'I'm sorry,' she said, biting her lip hard. 'I'm leaving. Today.'
Harn's face hardened and she saw that at last she was getting through to him. 'Is it that young bastard Underhill?' he said very nastily. 'Is that why you're so keen on letting me down?'
Gemma said nothing. Let him think what he liked. It would probably be easier if he thought she was leaving on account of Derek.
He got to his feet and glared at her across the desk. 'All right then, go,' he bit out the words icily. 'It serves me right for ever taking you on. I might have known you would let me down. I shouldn't have expected loyalty from a chit of a girl like you.' She had never seen him like this, white with anger. 'But don't come crawling back to me if you want a job again, or want me to take back that sister of yours—I've finished with the lot of you. Now get out. Get out!' He took a step towards her and she could feel the violence seething in him and her stomach turned over as she thought he might strike her.
She gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself. She was trembling all over and her knees felt like jelly. She had never dreamed it would be as bad as this—that he would react with such rage. She didn't stop to wonder at it. For a long, dreadful moment she stared at him, her eyes wide with alarm, and then she turned and ran out of the office.
She had left her dressing case—the one that Harn had brought her from Brenda's this morning—in the ladies' rest room, and she dived in there now, like a terrified small animal diving into its burrow. The room was empty and she closed the door and leaned against it, panting and sobbing under her breath. Any moment she expected to hear Harn banging on the door, ordering her to come out. But after a few minutes she calmed down. Of course he wouldn't come after her, why should he? He was probably congratulating himself already that she had gone, He would be telling himself that he'd been stupid to take on a young, flighty girl in the first place.
She crossed the room and stared into the mirror at her distraught face. I did it, she told herself, I got away from the danger. Sooner or later the opportunity would have arisen again and he'd have got me into his bed, and I couldn't have resisted him. None of the others could, could they, so how could I expect to? So much wiser, sometimes, to run away and never mind that silly, childish thing about never refusing a dare. This time there was no chance—not even a remote chance—of winning. She'd been sensible and she should be patting herself on the back, not weeping with this awful sense of loss. Come on, Gemma, pull yourself together. Collect your things from Brenda's flat and then get on the next train home.
Home—how good that felt! Still shivering, she swilled her face with cool water, did what she could with her make-up to repair the ravages of the last few minutes, took her dressing case from her locker and walked out to the lift, looking straight ahead of her. As she stepped out on the ground floor a man came quickly towards her across the wide lobby, his step making no sound on the rubber flooring. She recoiled. Harn had come to drag her back to vent that terrifying anger of his on her again.
But it was Derek Underhill. 'I was just plucking up courage to come back and make sure you were all right,' he explained. 'You looked so—' he laughed awkwardly '—I thought you might need rescuing.'
Gemma looked into his kind, ordinary face. 'Maybe I did,' she said slowly. 'But I got away by myself. I'm leaving, Derek. I'm on my way out. Will you take me back to Lessington with you?'
'Won't I just?' he agreed enthusiastically. 'Here, give me your case. Where are the rest of your things? I'll get a taxi and we'll collect them, O.K.? Then we can catch the six o'clock train from Paddington.'
He took her case in one hand and his other arm went round her protectively as they reached the exit. At that moment one of the lift gates clanged behind them and Gemma spun round, her heart racing. Harn Durrant stood outside the lift, looking fixedly across the lobby at her, as she stood encircled in Derek's arm. From this distance she couldn't see the expression on his face. She drew closer to Derek. 'Come on, let's get out,' she murmured, and as they passed through the entrance door she heard the lift gate close again.
She clutched Derek's arm as they made their way down the stone steps of the great building. She felt safe again—Harn Durrant had passed out of her life.
She ought to be rejoicing, she ought to be congratulating herself on having escaped from an impossible situation. In time she would be able to do just that, she assured herself, standing beside Derek as he tried to hail a taxi. But just now she felt she would like to die.
It was dark by the time the train arrived at Lessington and the early summer night had turned chilly. Derek's car was parked at the station and he loaded Gemma's cases in and drove straight to her home.
The house, of course, was empty and unwelcoming and Gemma went round switching on fires. Then she made coffee and found a packet of biscuits and a tin of milk in the store cupboard.
Derek came down from carrying the cases upstairs to the landing. 'It's pretty cold up there,' he said, rubbing his hands before the electric fire in the living room. 'I don't like to think of you staying alone here tonight.' Gemma had explained to him about Beth being away. 'We've got a little spare room and my mother would be delighted to put you up.'
Gemma thanked him but refused tactfully. She like Derek, but she had to be alone—to lick her wounds and make up her mind what she was going to do next. Also, the last thing she wanted to do was to commit herself to any serious relationship— and Derek seemed to be making it plain that a serious relationship was what he wanted.
Conversation flagged as they drank their coffee, and Gemma couldn't stifle her yawns. 'Sorry,' she apologised, 'I'm being very rude. It's been quite a day, one way and the other.'
Derek took the hint and departed, after making her write down his phone number in case she found she needed help of any kind. She thanked him and stood at the door to see him off and waved as the car moved away. Then she went in and closed the door and her thoughts were immediately back in London and living again that final disastrous meeting with Harn. There was no excuse for him to vent his ill-temper on her as he had done; she supposed she had behaved badly in leaving like that, without giving him proper notice. But when you came to think of it she had treated him just as he had treated Beth. If he was inconvenienced it served him right, she told herself resolutely, there was no need for her to feel guilty about it. He had confessed that he never considered anyone but himself, so he didn't merit her consideration.
Oh, but he had been kind when she had stood alone and terrified in that dark street in the middle of the night. He had been wonderful then.
Thoroughly confused and miserable, Gemma felt the tears begin to gather and opened her handbag to grope for a hankie. Here, her hand encountered Beth's letter—the one Harn had brought with her clothes this morning from Brenda's flat. She had never even opened it.
It was a surprising letter. Quiet, placid Beth was suddenly bubbling and over the moon. Wonderful, marvellous news, she said, and first of all she must tell Gemma that she was devastated that she couldn't have been there, but she knew that Gemma wouldn't be able to get away, when she had just started in a new job, and really it would have been foolish to put it off, because they had the offer of this apartment in a wonderful old house—really ancient Naples, rather crumbling on the outside—'but, my darling Gem, the view! If you look between the roofs you can actually get a glimpse of the bay and it's really as blue as they say it is. And the sun and the sky, and the wonderful old buildings, and all the galleries and museums, and—oh, everything about Naples is heaven!!!'
Gemma took a deep breath, sat down by the fire, and turned over to the next page. Here, at last, all became clear. Beth had got a job in a local school, teaching English. Ian had been offered a part-time lecturing appointment in connection with one of the art galleries, taking round parties of American and English tourists. On the strength of all this, and because one of Ian's fellow-artists here knew of this apartment, they had decided to get married straight away. 'So I'm now Mrs Ian J
ackson, doesn't it sound good? Oh, Gemma dear, we're so very, very happy, I can't begin to tell you, and I know you'll be glad it's turned out so well. Do write soon and tell me that you forgive me for doing things in such a hurry, and that you understand. We don't know yet what our future plans will be, but we may well decide to settle out here. Perhaps it might be a good idea to sell the house in Lessington and we could divide the spoils, as Father left it to both of us. That is, of course, if you've decided to stay in London. Let me know what you think.
'Your loving and ecstatic sister, Beth.'
'P.S. Is there any chance of your coming out to see us, if only for a few days? It would be so lovely to see you and show you all the wonders. Could you ask the Durrant man to advance you a spot of salary and give you a few days off? I think he owes me that, don't you? On the other hand I can't really feel cross with him any longer, because if he hadn't sacked me when he did I shouldn't be here now. DO TRY AND COME SOON.'
Gemma read the letter through slowly twice. Dear, kind Beth, she deserved her happiness. But it was a shock. Up to now she had had the thought at the back of her mind that Beth would be coming back soon, that somehow they would be able to go on as they had before.
You're on your own now, my girl, she said aloud, so you'd better get on with it. She felt a little sick and suddenly she realised she hadn't eaten anything for hours and hours, except a sandwich on the train. She went into the kitchen and opened a tin of sardines, spread them on toast and stuck the lot under the grill. Then she sat down at the kitchen table, where she and Beth had had so many companionable meals together, and ate the. humble food and raised her glass of ginger beer. 'To Beth and Ian,' she said aloud. She laughed shakily. Sardines on toast and ginger beer—what an odd wedding celebration!
Her eyes travelled slowly round the familiar room, seeing all the loving care that Beth had put into making a home for them both. The cherry-red cushion covers on the cane chairs; the curtains to match; the hearthrug that Beth had made herself. There was a faint film of dust over everything now—the wooden dresser, Beth's sewing machine in the corner, the chair-legs. It was as if the house was already feeling itself rejected.
No reason now for getting a top job and earning lots of money so that she could help Beth. Beth had done without her help. No reason to keep on this house, just for herself. She would write to Beth and agree to sell it. And then what? Suddenly the urge for success had gone, there seemed no point in ambition.
No Beth. No home. No job.
No Harn—
Gemma laid her head down on the wooden table and let the tears come.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The feeling of strangeness was almost the worst thing of all. Next day Gemma got up and dressed and made herself breakfast, and all the time it was as if someone else were doing it all and she was looking on. The time dragged. She tidied the house and washed all the clothes she had brought back with her. Then she made herself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to try to think what to do next.
After a time she got out her building society passbook and began to do some sums. She took out the passport which Harn had instructed her to get as soon as she started to work for him. 'You never know when you might need it,' he had said. 'I go abroad a good deal and I shall want you to come with me.'
Well, she was going to need it now, she thought very wryly, but not to go with him—to get away from him. She was going to Naples—to Beth. In this wonderful city that Beth raved about, she would be able to forget Harn Durrant, and everything that had happened in the last chaotic weeks since she first stood in front of his desk and felt the impact of those strange, thickly-fringed eyes of his that could arouse her to wild transports of longing, and just as easily shrivel her up with wretchedness. He was a danger to women, but just give me time and I'll forget him, she told herself yet again. But her body didn't seem to agree. Her body clamoured for the touch of his hands, the sound of his voice, even if he was bawling her out. She shivered suddenly. Yes, she had to get away, and Beth would understand and maybe help her to get a job.
Desperately she began to plan, and when she had drunk her coffee she walked into the town and called at the travel bureau.
'Naples? Ah, that's lovely!' The girl behind the counter raised her eyes to the ceiling. 'Really romantic. We went there last year on our Italian tour, my boy-friend and I. Don't they say "See Naples and die"?' She giggled. 'Would you want a package, or just the travel fare?'
'I'm just enquiring the cost of the single fare, please,' said Gemma, and her face fell when she was told the amount.
'Thank you very much, I'll have to work it out.'
She tried to work it out, sitting in the park near the office of Durrants (Fine Paper). This was where she had sat on that first day—the first time she had seen Harn. Only a few weeks ago, but it seemed that he had been in her life always. She pushed the thought away and went back to her building society passbook. She had enough money to pay the fare and keep herself in Italy for a week or two, she reckoned—if—and that was the sticky part—if she didn't repay any of the salary she had received from Harn, in lieu of the notice she hadn't worked.
The leaves rustled in the trees; the small children squealed as their mummies pushed them to and fro on the swings; the sun shone down warmly on Gemma's fair hair and too-pale cheeks. She was aware of none of this. After a time she stood up resolutely and made her way to Durrant's office.
In the shop Ted greeted her warmly, over the heads of a couple of customers. She went through to the back office, where Mrs Brown looked up from her desk with a harassed frown, which changed to a smile of pleasure as she recognised Gemma. 'Well, well, and what are you doing in these parts, Gemma? I thought you were busy with Mr Durrant in London.'
'I was,' said Gemma, 'but it didn't work out. It's a long story, Mrs Brown, but—well, I left yesterday.'
Mrs Brown eyed her curiously, pushing back the strands of grey hair that had wandered over her forehead. 'That was a bit sudden, wasn't it?'
Gemma nodded. 'I'm afraid it was—I just walked out.' There was a short silence and she added awkwardly, 'Things happened that—that made it impossible for me to stay a day longer.'
'H'm.' Mrs Brown looked thoughtful and Gemma wondered if she could possibly have any idea what the 'things' were. She took a breath and rushed on, '—I've really come to ask your advice. I'm still on the books here, aren't I? I mean, my salary is paid from here, and I wondered—I suppose I should forfeit a month's salary in lieu of giving notice, shouldn't I?'
Mrs Brown pursed her lips. 'Well, it all depends, of course, on why you left so suddenly. I'd have to consult Mr Durrant about that.'
'Oh, please no, don't do that,' Gemma said quickly. 'I was wondering—do you think you could let it run on for a few weeks? You see, I've just heard that Beth has got married and she's living in Naples and I so much want to go there to see them. And If I repay my month's salary I shan't have enough for the fare.'
Mrs Brown seemed to forget all about the salary. 'Beth—married! How splendid, I'm so pleased. I'm very fond of your sister, Gemma, I was worried about her when she left, and this is wonderful news.'
She had to hear all about it, and when Gemma had finished telling her she wrote down Beth's address. 'I'd like to send her a little present and tell her how delighted I am.'
Finally, Gemma brought her back to the matter of the salary. 'Oh, you mustn't bother your head about that, Gemma dear. You take it, and go out to see Beth. It'll be a nice little holiday for you.' She looked hard at Gemma's pale face. 'You look as if you need a holiday,' she added, but she didn't ask any more questions.
'I'll fix it up with Mr Durrant some time, when he comes back,' she said. 'He'll be abroad just now—he rang me yesterday to say he was off to Japan. I expect you'll know about that. I was half expecting him to come up here before this to see how the alterations are getting on.' She lifted her chin towards the floor above from whence came the sound of hammering and banging. 'It's been pa
ndemonium here for the last few days, since the workmen started. I haven't known if I've been on my head or my heels. But it will be very nice when it's done. You won't know it next time you see it, Gemma.'
Gemma murmured something, thinking it unlikely that she would ever see it again. All this part of her life was over.
'Why don't you go up and have a peep?' Mrs Brown suggested. 'I think Mr Underhill is up there—you know him, don't you? A very nice young man.'
Gemma hesitated at the bottom of the wooden stairs. Soon—according to the plan she had seen— they would be replaced by something far more modern and hygienic, but now they were still the same old creaky stairs that she remembered from her childhood and had climbed up so many times to see Beth. Old Mr Durrant had always welcomed her and usually had an apple tucked away in a drawer for her.
Gemma sighed. No use getting nostalgic— everything was changing. She wondered if Mrs Brown was right and if Derek was up there. It would be an opportunity to tell him her plans. He had been so kind and—in the modern jargon—so supportive, that she owed him that. She climbed the stairs, and put her head round the door of the office.
What she saw gave her a pang. It was unrecognisable as the same office where she had worked with Harn. The connecting wall to the cloakroom had been knocked out; polythene sheets flapped in the breeze where the windows had once been. Some of the floorboards were up and in the depths below there was a tangle of wires and plumbing. The ceiling had completely disappeared and there was a yawning gap right up to the joists supporting the roof. A smell of damp and plaster and sawdust filled the air. Derek, in his usual cords and sweater, was talking to one of the workmen at the far end of the area. He waved when he saw Gemma, and called out cheerily, 'Hang on, shan't be a sec.'
The workmen were obviously packing up to go for lunch. The three of them clumped down the stairs as Derek came across to Gemma, beaming all over his fair, pleasant face.
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