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(Farnes Eleanor) Secret Heiress PDF
(Farnes Eleanor) Secret Heiress PDF
Eleanor Farnes
Fiona Chard was a nice girl, a very attractive girl - but she was also
very rich. Which was why her father had his doubts about her love
for Guy, who wanted to marry her, and about Guy's love for her and why he had challenged her to move outside her own small,
exclusive circle and get a proper job for at least three months before
she committed herself to marriage. And so Fiona found herself
working for Peter Webber, who she soon realised was more
attractive than Guy in every way - but who didn't know who she
really was. Would her father's experiment be successful, or would it
only bring her unhappiness?
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN the dance at Ingleden House, given to celebrate the
engagement of his daughter Elspeth, was in full swing, and John
Chard felt that his wife no longer needed his support, he slipped
away to the quiet of his study; and then, tempted out by the softness
of the spring night, settled down to smoke a cigar on the familiar
oak bench of his own veranda.
The music still reached him in this shadowed corner of the veranda,
muted by distance. It was quiet and peaceful, and Mr. Chard was not
too pleased when footsteps sounded on the gravel of the garden
path, and a man appeared, a dark form as yet unrecognised in the
starlit night, and mounted the steps of the veranda, to stand with his
back to the house, lighting a cigarette.
The flare from the lighter revealed him to be Guy Pendleton Guy,
who had danced attendance this evening on Mr. Chard's youngest
daughter, Fiona, in a way that could only be called conspicuous. Mr.
Chard was formulating something polite to say to this young man,
when he heard his study door suddenly open and close, and next
moment, with a rustling of skirts and a waft of delicate perfume, a
girl in a light dress was on the veranda too, and she and Guy were
close in each other's arms, kissing long and ardently.
Was this an opportune moment to emerge from his deeplyshadowed corner? wondered Mr. Chard, considerably taken aback.
And while he hesitated, the two young people drew slowly and
reluctantly apart "Oh, Fiona, Fiona," said Guy. "I've been wanting to
do . that all the evening."
Fiona did not reply, but held out both her hands to him. Mr. Chard,
whose eyes were now accustomed to the starlit night, realised that
she went willingly when Guy gathered her again into his arms.
"I know," she said thoughtfully, "but that doesn't mean 1 love you."
He gathered her into his arms again.
"But you like us to be together like this, Fiona."
"Yes," she said on a sigh.
"And this, too?" He kissed her long and deeply, and they were one
mingled shadow among the shadows of the veranda in the starlit
night. And then Guy raised his head and said, in a suddenly
masterful voice:
"Of course you love me, Fiona. Will you marry me?"
"Oh dear," said Fiona. "What has come over us tonight, Guy? I think
it's just that engagements are in the air."
"Nonsense," he said. "I've known perfectly well how I felt about you
for a long time. Fiona, be engaged to me. I'm certain we would
make a tremendous success of it Say you will, love, say you will."
"I can't say I will, just like that. I must have a little time to think
about it, Guy."
His hand stroked her cheek, caressed her neck and soft shoulder.
"What do you need time for?" he asked softly. "I love you and you
love me."
"But I'm not sure that I do," she said. "After all, it's a very important
thing, Guy. Let me think about it."
Four people came round the corner of the house and along the
garden path towards them, talking and laughing.
"We must go back," said Fiona softly. "We needn't meet themwe
can go through Father's study." She stretched out her arm, slim in
the starlight, sparkling with the diamond bracelet her great-aunt had
left to her, and Guy took her hand and they disappeared through the
french window of the study.
John Chard took a deep breath and rose to his feet. When the four
people had passed him, he went into his study, closed the window,
switched on the lights, drew the curtains across the windows, and sat
down in the chair before his desk to think. And he had received
plenty of food for thought. Guy Pendleton and Fiona.
He had not had the slightest intention of eavesdropping. He had
missed the moment when he might have made his presence known,
and become a prisoner on his own veranda. And, as was
traditionally said of eavesdroppers, however unwillingly they did it,
he had heard nothing pleasant to him. Nothing pleasant? Was it
unpleasant, then, he asked himself, to learn that a young man could
be so devoted to Fiona? And he had to admit to himself that he was
aware of a feeling of disappointment and a faint depression.
To begin with, he resented this young man's passionate intensity
where Ms daughter was concerned, but that could possibly be
discounted as any father's reaction on witnessing such a scene, and
he had to admit that Fiona had certainly not resented it. She had
flown into his arms as if she were already perfectly at home there,
and had done more than merely submit to his kisses . . . Mr. Chard
drew his thoughts away from the scene on the veranda to
concentrate on what he knew about Pendleton.
He was a tall, handsome, fair-haired fellow, well versed in the social
graces. About twenty-six, perhaps twenty-eight, and doing some sort
of job that kept him in the City until five o'clock each day, but what
it was, Mr. Chard had no idea. He drove himself about in an old but
very rakish sports car, and he danced well, played tennis well, had a
good deal of charm, and sang soft love songs to his own guitar; so
that he was always in demand and people seemed to like him. Then
why should there be this feeling of disappointment that Fiona should
be considering him as a future husband?
After a good deal of thought, Mr. Chard decided that he had always
hoped for something better for Fiona, for somebody altogether more
outstanding, more brilliant, more magnificent. And this was hard
luck on Guy, who might be the pleasantest fellow in creation. Fiona,
too, was the one to be married, and if she loved Guy, then she would
have to have Guybut she had seemed very uncertain, and her
father felt he would like her to see more of the world and meet more
people before deciding.
He had always wanted a son, and as his business prospered and went
from strength to strength, he had wanted, more than ever, a son who
would grow up to work with him, to share his aspirations and
success. He had had, however, two daughters. Elspeth had never
cared for anything outside the social and domestic routine, and on
leaving school at eighteen had been content to do an undemanding
job in a smart flower shop, to visit friends and to idle her way
through life in a fashion her father could only deplore. But Fiona
had always been different, interested in a wide variety of subjects,
and all kinds and conditions of people. She had not been content, on
leaving her fashionable school, to idle away the days. First, there
had been an intensive course of languages, and then a stiff
secretarial course, since then she had opted for charity work, helping
various charitable committees by acting as secretary, seeing to their
correspondence, and helping to organise their functions. It was still
not like a full-time job, thought her father, and left her far too much
time to cultivate the acquaintance of young men such as Guy and
George and all her other friends.
"Well, I'm glad it's over, and the house and family can get back to
normal again."
She watched him with bright eyes.
"You didn't bring me here, Dad, for a chatty resume of last night's
party, I'm sure."
"No, I didn't. I wanted to let you know that I was an unwilling
observer of a touching scene on my veranda last night."
Fiona blushed scarlet. Oddly, that blush pleased him, and he
considerately looked away until she had recovered herself. She said,
attempting lightness:
"How disgusting of you, Dad."
"I said an unwilling observer, Fiona. I had no option. When
Pendleton arrived, I kept quiet, hoping he would go away again. I
could have no idea that you were going to fly into his arms the next
minute."
"I do think, Dad, you might have revealed yourself!"
"I very nearly did. I didn't know which was the least embarrassing
to disturb you both, or let you go away."
"Well -" said Fiona, thoughtfully; and then, on a rising note:
"Well?"
"Well, I thought you might like to tell me what's going on."
"I should think you heard that."
"Tell me what you feel about this young man, Fiona."
"I do mean it. You get a job and hold it down for three months to
everybody's satisfaction; and if at the end of that time you still want
to marry Guy Pendleton, I'll think about it seriously."
"But I'm rusty and out of practice," said Fiona, still a little
bewildered by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. "It isn't
fair to expect me to get a jab now."
"You can brush up in my office," said her father. "I'll put you in
with old Wilmot, who has known you since you were in the cradle,
and when you think you're ready, I'll help you to get a job." He
smiled up into her thoughtful face. "Fiona, this isn't a whim. You're
an intelligent girl, and there are lots of interesting people in the
world for you to meet. I wouldn't want you to feel, when it was too
late, that you wished you had spread your wings a bit while you still
could. I don't want you to throw yourself away on the first goodlooking guitar player to tell you he loves you."
"I don't know why you're so down on Guy, Dad."
"I'm not down on him, my dear; perhaps as I get to know him, I'll
like him and approve of him. What does he do for a living, Fiona?"
"Something in the City -1 don't know exactly what."
"Well, that can cover a good deal, can't it? Has it occurred to you,
Fiona, that he might see you as the daughter of a wealthy man?"
"Oh, Father, really, you're preoccupied with your own money. You
give everybody mean motives."
"A lot of people have them, my dear."
"How life must be poisoned for you."
He smiled at her.
For six weeks, Fiona "brushed up" her shorthand and typing in one
of her father's offices, and learned a good deal about office
procedure. Mr. Wilmot found her, useful, charming and tactful, and
at the end of the six weeks he said he would be sorry to lose her, and
invited her to stay on to work for him; but this was not Fiona's idea,
nor did she think it was her father's. Here, everybody knew who she
was. Some people cultivated her acquaintance because she was the
big chief's daughter; others avoided her for precisely the same
reason; and anybody who felt a genuine friendliness towards her
might well be deterred from showing it. So Fiona decided to move
on, and her father, true to his promise, said he would help her to find
another job.
Guy did not approve of this latest move, but he realised that her
father's challenge had roused Fiona's pride and that she meant to
prove her capabilities to him. Guy would have preferred a Fiona
waiting for him at Ingleden House, in the heart of the country, safe
in the social circle of people she already knew, free of the risk of
meeting many new ones. He pleaded with her to be secretly engaged
to him, but this she would not do. As they walked in the gardens
after dinner one evening, his arm about her, slowly in step, he said:
"It seems hard luck on you, darling, that our engagement should
depend on your proving something. Your father should have given
me some test, not you."
"I think all he really wants," said Fiona, "is to keep us from doing
anything in a rush. He wants me to have time to be sure. He wants
me to get out and meet different people."
"Aren't you sure?" asked Guy, stopping her in their walk to hold her
in his arms and to kiss her. "I'm sure."
"I don't think I'm as sure as that," said Fiona seriously.
"Then I'll make you sure. I'm absolutely certain you're the girl for
me; and at the end of three months you'll feel the same. Don't you
dare, Fiona, to meet anybody you like even half as much."
"Is it likely," she said, "that I shall meet anybody half as charming,
or half as good-looking or altogether sweet to -"
The rest of her sentence was lost under his kiss, and they swayed
blissfully together in the soft darkness of the garden.
In the airy, modern office block of a big and important engineering
firm, Peter Webber sat in his own office on a bright summer
morning, in a state of annoyancereasonable and justifiable
annoyance. For the managing director had produced a favoured
applicant for the job of Peter's secretary, when his own choice had
been made, and the woman practically engaged. Of all the people
who had applied for this job, only this one had struck him as
"I can't stopmy old man is on the warpath. I just had to know if
you've got your secretary yet."
"Not yet," said Peter. "Somebody coming for an interview this
morning."
"What, not having the little schoolmarmy one?" Sheila came into the
room and closed the office door behind her. "I must hear about this.
I thought it was all settled."
Peter rose politely to his feet. It was one of the things Sheila liked so
much about him, his invariable courtesy. Such courtesy was by no
means general in the office. '
"It was practically settled," said Peter. "I'd like to have her, but now
K. J. has produced somebody for the job. She's due to see me this
morning, and quite sure to be unsuitable."
"Well, if she's really unsuitable, you'll be able to refuse her," said
Sheila. "Don't look so gloomy about it. You, should have had meI
would have suited you perfectly."
"Then it would have been war to the death with Ormesby, who
couldn't bear to lose you to me. By the way, you said he was on the
warpath this morning."
"Yes, so he is. I must fly, but I shall look for you at lunch, Peter, so
that you can tell me all about K.J.'s pet. I should stick to the nice
little schoolmarmy one if I were you."
She gave him a flashing smile, and went back to her work. She was
a vivid and colourful figure, Miss Sheila Pont, secretary to one of
the important department heads, and Peter knew that she was a hard
worker, too, but she lacked that very quality of impersonality for
which Peter was hoping and searching.
"I've had a talk about you with Mr. Jackson, our managing director.
He recommends you very warmly for the job of my secretary, but I
do feel I should let you know that my choice was already made."
"Oh." Fiona was taken aback. "I'm sorry. In that case, there was no
need for me to come. I understood that it was still open."
"I haven't actually confirmed the appointment," Peter admitted, "and
naturally, the managing director's wishes count for a lot, but other
things have to be equal."
"You meanqualifications?" asked Fiona.
"Yes."
So they went into the question of Fiona's qualifications, and Peter
could find no good reason there for refusing to engage her. But he
pounced at once upon her experience with the Chard Engineering
Company.
"Chard," he said. "Any relationship?"
Fiona hesitated. She did not want to be known as the daughter of the
wealthy chief of the Chard company: she did not want to start under
a handicap of that kind here. Yet she could not start with a lie. So
she hesitated, and then, with an air of belittling whatever
relationship there might be, she said:
"Wellyes. There is a relationship -" and gave a slight shrug of her
shoulders, shrugging it off; and, fortunately, he took it in the way
she hoped he would, and thought it too slight a relationship to base
any claims on. "Why did you leave them?" he asked bluntly.
the girl. Most of the other men in the building would have jumped at
the chance, he knew. She was attractive, well dressed and
intelligent, and it was possible that she would do the work as well as
the little schoolmarm; but Peter was Personnel Manager, and he
knew only too well the kind of problems that appeared among
personnel. Very often, sex had been discovered at the bottom of all
sorts of disquieting problems with which he had to cope. Especially
recently, he had had a surfeit of it. He could do without it very well
in his own office.
Well, now for his appointment with the sports committee chairman.
He sorted out the papers he would need, and rose to his feet, a tall,
broad-shouldered man, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a face inclined
to gravity; a man absorbed in his work and never fully aware of the
impact of his personality upon others. Already, concentrating on the
coming interview with the sports committee chairman, he had
completely put Fiona Chard out of his mind.
CHAPTER TWO
FIONA returned to Ingleden House, on the day of her interview with
Peter Webber, at half past six in the evening, and found her mother
and sister entertaining George and Guy on the terrace. A small table
held an assortment of bottles and a tray of glasses, and George was
dispensing refreshment when Fiona arrived.
"Fiona," said her mother, "we wondered what had happened to you.
We expected you back before this."
"I passed right by Janey Morgan's house after lunch, and decided to
stop and see her. Her children are absolutely beautiful now, I had to
stop and play with them; and then she made me help her weed the
herbaceous border, so you see how the afternoon disappeared." She
held out a hand to Guy in passing, and he kissed it She flashed a
smile at him, and turned to accept her sherry from George.
"Well, we're all anxious to know if you got the job," said Elspeth.
"Do tell."
"I don't know," said Fiona. "Mr. Webber is going to let me know
soon. I have an idea I won't get it. I gather that his choice was
already made, and then the managing director produced me; which
must be rather maddening for him if he wants somebody else."
"He'll probably have to do what the managing director wants," said
Guy.
"I hope he does, because I think I should like the jobit sounds
interesting."
"What was he like?" asked Elspeth.
Fiona reflected for a moment or two.
else, she sank back, sipping her sherry, relaxing in the peaceful
atmosphere of the garden.
"Staying to dinner?" she asked Guy lazily.
"If I may."
"Of course. Is George staying?"
"I think so."
"We're quite a family nowadays. It's rather nice. What sort of day
did you have?"
"Exactly the same as all the other days. I'm a creature of routine,
Fiona, and it's deadly dull at times. I bear it with equanimity because
you're at the back of my mind, because I know when five o'clock
comes, I can get in my car and scorch out of London just as fast as
rush-hour traffic lets anybody scorch, and reach the blessed
tranquillity of this garden soon after six o'clock, and be sure of a
welcome on this terrace, or in your drawing-room. You've no idea
what youand this placemean to me."
"Perhaps I shall have a better idea when I'm working at my new
jobif Mr. Webber decides to have me. Then I shall feel about this
place perhaps as you do."
"It's different for you, it's your home. For me, if s the setting for
youbut not complete without you. I felt it when you came in just
now. It was pleasant before, but you completed it. The jewel in the
setting."
"Darling, I had no idea you were so romantic!"
"You have still a lot to learn about me."
"Well, thank you, Dad, for all your advice. I feel a bit better about it
now," she said, but she could have done with another large dose of
reassurance next morning when she presented herself in Peter
Webber's office for instructions. Not even a glance in the mirror
helped her, for she was too accustomed to her own reflection to
know the impact on others of her bright chestnut hair, clear grey
eyes and dazzling smile. She was nervous and rather frightened of
appearing a novice.
None of this was obvious to Peter, who gave her a polite good
morning but was determined to establish the impersonality which
saved so much trouble.
"Let's clear the decks for action," he said. "I'd better begin by telling
you what my work consists of; then, roughly, the composition of the
firm; and then I will take you round and show you just where
everything is. You have to have a clear picture, if you're to know
where all the people we deal with come from. Then we'd better
tackle the enormous amount of correspondence which has
accumulated. I've had a typist from the typing pool, but we haven't
kept up. This, by the way is your desk and this the typing desk. You
work in here and answer my phone when I'm away, which is pretty
often. When anything really private crops up, also pretty often in a
personnel job, you retire into the little office. If s not much more
than a cubbyhole, and there's always filing to do in there."
"I see," said Fiona, rather awed by his businesslike approach.
Concisely and briefly, he outlined for her the kind of work that fell
to his lot in this job that was chiefly concerned with good relations
between administration and workers; and when that was done he
took her on a rapid tour of the works.
He spent the rest of the morning dictating letters, intending to leave
Fiona to type them in the afternoon when he had a committee
meeting and then a delegation from the machine shop. Fiona found
him a good deal faster than Mr. Wilmot.
It became apparent to her that here was a man of action. Here was a
man who was on top of his job, who took things in quickly and did
not dither when he made up his mind about them. He also looked
remarkably fit physically, tall, lean and hard, and rather brownskinned. And it had not escaped Fiona that on their tour of the
works, while the looks of the men had been cast in her direction,
those of the girls they encountered, after a brief curiosity about
Fiona, had been centred on Peter, on his dark and somewhat aloof
good looks.
When it was time for lunch, a fair-haired girl appeared in the office,
offering to show Fiona where the canteen was, and Peter agreed to
stop work. He introduced the newcomer as Miss Heeley, and Fiona
went off with her to the cloakroom, where, while she washed her
hands and repaired her make-up, she learned that Kathy Heeley was
"reception," and spent her days in the glass-walled office with an
open counter, directing callers, keeping records of them, placating
the ones that had to wait and keeping track by telephone of the many
people in the building.
As they made their way out of the building, across a road, and
towards the long, low building which was the canteen, Fiona said:
"I should have been absolutely lost without you, Kathy, in this vast
place. It's so kind of you."
"Really no credit to me. Mr. Webber asked me to do it. He couldn't
leave you to fend for yourself in the rugger-scrum that getting lunch
always is. And he steers clear of getting involved himself. Poor
man, the girls do pester him, and he tries to leave them alone as
much as possible. His last secretary got into a shocking state, but
there, that's a long story - I think he quite likes me because I never
bother him. Now we join the queue here, and if the steak and kidney
pie is on, I should have that. It's easily the star turn on our menu,
though the curry's not bad either. But avoid cottage pie like the
plague -"
She chattered on, friendly and cheerful, while they waited in the
queue, introducing Fiona to so many people that they became a
jumble of names and faces impossible to sort out.
"There's your boss," she went on to Fiona. "Sitting over there in the
comer with Sheila Pont. Whenever he lunches in the canteen, which
isn't always, she tries to get him before he has time to lunch with
anybody else. Pesterer in chief, I should call her; though I must
admit he seems to like her. She would have given the eyes in her
head to have your job, of course."
Fiona looked at Sheila Pont with some curiosity after hearing this,
although she already suspected that Kathy's chatter must be treated
with reserve. Sheila Pont was very attractive in a vivacious,
magnetic fashion, with cloudy dark hair, dark eyes, vivid make-up
and a slight tendency to plumpness. She flashed and sparkled, and
would, thought Fiona, often be the centre of attraction, and popular
with men. If Peter Webber liked her, why hadn't he given her the job
of secretary? Or perhaps she was the one he had chosen, and the
managing director had put a spoke in the wheel. In that case, Sheila
would hardly look on Fiona with a kindly eye.
She spent the whole afternoon typing, and Peter did not once
reappear. He telephoned a couple of times from different parts of the
building, and the second time told her to leave the letters ready for
signing when she went at five o'clock, since he would not be back
before. But she had not finished at five o'clock, so she went on until
she had, and it was nearly six when she put the letters on his desk,
with their accompanying envelopes already stamped; yet he had not
arrived. By this time the building was strangely quiet, and she
gathered up her things and went into the deserted cloakroom to tidy
up. When she returned along the corridor, the office was still empty,
so she made her way out of the building.
She had stayed late, so the works buses had gone, and the big yard
where all the cars were parked was almost empty. She had an
awkward, cross-country journey in front of her, and suddenly she
realised that she was tired. Once more, the strangeness of what she
was doing overwhelmed her. What was she trying to prove to
herself? Why should she wait here, on this rather drab corner, for a
bus to take her to the station, when she could be enjoying drinks on
the terrace with her mother and sister and whatever visitors might be
at home?
She was hungry and tired, and disinclined for the journey before her.
That evening, however, after dinner in the cool and elegant diningroom, and coffee on the terrace with her family, her spirits revived,
and she gave an entertaining account of her day, drawing 4 picture
of the crowded canteen, of Kathy and her chatter, of Sheila Pont
(describing her quite incorrectly as the girl who ought to have had
her own job); and of the office itself. Then she and her father talked
shop, much to his delight, until Elspeth protested.
"We shall make a rule," she said, "that you two are not to talk shop
at home, or, if you must, you must go and do it in the study.
Mummy and I want to talk about the Heffners' dance, and whether
you and Guy are coming or not, because we have to let them know:
and we don't care a fig about shop stewards or assembly lines or
your disagreeable personnel manager."
"But of course I'm coming to the dance," said Fiona, "and I'm
having a new dress for it; one with a gorgeous, full, floating skirt to
it, but I can't make up my mind whether to have it in white or in a
delicate pink."
The three women entered upon such a delightful topic with zest, and
Fiona's father sat back smiling an indulgent smile, ready to afford
his sweet Fiona any dress she set her heart upon.
So she began to live in two worldstwo worlds that had no
connection with each other whatsoever. At home, she was in the lap
of luxury; at the office she was a girl thrown into the hurly-burly of
earning a living. At home, she was spoiled and adored and indulged
by Guy, while at the office, she waited hand and foot on Peter
Webber. She was his factotum, taking and making his telephone
calls, fixing his appointments, typing his letters and reports, filing
everything, placating people who had to wait for him when his
appointments overlapped; bringing him a sandwich and a cup of
coffee when he had no time for lunch, doing, in fact, everything he
told her to do. Her mother and Elspeth would have been amazed at
her energy and output and capabilitiessometimes she was amazed
at them herself. Even before a fortnight at her new job had elapsed,
she found herself wondering what she had done with all her time
previously. She was continuously interested and absorbed.
One morning, Fiona tapped at her mother's bedroom door and put
her head into the room to say good-bye, a small custom that her
mother did not like her to neglect.
"Can't stop, Mother, I'm a little late. Be home at the usual time.
Good-bye."
She was gone again, but her mother's voice called her back.
Reluctantly, Fiona returned.
"I thought so," said her mother. "Whatever are you wearing that
Paris suit to the office for?"
"Because my others are too hot. I baked yesterday, it was quite
unbearable. And this is fine linen and will be nice and cool."
"But Fiona, to wear a Paris suit to a dusty office! And the blouse is
really so unsuitable!"
"It isn't a dusty office, dear; we have a gimlet-eyed office cleaner
who pounces on dust before it has time to settle. And nobody is
going to know the suit is from Paris. It's simplicity itself and they'll
probably think I ran it up on a sewing machine. As for the blouse, I
don't intend to take the jacket off, so that's all right."
"You wouldn't even know how to start a sewing machine," said her
mother. "Well, I don't approve: Balmain to the office indeed! But
you'd better get off."
It was a perfectly fitting little suit of grey linen, and of the finelytucked chiffon blouse that went underneath it, only a few square
inches were visible, so that Fiona felt quite suitably dressed. She
was quite right in assuming that nobody would know her clothes
came from Paris, but she had overlooked the fact that they carried
their own indefinable air of perfect grooming and' expense. As she
parked her car in the big yard (for she had, at the earliest possible
moment, abandoned the awkward cross-country journey by train and
bus), Peter Webber sat in his and watched her. He saw the little grey
car slide into place before realising who was driving it Fiona parked
it expertly, got out and locked the door, and dropped the key into her
bag. Then she began to walk across the big yard, a slim figure in an
elegant suit, walking on high heels, carrying her bright head high.
"She looks like a model," was Peter's first thought. But she looked
too alive, too friendly, for a fashionable model. "She's a delight to
the eye," was his second thought: "and very expensive," was his
next. He became somewhat thoughtful. A new-looking car,
expensive clothes, an air about her that was unusual among the
office girls...
She saw him as she drew near, and gave him her dazzling smile.
desk, her hair shining in the sunlight, one foot in an elegant highheeled shoe crossed over the other. She smiled at Sheila and
indicated a chair.
Sheila sat down, and, as she waited, studied the girl who spent her
days in Peter's office. Shoes, tights, blouse, the fine silk slip under
the blouse, also pale and hand-embroidered with broderie anglaise
and tiny scallops, the watch on Fiona's wristall these things came
under Sheila's scrutiny.
She had never owned such things herself, but she knew they were
fabulously expensive. Her suspicions were aroused. How could a
girl who worked in an office afford such expensive things? To
Sheila there was only one answershe couldn't afford them. She
must come by them in some other way than by buying them for
herself. So ... who bought them for her? She was attractive enough,
by anybody's standards, to have people wanting to give her things.
Fiona put the receiver back on its stand and turned to Sheila with a
smile.
"Mr. Webber is with the office manager, and I don't expect him back
for quite a time."
"Oh, I won't wait then. Perhaps you would give him a message for
me?"
"Certainly."
"Just tell him that Fm all right for the tennis dance, will you?"
"Yes, I'll do that."
Sheila still waited.
"How do you like working here?" she asked Fiona. "Are you getting
settled?"
"Yes, I'm getting quite settled down, though I still have an awful lot
to learn about the job; and I like it very much. I find it enormously
interesting."
Sheila heard all the tones of the cultured and modulated voice, and
was infinitely curious.
' "You haven't been in this sort of concern before then?" she asked,
her smile warm, her interest apparently friendly.
"Yes, I have, as a matter of fact, but not in personnel. That, I find
quite absorbing. I suppose I like dealing with peopleI had a job
with a charity organisation before that." Fiona was secretly proud of
bringing out her jobs in this way it made her sound a bona fide
working girl, gave her a recommendation among the people with
whom she now worked.
"You don't look as if you've worked hard for your living,"
said Sheila, smiling. "You look too elegantI simply love your
blouse."
Fiona wished heartily she had not taken off her jacket: as her mother
had pointed out, the blouse was not suitable for an office.
"I didn't mean to take my jacket off," she admitted, "but it was so
hot, and I was on my own."
"But it's too-pretty to hide. You didn't get that locally, I'm sure."
"No," said Fiona, and added: "It was a present to me, as a matter of
fact," wanting to establish only the fact that she had not bought it
herself.
"Lucky you," said Sheila. "Well, if you will tell Peter, I have to get
back. Mr. Ormesby starts raving if I'm away for more than five
minutes."
She went away, wondering who it was who gave such expensive
presents to Miss Fiona Chard, and Fiona, who had never had any
need to be on her guard against unfriendly spirits, thought how
warm and friendly and attractive Sheila was.
Peter came into the office in a whirl.
"Drop everything," he said to Fiona. "A rush job. A batch of letters
to send offall more or less the same, but I want each one to read
like a personal letterso no Roneo. And I don't want to hand it over
to the typing pool, because it's just that much too confidential. Could
you stay a little late to get them done?"
"Yes," said Fiona, whose time had always been her own, so that she
had no need to be jealous of it, as so many people might be.
He dictated the stock letter, and then explained the adjustments to be
made to each one, and gave her the list of people to send them to.
Fiona went to her typing desk and started work on them. She sat
with her back to the wall, facing Peter's big desk, where Peter was
already busy with his papers. After a few' minutes, he reached for
the telephone, and while he waited for his number he watched Fiona
working, her head bent over her notes, her bright hair shining.
Without thinking consciously about her, he found pleasure in what
he saw, and as he spoke to his man, he continued to watch her.
Fiona, wondering if the clatter she was making disturbed him,
looked up to ask, found his regard upon her, and immediately
flushed; remembered that she was without her jacket and wished she
had put it on. He saw her embarrassment and averted his eyes. For a
few seconds, they were personally and intensely aware of each
"Hallo, Mother? Good. What's for supper tonight? ... That sounds
good... Is it all ready? ... Well, can I bring a visitor? ... A starving
secretary. I've kept her working here and she's collapsing with
hunger . . . Yes . . . Yes, fine. We'll be along in half an hour.
"There," he said to Fiona. "I can get home in a quarter of an hour.
Finish up, and we'll be off."
"But I can't intrude on your, mother just like that," protested Fiona.
"Yes, you can. She's delighted, and quite intrigued. And she tells me
there's salmon mayonnaise and strawberry flan and coffee. Which
sound just right for a hot day. And it will be ready when we get
there."
"Oh," said Fiona longingly, "how can I refuse, when I'm as empty as
a drum ? It's so kind of you."
A little later, they went out to his car together.
"We can leave yours in the yard," said Peter, "and I'll run you back
later to pick it up."
He closed her door and went round to take the driving seat. Fiona
was aware of a feeling of adventure, in spite of her gnawing hunger.
Without this valid excuse, she realised that she might not have got
inside Peter Webber's house in years. It was an extraordinary sort of
fluke.
She had presumed he was not married, since all the girls in the firm
found him so eligible and attractive. But now she knew that he was
still living with his mother, and she thought ahead to wonder what
his mother would be like, what his house would be like, what indeed
Peter himself would be like in the bosom of his family.
This is interesting, she thought, as the car turned into a wide street
of detached housesa pretty street with many trees and carefullytended front gardensand came to a stop in front of one house
looking very much like all the others.
CHAPTER THREE
PETER and Fiona were met in the hall by a small, plump, elderly
woman, with greying hair and a warm, welcoming smile, who
immediately made Fiona feel at home. They went into a sittingroom where Peter's father and his brother were also waiting for
them, and Fiona was introduced. They were both tall and dark, like
Peter, and both good-looking men, but not, thought Fiona, as
handsome as he was; and it was obvious that Mrs. Webber was
inordinately proud of all three of them.
"Now will you have a glass of sherry?" asked Mrs. Webber, "or was
Peter serious when he said you were starving? Perhaps you'd rather
go straight in for supper?"
"We would," said Peter, "she really is starving."
"You see," explained Fiona, "I only had a sandwich for lunch. It was
really too hot to go and tackle a big, cooked meal. But I didn't know
Mr. Webber was going to make me work late."
"I can imagine he's quite a slave-driver," said his mother, leading the
way into the dining-room. "But you mustn't let him work you too
hard. Now, if you'll sit there, Fiona -" and they grouped themselves
about the table.
It was a small dining-room by Fiona's standards, but it was
beautifully kept, everything that could be polished gleaming
spotlessly, and with its french window open to the garden.
The garden too, by Fiona's standards, seemed very small, but it too
was immaculately kept, and she at once admired it.
"It is pretty, isn't it?" said Mrs. Webber. "There was simply no
garden at all when we bought the house: I don't think anybody had
ever bothered to make one here. But with my three men to work on
it, we soon improved it. When one of them is too busy, the others
can take over. When they get married, these two stay-at-homes, we
shall miss their efforts in the garden."
"Are they going to get married?" asked Fiona interestedly.
"No signs of it," said their mother cheerfully.
"As far as you know," said Geoffrey Webber, Peter's brother.
"As far as I know," she admitted. "Of course, what they get up to
away from here, I don't know; but it's high time they made a move,
in my opinion."
"You make us too comfortable here," said Peter, smiling at her.
It certainly was a very comfortable and very homely home, and
Fiona felt that there was a happy and friendly atmosphere about it.
They were all obviously proud of it too, and she began to realise that
most of the girls working on the firm would probably have been
impressed by its high standards of comfort. She was a little
uncomfortable when she thought of Ingleden House, and relieved
that Peter did not have to know about it.
The food was delicious. Obviously Mrs. Webber was an excellent
cook. They sat on, around the table, to have their coffee, and went
on talking through the summer evening until the light began to go
and dusk filtered into the room. Conversation ranged over a number
of widely different fields, but at last, in spite of her interest, Fiona
realised how long she had stayed, and said she must go.
"Your people will be worried about you?" asked Mrs. Webber.
"I rang them up to say I would be late. It was so kind of you to put
up with me."
They went out to Peter's car, Fiona waving to the friendly faces in
the doorway; and then drove back to the works so that Fiona could
pick up her own car.
"What a nice family you have, Mr. Webber," she said. "And your
generous impulse to take me home and feed me must have come to
you from your mother, who seems to be full of generous impulses."
"Yes, she's a dear. Always trying to marry off the two of us, of
courseyou mustn't take any notice of that."
Fiona laughed.
"It was a wonderful supperI don't wonder you both stay home if
you get such lovely meals. I don't know when I've been so hungry as
I was this evening. I ought to say a devout thank you."
"Consider it said," said Peter briefly.
They drove in silence until they reached the big yard outside the
main gates of the works. Fiona's car stood there, small and solitary,
on the otherwise deserted expanse of the yard. Peter drove up to it,
got out himself and went round to open Fiona's door.
"Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asked her.
"Quite sure, thank you."
"You're used to driving at night?"
"Yes, quite."
They walked to the side of her car. It was in the shadow of the high
wall that ran round the works.
"Give me your key," said Peter. "I'll open up."
She searched in her bag for the key, and as she pulled it out,
something else fell from her bag, and they stooped simultaneously
to pick it up. They knocked into each other, and Fiona stumbled and
would have fallen, but that Peter steadied her and helped her up.
"Sorry," he said in his deep voice, which held a hint of laughter. He
still held her arm, and once more, there in the darkness, there was
between them an intense awareness of each other. Fiona turned to
unlock the car door as Peter turned to take the key from her, and
suddenly she was held against him, tightly held in his arms, in a
spontaneous movement of which neither of them had any
premonition. And she was slim ' and soft in his arms, and her
delicate perfume came up to him, and the clean, sweet smell of her
shining hair, so that, for a few moments, his senses swam with the
delight of holding her, and discretion had flown with the wind.
Fiona was so surprised that she stood motionless, overcome with the
strangeness of being in a stranger's arms, and then, almost
reluctantly, she moved, released herself and stood away from him,
thankful for the darkness that hid their faces from each other.
There was a pause. Already, Peter was wondering uneasily what had
possessed him, although the desire to take her back into his arms
had not yet faded. Fiona took refuge in the commonplace. She said:
"I must go. My family will be worrying about me."
She opened the car door and got into the driving seat. As Peter made
no move, she started the engine, and before reversing away from the
wall, called out to him:
"Thank you for everything. Good night, Mr. Webber." Then, as she
reversed, and then sped forward away from the yard and the works
towards the open country, she asked herself why she had spoken so
ambiguously. Why had she said a thank you for "everything?" She
had meant the kindness and the supper and so on, and was by no
means thanking him for his latest attentions. Which same attentions
had certainly taken her completely by surprise. No wonder, she
thought, that he had girl trouble if this was what happened: no
wonder that there had been some bother about his last secretary! For
he was attractiveno doubt about that. For herself, she was amply
protected against that attraction: she had Guy. Some of these other
girls, perhaps, were not so fortunate.
If Fiona was surprised, her surprise was nothing compared to
Peter's. Nor was he merely surprised. He was chagrined and
annoyed. Here he was, maintaining that he wanted, above all things,
an impersonal relationship with his colleagues, yet he had allowed
this to happen! Such a thing had certainly never happened with his
last poor, infatuated secretary; nor with Sheila, nor any of the other
attractive girls in the offices. Yet this girl, whom he had known for
such a short time, he had taken home on the impulse of the moment;
and taken into his arms on yet another impulse. Peter, my boy, he
told himself, you'll have to curb these rash impulses. Yet the
recollection of her slimness and softness and fragrance in his arms
was very pleasant.
When Fiona reached her home, she found Elspeth entertaining
several of their friends. Mr. and Mrs. Chard had gone out to dinner,
so Elspeth had asked George to come and had rung up other friends,
and now, with the wide front door open to the night air, they were
dancing on the parquet floor -of the hall. Guy had come straight
from his office "expecting," he told Fiona with reproach, "to find
you here at least as soon as I was."
"Yes, you bad girl," said Elspeth, "what made you so late? Poor Guy
has been in a dreadful state for hours."
"A rush job," said Fiona.
"It's all right with me," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. Fiona
was not satisfied, but now was not the moment to protest; now,
when the music was playing and the lights were low, and laughter
came from the others, and she was, in any case, relaxed and rather
tired.
Not long afterwards, Helga came in with coffee and biscuits and
little sandwiches.
"Let's have them outside," suggested Elspeth. "It's a lovely warm
night. All right, Helga, the boys will take them."
The whole party, carrying the refreshments with them, moved out to
the terrace, and the men arranged the chairs, and they settled in the
dusk, with only one light shining out from the drawing-room to give
them enough light to see what they were doing. Couples sank back
into the shadows, whispering together, occasionally joining in more
general conversation, while Elspeth poured coffee and George
carried it carefully round in the half-dark.
"Guy," said a voice from the shadows, "where's the guitar? Now is
the time for your songs."
"Oh, yes, Guy." "Do, Guy." "Something really lush and sentimental,
Guy," they said, and somebody went willingly to bring the guitar,
and gave it to Guy where he sat in deep shadow with Fiona.
He began to sing. This was when Fiona came most completely
under his spell. His voice was nothing remarkable, but it was
pleasant, with deep timbre, well suited to the soft accompaniment of
the guitar, and very skilfully used. She knew that he was singing to
her.
As the music came to an end, more lights were switched on in the
drawing-room, and Mr. and Mrs. Chard came to the french
windows.
"Very nice indeed, Guy," said Mrs. Chard. "We were listening to
you from in here; but do you children know that it's past midnight,
and most of you have to be up early in the morning? I think we must
send you all home to bed."
"Oh, how cruel of you, Mrs. Chard," they said. 'It was all so lovely,
soft lights and sweet music, and you talk of sending us home to
bed." "And of foul things like getting up in the morning -" But
although they chorused their disapproval, they stood up, came out of
their shadowed corners, ready to do as they were told. Fiona's
parents said good night and went away, Mrs. Chard saying as she
went: "You'll sleep here, Guy, I suppose. You can't go tearing back
to London now. Your usual room is ready, I expect." And he was
glad, because the more they took him for granted, the more they
treated him as a person privileged, almost one of the family, the
more Fiona would do so, too.
When everybody had gone, and Elspeth had followed her parents
upstairs, Fiona said:
"Well, I suppose we must go too."
"Five minutes more," pleaded Guy.
"Just five minutes' stroll round the garden," said Fiona. "But it's late,
and I've had a long day."
They got as far as the summerhouse, and found themselves inside,
on the swing seat, and Fiona was in Guy's arms, relaxing there.
"Put your feet up," said Guy. "There, isn't that comfortable?"
"Heaven," she said. They were silent for a few moments, then Fiona
said, rather drowsily:
"You know, Guy, if s rather odd. When I'm here, at home, and here
with you, that other world, of office work, and crowds of people,
and hot canteens, doesn't seem real. When you were singing on the
terrace just now, I didn't seem to have any connection with the steel
works and Peter Webber. And yet, when I'm there, it all seems so
real and vital, that it's this world that seems the unreal one. If s
rather odd, coming from one to the other."
"I shall feel happier," he said, "when this three months is finished,
and you feel you've answered your father's challenge, and I've got
my old Fiona back."
"There isn't an old Fiona and a new Fiona, Guy. I'm the same
person."
"Not quite. You've got some sort of allegiance, now, to this new job,
this new man you work for. There's a part of your life that is a
closed book to me, and I don't like it."
"Oh, darling, you are proprietorial!"
"Shouldn't I be? Aren't you going to marry me?"
"I haven't actually said so, Guy."
"Oh, Fiona, don't split hairs. Or else say it quickly, now, and don't
try to keep me in suspense."
"But Guy, I haven't said I am going to marry you. You've rather
taken everything as settled."
"Fiona!" She realised that this had really startled him. She sat up,
away from him, trying to see his face, but it was too dark. "I thought
everything was settled."
"Oh, Guy, how could you think so? You asked me to marry you, but
we decided to wait; you asked me to be engaged, and we decided to
wait. I didn't even feel sure about my love for you. I suppose I ought
to, but I don't. That evening that Elspeth announced her engagement
was the first time I thought of you in that way at all. I knew you
liked coming here, but I thought it was for the social circle, the good
times we have, all our friends who became your friends; when you
asked me to marry you, I was honestly surprised; yet now, you take
it as completely settled."
"Fiona, what is it that holds you back? You don't doubt my love for
you?"
"No, Guy, of course not." Her hand was soft against his cheek, in a
consoling touch.
"And I don't doubt yours for me," he said, in a more cheerful tone.
"But I do, Guy. Oh, yes, I know, I like us to be together; I'm awfully
fond of you. You know that. But I can't help feeling that 'awfully
fond' isn't really enough. Or if it is, then I wish I felt surer about it.
Oh, I know one can't expect love to be something grand and worldshaking and cataclysmicyou only have to look around you to see
that it isn'tbut surely it ought to be something that one feels
utterly sure about. Something more than just drifting into intimacy
-"
"For me, it is," said Guy. "And really, Fiona, most people do just
drift into intimacy: from mutual liking into a slow ripening of love.
Not that I want it to be that way with us. Really, darling, you've got
me terribly worried."
"Oh, Guy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you worried. But darling,
don't take me so much for granted -"
He took her into his arms again, and caressed her and rubbed his
cheek against her hair, but, in truth, he was worried. Fiona meant
even more to him than she could imagine, and he had no intention of
letting her slip away from him.
When Fiona reached her room, it was nearly one o'clock, and she
had to be up again at seven, yet she did not hurry to get into bed.
She put her clothes on hangers to put them away, and looked out a
navy blue linen dress to wear in the morning. She sat before her
dressing table in a quilted dressing-gown, smoothing cream into her
face and neck, and thinking back over the day. The two worlds, the
two men inhabiting those different worlds. Guy Pendleton and Peter
Webber. She had known Guy over five months now, but still had
not met his family, nor knew exactly where he lived. He shared his
leisure hours with her: she knew his social side: playing tennis,
dancing, dining, singing songs to his sweet guitar. With Peter
Webber, it was the exact opposite, after only a few weeks of
working with him, she had met his family, been welcomed to his
home; yet she knew only his working life, knew him as a man in
authority, sorting out difficult situations, wrapped up in his work,
concise and businesslike and keen . . . What was Guy like in his
working life? Or Peter Webber in his social life? That, she decided,
she had an early opportunity for discovering. She would go to the
tennis dance with great interest and considerable curiosity.
CHAPTER FOUR
As Fiona parked her car next morning and made her way towards
the main gates and the offices, she wondered if the little scene of the
night before between herself and Peter was going to cause any
embarrassment. She had already decided that she would not refer to
it in any way, and appear to have forgotten it completely, but she
wondered what Peter would do. When she came into the office;
however, it was immediately apparent that such small personal
matters had no place in his mind. The works manager was with him,
they both looked rather serious and very thoughtful, and Peter
greeted her in an absent-minded way that scarcely noticed her at all.
She put her bag away in her drawer and uncovered her typewriter.
The works manager, Mr. Holwell, was saying:
"They know it's not a question of redundancy. They know nobody is
going to get the sack, but they don't like it."
"Did they all get the leaflets we sent out?"
"Yes, and they didn't like that, either. They felt there should have
been a meeting about it."
"There was a meeting. The trouble was that half of them were too
indifferent to attend it."
"Well, it wasn't until after the meeting that they fully understood
what it was all about, and then they wished they'd been there, of
course. There's the usual small proportion looking out for trouble
old Gosforth among them."
"You'd think he was old enough to have more sensehe must have
seen a few labour troubles in his time. Well, Holwell, will you keep
tabs on the way the men are feeling, and I'll see Mr. Jackson and see
what he thinks about another meeting. Perhaps he'll come and talk to
the men himself."
"I'll do that,'' said Mr. Holwell, rising from his chair, "and report
progress to you."
"Thank you." Peter rose and went with him to the door. He turned
back, still very thoughtful, saying to Fiona:
"It looks as if trouble might be blowing up about the changing of the
machinery in the works."
"What's it all about?" asked Fiona.
He glanced at her briefly, and stood at his table for a few moments
without answering, still mulling over his thoughts.
"It's like this," he said at last. "We're beginning to make certain parts
of aluminium instead of steel, and that necessitates a change of
machinery, and a slight change of personnel. Also, it means fewer
people on that particular job, so some of them have got to move to
something else. Now there's no question of sacking anybodythey
all know that; but they know some of them will be on different
work, and at once all sorts of questions arise; questions of wages, of
prestige and so on. Some of them will have to go to transport, which
is understaffed; and that at once means they spend certain nights
away from their homes and familiesa headache for management if
ever there was one. This moment is a very touchy one. Things could
go smoothly; the right word at the right moment, an absence of the
trouble-makers, the co-operation of the shop steward. But just as
likely, they could go wrong, somebody with a grievance stirring up
trouble, a lot of them beginning to think they're being done, and
suddenly the whole thing goes up, and you've got a strike on your
hands."
morning. He was busy all the time, in and out of the office,
telephoning, going to see people, or having them to see him. At half
past ten, Fiona saw the dietician; soon after eleven, she saw young
Waller. Just before lunch, Peter returned, tossing a few orders in her
direction before sprucing himself up to lunch with the managing
director. Fiona sat back in her chair and smiled, and Kathy Heeley,
coming in to find out if she was going to the canteen, found her
smiling.
"What's the joke?" she asked.
"I am. I'm realising what a little cog I am in what a big machine."
"Oh, well, I'm an even smaller cog if that's any consolation to you.
Are you coming, over to lunch?"
"Yes, I think I will. Yesterday I only had a sandwich and simply
starved later on. And I'd better see what's on for people to eat, since
there have been complaints."
"Somebody will always complain," said Kathy, who never did. As
they made their way to the canteen, she asked:
"Are you going to the tennis dance?"
"Yes," said Fiona. "Why did you say going, instead of coming?
Aren't you going too?"
"No. I go to the soccer dances sometimes in the winter because it
doesn't matter what you wear. But at the tennis dances it's always
evening dress, for the girls anyway, and I haven't got an evening
dress, so I'd rather stay away."
"I was wondering what to wear," said Fiona.
"You can put on your best bib and tucker quite safely," said Kathy.
"They all do. And I bet you've got a nice bib and tucker, you always
dress so beautifully."
"Would you come if you had a dress?" asked Fiona.
"Well -" Kathy hesitated. "No, to be truthful, I suppose I wouldn't,
because I couldn't afford the ticket. That sounds awfully povertystricken, I know, but as a matter of factand I wouldn't tell
everybody, but I don't mind telling youI do have to watch every
penny. My mother is an invalid, and there's only the two of us, and
we only have her widow's pension and what I earn. And all my
clothes have to last ages and ages. I've never had an evening dress."
Fiona felt very small, and rather ashamed of her own material
comfort, and a very strong desire to offer Kathy not only an evening
dress and a ticket for the dance, but other help as well, t She
managed to restrain herself, however, murmuring a few ordinary
words of sympathy.
"Don't think I'm grumbling," said Kathy. "It's not really any
hardship to me. My mother's a love, doing as much as she can and
never complaining. Now, what's on today? Liver and bacon for me
-"
Fiona was turning Elspeth's dresses over in her mind. Kathy was
very much the height and build of Elspeth, and Elspeth had more
evening dresses than she needed. The soft peach- coloured dress
with the lace overskirt might do, but no, she was fair and it might be
a little insipid. Then the pale green, with a bouffant skirt and yards
of chiffon...
Peter came into the office early in the afternoon, and actually smiled
at her. -"Well," he asked, "did you see the dietician for me?"
"I did," said Fiona, "and I think I've talked her into changing her
menus. The fact is, she's rather new, and very absorbed in her calory
and vitamin charts; and she wants to give them light, new-fangled
foods in this hot weather, and they want their apple pie and their
suet pud."
"So they want their apple pie, do they?".
"They do. She feels that progress has had a setback, but agreed to
compromise. And it appears that young Mr. Waller can't get on with
his boss. So he wants a change."
"I'm afraid it's the boss who needs a Change," said Peter. "There is
always friction in the drawing office. I don't quite know what we
can do about it."
"I persuaded him to wait a little, and to have another go at working
there," said Fiona. "How does your problem go?"
"I'm hoping. That's all. And waiting the next move from the men.
Well, we'd better get off some of this correspondence now, if you're
ready -"
So he dictated, and Fiona took down letters and then typed them,
and left the office shortly after five o'clock, wondering if she had
dreamed the evening before, with the pleasant supper party at Peter
Webber's house, and the breathless moments in his arms, when he
had seemed to her a pillar of strength.
That evening, when she reached home, she sought out Elspeth in her
room.
"Hallo, Fiona. You're nice and early this evening, and nothing's
happening. I'm dining at George's, and Mother went to London and
will be coming home with Dad."
"Elspeth, have you finished with that pale green chiffon dress?"
"I don't know. Why? I suppose I might wear it once or twice more,
but it's not one of my favourites."
"Then let me give it away to somebody. Will you? "
Elspeth was at once curious and intrigued.
"Who?" she asked. "And why?"
Fiona explained, and immediately Elspeth was all sympathy and
generosity.
"Of course, she can have it; and there's a stole that goes with it, and
a tiny evening bag. She can have that little white dress, too, if she
likes."
"We can't overdo it," said Fiona. "I don't even know if she will
accept the green. But thank you, Elspeth."
Elspeth stood watching as Fiona took the green dress from the fitted
clothes cupboard.
"It makes me feel rather ashamed of having so many clothes," she
said in a small voice, and Fiona turned swiftly.
"I was feeling exactly the same," she said. "Sorry that it's so easy to
givethat it doesn't cost us any effort."
"Of course, it's mad to feel like that," said Elspeth more cheerfully.
"We're just lucky to be born into the right place we don't have to
feel guilty about it." She stood in thought for a moment. "All the
same," she added, "if she'll take it, she can always have others later."
So Fiona put the dress and the stole and evening bag into a dress
box, and added a letter with a ticket for the dance; and left them on
Kathy Heeley's counter next morning as she made her way to her
office.
Ten minutes later, Kathy burst into the office with tears in her eyes,
and, ignoring Peter, went straight to Fiona's desk.
"You needn't have been so very tactful about my accepting," she
said, trying to smile at Fiona. "I'm much too poor to be proud. I've
never had anything so lovely in my life. Thanks a millionand
thanks to your sister too. You bet I'll be there!" And she was gone
again, leaving Peter astounded and Fiona relieved.
"What was all that in aid of?" asked Peter.'
"Just a little personal thing between Kathy and myself," she said.
At lunch-time, Kathy was very anxious lest Fiona's sister could not
really spare the dress.
"I'll borrow it for the dance and then send it back," she offered.
"No, really, she can spare it. She says she's worn it so often she's
tired of it."
"It doesn't look like it, it looks brand new. I can't wait to get home
and try it on. I keep peeping into the box. I can just imagine what
fun Mother and I will have tonightshe'll be absolutely delighted
for me."
"I'll come and pick you up," offered Fiona, "and we'll come to the
dance together. You see, I haven't anybody to go with, so really I'm
doing this as much for myself as for you."
"And how!" said Kathy sceptically.
On the evening of the dance, Fiona did not avail herself of Mrs.
Webber's invitation to change at her house. If Sheila Pont were to be
there, and then go to the dance with Peter, she would not be at all
pleased to find that she had to share Peter as an escort. Nor did
Fiona particularly want to find herself dressing and making-up with
Sheila. And as she had no more desire to change in the office
cloakroom, she drove home, got ready for the dance there, had her
dinner early and set off to pick up Kathy a little later than she had
intended. The beautiful dress which her father had bought her for
the Heffners' dance was far too grand for this occasion, and Fiona
had given a great deal of thought to what she should wear. She
wanted, naturally, to look her attractive best; yet she did not want to
look out-of-place; so she had compromised on a blue dress she had
had for some time, floating panels of blue organza with loose
swirling sleeves.
She wore the simple diamond necklace her father had bought her on
her eighteenth birthday, knowing that nobody in the hall would
dream that the stones were real.
She had some difficulty in finding the street of very humble houses
where Kathy Heeley lived, and when she knocked at the door, and
was asked into a tiny living-room, she felt shock and sadness at the
poverty in which this always good-natured girl lived. Kathy,
however, was radiant.
"Just look at me," she said. "Cinderella complete. I hope you'll bring
me back before twelve, or something disastrous might happen. This
is my mother; Mother, this is Fiona Chard, who got her sister to give
me this Wonderful dress."
They chatted for a few minutes. Mrs. Heeley was a pale, rather thin
person, who did not move from her chair while Fiona was there, but
she had a happy smile, and was at this moment quite obviously
delighted for her daughter and proud of her.
"If you do bring Kathy back, come in and have a cup of something
before you drive home," she said. "And now go off and enjoy
yourselves."
"We're going to be a sensation," said Kathy, and indeed, it proved to
be so. Because they were a little late, the canteen, miraculously
transformed and decorated for this dance, was fairly full. As they
came through the door, a dance had just ended, couples were going
back to their tables, which were set all round the hall, and Fiona and
Kathy stood there, looking round them to find a table which was not
occupied. At first glance there did not seem to be one, and as they
stood side by side seeking one, they became a target for all eyes. A
few people noticed them, then others, and as the remainder became
aware that there was something arresting general attention, almost
everybody had turned to look at them. The slender, poised girl in
blue, with her bright chestnut hair, and the slender string of
diamonds flashing round her throat, was the object of everybody's
curiosity, as she had been, in fact, ever since the day she came to
work for Peter Webber; but Kathy Heeley was astonishing.
Everybody knew her by reason of her job in reception. They were
used to seeing her in her well-worn clothes; used to the fact that she
rarely came to firm's functions, used to her obliging, matter-of-fact
good nature. And here she was, in a dream of a dress, perfectly
radiant.
Someone immediately asked Fiona to dance; and he was only the
first of a long line of partners. She was glad of the rests between
dances, for she wanted to study other people, wanted to see the
dresses, to see people she normally saw in office hours, in their
leisure hours. Wanted, too, to look for Sheila Pont and Peter; and
soon she saw them. They were in a group of six or eight people, all
very vivacious, talking and laughing, with wine bottles standing on
their table. Sheila was wearing white, which suited her vivid
colouring well, but, thought Fiona, wondering if she were being just
a little feline, emphasised her plumpness. As for Peter, he was quite
be an anti-climax, so she went .to the supper buffet and had some
coffee and chicken patty, and talked for some time to Linda Collins
who was chief of the typing pool; but although she appeared to be
listening with interest to what Linda had to say, her thoughts were
back in the dance hall with Peter.
The crowd had thinned out considerably when Kathy came to seek
out Fiona.
"Are you ready to go?" Kathy asked. "I am, whenever you are."
"Quite ready," said Fiona, and they went away together. Outside the
canteen, groups of people were clustered before breaking up to go
their separate ways. Peter detached himself from his group as the
two girls approached.
"I expect you have your car here, Fiona," he said.
"Yes, thank you."
"You'll be quite all right?"
"Yes, of course."
"I'll just see you to your car." He turned to the group watching them,
addressing himself to Sheila. "Will you excuse me just a moment?"
He walked between them, one hand on Kathy Heeley's elbow, the
other tucked into Fiona's arm.
"Please don't bother," said Fiona. "We got here late, so I had to park
right at the end, under the trees."
"It's a pleasure," he said politely, and it was in fact a pleasure to
walk with them through soft summer night, their full skirts making a
soft frou-frou of sound, their perfume reaching him fitfully in
delicate waves, Fiona's arm soft in his firm grasp. He opened the car
door for Kathy first, carefully tucking in the folds of her dress, and
shutting her in; then, with a hand held out to Fiona, he led her round
the back of the car to her side, and at the back of, the car, in the
darkness of the trees, he paused, turned her towards him, and kissed
her full on the lips, an unhurried kiss, one that was neither rough nor
gentle: a man-to-woman kiss that Fiona, thinking about it
afterwards, decided was a compliment and a tribute. And because
Kathy was waiting, he then had to let her go, and Fiona got into the
driving seat, and switched on the engine.
"Well," she said, on a long, long sigh, "that's that."
They drove away.
"It was marvellous," said Kathy. "I've never had a good time like
that at a dance." But Kathy had material to build dreams on, too; so
they did not talk, but drove through the town in silence until they
came to Kathy's house.
"Do you mind if I don't come in?" asked Fiona. "Tell your mother I
would love to come and see her again, but I have got a long drive,
and it's already late"
"Of course I don't mind, though I know she'll be awake, with some
coffee in a flask. She never sleeps well, and she never sleeps
anyway until I'm safely indoors. I shall have to tell her about it
before I go to bed." Kathy was out of the car now. "Good night,
Fiona, and thanks a million."
"Good night, Kathy."
Tomorrow was Saturday morning, and Fiona rather wished that she
need not go to the office on this particular day, because she hardly
thought that Peter could ignore what had happened between them
this time. But there was a special rush job on and she could hardly
ignore Peter's request to go in for a couple of hours. As she drove
from home to the office, she thought over what had happened, and
was chiefly surprised at her own reactions. From Peter's point of
view, well, was it so unusual to hold a girl tightly while dancing and
to drop a kiss on her hair? Was it so unusual to give her a good night
kiss in the darkness? But, from her own point of view, she had never
had real pleasure from kisses before, except with Guy. Many men
had escorted her to parties and dances, many had tried to make love
to her, and had kissed her; often she had felt a real reluctance, often
she had been a passive partner to it. Only with Guy had she really
enjoyed it, and she supposed that it was because of this that she
thought herself in love with him. But, heavens above, she had
enjoyed it with Peter, too. With Peter, whom she scarcely knew. At
the first hint of passion, she had responded with a promptness that
rather shocked her; but that didn't have to mean that she was in love
with Peter, too. "I think," she concluded, "I shall have to take careful
stock of my position."
So she came into the office in considerable trepidation. She was
wearing a light grey linen dress, with touches of white pique at the
high neck, and looked as fresh as a daisy after her late night. Peter,
too, had taken advantage of the informality of Saturday morning,
when many people came dressed for week-end activities, and was
wearing a tweed sports jacket with immaculately pressed flannels.
His shoulders looked wider and stronger than ever tinder the tweed.
"Good morning, Mr. Webber," she said, crossing the room to her
desk.
"Good morning."
There was a silence. Both experienced great difficulty in finding
something to break it. At last, Fiona said:
"Why do they have dances on a Friday night? It should be Saturday,
to give people time to recover."
CHAPTER FIVE
TOWARDS the end of July, a heat wave developed, and working in
Peter's office, which was normally a lucky one, facing south and
getting the sun, became distinctly uncomfortable. Many people, both
from the offices and works, were starting out on annual holidays,
and these were delighted, hoping, as they set oft for the country or
seaside resorts, that their luck was going to last. Fiona's mother and
sister had left for Portofino, lamenting the fact that Fiona could not
go with them. Mr. Chard would join them later, and Guy, who had
been invited to go out to them for his holiday, was divided between
what he wanted to do and what he thought wise to do: to go or to
stay behind with Fiona, for Fiona, having so recently changed her
job, could not hope for any leave.
"I should be motoring through Spain now," grumbled Peter. "I've
put off my holiday until this works problem gets settled, and I
expect when I can get off, the weather will be foul."
"Does it show signs of being settled?" asked Fiona.
"It's hanging fire. The machinery is going in, and the men are
waiting, I believe, to see what happens. And, of course, a lot of them
are away just now, so everything is up in the air."
He looked at the clock. .
"We might as well break here for lunch," he said. "Not that lunch is
very tempting in this weather, especially in the canteen."
"I don't go to the canteen while it is so hot," said Fiona. "I
discovered a wonderful little spot on my way hereonly about ten
minutes' drive. Almost as soon as you get out in the country, there's
a wood with a stream running through, and lovely soft turf to sit on;
so I bring my lunch with me and take it there."
"You shouldn't have told me," said Peter. "I might gatecrash."
"You'd be perfectly welcome. Why not come today? I've got a
picnic for two, as a matter of fact."
"But it wasn't intended for me."
"No."
"Then why should I deprive some other lucky fellow?"
"It wasn't a fellow. I was going to ask Kathy Heeley. But she wasn't
at her desk when I arrived this morning, so I thought I d see her
later. I haven't asked her yet."
"It's very tempting," he said.
"Well, if you decide not to resist temptation, you're very welcome."
"Thank you, I'll come," he said.
"Do we go separately, or together?" she asked, because both knew
the interest that would be aroused if the streams of people crossing
to the canteen saw them leaving together.
They decided to go separately; and when Peter's car drew up behind
Fiona's on the grass verge, and he made his way through the little
wood to the stream, she had already unpacked the lunch and, it was
ready to eat.
"Less than a quarter of an hour since we left the office," she said.
"You could hardly get served in the canteen quicker than that
sometimes."
Peter was looking down at the picnic basket and the food.
"Yes."
"We're going to be late," she added.
"Yes."
"Then let me go, Peter."
"No."
"Darling, you must." They kissed again, and then, reluctantly, he let
her go. She stood up, smoothing out her dress. "Get up, lazy-bones,"
she said. "Well, then, I shall go. There's no excuse for me to be
missing." He got up then, picking up the picnic case and carrying it
for her. They walked side by side through the sun-dappled wood.
"Peter," she said seriously, "I didn't mean that to happen."
"I thought it probably would," he said.
"Then why did you come?"
"Because I wanted it to happen, I suppose. The picnic wasn't for me,
Fiona?"
"No, it was for Kathy. Oh, Peter." She stopped, and he stopped too.
"But I'm glad it was you who came. We could often do this, Peter."
"But we won't," he said grimly. "We're already late now. I should
never get any work done. Hop it, Fiona, and I'll be back in a few
minutes."
"Kiss me then, and I'll go." He kissed her, but briefly and matter-offactly, and she made a face at him, took the basket from him and ran
back to her car. She was happy and elated. She wanted to sing, she
wanted to speed, she wanted in some way to express the wonderful
surge of life and happiness that lifted her out of the everyday. She
came into her office, which was empty, loving it because it was
Peter's place. In fact, she told herself, trying to be serious, she was in
a completely crazy, maudlin, unreasonable mood, and had better get
out of it before Peter returned.
When he did, a young man was also waiting for him in the office, a
young man on whom Peter had received a most unfavourable report;
and as their conversation was likely to prove private, Fiona went
into the smaller office to do the filing. After that, Peter went to the
machine shop, and then had an appointment with the supervisor who
had charge of an army of cleaners, and so the afternoon wore on,
busy all the time, and Fiona had barely a glance from him, scarcely
a word: until it was time for her to go home, when he said:
"Could you wait a few moments? I want to talk to you."
"I mustn't be long. I have a date this evening."
"So? I won't keep you long. Who is the date with?"
She hesitated.
"Well, nobody you know," she said, smiling at him.
"Naturally, as I don't know any of your friends. I only meant to ask
if it was a young man."
"Yes, of course."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Why 'of course'? Do you always have that kind?"
"Usually, I must confess I do. Though sometimes we move around
in a bunch."
"It doesn't work, Fiona. I know it from my own experience and from
the experience of a great many other people in this firm. And
important things are happening at this timehere in these works. I
want to be single-purposedand you distract me. Very much."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise that it was so much against your will -"
He smiled at her in swift apology.
"It's just that it's here, in this office. If I'd met you outside, at some
social occasion, it would be different. Even if you were working at
the other end of the building, so that I hardly ever saw you, it would
be different. But to have you in the same room day after day, getting
in the way of my work, that won't do. You do see, Fiona, that if I'm
to put my best into this job, I have to concentrate on it?"
"Yes, I do see that," she said.
"Then it means that either I get a much less disturbing secretary, or
do we do our best to re-establish impersonal relations."
"Please don't get a new secretary."
"Then we do the other thing."
"That, my dear Peter, is entirely up to you," she said, looking at him
directly with her clear grey eyes. "I think you've usually made the
first move."
"I don't think I did today," he said. His dark eyes held hers, and she
remembered that impulse to lean down and kiss his mobile mouth.
"All right," she said, capitulating suddenly. "From now on, Peter, a
purely impersonal relationship in the office." She held out her hand
to him, and they shook hands firmly.
beautiful car, and saw Mr. Chard get out and turn to extend a
helping hand to Fiona. One of the girls said softly: "Good lord,
Fiona Chard," and the other girl said: "Who's Fiona Chard?"
"Never mind now," said Sheila Pont, "but do let's follow them in."
She took a good look at the car, Which was being moved away by
Matthey, and then followed Fiona into the awe- inspiring store. Not,
Sheila admitted, that Fiona found it awe-inspiring. She had her hand
tucked into the arm of this elderly man, and was very gay and
talkative, and certainly dressed for conquest. Trying to be unseen,
and yet to hear, Sheila managed to keep near them as they walked
through the store. She heard Fiona's clear voice talking to one of the
black- coated assistants; giving an order, asking for it to be charged
to account. "Let's have some caviare, darling," she said, turning to
the man who accompanied her, "and you need another jar of Stilton;
and I made a list of the other things we need. I have it somewhere;
ah, here it is." She gave it to the assistant, then, turning back: "Now
come and give me some coffee, love. I don't often get you in tow
like this, I'm going to make the most of it."
"Well, well, well," said Sheila, watching them go up the steps at the
far end of the store to have their coffee. "I had a sort of suspicion of
something like this -"
"You are maddening," said her friend. "What is it all about?"
"She's Peter Webber's new secretarythe one I was telling you
about."
"No? She doesn't look the part."
"Today, she certainly doesn't. She's always just that little bit too well
dressed, even in the office. Could we go up there and have some
coffee, do you think?"
Her father smiled at her, a little sympathy mixed with a very little
malice. He was pleased to see her sticking to her guns. If she found
it hard to see them all going off to Portofino, she gave no sign of it.
"And why you should feel guilty, I don't know," went on Fiona.
"You've been working all the year, you deserve a holiday; and
mother has taken the whole villa, so there should be tons of room. I
heard that Betty and Oliver Thornley were hoping to get along there
next week, so you should have fun. And George flew over a few
days ago too. Well, when you're all basking in the blue, blue
Mediterranean, remember me with my nose to the grindstone."
"You seem to be quite attached to your grindstone," said her father
with his usual acumen.
"I do find it enormously interesting, Dad," she remarked with a
candour that did not deceive him. He was too used to that disarming
air of candour in Fiona to be deceived by it any longer. He smiled at
her with a very real affectionhe had enjoyed his day with Fiona,
had enjoyed being taken round the shops and listening to her
sprightly conversation; had been proud of her as she held his arm,
concentrating on him as if he had been a much younger man; had
been aware of the glances thrown in their direction.
After dinner, he went into the drawing-room with the two young
people, for his coffee, but then went away to his study to see to a
few last-minute affairs before his holiday.
"Good," said Guy. "I have to make the most of every minute this
week-end."
"You're only going for a fortnight," Fiona reminded him.
"I shall miss you all the time."
"You won't, you know. You'll all be having such an absorbing time
-"
"Sometimes," said Guy, shaking his head, "I begin to be despondent
about you, Fiona. I begin to wonder if you can be in love, and be so
cool. It's only the conviction that all you want is waking up that
consoles me. Do you think that, even if the whole holiday was full
of incident and very absorbing, I still wouldn't miss you? That every
time we saw something interesting or beautiful, I shouldn't at once
think that Fiona ought to be with me to see it; that every lovely
night, I shouldn't need you there to complete it? Good heavens,
however many beautiful girls were round me, I wouldn't care a fig
for one of them, because they weren't you."
"Guy, I can't help it, I just don't feel so wrapped up in you. There's
still room in my heart and mind for all sorts of other things."
"You haven't got as far as I have, yet. But you will, darling, I'm
sure."
He played golf with her father on Sunday morning, which he
considered a tactful move, although he would rather have spent it
with Fiona, but for the rest of the day they were together, and it was
an altogether satisfying day to Guy. He felt that he was getting
somewhere with Mr. Chard, whose manner to him was always
pleasant and friendly, and that he was becoming more and more one
of the family.
It pleased him, too, to be travelling with Mr. Chard. They
breakfasted together early on Monday morning, and Fiona saw them
off, their luggage stowed away in the back of the car, Matthey
driving them. As they glided away, Fiona stood on the steps of the
house waving to them; a slender, grey-clad figure, her bright hair
shining in the sun, calling out good wishes to them, and Guy looked
at her adoringly, for indeed, all the hopes of his life were now
centred in Fiona.
Fiona walked to the garage for her own car, to drive to the office. As
she drove, she reflected that this was her first meeting with Peter
since their decision to re-establish impersonal relations, and she
recognised that this was a good and sensible move. It was true that,
at this time, he had a number of problems on his hands, and that he
must be single-minded for them. It was equally true that Fiona
herself was almost on the point of becoming engaged to Guy; and
that this attraction between herself and Peter could be nothing more
than a spontaneous physical attraction; something which, given the
right circumstances, might do no harm at all. But these were not the
right circumstances. Peter was right. It must stop.
For almost a week, it did stop. Peter was busier than usual. Old
Gosforth, the man who was suspiciously watching every
development in the works, backed by one or two of the younger
ones who were not averse to trouble, had returned from holiday to
find that he would be transferred to the packing department, which
he regarded as a relegation, and was ready to fight. One of his
supporters would be moved to transport, which would probably
mean spending nights away from home, and he was ready to fight
with Gosforth. Others were waiting to see where they would be put;
nearly all of them regarding any possible move as one for the worse.
Peter was closeted with the works manager for hours on end, trying
to work out a system satisfactory to everybody, which was almost
impossible. Fiona did everything that she could to help him with
less important appointments, staying late to take letters and get them
sent off, making herself as unobtrusive as possible; and for nearly a
week, he scarcely seemed to notice her.
On Friday afternoon, his appointments finished, he sighed with
relief.
"I think we've earned our week-end break, Fiona," he said, smiling
at her.
"You have," said Fiona. "What a troublesome week this has been.
Can you forget it until Monday?"
"I shall try to. I have to play in a tennis tournament tomorrow
afternoon, but as soon as I can get away, I'm off to friends for the
week-end. Sunday on the river, I hope."
"That sounds nice," she agreed smilingly.
"And what will you do ? "
"I don't know. My family is away on holiday. It's so quiet at home
without them."
"What about the young man of the date?"
"Oh, he's away, too. But I daresay I can manage to survive on my
own,"
"I'm sure you can," he said, "but what a waste!"
"A waste?"
"Of youof your charms," he said.
Fiona looked at him, and his eyes met hers.
"Forbidden," she said.
"Touch," he agreed. "You must keep me in my place."
"It was you who wanted it," she said, a little distressed.
"It wasn't your fault," he said. "It was mine. It's been mine all along.
I haven't let you alone. And this is what comes of it. It will now be
over the whole works. The one thing I've tried to keep free ofthe
gossip. And I've let you in for it, too, Fiona."
"I don't mind about that," she said. "But I do know how you feel and
I'm sorry. But will Sheila talk so much? "
"She only has to talk a little. Even hint a little. That would be
enough. And I daresay she would never mention it if I asked her not
to."
"But you prefer not to ask hernaturally." She stood in thought for
a few moments. "Peter," she said then, "transfer me. Put me to work
somewhere else."
"No," he said sharply. "You're good in this job. I like you here."
Then suddenly, he flung out his arms. "You see," he went on, "how I
delude myself. The trouble is that I don't want you to go anywhere
else."
"Let's sleep on it," she suggested. "Let's see what Monday brings
forth. If you would be better without me, Peter, put me in some
other department."
"Do you want to go?" he asked.
"Oh no. I don't want to, but I will if you think it's better."
"All right," he agreed. "We'll let it rest until Monday, and talk about
it then."
CHAPTER SIX
DRIVING back to her home, Fiona found herself the prey to very
mixed feelings; rather confused and bewildered, a little glad and a
little sorry, a little triumphant and a little despondent. It was a good
thing that she had not to drive through the traffic of the town, for the
works and offices were on its outskirts and she could head for the
open country; because her powers of concentration were given far
more to thoughts of herself and Peter than to her driving. She was
sorry because Sheila had witnessed a scene that should have
remained private, but triumphant because Peter's resolve had
weakened against her attraction for him; but she did not know why
there should be a faint despondency too. It was there, and trying to
ignore it did not disperse it, but she could not account for it.
It would be a great pity if Sheila told everybody what she had seen.
And the construction she put upon it could make a great deal of
difference to what people thought. Peter had a great reputation for
integrity and sincerity and was generally regarded as being above
office intrigues and affairs: she knew that this reputation meant a
great deal to him, and helped him considerably in dealing with the
problems of others. She did not want to be the means of helping to
destroy it.
Yet had she been the means? Hadn't it been Peter himself who had
failed to keep their bargain? What was it that Peter had said? "It's no
good, Fiona. It's something that I seem to have got pretty badly -"
Suddenly, Fiona drew in to the side of the country road, and stopped
the engine of the car. She wanted to think. To think or to feel?
Perhaps both. She wanted to remember how Peter had said that:
reluctantly, against his will, yet quite unable to resist. And she had
been equally unable to resist. Whatever it was that Peter had got
pretty badly, she had it pretty badly, too.
"We looked after that," said Oliver. "We rang up and talked to your
cook. She said you would be home to tea, and said how nice it
would be if we came, too; and gave us orders to bring the ham with
us. She gave us some sherry and shut herself in the kitchen quite
happily."
"Good," said Fiona. "How efficient you are. I can just sit back and
enjoy having you here."
Enjoy themselves they did. After a perfect tea, they relaxed in the
garden while they gave Fiona all the news from Portofino, and later
they changed for tennis and played it in a light-hearted and rather
inexpert fashion through the summer evening. They had a late
supper on the terrace, pleasantly exhausted.
"I find Fiona distraite," Betty announced after a while. "A little
lacking in her customary joie-de-vivre. What is it, Fiona? Are you
really working too hard in this steel factory of yours.?"
"I don't work in the factory," she explained lazily. "I'm a very
efficient secretaryquite an important person in my little sphere.
And I'm not working too hard."
"Then you must be missing Guy. He had hoped you were. I shall
write and tell him that Fiona is pining."
Fiona smiled, but she had experienced a sudden nasty jolt, as thus,
unexpectedly, Guy was brought into her mind. Guy, holidaying
happily with her family at Portofino, yet thinking constantly of
Fiona back at home, wanting her with him to complete his
happiness; to round off every picture of interest or beauty; and,
more than that, hoping that Fiona was missing him too. And she had
not missed him. She had fallen in love with somebody else.
Dismay spread through her at the thought of all the problems lying
ahead of her, but the others gave her no time to consider those
"You go and change, and I'll get the tea," offered Sheila. "Then you
can at least relax long enough to recover after that match."
When he came back, changed into flannels and a sports jacket,
looking spruce and fresh and, to Sheila, devastatingly handsome, tea
was waiting for him; and he sat down opposite her thankfully.
Sheila, hearing that he was visiting friends for the week-end, had
immediately seized on the idea that he was seeing Fiona, and this
tormented her; so that she felt she must find out, or her own weekend would be ruined.
"Must you really reach your friend in time for dinner?" she asked.
"Couldn't you stay on here a bit, and get there later?"
"No, I couldn't do that," he said. "They're very old and valued
friends, and I'm longing to see them; and if I know Pat, she's
probably busy on something very special for dinner right now. I
couldn't let them down."
So it was not Fiona, she thought with relief. And Peter knew what
she had thought, what she was now thinking. Fiona was there in
both their minds. He did not want to speak of her: if he had to, it
would be with the greatest reluctance, yet he was very anxious that
she should not be involved in office gossip. Especially as she had
done nothing to warrant it. Peter admitted to himself that he had
been at fault every time. With all his vaunted desire for
impersonality in office relationships, it had been he who had put
Fiona into this position, where she was more or less at Sheila's
mercy.
Sheila's voice broke into his thoughts.
"Something on your mind, Peter?" she asked, quietly.
"Yes," he said, knowing that the same thing was in both their minds.
"Oh, Peter," she smiled. "Thank you for that." Her hand touched his
for a moment and then withdrew. "No, of course I shan't mention to
anybody anything about you or Fiona. But I must say that nobody
would ever believe your interpretation of that little scene. To say
that Fiona had nothing to do with it, and that you forced your
attentions on her, is just laughable."
"What do you mean?" asked Peter.
"Well, for one thing, you would never force yourself on anybody.
You're much too nice, and everybody knows it. And for another
thing, I happen to know too much about Miss Fiona Chard to
believe that she had nothing to do with it."
Peter frowned.
"I'm afraid you'll have to explain that, too," he said.
"My dear Peter, it's so easy to see the kind of girl she is. Oh, I know
she cultivates an air of dignity and aloofness, but that doesn't
deceive anybody for a moment. I thought as soon as she arrived
hereand I was by no means the only one either that there was
something a little suspicious about her. Have you any idea, Peter,
what her clothes must cost? I know they are always very simple, but
I know, too, what that kind of simplicity is worth. I know what her
hand-embroidered things are worth. But that, of course, is nothing
against her. There could be all kinds of legitimate ways by which
she could have such fabulously expensive things. But, as it happens,
I saw her in London, when I was on holiday."
"Well, go on," said Peter.
Sheila hesitated.
"Go on," insisted Peter.
Then, again, there had been the picnic by the stream in the sundappled wood, when initiative had certainly been as much hers as
his, when, he now remembered, she had suggested that they might
often repeat this lunch-time picnic. She had gone away from him
light-heartedly, happily, not at all averse to his lovemaking, indeed,
enjoying it; and, although she had agreed at once to try and establish
impersonal relations, she had also as quickly responded when he
found it beyond him. Did all this add up to what Sheila wanted to
make of it? A longing for youth to match her own, after age that was
too sedate?
but it seemed to Fiona that he could have given her some sign, or
mentioned, if only in passing, whether he intended to keep her or
dispense with her.
If ever a day turned out to be a disappointment to her, that day was.
Peter had left her a note during her lunch-time, to say that he would
be out for the rest of the afternoon, and that tomorrow he was going
to London with Mr. Jackson; and giving her instruction what to do
about various outstanding things. So the rest of today and all of
tomorrow stretched dull as a desert before her. She even counted the
hours until he would appear again in the offline on Wednesday
morning.
It occurred to her that she was following rather unhappily in the
footsteps of Peter's last secretary. Did all his secretaries fall in love
with him? she wondered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT LAST, Wednesday morning, inevitably but oh, so slowly, arrived,
and Fiona felt a recurring tremor of excitement as she prepared
herself for the office, ate her lonely breakfast, and then drove
through the sparkling morning countryside. This morning, surely,
Peter would say something in extension of their Friday
conversation, would tell her what he thought it best to do with her in
future. All she dared to hope for, as yet, was that he would keep her
as his secretary, so that she could work in the same room, talk to
him, look at him, daily get to know him better.
She parked her car and began to walk towards the main gates. A
stream of office workers was approaching them too, among them
Sheila walking with some friends. Fiona waved to her, but did not
stop. The girls watched her as she crossed the road and went through
the gates.
"She does have lovely clothes," sighed one, enviously.
"I don't think it's really the clothes," said another, "as much as the
way she wears them. She has style."
They watched her walking in front of them. She was wearing a navy
blue dress with a pencil slim skirt, and high-heeled navy blue shoes;
but over the dress she had a short, loosely swinging jacket of a
roughly-woven cloth in white, and it was a jaunty little jacket with
an air of sophistication all its own.
"A bit of Paris fun," commented Sheila; and as the others looked at
her in surprise, "That jacket, I mean; that's what it looks like. Would
you find one like it in any of our shops? Perhaps we could all have
style, if we could spend the money that's spent on her. I could tell
you a thing or two about Fiona Chard."
"Please don't worry about it," said Fiona, and returned to her work
completely taken aback. She felt that she had been confronted by a
high, blank wall, and for a few moments a dreadful feeling of loss
swept over her. Then she began to reassure herself. This was the
office Peter; this was the man who wished to concentrate on his
work and not mix his pleasure with business; but it did not
completely reassure her. She was left with anxiety and doubt.
He was out of the office when she got ready to go home, but he
came in as she was on the point of leaving.
"Just off?" he asked. "Are you in a great hurry?"
"No, not if there's something you want."
"Only one letter. Not a long one. You could take it straight on to the
typewriter."
"Certainly," she said. She slipped off the white jacket and threw it
on to the visitors' chair which always stood before Peter's desk.
Then she seated herself behind the typewriter, put the paper into it,
and waited smilingly. Peter began to dictate, walking up and down
the office, with his hands in his pockets and a frown of
concentration on his brow. Fiona's fingers tapped away confidently,
pausing when he paused, but after a while the pause grew so long
that she looked up at him enquiringly. He was standing by the
visitors' chair looking down at her jacket, and Fiona, following the
direction of his gaze, saw that she had thrown it down so that the
label in it was clearly visible, and the label was that of a Paris
dressmaker so famous as to be known even by mere man. He turned
to look at her in time to see the flush that had swept up to her
forehead, but he said nothing then. He finished dictating his letter,
signed it and watched Fiona put it in its envelope and stamp it. When she went to pick up the jacket once more, he said:
"And we're not out of the wood yet, I'm afraid," said Peter.
Fiona went to the door.
"You're sure you don't want me?" she asked.
"Sure, thank you," replied Peter.
"Good night, then. Good night, Mr. Holwell."
The men said good night and were at once absorbed in their files.
Fiona closed the door behind her and for a moment leaned against it,
feeling very despondent, very discouraged. Something seemed to
have roused suspicion and distrust in Peter, but she could not
imagine what it was. Simply that she had a few valuable
possessions? But then why shouldn't she have? They might have
been given her by well-to-do relations: everybody had important
occasions in life, such as twenty-first birthdays or special
achievements which could be marked by present-giving. Why
should these presents alone make him so unfriendly? Was he so
completely determined to get on by his own efforts that even the
outward signs of a certain prosperity could put him off? But even if
they put him off, there was no reason why they should make him
actively unfriendly. Fiona did not like it at all. She walked slowly to
where her car was parked, thinking over all that had been said
between them that day, and came finally to the remark that he had
made concerning Sheila. Simple and brief, all he had said was: "I'm
quite sure Sheila will be discreet." But what made him sure? He
hadn't been sure on Friday; but then since that incident on Friday, he
and Sheila had partnered each other in a brilliant tennis match.
Fiona had heard all about it from several sources. They had
apparently been the admiration of the whole firm. They had a
friendship which ante-dated her own arrival here, and she had no
means of knowing how deep or firm a friendship it was. An aching
jealousy sprang up in her.
"I wish you'd let me give you a few nice things that Elspeth and I
have no more use for. Now, please, don't be angry"
"I'm not angry. Onlysort oflet down."
"I know. It's maddening of mebut Kathy, it is between friends."
Kathy smiled.
"All right," she said, "it's between friends, and I'm not angry, but I
won't have them all the same. In any case, you're rather high-headed
giving away your sister's things."
"Elspeth would love you to have them." Fiona looked across the
picnic hamper and the soft green grass to where Kathy was sitting,
and spoke on impulse: "Kathy, are you good at keeping secrets?"
"If I want to be," said Kathy, looking enquiringly at her friend.
"Do you remember showing me that picture in The Tatler a little
while ago?"
"Yesa Miss Chard and Mr. Maldon in front of the house they
would live in after their marriage. I remember it very well, because I
thought then it might be some relation of yours."
"It was. She's my sisterElspeth."
Kathy stared at her in surprise.
"But that houseit was like a castle!"
"Well, George is the heir. It will all be his one day, but after their
wedding they're going to have the east wing."
"And that Miss Chardshe was the daughter of the steel king
Chard," said Kathy, astonished.
"Yes."
"Then you are, too."
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"Then what on earth are you doing in this firm?" demanded Kathy.
"According to my father, I'm enlarging my experience, seeing more
of the world, and meeting new people. Which, of course, is quite
true. I wouldn't have met you if I hadn't come here. And I'm finding
it enormously interesting."
"Well, well -Honestly, I'm flabbergasted!"
Fiona laughed.
"I wanted to tell you, because it didn't seem quite honest not to, now
that we are such good friends."
Kathy looked doubtful at that.
"And so that you wouldn't be so worried about having a few of
Elspeth's things. I wish you could have mine, but they wouldn't fit
you. Do take them, Kathy, you could look so lovely in them."
So Kathy, somewhat unwillingly, accepted a suitcase full of
attractive clothes, and appeared behind her reception counter
wearing a grey tailored dress that was simple enough, in all
conscience, but with well-cut flattering lines. "I don't suppose I look
so very different," she said to Fiona, "but I feel terrific."
"Well," said Fiona, "I really do find it interesting, and I want to stay
on."
"Good for you. But what about this engagement? What about
getting married to Guy?"
"There is no engagement, Dad; and you knew very well that nothing
was decided about marriage."
"Can it be, Fiona, that you've changed your mind?"
Fiona looked at him in the candlelight and he saw that all was not
well in Fiona's world.
"Yes I have changed my mind, Dad, but goodness knows what I can
do about it."
"You mean you don't want to marry Guy?"
"I don't want to."
"And good reasons to support your change of mind?"
"I'm not in love with him, darling."
"The best reason of all. How did you find it out?"
Fiona hesitated. She was not yet ready to tell him about Peter, of her
having fallen in love.
"I suppose it was slowly borne in on me; anyway, I know that I
really don't want to. But how I shall break it to Guy, I can't
imagine."
"By the way, he's going to ring you up this evening."
Fiona sighed.
"Yes, and I know he'll want to come for the week-end; and trouble
will begin for me."
"If there's anything I can do, Fiona -"
"Thank you, darling, but this is something I have to So for myself."
"Well, any time you need anythingif if s only advice Now tell me what's been happening in the firm while I've been
away."
"Your firm, or mine?"
"Yours." He laughed. "I know all about mineI keep in touch,
Fiona, I keep in touch."
So she told him all about her own job, and about the problem of
redistributing the men, and how the installation of the new
machinery was finished, and the lists would be going up any day
now, and then would come the testing time; then they would know
for certain if things would go right or wrong. Mr. Chard listened,
and asked questions, and gave his own point of view, and listened to
Fiona's, which he realised was Peter Webber's. And her talk was full
of Peter this and Peter that. "Peter says ..." and "Peter thinks. . ." It
was obvious to her father that Fiona was deeply interested in this
Peter, whether she realised it herself or not.
"What sort of man is this Peter?" he asked her.
"But I told you that at the beginning, Dad. He's tall, dark and
handsome and wrapped up in his work."
"To the exclusion of you?" asked her father.
"Oh, he's not interested in me," she said bitterly, and her father
looked at her more keenly. There was a problem somewhere. Was it
Peter Webber? he wondered. He felt an interest in this young man
he would like to meet him.
The telephone bell rang in the hall.
"I'll take it," said Fiona. "I expect it's Guy."
It was Guy, and they talked for some time. Fiona was glad that it
was possible to disguise one's feelings on the telephone. She asked
questions, because that was the easiest way to prevent Guy from
asking them; and he found himself giving her details of his holiday
and of his journey until he was exasperated.
"Fiona, I missed you terribly," he said, "and I can't wait to get down
and see you again. When may I come?"
"Whenever you like, Guy. We're going to be here this weekend.
Come on Saturday afternoon."
"I'll be there. You can't know how I'm looking forward to it,
darling."
When she had rang off, Fiona stood in thought for a while. She must
invite some other people for Saturday, even perhaps for the weekend. She could not so soon be alone with Guy, practically for a
whole week-end. Perhaps the Thornleys would come at short notice.
The local friends could be roped in for tennis and for dancing on
Saturday. Sooner or later she must tell Guy how she felt, and the
sooner the better; but She did not know if she would be able to
screw her courage up to the point.
Her father called to her that the coffee was in, and was getting cold,
and she walked slowly back to him. He poured out her coffee for
her, and as She went to take it from him, he put an arm about her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GUY'S sports car screamed to a sudden stop in front of Ingleden
House, and Guy looked at the other cars assembled there. He
recognised only one of them, the little red sports car belonging to
the Turley sisters; girls who had grown up with Elspeth and Fiona in
the same vicinity; but the others indicated to him that he was
unlikely to have much time alone with Fiona. He could hear voices
from the direction of the tennis court, and, leaving his bag in the car
for the moment, he walked round the side of the house, through the
formal garden and the screen of rhododendrons and azaleas, to
where the party was gathered.
He stood, as yet unseen, looking about him, feeling again the
satisfaction that Ingleden House and its grounds always gave him.
The well-kept gardens, the vista beyond, the attractive elm-boarded
summer house beside the tennis court, big enough to accommodate
them all for tea, the brightly-coloured deck chairs scattered on the
grass, all these things pleased him. The casual hospitality that had
no need of cheeseparing, but could afford to indulge its own
impulses.
He moved forward towards the court, and Fiona saw him and waved
her racquet in his direction, and he joined her group of people, all in
white tennis clothes.
"Guy," said Fiona welcomingly, extending her hand to him. He took
it warmly in his own and kept it there while he returned the
greetings of the others.
"You are brown," said Fiona. "You must have stored up enormous
quantities of Mediterranean sun. I must look an awful paleface."
"You look just as lovely as always," he said, "but all the same I do
wish you'd been there to store up the sun as well."
"It's most effective with your blond hair, Guy," said Betty Thornley.
"I should imagine Elspeth is nearly mahogany by now, isn't she?"
"No, she's beginning to cover up and seek the shade. She's fixed the
day for her wedding, and doesn't want to look too dark for it."
"Has she?" asked Fiona, surprised. "And she didn't write to tell me
about it. When is it going to be?"
"Towards the end of September. She sent you lots of loving
messages, and says she'll be home in a week, so you could have all
her news then." He leaned down, as some of the others began to drift
away, to whisper in her ear. "I wish it were our wedding, Fiona.
Perhaps it could be our engagementyou'll be free of your job by
then."
She smiled in answer, feeling that slightly panicky sinking of the
heart that was becoming all too familiar. She must not allow him to
live longer in a fool's paradise. She began to key herself up to meet a
difficult and emotional situation.
Sunday morning and afternoon were spent with the Thorn- leys, but
they left for London before dinner, and Mr. Chard drove to a friend's
house for dinner and a pleasurably anticipated game of chess, so
that, at last, Fiona and Guy were left alone for more than a few
minutes. When they had had dinner, and when the coffee tray had
been taken away from the drawing-room, and Helga had closed the
windows and drawn the curtains, telling Guy could be put off no
longer.
The moment Helga had disappeared, Guy reached out. a hand
towards Fiona.
"Come here, darling," he said. "What an exasperating and tantalising
week-end this has been. People everywhere! But now everybody has
gone. Come here, darling."
"I don't think you'll understand this, Guy. I can hardly understand
how the change has come about myself: but I'm not going to marry
you, Guy."
There was a long pause, and Guy looked at her perfectly blankly, as
if he had not understood a word she said. Then she saw fear in his
face, fear of losing her; then a resolve that he could not have heard
aright, and that she did not mean what she had said.
"Darling, you didn't mean that," he said.
"I do, Guy. I don't love you. I'm so sorry to have to say it. I've felt it
all along, as I often mentioned to you; but you seemed so sure that it
would come, that it would be all right, that I allowed myself to be
persuaded. I've been feeling more and more sure that it would be a
mistake for us to marry; and now I know that it's better to admit a
mistake than to try to hide the fact that it is one."
"It isn't a mistake," he said quickly, and Fiona saw that she was in
for a long struggle. Guy was not going to accept her verdict. If she
had hoped that he would give her up easily, would bow to her
judgment and depart, she knew now that hope was vain. He was
convinced everything would be all right; was convinced that their
marriage would be a great success, that they suited each other
wonderfully, that she would come to love him as much as he loved
her. He held her to her word. "But I didn't give my word," said
Fiona quickly. "Nothing was ever settled." He insisted that they had
both understood that only her father's reluctance to approve had kept
them, from announcing their engagement. He had never really loved
another girl, would certainly never love another in future. Fiona was
his all.
It took a great deal of resolution to stand up to him in this mood, but
somehow she stood firm. He pleaded. He was plunged into misery at
the mere thought of losing her. She could not mean it. She would
think about it and see that her happiness did lie with Guy, as most
certainly his was in her keeping, and he would never be happy again
without her.
At last, worn out, feeling battered by his arguments and his
pleadings, Fiona made her escape and went to bed. She knew now
that Guy would not give her up without a long and bitter struggle,
and her heart failed her for a moment at the thought of it; but at least
a first step had been made. He knew of her intention and she had to
stick to it. Perhaps she would have a sufficient breathing space
before each renewal of the struggle to gather up her strength.
The next week afforded her a breathing space because Guy was
expected to work some overtime, to compensate for the absence of
the men now on holiday, and Fiona experienced relief. She worked
all day with a businesslike and detached Peter, lunched two or three
times with Kathy, returned in the evening to dine with her father,
who became daily more interested in the crisis in the works and
talked a great deal to Fiona about similar crises in his own working
life. He had a good deal to say about the older men like Gosforth,
and showed a considerable interest in Peter. Fiona felt the bond
between herself and her father very firm and sure in that week
before her mother and sister arrived home from Portofino, anxious
to get busy on preparations for the wedding of Elspeth and George.
And at the week-end, she could honestly put Guy off, since George's
family had invited the Chard family for the week-end, so that all
wedding arrangements could be fully discussed.
She lunched with Kathy in the canteen one day of the following
weeka Kathy looking very chic in a light wool dress of nutmeg
brown.
"First time I've worn this one," confided Kathy softly.
"Don't look so surprised, you know it's one of Elspeth's. Does it look
right on me?"
"Absolutely right."
"Fiona, are you coming to the cricket dance on Saturday? The last
cricket dance of the season?"
"I thought I would," said Fiona, who was hoping desperately that
Peter would also be there, might even dance with her, and that the
new and apparently impregnable shell of impersonality might be
broken. "You too?"
"Well Derek Paterson has asked me."
"Good for you!"
"He also asked me to the cinema on Friday night, but I'll only go on
one condition: that you would be free to be with my mother, because
I wouldn't want to leave her two evenings running."
"I'd be pleased," said Fiona, who was in truth pleased.
"You're quite sure it's not imposing on you?"
Fiona reassured her on that score, and suggested that Derek Paterson
might bring one of his colleagues with him to the dance, since she
would be without an escort.
"I should think they'd fall over themselves for the chance," said
Kathy, who was completely out of this world at the thought of
wearing the white dress that had been one of Elspeth's cast-offs.
This was her golden period. She was beginning to bloom. The new
dresses were doing a great deal for her: Derek's admiration did much
more. She was expanding in this unaccustomed sunshine, and Fiona
hoped that happiness might come along for her.
On Friday evening, Fiona sat with Mrs. Heeley in the small livingroom, chatting amicably and watching her knit. Fiona's roses graced
the table in the middle of the room and the small bureau in the
corner, and Fiona herself learned a great deal that evening about the
seamy side of life, for Mrs. Heeley, who talked of all her
experiences without bitterness, had had a very hard life indeed.
"And all I can do now is knit," she said, holding out for Fiona's
inspection the very fine and complicated piece of knitting she was
engaged on.
"What is it?" asked Fiona.
"It's a scarf in very fine Shetland wool. An organisation buys them
for me and sends them to America. I make twin-sets, too, and
shawls for babies. I would very much like to knit a twin-set for you,
if you would like to choose a colour and pattern."
"You do them beautifully, but not for me, please. You have enough
to do, knitting them for the organisation."
I don't know Why I should ever get miserable, thought Fiona, or
discouraged or depressed. I've never had anything really to worry
me, as Mrs. Heeley has, or Kathy. She felt humbled. It had not yet
occurred to her that her father might have been very wise in
advising her to take a job and meet people and see more of the
world.
The next evening, she picked up Kathy at her house to drive her to
the cricket dance. This time, she had had no scruples about what she
should wear. It was only Peter's opinion she cared about, and it
seemed that Peter had already divined who she was, or at least had
his suspicions about it. So she wore the pink dress that her father
had bought her for the Heffners' and the narrow diamond necklace
that, unknown to her, had caused Peter so much perturbation. As
When the music stopped, they stood out of the rings of walking
people until a dance began, when Peter once more put his arms
about her and led her on to the floor. Once, twice more, it happened,
as the dancers encored and encored; but at last it ended and couples
dispersed to their tables, and Fiona, sighing happily, said:
"Oh, isn't it hot in here?" So that Peter looked about him, saw they
were near one of the open doors and led her outside into the cool
night, and the soft darkness of the cricket field.
"Lovely," said Fiona, and they turned to walk along the broad path
that surrounded the field, meeting now and then other couples
similarly strolling. Fiona slipped her hand into his arm, asking for
nothing more than the moment, until they came to the deep shade of
a group of oak trees, when Peter stopped her with a hand on" hers.
She turned into his arms as if she were coming home, and he, for his
part, was no longer surprised at her willing response to his
overtures. His arms held her with a close strength that almost
deprived her of breath, and he kissed her with a passion that held
none of his usual consideration, and was lacking in any gentleness.
Fiona, however, was beyond analysing his mood. She felt she would
drown in ecstasy, and his passion filled a deep need in her, and how
long they stood locked together under the great trees, she had no
idea. She only knew that she did not want it to end, and that when
Peter at last released her, and took his arms away, she felt cold and
lonely and deserted, and swayed where she stood.
"Are you all right ? " asked Peter, his voice low.
"Oh, yes," answered Fiona, still inhabiting, another world.
"We'd better go back," he said. "You'll get cold."
She turned to walk beside him, and he put an arm round her
shoulders to keep her warm until they came near the building. As
they came into the outer fringe of light from the windows and open
doorway, they paused and looked at each other. He saw that she was
still drugged with feeling, but even as he watched her, the dreams
began to go away from her eyes and the shadows to come back, for
Peter puzzled her. If there was a faint smile on his face, it was rather
a derisive one, and his eyes remained hard.
"What's the matter, Peter?" she asked.
"The matter with me," he said, "is that I want you."
She hesitated about that. Almost she had said at once: "And I want
you too, Peter," but had prevented herself in time. It wasn't quite
right, that answer, any more than his statement was quite right.
Fiona began to feel, after so much ecstasy, a faint disillusionment.
"You look slightly ruffled," he said with a smile. "If you like to go
in first, I'll wait here a little."
"Thank you," she said, putting up her hands to smooth her hair,
automatically straightening her dress. "Au revoir, Peter."
"Au revoir" he replied, but made no move towards her, so she went
into the canteen, walked round the dancers crowding the floor and
into the powder room. Kathy had been looking for her, it appeared,
for some time.
"I wondered," said Kathy, "if you would mind very much if Derek
took me home afterwards. He wants to."
"Of course I don't mind," smiled Fiona. "Good luck!"
Greatly relieved, she went out at once to her car. She did not want to
stay any longer. She wanted only to reach home, and the privacy of
her room, and the softness of her bed. She wanted darkness and
quiet and to be alone with her thoughts of Peter.
When she reached her peaceful haven, however, and was lying in
bed with her eyes wide open to the darkness, she did not feel the
content, the happiness, she had expected to feel. Something about
Peter had been different this time, and the difference was not one
that she liked. She could not put a finger on what was wrong, but his
attitude to her had changed. She had quite lost herself, been
transported into another world by his lovemaking, but he had been
by no means lost. He had seemed almost detached, almost cynical;
and that made of desire an undesirable thing.
Surely such a change, thought Fiona, restless and sleepless, could
not be entirely due to his suspicions that she was not quite what she
seemed; that she was, in fact, heiress to quite a fortune. If his pride
revolted at seeming to be a suitor to an heiress, he could avoid her
altogether: it was not a reason for cynicism. She remembered that
she had told him she needed a job. Perhaps he thought she had lied
to him, seeing the job only from its material aspect. But all these
things seemed too small a reason for his change, and at last Fiona
gave up searching for a reason, and remembered only being in his
arms, until she fell into a restless sleep.
It did not help her peace of mind that Guy arrived in time for
luncheon the next day, and, whenever he had Fiona to himself,
renewed his struggle to get the old footing back. At times he was
loving and charming, at other times, pleading and suffering, and
Fiona ended the day by feeling completely exhausted. Elspeth's
radiance and happiness served to sharpen the conviction that she,
Fiona, was making a mess of her affairs.
"Well, my dear," said her father, finding her on the terrace when
Guy had gone. "How are you getting on?"
"Dismally, Dad," she said. "Guy just won't take no for an answer."
"I didn't think he would for a moment."
a blue dress, the one she had worn before. So that the vision in
delicate pink was a surprise to him, and also a shock; for the
ravishing dress, and the diamonds round her neck, were an act of
defiance. They said to him quite plainly: what business is it of yours
if somebody buys me expensive clothes, expensive "presents? He
determined that he would keep away from her, but the Paul Jones
had thrown them together, and at once the old magic had worked.
Well, why not? Peter had thought. Perhaps she does get tired of the
attentions of an elderly tycoon. Perhaps she does long for youth to
match her own, and for a dash of romance. Certainly, her invariable
response to him encouraged him to think so. She had never rebuffed
him. On the contrary, she came to him, into his arms, as if it was
where she longed to be.
Did she really think that she could have her cake and eat it too?
Have an elderly, wealthy admirer and a young lover as well, and
both at the same time?
More problems crowded in upon him on Monday morning, thick
and fast. The new machinery was ready to go; the lists of
redistribution were out, and everywhere foremen were in conclave
with clusters of men grouped about them. Mr. Jackson had arrived
early, but at the moment was keeping out of the way. Mr. Holwell,
works manager, and Frank Hawkins, shop steward, were very much
in evidence, walking from one group to another, explaining,
discussing, and feeling the pulse of the men. Peter would have been
there, too, but for the fact that, at a time when he could very well
have done without them, three indispensable men from the
experimental department called on him, to explain that their chief
had been going crazy for a long time, in their opinion, and it had
now reached a pass where it was either-or; and when Peter asked
what exactly that meant, they said: "He goes, or we go."
rather than talking to Fiona. "We can't lose those three, and we can't
expect them to do good work under the present trying conditions."
He paused, looking absently at Fiona as he pondered. "Two trouble
spots in this firm," he went on.' "The drawing office just now, and
the experimental."
"And the works surely?" added Fiona.
"Yes, I wanted to get down there. I'm hoping today will prove it's
not a trouble spot. I'm praying the change-over goes smoothly. I'll
ring Holwell -"
He spoke to Mr. Holwell on the telephone, and appeared to be
temporarily reassured.
"All quiet at the moment," he said. "Holwell expects the men to
chew it all over at lunch-time. Signs of settling down though. Keep
your fingers crossed, Fiona, keep your fingers crossed."
"I will. Do you want these notes typed?"
"Yes, to make some sort of sense chronologically, if you can. Well,
let's give K. J. another headache."
He reached for the telephone, and Fiona began to type her notes,
pausing frequently to rearrange the data she had taken down. Peter,
as he waited some time on the managing director's convenience,
watched her at work. She was wearing a plain suit of grey, with a
neat blouse of pale grey underneath itthe well-dressed,
unobtrusive secretary. Into his mind flashed a picture of her as she
had looked on Saturday, and with it the memory of her in his arms
under the great oak trees in the darkness. "She's a lovely girl," he
thought, "but if what Sheila says is true, what a waste, what a
waste." And he remembered all the evidence that seemed to point to
its being true.
Mr. Jackson's voice recalled him to the present, and to the fresh
problem. He dragged his thoughts and his eyes from Fiona, and gave
himself to his work.
As he put down the receiver, he stood up.
"I'm going into the works," he said to Fiona. "And then to the M.O.
to have a chat with him about Alloway. Then, if there's time before
lunch, to see Alloway himself. If not before, I'll do it directly
afterwards. But if you hear anything from Holwell or Hawkins, ring
me at once, will you?"
"Yes, I'll do that," she promised.
"Or anything unusual, of course."
"Yes, I'll look after it," she said.
She watched him as he gathered one or two papers from his desk,
picked up his pen, fastened his jacket and turned towards the door.
Purposeful, she thought. All on the qui vive. I really do believe he's
rather enjoying himself this morning. There's power in him. He's
waiting to tackle anything that turns up.
He sketched a brief salute in her direction and went away.
CHAPTER NINE
KATHY called in to see if Fiona was going to lunch in the canteen,
and the two girls went together.
"I want to be as quick as possible today," said Fiona.
"Tremendous activity in this firm today," agreed Kathy.
"Lots of people calling, wanting everybody else. I left young Evans
at the deskI only hope he copes."
"Well, how did you get on on Saturday?" asked Fiona.
"Ooh!" A rapturous sigh. "I had a wonderful time. I missed you,
though, what happened to you?"
"I'd had enough, and as you had an escort to see you home, I went."
"That dress, Fiona! Yours, I mean. Mine, too, if it comes to that.
Perhaps you didn't notice the famished looks, but they were balm to
me. I've so often been the famished one myself. I felt like a million
dollars, and of course when you begin to feel like that, other people
think you do, too."
"Derek, for instance?"
"Well, yes, Derek for one." Kathy hesitated, and then looked at
Fiona with a rueful smile. "I did rather put Derek to the test on
Saturday. As he was taking me home, I told him all about Mother,
and how it made managing a very tight squeeze for us. And I let him
walk me right to the front door, for the first time, and said to him.
'Yes, I live in one of these horrid hovelsit's all we can afford.'
Poor Derek, he did look a bit horrified. After all, he's one of K.J.'s
young men, been to Oxford and all that, and probably has very good
prospects. Butwell, to tell you the truth, Fiona, I am rather fond of
him, and if he's going to back out, I'd rather he backed out sooner
than later. I wouldn't blame him at all."
"Did he ask to see you again?"
"Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. I rather expected the Well- I'll-beseeing-you technique, but he asked me to go out with him on Friday;
so I told him my holiday was starting on Saturday, so we would
leave it until afterwards. That gives him a chance to drop out
gracefully if he wants it."
"What a good sport you are, Kathy, but I hope he doesn't want it. I
didn't know you were going on holiday."
"It wasn't worth mentioning,. we don't go away. And, anyway, it's
only a week because I had my other fortnight in the spring when
Mother was poorly, so that I could look after her."
"You mean you're just going to stay at home?"
"Yes. I can borrow a wheelchair from the vicar, and take Mother out
sometimeswhich will be a nice change for her."
"And you will cook and clean and polish and wash up, and then take
your mother out in a wheelchair?"
"Yes, and don't sound so horrified. It will be a change from the
office, anyway."
"Well, you just won't," said Fiona. "I shall go straight home after the
office and arrange for you both to stay in a very pretty country
cottage I know. Lovely country, fresh eggs and vegetables, and
nothing to do."
"Don't be silly! I can't afford it."
"This woman will do anything for meit will only cost you your
food, and she grows fruit and vegetables in her garden. Her husband
was our old gardener, and when he died, my father let her keep the
cottage and paid her a small pension. She would be pleased to have
you both. It's settled. You go home and prepare your mother, and I'll
drive you both out there on Saturday."
"You're very bossy," said Kathy, her voice full of longing.
"Terribly bossy," said Fiona cheerfully. "You just have to do as
you're told."
"It's not for me," said Kathy, looking as if she would burst into tears
right there in the canteen. "It's my mothershe would love it so."
"All right, cheer up, it's settled. Look, I'm not going to wait for
pudding, I want to get back. Do you mind?"
Fiona made her escape, not so much because she thought anybody
would be clamouring for attention in her office, as to escape Kathy's
embarrassment and thanks, and give her time to recover herself.
Peter was not in the office, so she began to track him down by
telephone in case she needed him. He had just arrived, apparently, in
the experimental department and was going in to see Mr. Alloway.
No sooner had Fiona turned to her work than a tap on her door was
followed by the entrance of Gosforth, a man who had been with the
firm for many years, was a good worker, but always inclined to be
rebellious. It had seemed that he was going to make trouble over this
change of work, but Peter and she hid hoped they were over that
particular hurdle. Fiona, glancing at him, saw that they were not.
Gosforth was looking both grim and mutinous.
"Mr. Webber?" he enquired dourly.
"He's with Mr. Alloway. I expect him back quite soon."
"I don't see how he's done that. He went to considerable lengths,
during the sort-out, to find you just the right kind of job."
"Yes, I can imagine that," said the man sceptically. "I'm a craftsman
and he's put me in the packing department."
"You haven't been doing a craftsman's job for more than two years,
Mr. Gosforth, but you were quite satisfied."
"I was in my right department," he said.
"And now that department doesn't exist any more. All the men have
had to change to something different."
"But a good many of them are on the new machines."
"The new machines have to be learned, Mr. Gosforth, and it's right
that the younger men should learn them. It would be very heavy
work for you, and as you said yourself, you're not as young as you
were. Mr. Webber talked it over with Mr. Jackson, and they picked
you out for this other job. You've got men under you, too; and you
know you could be settled in this for the rest of your working life."
"It isn't only methere's plenty more dissatisfied with what they've
been given."
"They would take their cue from you, Mr. Gosforth, and you know
that. They respect you as a man of integrity and they know you've
had a lot of experience; if you came into line, they would, too."
"And that would suit the management very well."
"Of course it would; and in the end, it would suit you, too.
Prosperity for the company means prosperity for the men; and bad
times for the company mean bad times for the men. You've heard
that often enough in the last weeks, I'm sure. But I don't need to tell
you all this, Mr. Gosforth. You're an old hand, you know it all; yet
you want to throw a spanner in the works."
"I don't want to throw a spanner in the works," he protested.
"Well, it isn't anything to do with me, of course," said Fiona, who
had been busy for the last few minutes making it something to do
with her, "but I should have thought it was in your own best
interests not to make trouble."
"I don't want to make trouble, I only want my due."
"They feel they've given you your due, Mr. Gosforth. They all feel
you've got into a good job. And if you don't accept it, and you do
stir up trouble, it isn't only for yourself, but all your workmates too."
He sat lost in thought Fiona watched him for a moment and then
returned to her work. She typed busily until Peter returned; and
Peter did not look at all surprised to find Gosforth waiting for him.
He had been prepared. He braced himself to meet trouble.
Gosforth rose to his feet. Peter went to his desk, saying briskly:
"Ah, Gosforth. What can I do for you?"
Gosforth hesitated. Then he walked to the stand where his cap was
hanging.
"I don't think there's anything you can do for me, thanks, Mr.
Webber," he said. "I don't think I'll bother you after all."
Peter carefully concealed his surprise.
"No bother," he said cheerfully. "If there's anything I can clear up
"
"Well," said Peter, "we've been saying that to him for weeks."
"Apparently not with my charm," she said, laughing.
"Apparently not," said Peter. He looked at her oddly. "This fatal
charm," he said, and repeated it: "This fatal charm. It seems to get us
all."
"But," said Fiona, suddenly serious, "only intermittently."
"Only," said Peter, "when we can't keep our heads."
"Why should you care so much about keeping your head, Peter?"
He was very thoughtful as he looked at her.
"You aren't suggesting that I should lose it, are you?" he asked
curiously.
"Not exactly," she said. They were both quiet, feeling their way,
knowing that under this talk, there was a real desire to find out more
about each other.
Then the telephone bell interrupted them, and Peter turned to answer
it.
"Holwell? Yes, Webber here. Oh, yes . . . Yes, that's right. Yes, he's
just left us . . . Nothing wrong, as far as I can tell. .. Yes, so I
understood. He seems to have thought better of it. . . Oh, I should
wait a while and see. Make sure about it... It does seem like it, at the
moment, but perhaps we 'had better not congratulate ourselves too
soon ... Yes, you're right there . . . Who did you say? K.J.? Oh, yes,
I'm going right away, I'll see you there."
He rang off, and turned to Fiona.
"K.J." he said. "I don't know how long I'll be there. Well, Fiona, I
must congratulate you."
"Thank you," said Fiona.
Once more, she had the office to herself. There was no doubt . about
it, an office was no place for romance, no place for personalities.
People barged in, telephone bells rang, the prosaic world insisted on
interrupting; and always at the wrong moment. Perhaps, if she
stayed until Peter came back, they could resume their conversation
where they had left off. She had plenty to do, for her day had been
so interrupted. She would work late and get all these letters off
today. So that when Peter returned from an extended meeting with
the managing director and the various heads of departments, she was
still there and still busy.
He was not alone, however. Holwell, Hawkins and Ormesby were
with him, and for some time they discussed the new arrangements in
the firm. Fiona was determined to outstay the visitors. Perhaps she
would be unlucky, perhaps Peter would go with them, but she would
wait and see.
Peter did not go with them. When he had seen them out, he turned to
Fiona.
"It isn't absolutely necessary, you know, for you to get those off
today."
"I preferred to," she said. "I don't like too much to accumulate.
Perhaps you'll sign them before you go?"
"Certainly." He sat and worked at 'his desk while she finished the
letters, and then signed them for her. "You take your job quite
seriously, don't you?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "Why shouldn't I? It interests me."
So there it was. It was out. The thing he had always tried to believe
was not true, she now admitted was true. Anger blazed up in him,
and she saw it in his eyes. His hands tightened on hers in a furious
grip.
"I don't know why you should be so angry," she said.' "It isn't as if
I'd done anybody any harm. It's entirely my own affair."
He was furiously angry, yet still found her maddeningly desirable.
He turned from her abruptly, determined to let her go, but she put a
hand on his arm to detain him, and when he turned back, she was
looking at him so pleadingly that he caught her roughly into his
arms.
"You want to have the best of both worlds," he said grimly, and
kissed her with his anger still working in him, in this ruthless,
inconsiderate fashion that Fiona did not like, so that she wrenched
herself away from him, also angry now.
"Don't," she protested. "I won't be treated like that."
"Like what?" he asked her.
"So brutally."
"I'm sorry," he said stiffly.
She looked at him angrily and saw that he was not at all sorry. Yet
she also saw something else, something that was wounded in him,
some hurt that his anger was trying to hide. Hurt pride, she
concluded, what could it be but hurt pride? So she said, slowly:
"False pride, Peter, false pride."
He said:
with the managing director; and still more so the first time I had
lunch with him.
This, I suppose, to be invited to dinner at his home, is quite epochmaking."
"And what's the next step?" asked Fiona, smiling.
"Goodness knows. Maybe lunch or dinner with the chairman.
Olympian heights."
They laughed together.
"Good climbing," said Fiona, thinking to herself that there must be
young men in her father's firm who regarded Mr. Chard as Peter
regarded Mr. Burkitt. She was constantly seeing her father in new
lights nowadays, and also a new light was thrown on Peter when she
thought of him in this way. She had seen from the beginning that he
was a man who meant to get on. He was proud of having reached his
present position without influence or favour, entirely on his own
merit, and he wanted to continue in that way. Obviously, to be
involved with herself, the daughter of one of the most influential
men in this kind of business, would damage his independence,
revolt his pride.
On Saturday morning, when Fiona went to the garage to get her car,
it failed to respond to all her efforts, and Matthey, called for hurried
consultation, said she would have to leave it with him for the
morning. This was especially awkward because it was the day on
which Fiona was to drive Mrs. Heeley and Kathy to the cottage;
and, even had she cared to drive her father's sumptuous car to the
place, it was not available, for Mrs. Chard and Elspeth, caught up in
kaleidoscopic preparations for the wedding, needed it for the whole
morning. So Fiona telephoned Guy, hoping that he would be able to
help.
Mrs. Brookes. "And I want to show Kathy your garden, and the
brook at the bottom, and the bridge Mr. Brookes built for us when
we were little. We used to plague Mrs. Brookes when we were
children," she said to Kathy. "She always had the sweetest
strawberries in her garden, and she made gingerbread men for us
the only person I've ever known who made them; and the most
delicious coconut ice."
She did take pity on Guy, however, to the extent of going to tell him
to go on to the house, and she would follow later. Then she walked
round the garden with Kathy, while Mrs. Heeley rested; and took
her along the brook to the garden of the house, but did not go
through the hedge or shrubbery into it, but kept to the fields. Later,
she would introduce Kathy to her family. She would choose the
moment herself.
Kathy was delighted with everything and prepared to enjoy every
moment of her week, but she felt guilty about keeping Fiona now.
She did not think that handsome young man would be very patient,
and she did not want to be the cause of his anger. So she was a little
relieved when Fiona left her, to walk to Ingleden House; and went
back to the delightful cottage to find her mother, see the bedroom
that had been allotted to them, and to hear from Mrs. Brookes that
Guy was the young man everybody expected Miss Fiona to marry.
Guy was indeed impatient. Fiona met him as she walked up the long
drive towards the house, and they went round the corner of the
house, under the pergola towards the terrace where the family were
gathered.
"What ages you've been," he chided.
"Why not? I wanted to stay with them long enough to make them
feel at home," said Fiona.
"I can't understand why you want to bother with people like that at
all," said Guy.
Fiona did not reply. It took some moments to realise that the silence
was a somewhat ominous silence, and then he looked questioningly
at her. And he saw at once that he had made a mistake. There was a
withdrawn look about her. In that moment, he had himself destroyed
any hesitation in her about hurting him. She had long been afraid of
hurting him, but it seemed that she had been too sensitive. Guy was
not so afraid of hurting people, not so sensitive about them.
"Fiona," he pleaded.
"People like what?" she asked him steadily.
"Darling, I was only impatient because I want you to be with me,"
he said.
"Kathy Heeley is my friend," she said. "I'm very fond of her and I
admire her immensely."
They came to the terrace then, and the family was about to have tea,
so that Guy was not able to say more.
"I've had some tea," said Fiona, "but I'll sit and watch you have
yours, and hear all the latest news about the wedding."
"Well, the latest news about the wedding," said Elspeth, "is that if
you don't go for your fitting for your bridesmaid's dress, you won't
be a bridesmaid."
"I'll make an effort, really I will," promised Fiona.
"And George's Aunt Julia has sent us the most wonderful Louis
Seize writing table; and a remote great-aunt has sent a Chinese
carpet. The thing about marrying into a family like George's is that
CHAPTER TEN
FIONA arrived at the office block to find Kathy once more installed
behind the reception desk, a Kathy looking very much better for her
week's holiday, looking bright-eyed and filled-out and serene, as if
her nerves as well as her body had had a good rest. She greeted
Fiona exuberantly.
"Oh, Fiona, I had the most wonderful week! And the best part of it
was seeing my mother enjoying is so much. She can't stop talking
about itI can see it will be the mainspring of our talk for weeks.
We can both never thank you enough."
"You've already thanked me more than enough."
"It really was a thrill. Meeting your family like that, and seeing your
home. Gosh, how you can come to this dump to work, I don't know.
I never saw such a place like it in my life!"
Fiona laughed.
"You can always be sure of a welcome there," she said.
"I'd be too terrified, unless you were there to hold my hand. I was
quite overawed by your mother; but I guess I could get on with your
fatherhe's a dear. Do lunch with me, Fiona, because I can't talk
about it to anybody else, and of course I'm absolutely bursting with
it."
So they lunched together in the canteen, but as they were sharing a
table with other people Kathy could still not talk of the subject
nearest her heart at the moment, but as they walked back towards
their offices, she said:
"Don't think I keep harping on this, but that week was so marvellous
for my mother, because she made a new friend. In our street, there's
nobody really to interest her. The woman next door is very kind, and
as she cooks a midday meal for her husband and children, she
always cooks" for Mother too, and takes a meal in to her. It saves
me cooking when I get home, and so really it pays me to do that.
But, at the cottage, she and Mrs'. Brookes got on like a house on
fire. Mrs. Brookes says she sometimes gets a bit lonely, in spite of
the television. Especially in the winter, when she can't work in her
garden much. So she has asked us to go there for Christmas; and
although it's three months away Mother is already looking forward
to it. When I think of that wheelchair, and the usual routine of a
holidayand then I think of the cottage, and your father's chauffeur
coming down to take us for country drives, wellI just overflow."
"It was little enough in all conscience," said Fiona.
"Not to me; but now I won't mention it again, because I know I'm
making you curl up with embarrassment. Oh, and do you know
Elspeth invited me to her wedding? Would it be all right if I come?
Because I would love to see what it's like."
She chattered on, excited, and somehow released. Even as she
worked, her thoughts flew back again and again to the week she
spent in the country. The freshness of the air, as she hung out of her
bedroom window early in the morning, the novelty of feeding the
chickens for Mrs. Brookes, of working in a garden, of picking all the
apples off the tree where they were already ripe, these were things
she had never known before. Nor had she been in any house as large
or luxurious as Ingleden House, nor known that such elegant rooms
could be lived in so naturally, nor that hospitality and the use of a
resplendent car and chauffeur could be offered so casually. Nor had
she ever believed that people of such affluence could be so
completely devoid of snobbery; and it was a heart-warming thing to
discover.
Before she went home, she repaired to the ladies' room to wash and
tidy herself, as every other girl in the building did, staggering the
time so that the offices were not completely devoid of their feminine
clerks and typists and secretaries. Even so, the room was fairly full,
and the familiar chatter met Kathy's ears as she went in, the familiar
mixture of perfume and powders assailed her senses. She made her
way to a washbasin, unfurling her towel, smiling at the girl next to
her, when a sentence struck upon her ears, spoken in the voice of
one of the older typists.
"J always thought," it said clearly, "that she was a thoroughly nice
girl."
"It depends what you mean by nice," said another. "I dare say the
men think she's nice."
"Especially the old man," said a new voice, "the gentleman friend."
"Who's being torn to pieces now?" Kathy asked the girl next to her;
but it seemed the girl did not hear her, for she began to rub her
cheeks with her towel and did not answer.
"No, but really," went on one of the voices, "I think it's disgusting. I
wouldn't have anything to do with an old man, not for all the cars
and evening dresses and jewels and such." The voices went on,
comfortably pulling somebody's reputation to shreds, until Kathy
said again:
"Who is this that's causing so much discussion?"
There was a short silence. Sheila Font said:
"Oh, Kathy. We didn't know you were there. I didn't see you come
in."
"Well, what of it? I don't imagine it's me." She looked at the faces
about her, some of them beginning to be discomfited, one or two of
them turning away, and it dawned on her that they were discussing
Fiona. She said at once:
"You wouldn't be discussing Fiona Chard?"
"Well, why not?" asked Sheila. "We all know she's your friendI'm
sure "it suits you very well to be her friendbut that doesn't make
her sacrosanct."
"Perhaps you'd like to repeat to me what you've all been saying
among yourselves. Or haven't you got the coinage of your
convictions ? "
"Kathy's getting very supercilious," said somebody. "Tell her,
Sheila, what you know about Miss Chard." And Sheila told her as
fact what she had merely assumed. But nobody there, curious as
they were, had anticipated Kathy's reaction. She just stood there and
laughed at them.
"What a lot of silly nonsense," she said. "Fiona will be amused by
this. You couldn't have been more mistaken in your life."
"Well, what's your explanation?" asked Sheila.
"I don't intend to give you one. I happen to have been told Fiona's
circumstances in confidence; but I can jolly well tell you you're
absolutely wrong. If I were you, Sheila, I'd be careful what I said."
"I said," remarked the typist whose voice Kathy had first heard,
"that I'd always thought she was a thoroughly nice girl."
"And you couldn't have been more right," said Kathy, and picked up
her towel and soapbox, and did not wait to make up her face, but
flew back to Fiona.
Fiona was still working in her office when Kathy burst in, finishing
a report that Peter wanted that evening.
"Hallo, what's the matter with you?" she asked Kathy.
"Fiona, they're saying the most terrible things about you in this
firmsome of the girls are, I mean. Not the nice ones, of course,
but some of the others. And I want you to let me tell them the truth.
I couldn't, without your permission, because you told me about
yourself in confidence. May I tell them who you are?"
"But why?" asked Fiona. "What is this terrible thing they are saying
about me?" And when Kathy had finished telling her, she leaned
back in her chair, and simply said:
"Oh, no!"
"Yes. And it all started because Sheila Pont saw you in London,
shopping in Piccadilly. It all grew from that; and it's grown to pretty
big proportions now."
"How ridiculous! It was my father, of course."
"I guessed that."
"How could anybody have such a mind?"
"Especially knowing you. It's just sheer malice. Do let me tell them
the truth, Fiona."
Fiona looked at her champion thoughtfully. She was a little
depressed at hearing that anybody should wish her ill, should spread
unsuitable and untrue stories about her, but it was not important now
whether people knew the truth" or not. She thought she had already
proved to Peter and to other people here that she could hold down a
job without influence; and Peter had already guessed the truth of her
identity. So she shrugged her shoulders, and said:
"You may tell them what you like, Kathy."
"Oh, won't I enjoy that? They'll have gone by now, I daresay; and I
have to get back to Mother; but I shall enjoy watching their faces in
the morning, especially Sheila Pont's."
Especially Sheila Pont's, thought Fiona, when Kathy had said good
night and disappeared. Sheila Pont. It was Sheila Pont who had seen
her in Piccadilly with her father, and had jumped to such very wrong
conclusions. It was Sheila Pont who was Peter's friend, coming to
the firm's dances with him, lunching very often at his table in the
canteen; and it was Peter who had said: "Why don't you fell me
about yourself, Fiona?" It was Peter who had asked her if she
bought all her clothes in Paris, if the car was her own property, if
her diamonds were real. Light dawned on Fiona. So much became
clear to her; why Peter no longer bothered to treat her with
consideration when he took her in his arms; why he thought it
necessary not to lose his head about her: oh, so many things. She sat
at her typewriter musing, the report forgotten.
Peter Came into the office.
"Finished?" he asked her.
"Oh, Peter," she said.
He looked at her quickly.
"Oh, Peter," she repeated.
"What is it?" he asked her. "Aren't you well?"
She got up from her desk and crossed to face him. He watched her
coming, and could not make her out at all. She held put her hands to
him, but he did not take them. He was watching her with an odd
mixture of perplexity and keenness.
"Peter, you've been thinking an awful thing about me," she said.
"And of course, of course, it wasn't true."
His look now wassail keenness and closeness.
"What have I been thinking," he said, "that wasn't true?"
"Did you think I had a sugar-daddy, Peter? Did somebody tell you
that I had? It's quite a ridiculous story that's going round the firm,
and I've only just heard it. Of course, it's the most utter nonsense."
"It isn't true?" he asked her slowly.
She seemed almost to be swaying in front of him, as if she needed
support. He put his hands on her shoulders.
"Of course it isn't true," she said, her eyes on his. Clear, direct grey
eyes, but filled now with all sorts of desires.
"And never was true?"
"Never, never, never," she said, her eyes pleading with him to take
her into his arms.
"Fiona, you said yourself it was true," he said putting off the
moment.
"A misunderstanding," she cried. "How could I think you would
think such a thing about me? I was talking of something else -Oh,
Peter."
"And this man who you have been datinga tall, dark and
handsome fellow with a devilish-looking car, I'll bet?"
"Nothing, nothing," she said. "He doesn't count."
Poor, poor Guy, where are all your dreams of affluence?
"Fiona," he began, but she had waited long enough, too long. She
put her arms about his neck-and leaned against him, and he had
gathered her up into a close, close embrace, into timeless bliss, into
that feeling of perfect oneness that washed all the frustration out of
her, left her deeply content, utterly happy.
She looked up at his face after a while. She was almost surprised to
find she was in the office, so completely had she forgotten her
surroundings. His eyes came down to meet hers, dark eyes into
which she felt she could go on looking for ever. His lips came down
slowly to meet hers, and Fiona wondered how much happiness a
person could bear.
After a long time, Peter released her a little.
"Darling," said Fiona, smiling dreamily at him.
"Wake up," he said gently. "We can't stay here all night."
She sighed and roused herself.
"But don't let me go," she said. "Not yet."
He let her go, smiling down gently at her.
"I'll take you out and give you some dinner," he said.
"What about the report?" she asked.
"Tell me all about you," she said. "I don't really know a thing about
you; except for meeting your nice family once. Did you always live
in that same house? What were you like as a little boy? A very
pretty one, I'm sure."
"A very scruffy one, I'm sure," said Peter. "We didn't always live
there. We lived in the country, in a cottage miles from anywhere,
and my father went into his office job every day. We all preferred
living in the country. We had a stream at the bottom of the garden,
big enough for all sorts of damming operations and sluice gates and
waterwheels and so on; vast woods almost to the back door, in
which my brother and I and our friends roamed unmolestedin
fact, I thought for many years they belonged to uswe built tree
houses up there and camped out, and helped the woodman with his
work; and in general had the kind of boyhood every boy ought to
have. Well, is that enough about me?"
"Oh, no," she said. "So eventually you started work, and you've been
going slowly up and up ever since?"
"I suppose so," he said. "It's an agreeable feeling, Fiona, to know
that you've earned everything you've got. Geoffrey, my brother,
feels the same. We had nothing to start with, except a pretty good
foundation from our parents and plenty of determination. Neither of
us has ever wanted things handed to us on a plate."
"In fact, you've got a good deal of pride," she said slowly, rather
wishing that he had less for her own convenience, but glad of it
otherwise.
"I like to think it's proper pride," he said.
"And girls?" she asked him suddenly, raising her brows at him.
"What about girls? Have there been lots in your life?"
"Lots," he told her.
Peter leaned down and kissed her again, a long passionate kiss.
Fiona was shaking when he let her go.
"You'd better go now," said Peter, "or I won't let you go at all."
So Fiona drove home, her head in the stars, and stars in her eyes,
bemused, bewitched, so much in love that the whole prosaic world
seemed to be changed, seemed to be touched with magic; and
arrived at Ingleden House to find the family distraught with anxiety.
"Fiona, where have you been?" demanded her mother. "We were
desperate with anxiety about you."
"But why?" she asked in surprise. "I only went out to dinner."
"But why didn't you ring us up and tell us? You said you would be
home to dinner. We telephoned your office and got no reply. We
couldn't think where you were."
"I forgot to phone," said Fiona. 'I'm so sorry."
"You just forgot?" exclaimed her mother.
Her father was observing her closely. He saw that she was still
bewitched, still inhabiting a far-off world of her own.
"Who took you to dinner?" he asked her directly.
"Peter Webber," she said, and her father, who had been thinking for
a long time that he would be interested to meet this young man,
decided that now was the time to do something definite about it. So
that next morning, Peter said to Fiona, with a slightly twisted smile:
"I'm invited to dinner with K.J. again next Saturday."
"To meet the chairman again?"
"Not this time. To meet one or two of the influential people in the
steel business."
"K.J. seems to have taken you under his wing, Peter."
"I suspect him of some ulterior motive. It can't just be for love of my
dark eyes."
"I'm sure it could be," she said. "What better reason? It would do for
me."
"You, dear Fiona, are in no state to make judgements."
"No, that's true. Tm under a fatal spell."
"Will you have dinner with me again tonight?"
"Of course I will, but this time I must phone my family they
worried about me yesterday."
They went again to the restaurant with the tables set into alcoves by
the high-backed seats, and sat in the soft glow of the shaded lights
having their meal.
"Now tonight," said Peter softly, "you're going to do the talking.
You're going to tell me what this real truth is that Kathy knew about
you, but nobody else."
Fiona looked at him very seriously.
"Yes," she said, "I must." But she did not begin. She sat watching
the wine in her glass as her fingers twisted the stem round and
round.
"Is it something so difficult?" asked Peter curiously.
could struggle along in tubes and trains to his office; just as you did
when you said your father had had some bad times in the past. All
along, you have acted a lie. The letter may have been the truth but
the spirit was a lie."
"Is that how it seems to you?" she asked in a distressed whisper.
"I don't know what sort of whim sent you into this job," he said, "but
I suppose you have always got what you want. The managing
director speaks, and a woman who needs a job doesn't get one, so
that you can step into it. .." He went on speaking, hard words that
plunged Fiona into misery; and she had not the experience to see
that they were forced out of him by his own hurt pride. And when he
finished speaking, they sat there in estranged dejection, as surely
separated by this new truth as they had been by the previous untruth.
"Peter," she said at last, "are the material things of this world so very
important? "
"Yes," he replied, "they are. Not, perhaps, to the people who have
always had them, but to the people who have not had them or who
have had to fight for them."
"But not," she protested softly, "more important than the spiritual
things."
"No," he agreed. "But so often they affect the spiritual things."
"Peter, I am the same person, the same I, whether I'm the daughter
of John Chard, or a hard-working secretary without advantages."
"You may think so," said Peter, "but it isn't so."
She had come up against that blank wall once more. There seemed
to be nothing more that she could sayat least while Peter persisted
in this mood.
"You'd better take me back for my car," she said, and, in a very
different mood from the night before, he drove her back to the
deserted yard, and saw her to her car. She stood beside it before
getting in, facing him, saying in final pleading: "Peter," wanting him
to kiss her, feeling that if he but touched her, the old magic must
work. But he did not touch her. There was no long, passionate kiss
for her tonight. She got in and started the engine and drove away
from him, the headlights giving her a last glimpse of him, stern and
implacable, as he stood and watched her go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AT Ingleden House, Elspeth's approaching wedding continued to
create a whirling confusion of comings and goings, orderings and
fittings, alterations and misunderstandings. Mrs. Chard and Elspeth
lived among cardboard boxes, arriving presents, caterers' men,
telephone calls and florists. The village church was to be profusely
decorated with chrysanthemums which could afterwards be sent to
the hospital. The hall, drawing-room and dining-room would
accommodate the guests, and the morning-room the presents.
Already it was almost impossible to squeeze into the morning room
for the boxes and crates, and still presents arrived. The wedding
dress also arrived, and then the wedding cake.
"It's a wonder the house doesn't burst at the seams," commented
Elspeth, who wandered through all this confusion with shining eyes,
leaving the agitation to her mother.
The Saturday before the wedding was the day on which Peter was to
dine with Mr. Jackson in London. The Chard family were to dine
with George's family, and see the redecorating that had made the
east wing a suitable and separate residence for George and Elspeth,
but on the evening before, Mr. Chard, who had had quite enough
already of all these wedding arrangements, said that he would be
unable to go as he had an important business dinner in London.
"On a Saturday?" queried his wife, unbelievingly.
"On a Saturday," he confirmed.
"Who is it you're dining with? Who will give up his weekend to
stuffy business dinners ? "
"It's Jackson, my dear; and I very much want to be there."
"Because of his stiff-necked pride," she said. "He doesn't like rich
girls. He doesn't like people born with silver spoons or golden
onesin their mouths. Not girls anyway."
"He interests me more and more," said Mr. Chard. "And what do
you intend to do about it, Fiona?"
"What can I do? Short of hanging about his neck and telling him
that I love him -" She broke off. "Oh, it's all very well trying to
sound so hard-boiled," she said, "but I'm as miserable as I've ever
been in my life. These last days in the office have been almost more
than I can bear," She had been prowling around the room restlessly,
but now she paused by the door, and her father saw tears shining in
her eyes. "I've got a good weep coming on," she said, trying to smile
at him. "I'll go upstairs. If Mother or Elspeth want me, tell them I'm
headachy and want to be left alone." And, before he could detain
her, she had disappeared, closing the door softly behind her. Her
father sat lost in thought for a long time.
Early next evening, Matthey brought the big car round to drive Mr.
Chard to London, and they drove away from a house that was
noisier and more confused than ever, with bridesmaids trying on
their dresses, and the young men telling each other what their duties
were as ushers in the church. He was glad to reach the comparative
sanity of a private room of a big restaurant, and an all-male dinner
party.
Peter Webber was introduced to him, and they exchanged a few
polite sentences. At dinner they sat nearly opposite one another, and
the older man took every opportunity of studying the younger.
Extremely handsome, that was the first thing that struck one about
him, a thing that might occasion a slight prejudice in as mature a
man as Mr. Chard, but for the fact that Peter seemed to carry his
good looks as a natural possession, completely unconsciously. No
vanity about him: pride, perhaps but no vanity. And he talked good
sense. Slowly, Mr. Chard felt his heart warm towards him.
After dinner, when the casual stage of coffee and cigars was
reached, Mr. Chard carried his cup to where Peter was sitting, and
Peter rose courteously to greet him.
"Sit down, sit down," said Mr. Chard; and, when they were seated:
"I've heard quite a bit about you lately, Mr. Webber, in connection
with that change-over of machinery in your works. Jackson thought
it was carried through with considerable aplomb. I watched it with
interest. I think you were lucky, mind you, to carry it off without
trouble."
"It was touch and go, once or twice," returned Peter.
"I think the union watched it pretty closely, too. I suppose it's too
early to evaluate the usefulness of the change-over yet?"
They were embarked on a conversation that went on and on,
becoming of increased interest to them both all the time. Peter
forgot that he had other interests in this man, and warmed to him
too. When the dinner party showed signs of breaking up, Mr. Chard
said:
"Can I drop you anywhere?"
"I have my car here, thank you, sir."
"Ah. Well, I should like us to meet again. You might be interested in
looking over my own concern one day ? "
"I should be very interested."
"Then we'll fix something up. One day next week?"
"That's a little difficult, sir. The week after would be fine, because I
start my holiday and am spending the first week round and about
before going to Spain. I should have gone weeks ago, but the
change-over delayed it."
"The week after next, then. I'll get my secretary to phone about a
date. I suppose it would suit me better, too. My daughter is getting
married next week, and I shall be at my wife's beck and call, I
expect."
Peter was so startled that, for a moment, he could not conceal it; but
very quickly he recovered himself.
"I hope it all goes off very well," he said politely.
"It should," chuckled Mr. Chard, "after all the preparations. My wife
and Elspeth have lived and dreamed nothing else for weeks. My
elder daughter, you know. You aren't going to lose your secretary
yet."
That was the first mention of Fiona between them, and it barely
caused a ripple, so well prepared were they both. Peter felt
convinced that Mr. Chard knew nothing of the perpetually changing
relations between Fiona and himself; the up and down, alternately
bitter and sweet relations that had made this summer so frustrating.
Fiona had found time, in the business of the preparations, and in the
desolation of her own worries, to make arrangements for Kathy and
Mrs. Heeley. She would drive them both to Mrs. Brookes' cottage
the evening before, and, on the way to the church, she would get the
bridesmaids' car, and that of the bride, to stop, at the cottage for a
few minutes, so that Mrs. Heeley, who was not coming to the
Church, could see the dresses. Kathy was to be resplendent in a grey
suit from Paris that Elspeth had given her, complete with all its
accessories. "It's a sort of little thanksgiving present," said Elspeth
when she sent the gift, "because I'm so happy." It had been very
little worn and Kathy fell in love with it.
Everything went off like well-regulated clockwork. The church
looked very beautiful, lit by a golden September sun only just
breaking through the morning mist, and lavishly decorated with
yellow, golden and tawny chrysanthemums. The ushers were very
immaculate in their morning dress, guiding the guests into their
pews. Guy was among them, his fair hair shining in the mellowing
sun. George waited, not at all nervous, very confident, for his bride,
who came up the aisle on her father's arm, quite radiant. Just as a
bride should look, thought Fiona, envying her deeply.
She stood behind her, holding Elspeth's flowers as well as her own,
and listening to the words of the service. If it had been herself and
Peter! They could have gone away together to be together for
always. To be loved by Petershe shivered involuntarily. To lie in
Peter's arms all nightbliss, bliss! She pulled her wandering
thoughts back again to the service.
Afterwards, at the house, there were speeches and toasts and a
confusion of guests. People wandered into the morning room to see
the presents, now methodically arranged there with a man engaged
to keep an eye on them; others wandered to the buffet to help
themselves, although waiters were hurrying everywhere. And a
rather plain girl, a little plump, who was most beautifully dressed,
and had been a great friend of Elspeth's at school, came to Fiona,
imploring her to introduce her to Guy.
"Who is he?" she asked. "I've never met him here before, have I, but
he's devastatingly handsome."
"He's Guy Pendleton," said Fiona.
"And most devoted to Fiona," added the man Fiona was talking to,
wickedly.
"Guy!" called Fiona, but Guy did not hear her with all the noise
around him, so she said:
"I'll bring him over, Sally," and went to get him.
"Guy," she said, touching him on the elbow, "somebody wants to
meet you. I believe you've made a conquest."
"Darling," he said, "there's only one conquest I want to make. I don't
want to meet anybody else."
"You must be polite."
"Who is it, then?"
"Over there, by the long window, talking to Bernard. She's Sally
Felstead, an old school friend of Elspeth's."
Guy looked at Sally and tinned back to Fiona.
"How could you, Fiona! Let's skip it. Come with me and get some
more champagne."
"No, I told her I'd bring you over. You only have to be polite for a
minute or two. She's the daughter of William Felstead, you know,
the millionaire: he's in plastics of some kind. And Sally's very
sweet, really."
Fiona privately thought Sally was rather a bore, but she successfully
disguised the fact as she introduced her to Guy and then left them to
their conversation. She did notice, however, that for a man who had
to be persuaded to be polite for a minute or two, Guy was managing
to sustain quite a long conversation.
could have a typist from the pool until he could get in touch with
that other girl who had needed a job. If all that he had said to her
was true, he should come back to find her gone, with a great sense
of relief. It was almost a relief to herself to have decided upon a
clear course of action.
One day in the following week, Peter spent the greater part of it in
the company on Fiona's father. The morning tour of the works,
which was all that had been arranged, ended in the two men
lunching togethera lunch that extended well into the afternoon,
and did a good deal more towards forging the link that was already
binding them together. Then, to settle a point under discussion, Mr.
Chard took Peter back into his private office, where their talk went
on until most of the office staff had gone home.
"Well, I mustn't keep you longer," he said then. "You're supposed to
be on holiday, I believe."
"It's all been most interesting, sir. You've given up a lot of time, and
I appreciate it."
"Not entirely for your sake, Webber. I suppose you have some plan
for this evening?"
"No, actually I haven't. I intended to go to a theatre, but didn't do
anything about booking the seat."
"Then come and dine. A bit early yet, but you'd like a drink."
This surprised Peter, but he accepted. The admiration he had at first
felt was turning into warm liking. There was nothing at all
patronising in Mr. Chard's manner either. Peter suspected that he
might be a bit of an autocrat; that he would be impatient of
inefficiency or idleness in others; but certainly, towards himself, the
old man was genuinely friendly and spoke almost as to an equal.
And he did not speak of Fiona, or of any private matters. The
suspicion crossed Peter's mind that Fiona might have appointed her
father an envoy on her own missions, but this he quickly dismissed.
From what he knew of both of them, this would appear to be quite
unjustified.
"When do you go to Spain?" asked Mr. Chard as they stood in the
street outside Mr. Chard's club, before going their separate ways.
"On Friday, sir."
"Then come and see me when you return. I may have a proposition
to put to you."
"I'll be pleased to call and see you."
"And enjoy your holiday. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, sir." Peter shook hands and smiled.
As Mr. Chard got into his car, and Matthey took the wheel and
began the drive out of London, Fiona's father thought he could see
why Fiona had fallen in love. "He's a good-looking chap," he
thought, "and strong with it, too. That smile, combined with those
shoulders, would be bound to charm the women. And he's got the
intelligence that Fiona would like, and the will-power that won't let
him submit to anything or anybody." Yet Fiona had said that Peter
had no use for her. Her father thought carefully about that.
Fiona broke the news to Kathy that she would soon be leaving,
preferring that Kathy should hear it from her own lips rather than
through office channels. As she had expected, Kathy was very sorry
and woebegone about it, and did not seem to have any real
confidence in Fiona's assurances that they would see a great deal of
each other in the future.
"Why should we?" she asked. "Whether you have another job or not,
you'll be much too busy to bother about me. But I'm sorry; I'm just
thinking selfishly about myself, and I ought to be jolly glad that you
ever came here. You've made a tremendous difference to me. Yes,
you have, ifs no good shaking your head at me, and trying to change
the subject. I've got something to say and I want to say it. I'd got
into a rut; a shocking rut, and I don't think I'd ever have got out of it
by myself. You've given me a whole new viewpointand, of
course, incidentally, you've given me this time with Derek. I'd never
have come to the dances without your help and company, and he
wouldn't have noticed me in years in the reception desk with my old
clothes. And whether it ever comes to anything or not, it's the
happiest time I ever had in my life."
"Well," smiled Fiona, "have you said your say?"
"Not half of what I'd like to say, but probably as much as you want
to listen to. And now Derek wants me to go and spend a week-end at
his home to meet his family."
"Good for you."
"But I believe I'm too scared to go.'
"Oh, what nonsense, Kathy. Of course you must go."
"I would if you would tell me everything I ought to take to wear and
everything I ought to do, and give me lashings of advice. You see
how much I need you. And it means arranging for Mother. I know
she could go to Mrs. Brookes for the weekend, and I know you
would be very kind and take her in your car when you go home on
Friday -"
"Of course," said Fiona at once.
"And you see we wouldn't have known dear Mrs. Brookes but for
you -Oh, bother you, Fiona, why did you have to be like all Peter's
secretaries and fall in love with him?"
"What?" exclaimed Fiona, astounded.
"Well, you are, aren't you? It sticks out a mile."
"Oh, God, no!" protested Fiona, horrified.
"Only to me, I expect," said Kathy, trying, a little late in the day, to
be reassuring. "I expect it's because I've got the same disease, I
recognise the symptoms."
"Does everybody in this building see it sticking out a mile?" asked
Fiona, suddenly seeing a picture of herself as a second poor,
infatuated Miss Cray. "And does nobody see it where Peter is
concerned?"
They'll think I'm running away, she thought. Or even that Sheila
Pont's story about me was true after all. Or that Peter has got rid of
me. Or that I was just a rich girl playing at being a secretary. And
she did not care what anybody thought. If Peter had wanted her, she
would have stayed, doing her job very well; but since Peter had only
taken her because his hands had been forced, because he would
prefer somebody else working with him, she was leaving.
"I'll leave a private letter for him with you," she said to Kathy, "to
explain why I'm doing this; and you must give it to him the moment
he arrives."
Kathy promised that she would.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PETER sat in Mr. Chard's office and waited for him to finish a long
telephone conversation, and as he waited, he was considering very
carefully what plans to make for his future. From the depths of his
comfortable, brown leather armchair, he watched Mr. Chard at his
desk, and the more he saw of him, the more he liked him. They had
met two or three times since Peter's return from Spain, and Peter
was here now to listen to a proposition the older man wanted to put
to him.
At first, returning to his office from holiday, finding Fiona gone and
her letter waiting for him, he had determined to have nothing more
to do with the Chard family. Better to put it all behind him, and go
on, if possible, as if this summer interlude had never been. If
possible! He smiled a little ruefully to remember how impossible it
had been. Soon after his return, Mr. Chard had telephoned him, and
Peter did not see how he could refuse, without rudeness, to meet
him; and after the first meeting, others seemed to follow naturally.
There was strong possibility, thought Peter, that these meetings
might have something to do with Fiona, and that he must find out
before committing himself to anything for the future. For he did not
doubt that Mr. Chard's proposition had to do with his future.
The older man replaced the receiver of the telephone and turned to
Peter.
"Sorry about that," he said. "Now where were we?"
"You'd just explained to me the set-up of your staff here, sir."
"Ah, yes. And the opening that I've been trying to fill for a
considerable timeI might say years. I had no intention of getting
the wrong man, even a doubtful man, and was willing to wait
indefinitely for the right one. As I told you, my key men here are all
would spend time with Mr. Chard learning the ropes. At first, he
could be a glorified private secretary, while he felt his way into the
intricacies of the management. Later, he would join the board of
directors. It would be necessary for him to move to London, and
make his headquarters there.
Meanwhile, Fiona looked about her for another job. She no longer
entertained the slightest idea of marrying Guy. Nor could she, after
her months in industry, settle down at home, although her mother,
missing Elspeth, would have liked her to. She must, if only to
alleviate the misery that so often threatened to engulf her, find
something to do. For unhappiness waited, like a flood, to sweep
over her time after time. Not only was the year turning to grey as
November approached, but her life seemed to have turned grey too.
Happiness, colour, light, all seemed to have drained out of it; and
she felt it would have been better to stay in Peter's office, working
for him, however reluctant he had been to have her, rather than face
the empty days without so much as a sight of him. Had she hoped
that he would seek her out on his return from Spain? Or that her
flight would provoke him into following her? She did not think so
she had only thought that she Could not stay where she was not
wanted.
But she must have some news of him, must be able to speak- of him
to somebody. So she went to see Kathy and Mrs. Heeley, and was
warmed and delighted by their welcome. And one of the first things
she noticed was the diamond ring on Kathy's finger.
"Kathy! You're engaged!"
"Yes." Kathy spun round and exhibited the ring with delight. "I was
going to ring you up and tell you. It only happened last night."
"Derek, of course ? Oh, I am delighted for you!"
"I knew you would be. I went to meet his family that weekend. And
it was grander than anything I was used tonothing like your home,
of course; and I did have terrible nerves about it. But apparently
they all liked me, which was a great relief to me. And, with any
luck, we're going to be married next summer."
When the two girls were out in the minute kitchen some time later,
washing the supper dishes, Kathy continued her confidences in a
lowered voice.
"Fiona, he's quite wonderful, my Derek. I can't get used to my
marvellous luck. And he has everything worked out about Mother.
He says we'll see later on if Mrs. Brookes will take her as a
permanent boarder: after all, Mother loves the country and always
wanted a country cottage. But if that doesn't work out, then we'll
have her with us, and she shall have her own sitting-room, and so
on. He's perfectly sweet about it, and very sensible; and honesty, I
adore him so much that I feel there must be a snag somewhere.
Maybe I'm dreaming, and will wake up soon."
"I'm so happy for you, Kathy."
"Well, of course, I always think I owe it all to you, but I know you
don't like my saying so. It's awfully dull at the office nowadays
without you, Fiona."
"What about the new girl in my place ?"
"She's hardly a girlshe must be forty. Peter had intended to have
her before, I believe. She had got a job, but she preferred this one,
so she came to Peter; but she doesn't interest me. She's very nice, of
course, very businesslike, and they get through a terrific amount of
work in that office. But she hasn't caused any stir among the other
girls, as you did."
"And Peter?"
her no peace. It was no longer an age in which girls pined away for
lovethey got themselves jobs on the other side of the world,
instead, driving out the demons of unrest and desire with hard work
in new surroundings. But the demons were there, and just now very
active.
The end of November would bring his wife's birthday, and he knew
that Fiona and Elspeth were planning a dinner party for it ("Twelve
for dinner and friends in afterwards for coffee," said Elspeth, "and
maybe a film show too.") The films were of their own taking, and
were chiefly of the girls growing up, and of their many holidays
abroad; so that they were particularly liked as a birthday celebration
by Mrs. Chard. Mr. Chard told Elspeth that he would like to bring a
guest himself, but that it was to be a secret from her mother and
sister.
"Secret?" asked Elspeth. "Nice one?"
"I hope so, my dear."
"Man or woman?"
"Man."
"Young or old?"
Her father laughed and would not answer, or, he said, it would not
be a secret much longer.
When next he saw Peter, he mentioned his family. Already a strong
mutual affection was binding them together, and their many
common interests added to it. Both were looking forward to working
together.
"I should like you," Mr. Chard said to Peter, "to meet my family.
We have a little celebration next week, and I would be; happy if you
would have dinner with us at my house in the country."
"I'm sure you'll excuse me if I don't come," said Peter. "I feel I
would be an intruder at celebrations on so short acquaintance."
"Not at all, my boy, not at all. If we're going to work in close
harmony, you'll be meeting them sooner or later, and I assure you
you wouldn't be an intruder. In any case, you know Fiona quite well
already. And, incidentally, it may be your last chance to see Fiona
for a long time, anyway."
"Oh?" queried Peter, and wanted to ask a good deal more, and could
not find the right words to justify curiosity. Mr, Chard, however,
was more than willing to satisfy it on the strength of that one word.
"Yes. She's going off to Hong Kong next month." There was a
sudden concentrated quietness about Peter. Mr. Chard realised that
he had pounced upon this piece of news with all his attention. Peter
said: "Why Hong Kong?"
"Well, you know," said Mr. Chard, expansive, conversational,
apparently quite unaware of any tension, "there was always
something a little different about Fiona. She was never satisfied with
the humdrum in the way that Elspeth is, for instance. She's quite an
intelligent girlbut perhaps you found that out for yourselfand
she'll do a good job there." He paused, and then went on: "Her
mother doesn't approve of course; but I feel she needs something of
this sort just now. She's unsettled, unhappy; I don't know why she
should be, what's wrong with her; but apparently she thinks it's
something that hard work will cure."
He began to light a cigar, taking his time over it, letting his words
sink in. Then, the cigar well alight, he asked:
"Now, about the dinner party, Peter. Shall I tell them I'll be bringing
a guest?"
"If you're quite sure it won't be an intrusion, sir."
"I'm quite sure about that," replied the deus ex machina.
So Peter went prepared, but Fiona was entirely unprepared. She and
Elspeth had planned a delectable menu with Cook in the kitchen,
and Fiona had ordered and arranged the flowers. The Hepplewhite
dining table was out to its longest length, and the two girls made it
look festive with the best china and glass and silver, and the tall
candles ready to light. Fiona wore her beautiful dress of delicate
pink, her diamond necklace, and this time added a new diamond
bracelet, which her father had bought her because she had refused to
take the holiday he had offered her when she left her job.
"I do hope Father won't be late," said Elspeth, admiring the finished
table. "He's been spending such an awful lot of time in his office
lately, Mother's been quite worried about it. And I do wonder who
he's bringing with himhe was so hush-hush when I asked him."
"Perhaps he's confronting Mother with an old flame," laughed
Fiona."
Her father, however, arrived alone and quite early.
"Where's the visitor?" demanded Elspeth. "If you dare to say at this
late hour that he's not coming, and throw our numbers out -"
"He's coming," her father assured her, "but in his own car. He'll be
on time, never fear."
He was on time, but several guests had arrived before him, and
Fiona was talking to two of them when Peter came into the drawingroom. She had her back to the door, and she went on talking until
her father's voice behind her said:
"Fiona, here's an old friend of yours."
Then she turned, and the shock was almost too much for her.
Unexpected as the sight of Peter was, she was completely taken
aback, quite unable to hide the jolt it had given her. The colour
drained out of her face. For one dreadful moment she wondered if
she would faint. Perhaps Peter also wondered, for he slipped a
strong arm under hers, and after a moment she recovered herself and
stepped aside.
"Peter," she whispered, "what are you doing here?"
"Your father asked me to come," he said, his eyes on hers.
"But how did -" She was interrupted, as a hand was laid on her arm,
and a high-pitched voice said:
"Fiona darling, you look ravishing! Mummy wants to say hallo to
you." And Fiona was whisked away from him to talk to other
arriving guests.
At dinner, because Elspeth had had no idea who he was, he found
himself at Mrs. Chard's left hand and next to a middle- aged woman
who was charming enough, but totally inadequate to this time. His
eyes sought Fiona-half-way down the opposite side of the table, and
hers looked back, their clear grey clouded by many unanswered
questions. They had difficulty in looking away again, in
concentrating on what other people had to say to them.
After dinner, there was still no time for them to speak to each other.
As soon as the men came into the drawing-room, Elspeth wanted
Fiona's help with the film projector and the films, and getting the
screen exactly right. Peter came over to offer his help. His hand
touched Fiona's, and she shivered.
"Now as soon as you've all got your coffee, I'll start," said Elspeth.
"The first ones are of Portofino this year; but then we go back into
the old days, so that Mother can see some of the past."
She switched off the lights. Save for the screen, the room was
plunged into darkness; the streets and hills and coast of Portofino
flashed in colour on to the screen, and Elspeth's voice gave a light
running commentary. Peter idly wondered who this Guy was, who
was so much in evidence; and he did not have long to remain in
doubt. Elspeth's clear voice said: "Oh, now this is when we got
home; there's Fiona and Guy and there they are again -" and there
followed innumerable pictures of Fiona and Guy on the pleasantest
terms, one might say on familiar terms; and then Peter remembered
thinking of this man spending week-aids with Fiona. Jealousy
twisted inside him like an actual pain. He watched grimly as picture
after picture of them appeared.
Then Elspeth put on some earlier pictures; short ones, and some of
them too old to be in colour. And there was Fiona again, perhaps ten
years old, with long pigtails; riding a pony, hugging a puppy,
climbing trees with Elspeth. Then a slightly older Fiona, with her
hair short and a most charming shy smile. And as these pictures
shone out at him, all the jealousy' disappeared, and a flood of
tenderness for her drenched him.
He was standing behind her chair. He leaned forward a little in the
darkness, and put a hand on her shoulder. After a moment, Fiona
rested her cheek upon his hand; then her own hand came up to close
over his, and to pull it gently round to her mouth, and to hold it
against her lips. He leaned lower, whispering in her ear:
being in love. I didn't think the calm fondness I had for Guy was
enough, but I wasn't sure. I thought there ought to be something
more, some heights to scale -"
"And are there?" he asked her.
"Oh, darling, yes. Lofty great heights, and awful deep depths of
despair. The anguish and misery and desolation I had in these last
weeksover you. And nowan hour with you has wiped them all
away. You won't disappear again tomorrow? You won't get a return
of stiff-necked pride, or decide that you don't want a rich girl after
all?"
"You only have a rich father," he told her. "When we're married, I
support you. It won't run to diamonds, but you can do without
diamonds. I know now you can't do without me; and heaven knows I
can't do without you."
"So we really are together from now on?" '
"Really together."
"For always?"
"For always," he said.
She turned in the circle of his arms to meet his kiss, and once more
the firelight played over them, in their deeply contented silence.