Across the Counter (17 page)

Perhaps there was something about her that was self
-
explanatory. At any rate, he said nothing as she came slowly into the room. It was she who spoke first, and what she said was, “Mr. Arnoldson, how soon could I come back to Bremmisons?”

“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin perplexedly. “As far as we are concerned, tomorrow. But—”

“Could we make it the next day?” She spoke coolly, and with great precision. “That would give me time to get back to London and put my apartment in order.”

“We could, Miss Renner. If that’s what you really wish.”

“That’s what I really wish.”

There was a short pause. Then he said, “I’m sure you don’t want any unnecessary comment on your decision. I hope it hasn’t caused you too much unhappiness. But I shall be pleased to see you in my office on Wednesday morning at nine-thirty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Arnoldson.”

As she reached the door, he spoke again. “Are there any explanations that you want me to make to anyone about your—transfer?”

“No.” She spoke without looking around. “The ex
planations have all been made.”

That was true, she thought, as she went out of the room. She was answerable only to Paul while she was at Kendales. What he chose to pass on, by way of personal explanation to his family and associates, was entirely his own affair.

In a way, it was terrifyingly simple to withdraw from the scene where she had played such a dramatic role.

For herself there were only two scenes of explanation. One partial, and one unexpectedly complete.

It had not been her intention to say anything to anyone in the department that she had made her own while she was in Morringham. But while she was putting her few things together in the office behind the Separates Department, Aileen Lester came unexpectedly into the room.

She paused at the sight of Katherine, and a sullen look came over her face. But then she seemed to summon some sort of resolution, and she said with an offhand air that was not quite convincing, “You told me
I
was to think things over during the weekend and give you my decision today.”

“Your decision?” Katherine looked at her in genuine surprise, for the morning’s events had made everything else seem small and out of date.

“Yes. On whether
I
wanted to stay in this department or not.”

“Oh, that.” Katherine recalled Saturday’s scene with difficulty and with slight distaste. “It isn’t my concern anymore. I’m leaving myself.”

“You’re leaving?” Puzzlement and satisfaction struggled in Aileen’s face. “Leaving the department, do you mean?”

“No. I’m leaving Morringham.
I
’m going back to London. They want me back at Bremmisons.”

“They want—” Aileen stopped suddenly and stared at the hand with which Katherine had reached out to gather up some papers. “Where’s your ring?” she said abruptly. “You’re not wearing your engagement ring.”

“No,” said Katherine coldly. “I’ve taken it off.” That was not strictly true, of course. It had been taken off for her, and the recollection of that made her want to cry even now.

But Aileen Lester was unaware of any refinements of that sort. All she grasped was the salient fact.

“Do you mean
...
permanently?” she asked, and again that look of puzzlement and triumph crossed her face.

“Yes, I do.” It was pointless to prevaricate, and the sooner this disagreeable conversation was over, the better.
I’
ve broken my engagement and I’m going back to
London. But why and in what circumstances I’m not prepared to tell you. So please don’t ask any more questions.”

“I
don’t need to ask any more,” was the brutally candid reply. “I don’t care abou
t
the whys and wherefores. You’ve broken the engagement to Paul. That’s all that really matters.”

And Aileen turned and went out of the room, leaving Katherine staring after her as half an hour ago she had stared after Paul.

The engagement to Paul was broken. That was all that really mattered.

Aileen’s words but, incredibly, Katherine’s inmost thoughts. Hardly acknowledged, even to herself, imperfectly understood in all their implications—but inescapably and horribly true. The engagement to Paul was broken, and that was all that really mattered.

She gathered the rest of her personal belongings together and went. Out of the department and out of Kendales—for the last time.

It was early afternoon by now, and because she had had no lunch she stopped for coffee and a sandwich at the coffee bar where Paul had found her on that first evening.

She even sat at the same table, but more by chance than by any nostalgic impulse. And as she sat there she tried to recall just how she had felt then.

A little as she felt now, she supposed, in that she was slightly numb from a sense of crisis. But there had been more acute and understandable anguish then. And the cause of it—quite incredibly, as it seemed to her now
—
had been Malcolm.

Deliberately she tried to recreate the spell that Malcolm had once cast around her. Not so that she could luxuriate in misery, but so that she could discover what extraordinary change had taken place in herself.

But the effort was useless. She could neither thrill to the remembrance of his lovemaking nor agonize over the fact that he now loved Geraldine Kendale and hoped to marry her.

One can’t forget so quickly,
she told herself, a good deal shocked. But then one also could not go on adoring someone whom one very faintly despised. And if she did not exactly presume to despise Malcolm—for how could she blame him for his defection when her own cherished memories were fading so rapidly—at least she knew that he was no longer the wonderful being he had once seemed to her.

She wished him well, in a friendly, faintly impersonal way. She even hoped he would get his Geraldine, if that was what he truly wanted. It would be a relief to think that
someone
got what he wanted out of this sorry business. But beyond that, Malcolm and his affairs registered very little with her.

Only Aileen Lester’s flat, unemotional tones seemed to follow her persistently. “You’ve broken the engagement to Paul. That’s all that really matters.”

She went home presently, to the pleasant little house where she ha
d lived very happily with the F
allodens, and she was relieved to find that Mrs. Falloden was out. Not that her kind and tactful hostess was one to ask questions. But it would have been necessary to explain at once that she was returning to London tomorrow, and this would inevitably have involved her in further discussion of a subject that was rapidly becoming unbearable.

She went up to her room and began to pack. And all the time she tried to tell herself that there was absolutely no reason to feel so unutterably dejected.

If the thought of Malcolm’s defection no longer made her wretched—and she had admitted that herself—then it should be a matter for congratulation that she was free of embarrassing entanglements in Morringham, and about to return to a very much improved position at Bremmisons. Why not?

She asked herself that question several times. But each time she either shirked, or could not find, the answer. She was still in a state of unhappy confusion when Jane came home—and straight up to her room.

“Katherine, may
I
come in?”

“Yes, of course.” Katherine sat back on her heels and contemplated her almost fully packed suitcase as Jane entered.

“Oh—” Jane stopped dead. “It
’
s true, then? You are going back to London tomorrow?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“The way one always knows things. Through the store grapevine. Though when I heard the story had started with Aileen Lester, I didn’t really believe it.”

“It’s true,” said Katherine, absently rolling and unrolling a pair of stockings.

“And is the other part true, too? She says you’ve broken your engagement to Paul Kendale.”

“Yes. That’s true, too.” Katherine dropped the stockings back into the case and spread out her ringless hands.

“Oh, Katherine—why?” Jane looked utterly dismayed. “I know it isn’t my business. But if you can possibly tell me—why?”

She hadn’t really meant to tell anyone. She had meant even Jane and her mother to suppose that a genuine engagement had just foundered. But when Jane looked at her like that, with those troubled, affectionate, truthful eyes, Katherine suddenly longed irresistibly to tell just one faithful, well-wishing friend the truth.

“Sit down,” she said slowly, “and I’ll tell you.” And as Jane dropped into a chair by the window, she herself came and sat on the side of the bed.

“It never was a real engagement—” she was not quite sure if there was relief or pain in putting that into words once more “—that’s why it couldn’t go on. I just let Paul use me as a sort of
...
of stand-in, so that his father wouldn’t either stampede him into marrying Aileen or create an impossibly embarrassing situation in which he had to refuse her in public.”

“But you mean he
asked
you to do that? The skunk!”

“Oh, no!” Katherine laughed protestingly at Jane’s vehemence, t
hough it did her heart good to
have someone put
her
interests before all others. “It wasn’t like that at all. The whole situation was more or less wished onto us before we knew what was happening.” Painstakingly, she
tried to recreate for Jane the scene at the dinner party, but Jane looked only half-appeased.

“
I
don’t think it was a very nice thing for him to ask of any girl in any circumstances,” she said firmly. “But then he’s not exactly a nice person, is he? If he were—” She stopped suddenly. Then she glanced at Katherine curiously.

“Neither of you ever thought of it as anything but an act,
I
suppose? I mean—neither of you wanted to turn it into a real engagement?”

“It’s odd you should ask that,” Katherine said slowly. “He did, at one point. Or at least, he said so—in that half-laughing, mocking way of his.”

“And you didn’t want to?”

“No, of course not. I was in love with someone else at that time.”

“Oh—” Jane looked taken aback. “But you’re not now?”

There was quite a long pause. Then Katherine said, “No. I’m not now.”

“But still you don’t want to marry Paul Kendale?”

“I simply had to put an end to the engagement.” Katherine spoke agitatedly. “It was a false situation, and it was creating complications all around.”

“How, Katherine?” Jane asked patiently. And then Katherine found she had to explain all about Malcolm and the fact that he now loved Geraldine, and how there was a grave risk of Geraldine’s turning him down for some unspecified rich admirer unless the Kendale interest in the firm could be saved by someone else’s money.

Jane wrinkled her smooth forehead in an effort to follow the complicated argument.

“I haven’t got it quite clear,” she said as Katherine ceased speaking. “Are you telling me that you’re making this sacrifice for Malcolm Fordham? But you say you’re no longer in love with him.”

“No, I’m not,” Katherine agreed quickly. “I started with the idea of clearing the decks for him and Geraldine. But then—that didn’t seem important anymore. What seemed important was that Paul’s position in the firm should not be threatened in any way.”

“And in order to buttress that, he’ll probably have to marry some rich girl?”

“I suppose so. Don’t make it sound so horrid. People do that sort of thing every day. Whether he does it or not is his own affair. My business is simply to see that he doesn’t get tied up with a girl who
isn’t
rich. In other words—me.”

“Even though he loves you?”

“He doesn’t love me! That’s never come into the picture.”

“But he asked you to continue the engagement—seriously.”

“Oh, Jane, it wasn’t as clear-cut as that!
I
don’t even know what his motives were for asking. And we never returned to the subject afterward. At least—not seriously.”

“Well, then, I’ll put it the other way around,” said Jane slowly. “Even though
you
love
him.”

“I don’t,” cried Katherine in startled protest.

“Don’t be silly, darling. Of course you do,” said Jane. “It’s in every inflection of your voice, and every rocky argument you put forward.”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

There was
quite a long silence in the little bedroom. Then Katherine said shakily, “Jane, do you really mean that’s how I sound?”

“Yes. That’s the way it happens sometimes. I suppose it’s nearly always the way it happens with strong, dynamic creatures like Paul Kendale.” Jane sounded almost matter-of-fact, perhaps in an effort to reduce the emotion in the highly charged atmosphere. “He’s not my cup of tea, Katherine. But I can see why some people could go overboard for him in a matter of days. He’s got loads of what’s called animal magnetism.”

“Yes—I suppose he has,” Katheri
ne agreed, and then
was silent again, contemplating the immensity of the discovery that Jane had forced upon her.

It was not Malcolm—the charming, selfish, slightly meretricious Malcolm. It was Paul—who had himself taken her engagement ring from her finger not more than a few hours ago.

“Well—” Jane interrupted her thoughts at last with a little laugh “—what are you going to do about it?”

“Do? There’s nothing I can do about it,” said Katherine bleakly.

“Of course there is! There’s always a way back if you really want to take it—and don’t mind sacrificing a little bit of pride. If he wanted you to go on with the engagement seriously only a few days ago—and it can’t be more than a few days—then presumably he still wants it.”

“There’s no certainty of that.”

“There’s a strong probability,” retorted Jane. “Go to him now and tell him you made a mistake—that you’re sorry you were such an idiot and that you love him, after all.”

“
I
couldn’t possibly! We weren’t on those terms at all.”

“
Oh, Katherine, you make me mad! On what terms were you, for heaven’s sake?”

“Completely unreal terms,” said Katherine slowly. “
I
didn’t even know the truth about my own feelings during those weeks of masquerading. How should I know about his? The one positive thing I do know about Paul is that Kendales is the love of his life. I can’t be of the slightest use to him in attaining his ambition there. I can merely take myself out of his path. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Darling, it’s so
negative
!” protested Jane.

“Is it?” Katherine smiled slightly. “It feels horribly positive to me. But I know it’s the thing to do. I came into his life on a purely artificial issue. That’s why, when it comes to a vital decision, I
..
.
I haven’t any real place there.”

“And suppose he could see the choice in perfectly clear terms—you or Kendales—what do you suppose he would choose?”

“I’ve no doubt whatever that he would choose Kendales,” said Katherine. “And frankly, Jane, I don’t ever want to hear him put that into words, or see regret in his face because he chose without knowing the full consequences. That’s really why I’m going while I still have the resolution to make the right decision.”

“Very well. There’s nothing to argue against that.” Jane got up with a sigh. “My only consolation is that of course you’re much, much too good for Paul Kendale.” And on this note of almost aggressive loyalty, she went out of the room.

It was Katherine’s last difficult task of the day. Jane must have communicated some part of the explanation to her mother, for no further elucidation was called for.
Both showed, in the nicest and most affectionate way, that they were truly sorry to, have Katherine go, but neither argued with her decision.

In principle, it was agreed that whenever Katherine came to Morringham, or the Fallodens visited London, they would make it their business to see each other. But Katherine knew that she was unlikely ever to come to Morringham again if the choice lay with herself. She would pass through the station on her way to visit her family. And that was the nearest she was likely to come to Paul again.

Fortunately, the sun shone when she actually made her departure, which took something from the melancholy of the occasion. But when the goodbyes had been said, and she was finally in the train on her way to London, she felt dejected and almost frightened to think how much had happened to her since she had sped northward in the fond belief that she was rejoining a devoted Malcolm.

At the station she took a taxi to her apartment. And although when she got there the place seemed to wear that slight air of melancholy that inevitably clings to all rooms that have been deserted for some time, there was a sensation of relief and even happiness when she stepped into her own little home once more.

The very necessity of putting things in order kept her more acute misery at bay, and she continually reminded herself that on the morrow Mr. Arnoldson would be interviewing her and assigning her to so
me absorbing job at Bremmisons.

But by about seven in the evening she had unpacked, shopped, dusted and completed all her minor domestic chores. It was then that she had time to realize that as yet her family had no idea of the change in her fortunes. No idea, even, that she was not still in Morringham.

It was tempting to put off the disagreeable task of presenting them with a shattering disappointment. But they had the right to hear the news from her rather than from some other source. And steeling herself to the effort, she put through her call.

As usual, it was her mother who replied.

“Why, darling, you sound miles away. Where are you speaking from?”

“From London,” said Katherine, raising her voice above the subdued note on which she had pitched it. “I’ve been transferred back to Bremmisons rather suddenly. They have a
...
a special job for me.”

“A special job? But how very disappointing! We thought we had you up here more or less until your marriage,” her mother protested. “What has Paul to say to this?”

“N-nothing,” said Katherine. “It’s the best thing, really—”

“It’s what, dear?
I
can’t hear.”

“It’s the best thing,” repeated Katherine, raising her voice again, which had the effect of making her sound almost jaunty about it all.

“I don’t think I’ve got it right even now. You sound quite pleased about it.”

“I
...
I am,” said Katherine. And at this thumping lie she glanced across guiltily at herself in the mirror, and saw that the tears were running down her cheeks.

“Oh, mother, I’m not pleased about it! Only it
was the best thing to do. Paul and
I
have broken our engagement.”

There was such a long pause that she felt sure her mother had heard all right that time. Then Mrs. Renner’s voice said, “Darling, I’m very sorry. We all liked him so much.”

“I know.”

“Is it quite final?” Her mother sounded grave and troubled.

“Oh, yes.”

“Kate, which of you made the decision? Did you quarrel or something? Because it’s easy to quarrel over the stupidest things, and it’s usually the girl who has to have the intelligence and generosity to make the first move toward reconciliation.”

“We didn’t quarrel, mother. We just
...
both decided it was best.”

The exchange insensitively said “Pip-pip” at this point, and her mother said, “Would you like to reverse the charges, dear, and tell me more about it?”

But Katherine felt she had had all she could stand. “There isn’t really very much more to tell, mother. At least not until I actually see you. It’s so difficult on the telephone!”

“
I
know, dear. When shall we be seeing you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Katherine sounded more forlorn than she knew.

“I thought you had a week’s holiday coming along quite soon.”

“Why, so I have!” cried Katherine, inexpressibly comforted by this recollection. “I’d forgotten. How could I have forgotten? I’ll come home for that week, mother. I’ll be back for a whole week quite near P—all of you. Oh, how withering, as Charlotte would say!” She heard her mother give a relieved little laugh at this mild family joke, and she unselfconsciously wiped away her own tears with the back of her hand and smiled tremulously at her reflection in the glass.

“I’ll write to you, mother, in the next few days. But in any case, I’ll be back quite soon, near Morringham, for a whole week. Oh, it’s wonderful!”

And if her mother found “near Morringham” a curious way of describing her home, she gave no sign of the fact. She told Katherine not to worry too much, bade her an affectionate good-night, and hung up just as the exchange said “Pip-pip” again.

I shouldn’t go, of course!
Katherine walked around the room in her excitement.
Or if I do, I mustn’t make the least attempt to see Paul. I might just catch a glimpse of him by chance, though. Oh, I’m being so stupid about this! What does it matter if I’m within three yards or a hundred miles of him? The real situation is the same.

But nothing could make her believe that entirely. And, inexpressibly comforted by the thought of returning within measurable time to the place from which she had only just fled, she went to bed at last almost happy.

Her interview with Mr. Arnoldson next morning was entirely satisfactory to both of them. Perhaps he was relieved to find that her broken engagement seemed to have had little effect on her enthusiasm for her work. While on her side she was gratified to find that she was to do something the same at Bremmisons as she had so successfully done at Kendales: report on a group of departments and draw up a scheme for organizing an imaginative sort of liaison between them.

Sustained by the thought that she could and would return to Paul’s part of the country within a matter of weeks, and genuinely thrilled by her new job, Katherine managed to keep absolute dejection at bay. But there were some very bad hours alone in the evening, when she recalled, on the one hand, that strange and magical moment when he had looked at her across the boardroom table, or on the other, when he had coldly and casually drawn her engagement ring from her finger.

Inevitably, she also had her moments of embarrassment at work, when she met people who had seen the photographs of Paul and herself together. Either without thinking they asked the kind of question it was very difficult to answer, or they glanced curiously at her ringless hand and avoided the subject with ostentatious tact.

Mrs. Culver, her old boss in Costume Jewelry, was the only one who spoke out frankly and with intention. She said, “What happened? Was the whole thing a mistake?”

“You could put it that way. We just found we didn’t suit each other, after all.”

“One should take a little more time about these things. Though I must say, in the photograph he looked handsome enough to make any girl lose her head,” Mrs. Culver conceded. “And I suppose he was a pretty good match?”

“Most people considered him so,” said Katherine thinking of Aileen Lester. And after that the subject lapsed.

Until, that is to say, one morning about ten days later when Katherine came into Costume Jewelry first thing, and Mrs. Culver greeted her with, “Have you heard about the Kendale wedding?”

“The
...
Kendale wedding?” For a moment the acres of green carpet around her seemed to heave like ocean waves. “What Kendale wedding?”

“Geraldine Kendale—the old man’s daughter. You remember—she got engaged to that young architect you were so friendly with. Malcolm Fordham.”

“Yes—
I
remember.”

“Well, she’s married him. I noticed them fixing up the announcement and the photographs as I came past the notice board.”

“Why—shouldn’t she?” said Katherine, sitting down on one of the gilt chairs usually reserved for customers, because suddenly her legs felt curiously weak.

“Oh, no reason, really. Only those people usually make much more of a song and dance about it. I thought we’d be hearing about her trousseau and her engagement parties and what have you for weeks beforehand. But it looks as though they just suddenly decided on the spur of the moment.”

“Perhaps,” said Katherine slowly, “that’s exactly what they did. He probably caught her suddenly in the right mood, and clinched it while he could. She’s rather a—an unpredictable person.”

“Well, it’s a wonderful scoop for him.” Mrs. Culver, who was the kindliest creature, prided herself on having a streak of worldly cynicism. “He’s settled for life.
I
suppose they’ll take him into the business, won’t they?”

“I don’t know.” Katherine could not quite see Paul canvassing a place on the board for Malcolm. “Even sons-in-law aren’t so easily absorbed into a business when it ceases to be a family concern. Nor sons, either,” she said half to herself.

“There’s only one son, isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s quite safely and cozily settled on the board.”

“So they say,” replied Katherine briefly.

But she thought of that money that old Mr. Kendale had pledged, and reflected that there was only one source from which it could come now.

There was nothing new about the situation. Only a confirmation of what she herself had accepted in principle when she broke her engagement. But to accept in principle and to face the actuality are two very different things. And all day Katherine tormented herself with the recollection of Malcolm saying, “If Paul married money that would also answer the problem. It
has
to be one of them, Kate.”