Makeshift Marriage

by Marjorie Lewty

  Ling San was very excited, although obviously trying to appear calm. 'You will come to our apartment to dress,' she told Maggie. 'Blake must not see you until just the right moment. Then his eyes will open wide, you will see.'

  'I hope you're right,' said Maggie with a wry smile. But she fell in with all Ling San's plans. She had gone too far now to back out, and she knew that Ling San would be desperately disappointed if she did.

  The afternoon was spent in the salon, elegant in its decor of amethyst, with masses of shell-pink rosebuds backed by feathery fern in pure white ceramic bowls, intricately decorated with Chinese handwork.

  The door was securely locked and the blinds drawn while Ling San performed her magic on Maggie's hair. The thick brown curls fell to the floor as she snipped and trimmed. There were lotions and conditioners, and periods spent with the shining new electronically-operated machines that thought for themselves. Maggie had ceased to worry about the result as she drowsed her way through the stages of the transformation in a warm, perfumed haze.

  At last, triumphantly, Ling San said, 'There—how do you like it?'

  As she spun the chair round, Maggie saw her reflection. For a moment she was speechless. 'It's—it's—I can't believe it's me!'

  'The new you, of course,' Ling San reminded her with a gratified little smile. 'My very first work of art, don't you agree, Maggie?'

  Maggie stared into the mirror. The curly-haired tomboy image had gone for good. In its place was an elegant young woman of fashion. The curls had been cut and shaped to form curves that clung to her head, emphasising its pretty shape, which had never showed to advantage before. Her face looked different too, thinner and more interesting as the fronds of soft, gleaming hair slanted towards her cheekbones, throwing the hollows of her cheeks into faint shadow.

  She met Ling San's eyes in the mirror and shook her head in amazement. 'You're a genius, Ling San. I hardly recognised myself. I never knew a hair-style could make so much difference.'

  'You really like it?'

  'Oh yes, indeed I do. I'm thrilled!'

  'And there is still your make-up to do when we get home, and your beautiful new dress. I think—' Ling San put her head on one side '—that your Blake will fall in love with his wife all over again.'

  Maggie smiled and said nothing. But a hope was surfacing that tonight Blake might see her as a different person altogether, a charming, soignée young woman that he would be proud to introduce to any of his friends as his wife. She thought of the pride and tenderness in Dietrich Hauser's face when he looked at Ling San. If ever Blake looked at her like that she would ask nothing more of life. Suddenly, and perhaps unreasonably, she felt exhilarated.

  But later on, when the time had come to set out from the Hausers' apartment, the exhilaration had turned to nerves and there was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't used to dress-up parties; she wasn't used to mixing with the rich, fashionable people that the Hausers would invite. And worst of all, she didn't know how Blake was going to take the 'new' Maggie. If she could have depended on his support she would have felt confident about carrying off her new image, but the fact was, she couldn't.

  'Hurry, you two,' Dietrich called from the front door, where his opulent car stood waiting. 'We must not allow the proprietress to arrive late.'

  Ling San came into Maggie's room, exquisite in a jade green cheongsam, heavily embroidered round the straight, slashed skirt and the little stand-up collar, her hair gleaming like a blackbird's wing.

  'You look lovely, Ling San,' Maggie said warmly.

  The Chinese girl smiled composedly. 'Thank you, Maggie, and so do you.'

  Maggie had spent quite a proportion of her first month's allowance from Blake on her outfit for tonight, and she and Ling San had spent a whole afternoon choosing it.

  Now she took a last look at herself in the mirror and could hardly believe what she saw there. Her dress was of matt satin in a creamy-coffee colour that almost exactly matched her hair. The top was off-the-shoulder, draped sensuously over her breast and embroidered with tiny pearl beads. The skirt was finely pleated and swung round her long, slender legs, glistening dully in the light as she moved. Bronze kid sandals with high heels and a satin clutch bag with a pearl clasp completed the outfit. She wore no jewellery except a gold bracelet that had been a twenty-first present from her parents.

  Her skin, under Ling San's expert attention, was creamy and as smooth as the satin of her dress, her lips moist and inviting, her eyes large and luminous.

  Ling San regarded her work of art critically, and moved forward to touch her little finger delicately to one corner of Maggie's eye. 'Yes, that shadow is just right. Your eyes have a mysterious glow, like the depths of a forest in autumn.'

  Maggie giggled nervously. 'I do love your poetic flights, Ling San. I just hope I can live up to your hopes and bring all the rich women piling into the salon.'

  Ling San nodded sagely. 'You will,' she said confidently. 'You have that look that all women want these days.'

  'And what kind of look is that?'

  The Chinese girl put her head on one side in her mischievous way, 'Sexy,' she said.

  When they arrived at the salon Nick Grant was waiting outside the locked door. 'Thought you might use some help with serving the champagne,' he grinned at Dietrich.

  Inside, when the lights were switched on and Ling San was setting out plates of bite-size savouries, Nick took Maggie's hands and drew her towards one of the softly-shaded lights. He drew in a breath, blinking as if he were dazzled. 'Well, I'm rocked back on my heels. I always knew you were lovely, Maggie, but this is ridiculous!'

  They all laughed and Ling San looked delighted.

  Maggie twirled gaily, the finely-pleated satin skirt slapping against her slender legs. 'The new Maggie—all done by magic—and Ling San, of course.'

  Ling San and her husband started to set out the snacks and canapés with wine glasses, and Maggie and Nick were left standing together.

  'Where's Blake got to?' asked Nick, looking round.

  'Oh, he's still working, wouldn't you know? I expect he'll be along later on, when he's finished moving his mountain.' She tried to make a joke of it, but Nick didn't smile. He was looking rather oddly at her, but before he could say anything more the first guests began to arrive, and soon the room was full of laughter and chatter and the clink of glasses, with cigar smoke and the soft thrum of background music drifting on the perfumed air.

  Maggie met one after another of Dietrich's colleagues, very smooth, very prosperous. The women were expensively dressed, some (she thought) rather overdressed. Ling San could show them a thing or two if they patronised her. But it was the men who lingered round Maggie, re-filling her glass, plying her with pate, admiring her with their eyes. She smiled at them and answered their questions lightly, but all the time her glance kept straying towards the doorway.

  Nick was circulating with a tray. 'Blake not turned up yet?'

  She shook her head. 'Not yet.'

  He put down the tray and slipped a hand under her elbow. 'Then I must be stand-in once again. Come along, I want you to meet some friends of mine.'

  She turned to go with him, but stopped abruptly, her heart missing a beat, her gaze riveted on the wide arcade outside the entrance to the salon, where tourists were strolling along, pausing to admire the displays.

  Nick stared into her face. 'What's up, Maggie? You look as if you've seen a ghost.'

  'I'm—I'm all right,' she whispered. 'I just thought—'

  It couldn't be Fiona Deering, could it, that girl who had just passed by on the far side of the arcade? The same white-gold hair, falling to the shoulders of the shocking-pink silk suit; the same graceful, swaying walk of the trained model, the same insolent tilt of the small rounded chin.

  No, it was too much of a coincidence—it couldn't be Fiona. However brutal Blake had been after the wed-ding, he wouldn't bring Fiona here without telling her. Their relationship had been so much more friend
ly lately. Surely—surely he wouldn't do that to her?

  She swallowed. 'I thought I recognised somebody out there,' she told Nick, moving away from the window, 'but I was mistaken. Are those your friends over there? There's somebody waving to you.'

  Nick didn't move. He continued to hold Maggie's arm and his pleasant, fair face was very serious. 'Maggie dear,' he said in a low tone, bending his head close to hers to make himself heard above the chatter, 'I wanted to tell you that I'm going back to the U.K. on tonight's flight. I'm almost on my way now.'

  'Oh, Nick, are you really?' She felt a quick stab of disappointment. 'I thought you were here for the duration of the job.'

  'No,' he said, 'only a stand-in for another fellow. That seems to be my role at present.' He smiled crookedly. 'I really didn't intend coming tonight, but I had to see you to say goodbye. I haven't seen anything of you lately, I thought it was wiser to keep away, but I wanted to reassure myself that all was well now between you and Blake after that—other time.'

  'Oh—absolutely,' Maggie said blithely. 'No problems at all.'

  'You're sure? You're not holding out on me?'

  'Nick!' She gave him a baffled smile. 'What is this—a marriage guidance council?'

  She expected him to grin back and make some apology, but he said doggedly, 'If you need it.'

  She stiffened. Nick was a friend, but this was too much interference altogether. 'Thank you very much, but I don't,' she said coolly.

  'Good, that was all I wanted to know. But just re-member that if you ever need a friend—' He looked hard at her for a moment. 'Goodbye, Maggie,' he said. He walked away from her and was lost in the crowd.

  She stood quite still, looking after him. Nick was altogether too perceptive, but this time he was wrong. A little while ago she might have turned to him for help, but now she and Blake were back on their old terms and she didn't need help from anyone, she told herself staunchly. Blake wouldn't let her down. Oh, where was he—why didn't he come?

  At that moment, as if her longing had reached him, she saw him turning in through the wide doorway and her heart gave a great thud and started to beat furiously against her ribs. He stood looking around, frowning slightly, and his glance passed over her without stopping. The change was complete—he actually didn't recognise her!

  She ran towards him, her brown eyes brilliant with a joy she didn't attempt to hide. Let him believe she was just acting the loving wife if he wanted to. 'Blake—you made it after all!' Her heart swelled with pride. In his immaculately-fitting grey suit and snowy silk shirt he was so much the most handsome, distinguished man in the whole room, so tall and dark and so utterly masculine.

  'Maggie!' he gasped. His frown turned to amazement He took both her hands and held her a little way away. 'It is Maggie, is it—this gorgeous woman?'

  He was laughing down at her and his grey eyes were soft, as she had dreamed of seeing them. There was tenderness in his face; he was looking at her as a man looks at the girl he loves—just as Dietrich looked at Ling San. Telling her without words that she was the most precious thing in the whole world.

  The miracle had happened and Maggie could say nothing. She couldn't take it in all at once.

  He touched the swathed satin at her breast. 'Pretty dress,' he said. 'I like it.'

  She gulped. 'I'm glad,' she said stupidly. She felt ridiculously shy. Then she pulled herself together. 'Come and meet everyone, there's lots of champagne flowing.'

  She took his hand and began to urge him towards the bar that Dietrich had improvised at the far end of the salon. She was dizzy with happiness, as if she were floating inches above the thick pile carpet.

  'Maggie—stop a minute!' He was resisting the pressure of her hand. She turned questioningly. 'Maggie, I—' he looked embarrassed '—I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I can't stay. I just looked in to tell you.' He pulled a rueful face. 'You know how it is. Something's come up and it's extremely important—something that I have to deal with straight away.' She must have looked stricken, for he said again, 'I really am sorry, I wouldn't have missed your party for the world if I could have helped it.' He might have been consoling a child who had been denied a treat.

  'Is it—do you have to go? Is it all that important?' she wailed.

  'Yes.' He looked stern suddenly, unapproachable, the way he looked when you asked him questions at your peril. 'I have to go, and I'm not sure when I'll be back, but you'll be O.K. You're on the hotel premises.' He put a hand briefly on her shoulder. 'Forgive me, Maggie?'

  The old Blake spoke there. He always said 'Forgive me, Maggie,' when he had asked her to do something unpleasant or difficult.

  She said with a sigh, as she had always said, 'I suppose so.'

  'Make my apologies to Ling San and Dietrich,' he said, 'and I'll see you later on, as soon as I can get away. We must talk, Maggie, there are important things to be discussed.'

  He stood very still for a moment, and his eyes moved slowly over her, over the supple satin vest that moulded her youthful figure, to the froth of pleats round her long, slender legs. 'You look very lovely,' he said gently.

  He lifted his hand in a little salute and strode away, out into the shopping arcade.

  Maggie felt as if the smile were built permanently into her face. She followed him and stood in the open doorway, watching his tall form moving purposefully between the sauntering window-shoppers.

  He loved her—she was sure of it. He had told her so in everything but words; the look on his face had been unmistakable. And when he came back—'there are important things to be discussed' he had said. She put a hand to her breast, where he had touched her. Tonight, she thought, and joy ran like wine in her blood. Tonight, at last, it was all going to come right.

  He was nearly at the end of the arcade now; she could just make out his dark head, towering above all the other heads around him. He stopped and she lifted a hand to wave, expecting him to turn round.

  Then her breath caught in her throat and her body went rigid as she stared down the length of the arcade. Blake had been joined by a woman in a shocking-pink suit. Even from this distance the colour stood out plainly, and the long white-gold hair that fell to the collar of her jacket. Their two figures merged together in the passing crowd and from the distance it looked as if she put her arms round his neck and drew his head down to hers. For a moment they stood there, then they moved on together and disappeared round the corner of the arcade.

  Maggie gripped the edge of the heavy glass door. She had been right, then—it was Fiona Deering who had passed a few minutes ago. Blake had brought her out to Hong Kong because he couldn't live without her. It was painfully clear why he should have been away night after night. He had been with Fiona. The easy friendliness he had shown lately had been a cloak—a trick to keep her, Maggie, happy until he could announce his plans. 'There are important things to be discussed,' he had said. Too true there were, she thought bleakly.

  She felt sick and she was shaking all over. She couldn't stay here, she must get away, up to her room. She looked round desperately for Ling San, but the Chinese girl was at the far end of the salon, surrounded by a laughing crowd of guests.

  Then she saw Nick, standing beside a pillar a short distance away. He came towards her. 'I'm off to the airport now—I didn't want to butt in when Blake was with you—'

  He stopped, staring at her. 'Why, Maggie, what's the matter? You look like death!'

  She said the first words that came into her head. 'I wish I was dead,' she muttered. She lifted stricken eyes to his. 'Nick, get me out of here, please, just take me up to my room and then I'll be O.K.'

  Nick was his helpful, undemanding self. He asked no questions, just put a firm arm round her waist and led her to the lift. Outside the door to the suite Maggie fumbled blindly in her bag for her key and handed it to him. He opened the door and pushed her gently into a chair.

  He said, 'Now take it easy, and I'll find something to pull you together.'

  She raised a hand fe
ebly. 'Just a glass of water, please, Nick.'

  She heard him in the kitchen and a minute later he put a glass of iced water into her hand.

  She took a gulp. 'Nick, I'm sorry—I—'

  He had a hand at her wrist, feeling for her pulse. 'Just relax,' he told her. 'Doctor Nick will prescribe.'

  'I'm not ill—really. It was just—a shock. Something I wasn't expecting. You know how it takes you.'

  'I do indeed.' He sat down opposite. Her head drooped and he peered upwards to see into her face. 'Want to talk about it, love?'

  She shook her head dumbly, closing her eyes. Now that the final blow had fallen it was amazing how clear her mind was. The pain was there, lurking in the background, but at this moment she felt nothing but an urgent need to get away. The end had come between her and Blake. There had been too much deceit, too much betrayal on both their parts, for any relationship to be patched up again between them. She must leave here as soon as possible.

  And above all else Blake mustn't know that she was pregnant. At best he might think that she was using the baby as a bargaining point—to make him stay with her. At worst he might try to persuade her to have an abortion, which she wouldn't agree to under any circumstances. If she couldn't have the man she loved, she could at least have his child.

  She lifted her head and looked into Nick's kind, worried face. 'Nick—you said you would help me if I ever needed help.'

  He nodded soberly. 'And I meant every word of it.'

  'Well, I need it now—desperately. Will you help me to get out of Hong Kong and fly back to England? Will you do this without asking for any explanations or reasons?'

  There was the shortest of pauses. She saw the sympathy in Nick's face. And there was hope, too. He had guessed from the moment they met at Macau that all wasn't well between her and Blake. 'Anything you say, Maggie,' he said simply. 'And no strings attached. When do you want to go?'