by Lilian Peake
“Sit down, Gayle.”
“No, thank you. I’d be obliged if you would get it over at once, without trying to soften the blow.”
“What blow? Get what over?”
“Firing me. Do it quickly and painlessly, so I won’t even know what’s hit me.”
He frowned.
“So I’ve failed again,” she went on. “I exhibited tiredness on duty. I haven’t got the stamina, I can’t take it—”
”All right,” he cut in levelly, “so I’m firing you. After today you’re not working for Pascall’s, which is why I wanted you to bring all your belongings with you.”
It hit her squarely in the centre of her brain. She had had it from the man at the top. This was the end of the road. She dropped her possessions and they scattered around her like the pieces of a building after an earthquake. She sank into a chair and covered her face, fingers outstretched. Sobs jerked her body, clawed at her lungs, making her gasp and choke; tears soaked her hands and cheeks. She turned this way and that seeking comfort and finding none.
Hands lifted her and walked her across the room, lowered her into an armchair and pushed a cushion behind her head. “Cry against that,” the voice said. “It’s washable, so your tears won’t hurt it.”
The detached, unemotional tone of his voice only made matters worse. The cushion was a haven, soft, yielding and sympathetic, everything her host was not. Her hands pressed the cushion close and into its velvet-like material her tears sank and left little trace of their existence.
There was a whirring of a dial and the request was given. “Bring Miss Stuart a drink. Mrs. Richley.” And, as an afterthought, “Bring me one, too.”
Gayle shook her head, but he could not have seen because he did not rescind the order. A few minutes later the door came open. “Put them there, thanks,” Ewan said, and the newcomer went out.
“The crying has to stop some time,” the voice said. “I think that time has come, don’t you?” Fingers prised away the damp cushion and a handkerchief was pressed into her hands. Without opening her eyes, Gayle took it and scrubbed at her cheeks.
The phone rang. “Damn,” Ewan muttered. “Here, take this and make sure you drink it. Open your eyes, Gayle.”
In the circumstances, with the phone clamouring for attention, Gayle had to obey. The phone call took him ten minutes. By the time he had finished, Gayle was composed and still, spent, unresisting and weary even beyond feeling.
Ewan put the phone down and walked round the desk. When his fingers tilted her chin, and his eyes looked into her ravaged face, she did not flinch. When he lifted her and pulled her close, she did not respond. There was nothing left inside her with which she could do so.
He looked into her unhappy eyes and she closed them, remembering the last time they had been so near. She remembered what had happened afterwards, too, and it was that terrible memory that made her pull away from him. He had told her what he thought of her then, and there was no reason on earth why he should not repeat those opinions now. Well, she wouldn’t give him the chance.
He frowned and released her, letting her have her way. “You’re dining with me,” he said.
“Dining with you? But—but why?”
Does a man have to give a reason when he invites a woman to eat with him?”
“B-but I can’t, not in these clothes, not looking like I do—”
”We shall be dining at home.”
“Your home?” She assimilated the news then, defiantly, “There’s no need to play the tender-hearted executioner just because you know my father.”
He edged nearer, with a touch of menace in the movement. “There are times, Miss Gayle ‘Fighting Spirit’ Stuart, when it would be advisable for you to keep that maddening mouth of yours tightly closed. That way it does less harm.” He looked at her with narrowed eyes, then moved to the telephone, dialling his secretary. He informed her that he and Miss Stuart were leaving. Then he opened the door and with a movement of his head motioned Gayle out of it.
For most of the journey there was a taut silence. Gayle broke it at last when she asked, “May I telephone my father from your house?”
“Your father knows where you are. I told him my plans before I left.”
Instead of thanking him for his thoughtfulness, she took undue exception to what he had said. “I wish you would stop treating me like a child.”
His eyebrows lifted in exaggerated surprise. “Do I? You astonish me. I hardly think you can complain that I treated you as such in Montreux. The last evening, for instance...”
She coloured deeply and stared out of the window. Did he have to stir those bitter-sweet memories? “You know what I mean. Before you take any action where I’m concerned you go to my father first, as if I hadn’t got ideas or a will of my own. If he weren’t on the staff, you would have to treat me as an individual in my own right...” Her voice trailed away. His lack of response gave her no encouragement. She persisted petulantly, “You think much more of my father than you do of me.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re surely not jealous of my high regard for him?”
“Of course not. How could you think so?”
“But you’d like to be higher in my esteem than you are?” She did not answer. “You value my good opinion so much?”
She wished she could tell him just how much, but all she said was, “It’s irrelevant now, isn’t it, what you think of me? As far as Pascall and Son are concerned, I’m out, finished, never to return.”
“Never to return,” he echoed, “and that’s final.”
“For a managing director of a chain of department stores,” she choked, “you’re unbelievably lacking in tact. You could do with a few lessons in—in diplomacy, not to m-mention p-public relations.”
He gave a short, slightly taunting laugh and reached out to pat her hand as if to calm her down, but she snatched hers away. If that was all the comfort he could offer, she did not want it.
At the house he took her coat and said, mockingly, “Since it seems to be so desperately important to you that you should look attractive—I suppose I should be flattered because I’ll be the only other person present—would you like to tidy up?”
“Yes, please, Mr.—” His frown, hinting at irritation, stopped her.
“Gayle, we’re equals. I’m not your employer now.”
Her mouth quivered. If losing her job was the price she had to pay for equality with Ewan Pascall, then she did not want it. “Yes, Ewan,” she said, and turned away.
His hands on her shoulders guided her to the cloakroom and he left her. Soon she was in the hall again and gazing anxiously at the numerous doors. Each one was closed and each a little more intimidating than the other.
Ewan came down the stairs to greet her. He had changed. His executive suit had been replaced by light, casual trousers and a dark roll-necked shirt.
“This way, Gayle.” He led her into the main living-room.
As she looked round, she remembered the last time she had been a visitor at Ewan’s house, when his mother had come and warned him against her. Yes, she thought miserably, he had been playing cat and mouse with her for a long time. Now the paws, well tucked in though the claws were, had pounced. They held her fast and though she might struggle for her life, they would not let her go.
“I’m not going to eat you alive!” The words, breaking in so aptly upon the images chasing round in her mind, startled her out of all proportion.
Her body jerked and the liquid in the glass he had given her spilt on to the carpet. She found her handkerchief and bent down to mop it up.
“I’m sorry, Ewan, I’m so sorry.”
She rubbed at the stain, but he stopped her, pulling her up. “Leave it, sit down. The housekeeper will attend to it. Another drink?”
Gayle shook her head. “It’s no good,” she said hopelessly, “I can’t do anything right where you’re concerned. You might as well take me home before I do something else wrong.”
“Tell me,” Ewan said, wandering to the sideboard and pouring himself another drink, “why did you break off your engagement?”
She stared. “How did you know?”
He took his time in replying, filling his glass first. Then he stood facing her and lifted her hand. “Ring missing. And your father told me.” He put the hand away from him. “He also told me how ill you were looking and he was right. He’s very worried about you. So am I.” He swallowed his drink.
“So a buyer gets fired now because she looks ill,” Gayle said furiously. He sighed long-sufferingly and she commented, “I can say what I like now. I’ve nothing more to lose.”
“No?” ominously, and putting his empty glass aside, “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Your dignity, for instance. Don’t try your luck, cherie,” the voice was soft now, bringing a rush of cherished memories, “or I might up-end you across my knee and tame you that way. Gayle,” he stood over her, his knees touching hers, “I asked you a question. Answer it.”
Slowly the colour seeped into her cheeks at the intimate pressure. “Why does anyone break off an engagement?” she asked, more conscious of the touch of him than of what she was saying.
He folded his arms and pretended to think deeply. “Now let me see. Why did I break off my engagement?” Her eyes, wide and unbelieving, sought his. He smiled down into them.
Because I didn’t love the girl I was engaged to. Because I loved someone else more, much more.”
Her heart hammered, sending the blood tumbling through her veins. He crouched down and cupped her face. “Tell me my sweet one, did that happen to you?”
Her lips moved and she whispered, “Why do you want to know?”
“Why? Because for a long time now I’ve been in love with a certain diffident, difficult, slightly exasperating young woman, totally lacking in self-confidence, yet who at times displays an aggression which is so out of character that when it makes an appearance it almost escapes that young woman’s control. Look at me, Gayle,” he commanded softly.
With a tremulous shyness, she obeyed.
“Know who I mean?” he asked, smiling.
“It can’t be me,” she whispered.
“If not you, who else, my darling?” He drew her up. “And what about you? Are you in love with the man who loves you?”
“So much,” she answered, with a catch in her voice, “that it hurts.”
He forced up her chin, gazed deeply into her eyes and pulled her roughly against him. “For God’s sake, girl,” his voice was gruff, “why didn’t you tell me?”
His hands on her arms were bruising, his mouth held hers prisoner When at last he reluctantly lifted his head she answered breathlessly, “Because you were an engaged man and I thought it was quite, quite hopeless. I thought you were just playing with me and passing the time when you kissed me.”
“Thanks, my sweet, for assessing my moral values so highly.” His sarcastic tone put her on the defensive.
“What else was I to think? As you kept saying, Carla wore your ring. She had everything you or any man could possibly ask for in a future wife.”
“Which is where your judgment lets you down. She has beauty, more than her fair share, she has talent—of a kind. But as I eventually discovered, they were not the qualities I wanted in a wife. For instance,” his lips touched her throat, her cheeks, her mouth, “she hasn’t the tenderness, the understanding and warmth which the girl I love has in abundance. She hasn’t those appealing, self-effacing grey eyes, the audacious defiance contained inside this head.” He stroked her hair. “Nor has she, despite the meticulous measurements required of her figure by her job, the promise of love and passion contained in the shapeliness of the girl I hold in my arms.”
He led her to the settee and pulled her down. “Shall I tell you a secret? Long before Carla left her job as buyer, I watched the shy, over-anxious young woman who acted as her assistant.”
She traced his eyebrows. “Spying on me?”
“No, you provocative little puss. I was, shall we say, conducting a survey, assessing your capabilities and the extent of your intelligence. You see,” he tugged her on to his lap, “I had my sights on you before, you were even aware of me and knew me only as a name on the shop front or scrawled across a carrier bag.”
“You’re wrong, you know. I looked on you as a vague, terrifying shadow who used to haunt the dress department visiting Carla. I,” she hid her face again, “I envied her her future husband.” She stopped, afraid of giving away too much of herself.
“Tell me some more of your secrets, sweetheart.”
She was too shy to comply, but said, with a challenge, “You never spoke to me.”
“No, my love. I was afraid that if I did you would rear up and scamper away, never to be seen again.”
“Ewan,” she touched his gold tie pin, “when did your engagement end?”
Before Carla left the firm. Yes, I thought that would shock you. But we kept the break to ourselves. First, to avoid a scene with my mother. We thought it advisable to let some length of time elapse after Carla’s departure before telling the world, and my mother in particular. Second, when Carla met Pierre Hirondelle she fell passionately in love with him. To her chagrin, he treated her as just another employee, so she turned on her charm, flashed my ring in front of his eyes in an effort to make herself more desirable and asked me to play along with her. For a time I didn’t object, but as I involved myself more and more with you, the greater the embarrassment our so-called engagement became. But each time I suggested ending it officially, Carla asked for just a week or two more. You’ll no doubt be pleased to know that she’s now the future wife of your suave, attentive friend Pierre Hirondelle who, on more than one occasion during our trip to Montreux, I could cheerfully have throttled!”
“He sent me a ‘swallow’ handbag,” Gayle interrupted. “It’s beautiful.”
“But,” with a frown, “no dress? Because if so, back it goes!”
“No dress,” she assured him.
“That night,” Ewan went on, “Hirondelle took you to your room—”
”He left a few minutes later,” she told him quickly.
“So Carla informed me the day I left Montreux. It seems she had a flaming row with him that night and it proved to be the turning point. They kissed each other better and he proposed. She accepted. Hence Pierre’s subtle announcement at his fashion show about Carla’s approaching marriage and the bridal gown she was modelling.”
“And I thought he was talking about her marriage to you. After all, you kissed her the night before—”
”She kissed me, sweetie, at the dance. And at the show, just after his announcement, I was simply congratulating her because she had already told me their secret. That first evening, we were both ‘used’, although you were not aware of it, I by Carla, you by Pierre. By that time he was jealous of my supposed connection with Carla, so he tried to make Carla jealous—of you!”
Gayle shook her head happily. “It’s all too complicated for me to take in.”
“Well, at least your father understands,” Ewan said smugly. Gayle sat up indignantly. “Come back here,” Ewan said impatiently. “I had a long talk with him this morning, as a result of which I made the journey to see you this afternoon. He told me about your broken engagement and his worries about your health. He thought you might be pining for something. I said I thought I might know what that ‘something’ was and had every intention of finding out at the earliest opportunity. I also told him that I loved his daughter, that I wanted her for my wife, that my bank account was in a very healthy state indeed and that I should be very happy if he would give his consent to our marriage. I also made it clear that even if he didn’t, I still intended to marry you!”
“Going behind my back to my father again!” Gayle exclaimed, pretending to be hurt, but smiling radiantly into his eyes.
> “Darling, it will be for the last time, I promise you. And he did give his consent, wholeheartedly.”
“Ewan,” she reached up and kissed his cheek, “why did you transfer me from the main store?”
He looked down at her. “Does it still rankle?” She nodded. “For a couple of reasons, Gayle. What I said about your fitting in better with the less expensive standards of the other store was true. You have ability and intelligence,” he kissed her gently, “no doubt about that, but what I didn’t bargain for in my assessment of you was such a strong streak of prejudice underneath it all, and,” as she began to protest, “if you’ll be honest, my darling, you’ll admit it. I saw it all in reverse in Carla. I watched her, too, without her knowing it, and there was no doubting the high-handed manner she adopted towards her less wealthy customers. If she hadn’t left the firm, I would have had to point it out to her and ask her to correct it. Otherwise—” He moved his hand sideways in a chopping motion.
Gayle’s eyes opened wide. “Out?” He nodded. “Even your fiancée?” He nodded again. She struggled to sit up. “What sort of a man am I marrying? A ruthless, unmerciful, hardheaded...”
“Will you be quiet?” he muttered, supported her head on his hand and brought his lips down savagely on hers.
He said, after a long time, “Listen to me, my darling. You’re getting a warm-blooded, ardent male, not a cold, ruthless businessman for a husband. Where you’re concerned, I always will be—always have been—infinitely forgiving. Why else do you think I didn’t dismiss you over that disastrous cheap line in dresses you sold to a gullible public, only to have them all returned? Any other buyer doing that, misjudging the material as badly as you did and,” he spanked her playfully, “disobeying my orders into the bargain, would have been out, never to darken Pascall’s doors again. Now do you understand how I feel about you? I’ll tell you the other reason I moved you out of the main store. Because once you had become officially engaged to your boy-next-door, I couldn’t bear having you so near to me, with the possibility of seeing you a dozen times a day, and yet knowing you could never belong to me.”
