of her increased knowledge of him. And though she came and sat down near him, it made her faintly uncomfortable to have him towering over her.

  "Well, Miss Pendray . . .." Then he stopped and said, "That sounds extraordinarily formal for one who has just left school. You must have some other name. What is it?"

  "It's Althea. But everyone calls me Thea. At least—" again she recalled what Cousin Geraldine had said "—when I say they can,'' she concluded severely.

  He laughed so much then that she blushed deeply.

  "And do you say that I can?'* he wanted to know, his handsome, laughing eyes taking in the blush very fully, she felt sure.

  "Well... we haven't known each other very long, have we?**

  "No,** he agreed. "But we're going to improve that, I hope.**

  Thea swallowed slightly and wished she were thirty and socially accomplished. As it was, she did the best she could and assumed a little air of dignity that was curiously attractive in the amused eyes of the man who was watching her.

  "I've always thought it rather a privilege to be allowed to call a girl by her Christian name,*' she said gravely.

  "Why, I suppose it is—with a girl like you,** he agreed slowly. "Are you going to grant me that privilege? Or do I have to earn it in some way?**

  And then she remembered how very good he had been to her on the previous day, and how very disagreeable her situation would be at this moment if he had not gone to a great deal of trouble to look after her. If there was to be any question of earning privileges he had certainly done something toward it.

  "I think,** Thea said, looking down at her hands with

  great attention, "that perhaps you did earn the privilege yesterday by coming so kindly
  He laughed quietly at that and, considerably to her astonishment, took one of her hands and kissed it lightly, *'Thank you, Thea. I shall try to deserve the privilege," he said, and though she felt a little bit like someone on a stage, Thea secretly greatly enjoyed the experience.

  Then he straightened up, and at that moment Geraldine came in, looking incredibly fresh and young and elegant, and smiling much more pleasantly than Thea had supposed she could.

  "Good morning, both of you. What brought you here at this ridiculously early hour, Lindsay?'*

  "Your charming presence, of course, ** he assured her.

  "Nonsense. I have an idea that you imagine you're here to see fair play," she returned imperturbably. "He thinks I shall treat you very badly, Thea." She turned and gave Thea a perfectly agreeable look. "And I suppose I way rather poisonous yesterday evening, but I had a headache, I'd just written a check for my income tax, and I felt I'd forgotten half my role, so you must forgive me."

  "Why, of course." Thea was so enchanted by this change in her cousin that she felt she would have forgiven her almost anything short of murder. "I'm sure it was very vexing to have me turn up like this.''

  "Well, never mind about that now. The shock has worn off," Geraldine said quite cheerfully. "Here you are, and here you'd better stay for the moment" Thea could hardly believe her ears. "But we'd better do something about teaching you to earn your own living. I suppose you have staee aspirations."

  Not in the least!" Thea exclaimed with a fervor that made both the others laugh.

  "Incredible, Lin. Here's a member of the female sex under twenty who doesn't want to be an actress," commented Geraldine. "And she's quite pretty, too."

  "She's lovely," Lindsay Varlon stated, flatly and coolly.

  Thea felt herself blush again, but Geraldine considered her impersonally.

  "I suppose she is, if one smartened her up and gave her a little poise," she agreed. "If she had her nair brushed up over her ears—so." Geraldine calmly swept her hand over

  the side of Thea 's hair, as though she were a wax model. *'And tidied up her eyebrows a bit and—*'

  "Generally spoiled her,'* Lindsay Varlon said rather disagreeably. "Leave her as she is. She'll find her own style. And anyway, she's given it as her opinion that her heart's not in the theater."

  "She needn't be a little dowdy, even then," Geraldine remarked complacently. "But still, it isn't her appearance that concerns us at the moment. It's her career."

  Thea smiled deprecatingly and managed to get a word in at last.

  "I wasn't thinking of anything so grand as a career until I've had a bit of experience," she said. "I haven't any specially glowing talents that I know of, so wouldn't it be best for me to have some sort of office training?"

  "Do you mean—" Geraldine opened her eyes wide "—be a shorthand-typist or a private secretary or something?"

  "I wouldn t step straight into a private secretaryship," Thea pointed out reasonably.

  "But do you want to go into an office?" " "I don't mind. And at least it would start me earning my living in the shortest space of time."

  "I d rather go to prison, myself," Geraldine said positively.

  "You haven't had sufficient experience of either to know," Lindsay Varlon murmured.

  "But wouldn't you rather be a mannequin or even in the chorus or something alive?" Geraldine asked Thea curiously.

  Thea laughed and shook her head.

  "Can't you see the child has no natural hunger for the footlights?" Varlon said amusedly. "I believe you think there are only two kinds of people, Geraldine. Those who ha
ve got where you are, and those who have failed to do so and are miserable in consequence."

  Geraldine didn 't even smile.

  "Well, if she wants this strange and dreary life, I suppose she can have it," was what she said at last. "Perhaps you'll be able to get a position in one of the theater offices," she added, as though that at least might be some pale consolation.

  "Perhaps,''Thea agreed equably.

  "I daresay there are strings that could be pulled if you really want that,'* Varlon said, with the air of careless good nature that became him so admirably—as no doubt he was well aware, thought Thea, unjustly, as it happened.

  **I don't think I'd want to have strings pulled for me," she stated firmly. "I'd rather just sink or swim on my own merits."

  ''That's a nice slap in the face for you, Lin," commented Geraldine with enjoyment.

  "Oh! I didn't mean it that way." Thea was slightly distressed.

  "No?" He looked amused. "I can bear it."

  "And where do you propose to learn the necessary Qualifications for burying yourself in a stuffy office?" Geraf-oine inauired with energy.

  "Well, if a few days delay wouldn't matter—" Thea glanced a little timidly at her cousin, but received a careless nod of acquiescence "—I could write to my headmistress and ask her advice. She would be sure to know which were the best business schools in London."

  "Isn't this a funny atmosphere for us, Lin?" Geraldine said reflectively. "Headmistresses and eood little girls earning an honest penny at a typewriter and that sort of thing."

  "I feel I can adapt myself to it perfectly," Varlon asserted calmly. "You had oetter write to your headmistress, as you suggest, Thea," he added, a httle, Thea couldn't help thmking, as though it were for him to make the decisions, whereas, of course, it was no longer his business at all.

  "Yes, I will," Thea promised. "And meanwhile, am I—" again she glanced doubtfully at her cousin "—am I really to stay here? ^'

  "Oh, yes." It was difficult to remember that only the evening oefore Geraldine had been positively spitting angry protests at the very idea of such a course. "No one will Be using my guest room for a while and Denham declares you're no trouble." (God bless Denham! thought Thea fervently.) "You'd better have as good a time as you can before you press your nose to the particular grindstone you've chosen. Have you got any decent clothes?'