Across the Counter (4 page)

Aloud she said, “Perhaps I should explain. I’ve been sent here on a special assignment. It’s a big chance for me—a compliment to have been chosen. I simply can’t turn around after one day here and say I don’t want to take it after all.”

“No,” he agreed reluctantly. “I suppose you c
an’t. What is this special job?”

It was almost a relief to talk of something other than their own unhappy affairs, and she began to explain quite eagerly while he listened with seeming attention.

“It' sounds interesting—but a bit tricky,” he remarked finally.

“Tricky?”

“Yes. There’s a good deal of resentment among the old guard here about any changes suggested by us. You’ll find yourself up against several people. Paul Kendale for one. And his girl friend for another.”

“His girl friend?”

“Aileen Lester. The buyer in what will be your chief department.”

“Is she his girl friend?”

“So they say. Her old man and his were boys together. The family connection seems to have remained pretty close in the next generation, too. Paul isn’t exactly engaged to her, but—” He stumbled a bit over that, no doubt recalling, with some dismay, another engagement that had not been clearly defined.

“Anyway,” he went on hastily, “she’s quite a friend of the family and inclined to throw her weight around. You’ll have to keep an eye on her.”

“
I
intend to do so,” replied Katherine with an air of cool decision that made him smile and look more like the Malcolm she knew.

He asked her some more questions about her new job, but in spite of all his efforts—and hers, conversation began to become a little strained. And she realized with a fresh chill in her heart that instead of the free flow of thoughts and ideas that had always existed between them, any talk had now become a manufactured thing.

Nothing could have more painfully underlined the fact that everything was over. She was already looking at Malcolm across an ever widening gap. And because she would not cling shamelessly to the vanishing moment, she decided this was the time to say goodbye.

As she reached for her bag and gloves, he asked quickly, “Are you going?” And she thought she detected a note of relief as well as distress in his voice.

“Yes, Malcolm. We’ve said it all, you know. Repetition will only embarrass us. And people who have once been fond of each other should never do that.”

“I suppose you’re right. But it seems as though there must be
something
else to say. If I could only tell you how sorry—”

“No, please don’t, Malcolm. One shouldn’t apologize for these things. They just
...
happen. It’s no good pretending they aren’t horrible, but there’s not a thing one can do about them except take them with what dignity and
...
and good feeling one can.”

“You’re being fantastically generous, Kate.”

He wanted, she saw, to show the utmost appreciation of her attitude. But she also could not help knowing that he must be wishing profoundly that this scene would end. Well, she wished it, too. The relationship that had once been the loveliest thing in her life had suddenly become insupportable.

She rose and held out her hand to him across the table, thus forestalling any possible idea he might have had of kissing her. And a little awkwardly he took her hand and held it tightly for a moment.

“Goodbye, my dear, and thank you
...
for everything.”

“Goodbye, Malcolm, even though we shall probably have to meet sometimes still, but only as
...
as casual acquaintances. No—” as he made a move to accompany her “—please let me go alone. It’s easier that way.”

And even as he hesitated, uncertain whether he should take her at her word or not, she withdrew her hand and walked quickly out of the hotel.

This time she did not slacken her pace on the short journey to her own quarters, for at last the only thing that mattered was to be alone.

She reached her hotel in a matter of minutes, collected her key without the necessity of exchanging more than half a dozen words, and went upstairs to her room.

It had seemed quiet and simple and inoffensive when she had left it. Now it looked to her like a cell. A cell in which she was imprisoned with her own unspeakable misery.

Tossing off her hat and coat, she flung herself on the bed.
Now
she could cry as much as she
l
iked. There was no one to hear or know or care.

But although the ache in her throat and her heart remained as acute as ever, the tears just refused to flow. She lay there in a sort of stupor of wretchedness, an occasional salt tear trickling down her cheek to the corner of her mouth—but that was all. Until at last, worn out by excitement, distress and a very early start that morning, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

It was almost
completely dark when she awoke and for a moment she could not even remember where she was. Then, with a fresh anguish that made her catch her breath, she remembered it all. She was alone in what was practically a strange city—and she had lost Malcolm.

True, she
was in fairly easy reach of her home, and on a momentary impulse she almost decided to go there. But though she longed passionately and suddenly for the dear familiar company of her own people, she knew quite certainly that she could not, in her present state of mind, cope with their affectionate comments and inquiries.

She might hide her distress from strangers. But in order to put a brave face on things before her own family she must have a little more time.

She would go to see them on the weekend, she told herself. By then she would be better able to face them. Or so she hoped. But not tonight—not tonight.

For a little while longer she went on’ lying there. Not because she had any sensation of resting, but because it was sheerly impossible to make herself get up and face whatever might come next. Then as the more resolute side of her began to reassert itself she suddenly found this negative form of escape insupportable.

This is just crazy,
she thought as she got off the bed.
I’m only making myself fee
l
worse. I’ll change and go and find somewhere to eat. Even if I’m not hungry I
’
ve got to behave like a normal being.

The effort did make her feel a little less aimless and hopeless, and by the time she emerged into the street once more no one could have supposed that her trim, well-groomed, charming exterior hid a heart that felt dead and empty.

As she walked along, it struck her that Morringham seemed singularly lacking in nightlife. The streets that had been wide and impressive in the October sunshine now looked dark and cold and unfriendly. Or was it just that her own state of mind had changed so radically in the last few hours?

She supposed she would eventually come across some sort of cafe or restaurant. Or possibly she would be wiser to try to distract herself at a film, and chance getting a sandwich and a cup of coffee later.

She paused undecided at a corner, and as she did so another girl hurrying from the opposite direction nearly ran into her.

“I’m sorry—” Katherine stepped aside and then saw that the other girl was Aileen Lester, who pulled up immediately and exclaimed, “Hello! All alone in Morringham?”

This so exactly described Katherine’s state, both
literally and figuratively, that it was a moment before she could produce a relatively cheerful smile and say, “I was looking for someplace where
I
could get a meal.”

“Don’t they serve anything at your hotel in the evening?”

“Yes, but in an extraordinarily depressing room and, judging from the lunch, nothing good.”

“Oh. Well, there’s not a great choice of places. You could
try...” The
other girl hesitated, then in a faintly condescending sort of tone she said, “You can come with me, if you like. I’m going to a party.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Katherine wondered what on earth had prompted the invitation since it was difficult to ascribe it to sheer good feeling on Miss Lester’s part. “But
I
don’t think
I
could wish myself on strangers like that.”

“You could, you know. It’s a big informal sort of affair, and one extra wouldn’t matter.”

“Thank you, but—”

“You’d meet several of the top people from the store there. It would be a chance of getting to know some of them.”

“Really?” Katherine hesitated, for the prospect sounded so much more attractive than supper on her own. And if it was becoming increasingly obvious that what Aileen Lester wanted to do was to demonstrate her own important position in the Kendale’s hierarchy, perhaps there was no real harm in that.

“Why don’t you decide to come?”

“Is it something to do with the store?” Katherine asked.

“Indirectly, yes. And now
I
come to think of it, you’d certainly have been asked anyway if they’d known about your being here. You’ve probably met the host. He comes from Bremmisons.”

“The
...
host?” A terrible chill suddenly engulfed Katherine.

“Yes. Malcolm Fordham, that good-looking architect. He’s just become engaged to Geraldine Kendale, who’s a great friend of mine. They’re throwing a joint party at the Grand to celebrate. It will be perfectly all right if
I
bring you. Come along.”

“No!” Katherine spoke more sharply than she had intended, and Aileen Lester looked at her curiously in the light from the nearby street lamp. “It’s nice of you to suggest it, but
I
...
I don’t think I’ll come.”

“Because of Malcolm Fordham?” inquired the other girl with what seemed to Katherine uncanny perception. “Certainly not! What should he have to do with it?”

“I wondered. Your manner changed completely when
I
mentioned his name.”

“Nonsense.” Katherine gave a little laugh that did not sound convincing even to herself. “You’re imagining things.”

“But you’d almost decided to come, hadn’t you? And then the mention of Malcolm Fordham put you right off.”

“Not at all,” said Katherine with a great effort. “When I realized it was something so intimate as an engagement party, I felt I really couldn’t thrust myself in. But I mustn’t keep you or you’ll be missing the fun. Thank you for asking me, but I think I’ll have a quiet meal on my own and an early night.”

It sounded horribly dreary, even to her. And Aileen Lester gave an affected little shiver and exclaimed, “You funny girl! Fancy preferring that. Well, have it your own way. If you walk straight on for about a hundred yards, you’ll find a not bad coffee bar. Nothing half as nice as you’d get at the party—but the coffee itself isn’t bad.”

So Katherine bade her good-night and walked straight on, trying not to think of Aileen Lester—and heaven knew how many more—all hurrying toward the Grand to celebrate the fact that Malcolm was going to marry Geraldine Kendale.

The thought of it made her feel so sick and distracted that she was tempted to walk right past the coffee bar. But she was tired of walking the dark streets now, and seen through the window the little place looked warm and friendly and the lighting was discreet and soothing.

She went in, found a corner seat that promised a certain degree of seclusion and ordered coffee. But when it came she hardly tasted it. She just sat there stirring it aimlessly—and thinking of Malcolm at the Grand with Geraldine Kendale.

It was possible, she supposed, that the party had already been arranged
when she met him. No wonder he had looked so appalled
.

Or was it, perhaps that in the immensity of his relief at getting all awkward explanations over he had decided that the occasion called for a special, if impromptu, celebration?

It was hard to say which idea hurt more. Katherine only knew that in all her life she had never felt more unspeakably alone and forlorn and deserted. Almost anyone, Aileen Lester had implied, would be welcome at that happy celebration. Only she—the girl whom Malcolm had onc
e
loved—had no right at the party. No place among all those who were probably even now drinking to the happy future of Malcolm and another girl.

And at that thought Katherine really reached the last ebb of wretchedness. Now, without the privacy that at least her little bedroom had afforded, she could have cried very easily. But one just didn’t burst into tears in a coffee bar—even in a strange place where no one knew or cared about one.

Instead she leaned her forehead on her hand and shut her eyes. At
least she could allow herself that doubtful luxury. For absolutely everyone she knew even passingly in Morringham would be at that wretched party, and if some casual stranger thought she had a headache, what did it matter?