Choose the One You'll Marry (8 page)

“We can’t cast him for the villain, then.” Angus grinned. “Pity. But I’m quite satisfied to have him as the credulous dupe.”

“He’s not that, either,” retorted Ruth, slightly incensed on Michael’s behalf, though she was not sure why. “It’s just that—the whole thing’s a mystery. Oh, dear—” she glanced at her watch “—it’s getting so late. I must go. And whether she’s my Aunt Henrietta or not, she is my hostess, and a very kind and considerate one.”

“Very well.” Angus rose at once. “And don’t look so worried about it. Not many people have the distinction of being mixed up in a real live mystery.”

“I could do without the experience.” Ruth smiled faintly. “It’s all a bit—disturbing.”

“It needn’t be,” Angus told her. “I’ll look after you and see you come to no harm.”

And on that reassuring note, he took her home.

Ruth meant, really, to reexamine the whole problem in the privacy of her own bedroom. But by the time she had said good-night to Angus and let herself quietly into the apartment, she was beginning to feel something of the reaction from her long and exciting day. And hardly had she undressed and dropped into bed when she was deeply and dreamlessly asleep.

The next morning,
when she entered the breakfast room, Michael was already there, alone and reading the
Times,
with the aid of a pair of heavy horn-rimmed spectacles, which had the queer effect of making him look unexpectedly boyish.

“Hello—” He removed the spectacles and smiled at her. “Did you have a good time after we left you last night?”

“Lovely, thank you.” She sat down opposite him. “Have you seen anything of Aunt Henrietta this morning?”

“No. I’m sure she’ll breakfast in her room. She nearly always does. So we can begin when we like. Ah, the admirable Martin judges the moment to a hairbreadth,” he added, as the door opened and Martin entered, carrying a laden tray. “You must be a mind reader, Martin.”

“No, sir,” Martin said primly. “I’m observant, that’s all. Please ring if there’s anything else you require. Mrs. Curtis is breakfasting in her room.”

As there was nothing else that anyone could possibly require in order to complete a perfect breakfast, Ruth and Michael each fell to with an excellent appetite.

“What are the plans for this morning?” he inquired presently.

“I’m due at the studio at ten-thirty, for what Angus calls discussion and rehearsal.”

“Which studio?”

She opened her bag and consulted a slip of paper on which Angus had written full details the evening before.

“The Crown Studios near Shepherd Market.”

“Oh, yes. I know the place.” In passing she wondered how and why. “I’ll drop you off there on the way to the office, if you like.”

Ruth said gratefully that she would like that very much, and she felt glad to think that she had not to find her way around quite alone on this first day.

Before leaving the apartment with Michael, she went to Aunt Henrietta’s room, to bid her good morning and explain her plans for the morning. The breakfast tray had just been removed by the invaluable Martin and Aunt Henrietta was lying back against the pillows, looking a little pale and rather less than her usual vivacious self.

At the sight of Ruth, however, she brightened and inquired if the previous evening had been a success.

“Very much so, thank you. Both parts of it,” Ruth said gratefully. “I’m going down to the studio now, Aunt Henrietta. Michael is driving me down. I’m not sure how long they’ll need me, but I’ll come back here as soon as I’m free.”

“Don’t hurry yourself, child.” Aunt Henrietta looked indulgent. “I shall be taking things very quietly today. I think I got overtired yesterday. So make any plans you like. Angus Everton seems a very nice fellow.”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Ruth tried not to sound too eager.

“It seemed to me that I’d seen him somewhere before, when I first met him,” Aunt Henrietta went on calmly.
“But I suppose I remembered him from the program in Castlemore. He did appear on that, didn’t he?”

“Only very briefly.” Ruth looked away for a moment because she found it difficult all at once to meet Aunt Henrietta’s bright glance. “It—it’s a funny thing, Aunt Henrietta, but Angus had the impression that he had met
you
somewhere, too.”

“In New Zealand, perhaps?”

“No. I suggested that. But he said he’d never been there.”

“Possibly on board ship, somewhere between ports. Or if not, we’re both deceived by a passing likeness. It’s extraordinary how alike people can be.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Ruth agreed, in a cowardly way. But somehow she could not make herself go further and ask about that clever impersonator whom Angus had seen years ago.

On the way down to the studio she was rather silent, and presently Michael asked sympathetically, “You’re not feeling nervous, are you?”

“Not especially. I shall be, when the actual moment comes, I expect. But today it’s only a run-through—” already she was beginning to pick up the words and phrases of the job “—and Angus is splendid at explaining things and giving one confidence.”

“That’s fine,” said Michael without enthusiasm, and the subject of Angus’s gifts was allowed to lapse.

The entrance to the studio was in a narrow street. And just as they drew up, and Michael got out of the car to open the door for Ruth, a taxi also drew up and Charmian Deal emerged, looking lovelier and more soign
é
e than ever in the morning light.

“Hello, Michael! Don’t tell me you’ve come to watch the rehearsal?” She greeted him with a smile that was distinctly less vague than the one of the night before.

“Oh, no.” Ruth, watching from the car and not quite sure at which point to interrupt this scene, saw him run a glance of appreciation over the very decorative Charmian. “I’m just dropping Ruth off here, on my way to the office.”

“Ruth?” Charmian drew her brows together slightly, as though in an effort to recall something or someone quite beyond her powers of remembrance. So Ruth chose that moment to step out of the car and aid her memory, even though she felt altogether too much the unwanted third person, thrusting a way between two intimates.

“Oh—of course.” Charmian’s glance just brushed over the other girl, and then she apparently became unable to see her anymore.

“It’s her first day here,” Michael explained, as though Ruth were a new girl he was shepherding into school.

“Oh—yes.”

“You’ll be able to show her the ropes, as you’re on the same program,” he added, but whether from malice aforethought or sheer masculine obtuseness, Ruth was not sure.

“Of course,” said Charmian coldly. And then, with a nod to Michael, she turned and went into the building, leaving Ruth to follow or not, as she chose.

“Run along—and the best of luck.” Michael gave Ruth a not unkindly pat on the shoulder. Then he got back into the car and drove away, while Ruth went in at the narrow entrance, to find—as she had expected—that there was no sign at all of Charmian.

However, this time the girl at the desk was both efficient and friendly. She was apparently expecting Ruth, and she immediately found someone to take her to her dressing room.

“I’ll wait for you, if you like, and take you to Mr. Everton’s studio,” offered the messenger, who was a pert but good-humored young woman answering to the name of Flossie.

“Thank you.”

Ruth went through the motions of making use of the dressing room, though Flossie was obviously a good deal surprised at the brevity of her preparation.

“You don’t pluck your eyebrows, do you?” remarked Flossie, who quite obviously did.

“No.” Ruth glanced at herself in the mirror and wondered if she looked very ordinary and unexotic.

“It tidies your face up,” explained Flossie, who had tidied her own up to the extent of looking permanently surprised.

“I suppose—it might,” agreed Ruth weakly. And then Flossie conducted her to a small, well-appointed studio, where she found Angus and two or three other people, including Charmian.

The latter had obviously made a good entry some minutes earlier, and had garnered most of the interest around her. But everyone at least made a show of being pleased to see Ruth, and presently she found herself sitting beside Gustave Marwell, whose acid literary criticisms she had often read in the
Sunday Bulletin.

To her astonishment, he appeared to be a mild little man with a slightly nervous air. And to her further astonishment he said, “I saw your brief appearance on Angus’s program the other night. I thought you were good.”

“
Oh, thank you!” Ruth smiled gratefully at him.
“
But I really didn’t have anything much to do, you know, except to say a few words and look natural.”

“
Hardest thing on earth to do,” he retorted gloomily. “Most people want to make a speech and contrive to look confoundedly unnatural in the process.
I
probably shall myself on this very program.”

Ruth laughed.

“Unless Charmian Deal hogs the whole show,” he added, still more gloomily. Then he relapsed into silence, and Angus proceeded to give an outline of the program as he wished it to go.

There was a good deal of discussion, to which Ruth wisely contributed nothing, since she knew very little about the various points that were argued. Then the three successful writers arrived, one of them looking extraordinarily pleased with himself, and the other two—a man and a somewhat faded woman—looking profoundly unhappy.

How on earth is Angus going to weld this unpromising material into a good program
,
thought Ruth.

But by now she was beginning to have some faith in his powers. And as the morning went on, she began to see just why it was that Angus was making a name for himself in this particular line. He had endless patience, a great deal of natural good humor, and a most extraordinary capacity for seizing on the exact aspect that would please and interest the person he was handling.

It was not that he put words into the mouths of others. He somehow led them on to express themselves in a way that displayed them at their best.

That’s what he did with me,
thought Ruth, and watched in fascination while the process was repeated with others. Only with Charmian he seemed to have not quite the right touch. But then Charmian was pretty good on her own terms.

There was a break for lunch, which was taken in the canteen—a crowded, efficient, not very attractive place, where Angus joined her at a corner table and said, “Lord, I don’t know why anyone takes on this job. I’m just about whacked.”

“But you were wonderful!” Ruth looked genuinely surprised. “I was fascinated by the way you handled some pretty unpromising material. And you seemed to do it so easily, too.”

“Thank you for those kind words, my good angel.” He grinned at her then. “Why don’t we have you on the permanent staff? You would cheer me up, even at the lowest moment.”

Ruth smiled, and tried not to look quite as pleased as she felt. For she knew that these easy compliments and remarks were part of the stock-in-trade of anyone like Angus—at least, she
thought
she knew that—but it was extraordinarily pleasant to sit there and have him talk as though she were something really important in his life.

There was a short interval after lunch, while they waited for the studio to be free once more, and during that time Ruth went back to her dressing room, to do a few running repairs to her modest makeup.

She was just examining the eyebrows that had so offended Flossie’s aesthetic taste when there was a knock at her door and, quite unexpectedly, Charmian Deal came into the room.

“Why—hello.” For a moment Ruth really thought she had repented a little of her earlier slights and come to make amends with some friendly overture. But almost immediately she saw from Charmian’s expression that, whatever she might have in mind, it was not a friendly overture.

“Can I do anything for you?” Ruth spoke a trifle sharply. For, after all, this was
her
dressing room, and she was not especially anxious to have Charmian Deal in it.

“Yes,” the other girl said calmly and deliberately, “you can. You can just keep off the grass, so far as I’m concerned.”

“I—beg your pardon!” Ruth was so astounded by the blatant rudeness of the statement that she thought for a moment she must have misheard.

“I said—you can keep off the grass, so far as I’m concerned,” Charmian repeated, unmoved. “I don’t welcome girlish rivalry, if I happen to be interested in someone.”

“And
I
don’t allow anyone to come into
my
dressing room and speak to me like that,” retorted Ruth, as coldly and with as much self-possession as though she had been used to a private dressing room for years. “If your very tasteless remarks refer to my acquaintance with Mr. Everton—”

“With Angus?” The other girl laughed shortly. “Oh, no. You can have him if you like.” She even made an insolent little gesture of her hands, as though she literally cast Angus from her. “But it’s Michael who interests me. Just leave him alone—unless you want trouble.”