“You have been very kind, my dear,” thought Miss Pettigrew; “I will not embarrass you.”
She lifted her hand slowly and pressed the bell. The bell trilled inside. There was a short wait. The door flew open.
“Guinevere,” cried Miss LaFosse. “You naughty girl. You giddy old kipper. Where have you been? I thought I’d lost you. Come in at once. Has Joe seduced you? Tell me the worst.”
“I must hur…” began Miss Pettigrew feebly, still determined on her resolve, but Miss LaFosse, standing there, looking as lovely, but much happier than the first time she saw her, and greeting her with obvious pleasure and welcome, made a coward of her again.
“Come in to the fire at once,” ordered Miss LaFosse. “You look half-frozen. Michael, move that sheer hulk from in front of the warmth.”
Miss Pettigrew was drawn towards the fire. Michael bounded to his feet. He descended on Miss Pettigrew. She found herself enveloped in a mighty hug. He swung her off her feet and kissed her soundly.
“I’ve never wanted to hug a woman so much before. No. Not even you, Delysia. I’d have stayed here all night till you came.”
Miss Pettigrew was bewildered. She had no idea what all this exuberance was about. She was too wrapped up in her own troubles. But that did not mean she did not enjoy it. She did. She had never thought kissing was so truly delightful before. She was getting greedy for kisses. What she would do, when she returned to her old life and no more came her way, she did not know. Pink with pleasure she was put on her feet again. Miss LaFosse hovered solicitously, beaming at them both.
“Let me help you off with your coat,” offered Miss LaFosse.
“Sit here,” said Michael.
The fire was glowing brightly. The chesterfield was drawn up to its heat. A pot of coffee and cups stood on a side table. Its comforting smell filled the room. Its aroma seduced her courage. Miss Pettigrew had to force herself to speak.
“I really must…” began Miss Pettigrew again bravely.
“Have a cup of coffee,” said Michael. “You must have a cup of coffee. Chills are dangerous on a night like this. Give me clear frost any day.”
He picked up the coffee-pot. Miss Pettigrew found a steaming cup in her hand.
“I’ll have another,” said Miss LaFosse.
“So will I,” said Michael.
“Sit down,” said Miss LaFosse again, to the still-standing Miss Pettigrew. “Draw up to the fire. There’s such a heap to talk about. Where have you been so long?”
“Me first,” said Michael. “I’ve simply got to know how…”
The telephone bell rang.
“Bother,” said Miss LaFosse, getting up. “At this hour! How do they know I’m not in bed?”
“Knowing you, I expect,” said Michael.
Miss LaFosse picked up the receiver.
“Hallo!…Yes. Who’s that?…Yes…Sure…That’s O. K…Not too early. I’ll keep the bird…Good-bye.”
Miss Pettigrew had stood up and laid down her coffee-cup. The telephone ringing was always momentous. It might presage anything. Michael had also risen and laid down his cup. His expression was slightly tense. If that bounder Caldarelli was trying a last-minute assault, he’d finish him. By God! Even if he had to murder him.
“All serene,” said Miss LaFosse casually. “Just a pal.”
Michael relaxed and turned beaming to Miss Pettigrew who was still standing a little uncertainly, trying to pluck up courage to begin her little act of exit.
“Sit down and tell me where you’ve been,” demanded Miss LaFosse again.
“I’m first,” said Michael. “I’ve got to know. I can’t rest until I do know. How did you do it? How was the brainwave born? How could a respectable maiden lady provoke such a shattering of all the canons of good behaviour? I’m not conventional. I never have been, yet I must confess it never entered my head to flout all the rules and sock a man on the jaw. There I stood, like a stuck pig, and it took you at the critical moment to direct my brain to the sensible, masculine deed that should have been done months ago.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Pettigrew, light dawning.
“Tell me,” pleaded Michael. “Whence the inspiration?”
Miss Pettigrew looked a little sheepish. It was all so simply explained, but if they liked to think she was marvellous, she could not resist the flattery.
“Expound,” begged Michael.
“Ethel M. Dell,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“Eh?” said Michael.
“Riddle-me-ree,” said Miss LaFosse.
“Simple,” said Miss Pettigrew modestly.
“To you,” said Miss LaFosse, “not to me.”
“Speech,” said Michael.
The floor was Miss Pettigrew’s. She took it.
“Oh!” said Miss Pettigrew tremulously, “the explanation is simple. I have passed through life with very little experience, but I still have Feminine Instincts. Deep in the female breast burns a love of the conquering male. Ethel M. Dell knew her sex. All her men were he-men. I know my sex too, though I am stupid on other subjects. I remembered you were a he-man too. You had socked a policeman. If Nick had sprung up and given battle, all would have been lost. Even if you had beaten him, which was very likely, seeing you are a bigger man, his willingness would still have beaten you. But I banked on the fact that Nick would funk it. He seemed the kind who might. It was a gamble, but I risked it. It came off. That is all.”
Miss Pettigrew ended breathlessly.
“All,” breathed Michael.
“She knows everything,” said Miss LaFosse in awe.
“What a woman!” said Michael.
“What a witch!” said Miss LaFosse.
“I must do homage,” said Michael.
He kissed Miss Pettigrew again. All blushes, thoroughly enjoying it, Miss Pettigrew said happily.
“You will make Miss LaFosse jealous.”
“That you might,” agreed Miss LaFosse. “But even if you did take him from me, I’d have to admit the best man won.”
“I was so terrified you would choose the wrong man,” gasped Miss Pettigrew in relief. “You have chosen the right one, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” said Miss LaFosse.
“You bet,” said Michael.
“The relief…!” said Miss Pettigrew weakly. “You’ve no idea.”
“Sit down,” triumphed Michael. “Draw up and exult.”
“Your coffee,” worried Miss LaFosse; “it must be quite cold. I shall get some fresh. Michael shall help.”
She winked at Michael. Michael followed her into the kitchen.
“That was Joe on the ‘phone…” whispered Miss LaFosse out of hearing.
They brought back hot coffee. Miss Pettigrew found herself back in her chair in front of the warm fire, coffee-cup in hand, vow forgotten. She had to hear details.
“Tell me,” said Miss Pettigrew with excited, shining eyes.
“We’re going to get married,” said Miss LaFosse.
“At once,” said Michael.
They sat looking like two happy children. It was impossible to have any one so intensely interested in their welfare as Miss Pettigrew without feeling gratification. It made their marriage not just one among a million, but one of some peculiar importance. Michael leaned forward and touched Miss Pettigrew’s hand, his humour gone.
“Thanks to you,” said Michael in a low voice.
“I’m so happy,” said Miss Pettigrew shyly. “All my fears at rest.”
“So am I,” said Miss LaFosse.
“Then you approve of me?” asked Michael.
“Yes.”
“Despite my…flamboyant temperament,” challenged Michael with a twinkle.
“Because of it,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“Expound the oracle,” said Michael.
“There are people and people in the world,” explained Miss Pettigrew. “Some are meant for quiet domesticity. Some are not. Miss LaFosse is not. Neither are you. It is right you should mate. I
t’s only when the wrong halves insist on trying to join that you get all the trouble.”
“Then you don’t believe the wedding-bells should sound like closing-time?” asked Michael with rising spirits.
“I am no authority on inebriate psychology,” said Miss Pettigrew severely; “though an outside observer, I’ve been on the inside of many marriages. This old-fashioned idea of settling down on marriage,” lectured Miss Pettigrew carefully, “is quite right in its way, as long as the right couple settles down together. But if the right couple don’t wish to settle down, they do not cease to be right. There is weight of evidence to support this view.”
“The weight of evidence has taken a load off my mind,” said Michael solemnly.
“It’s a great comfort,” said Miss LaFosse, “to be a right couple.”
“I have no wish to settle down,” decided Michael.
“Domesticity is dead,” concurred Miss LaFosse.
“Two minds with but a single thought,” said Michael.
“And that one bright, but hardly proper,” said Miss LaFosse.
“Once,” said Miss Pettigrew contemplatively, “I thought otherwise. I belonged to the settling-down brigade. It was my highest ideal of married bliss. But today I have learned a lot.”
“Ah!” said Miss LaFosse with acumen. “‘I hear those gentle voices calling.’ You got on well with Joe.”
“Mr. Blomfield is a very charming man,” said Miss Pettigrew with reserve.
“You couldn’t call him a settler-down.”
“I gathered not.”
“But you like him.”
“We seemed to have tastes in common,” said Miss Pettigrew cautiously.
“Hark at the woman!” said Michael. “What siren strains are these? Tastes in common! Pigging in to the fleshpots of Egypt? What has she done to Joe?”
“I insist,” demanded Miss LaFosse with interest, “on learning what dark deeds you have been up to with my old friend Joe.”
“Yes, young woman,” said Michael. “Explain. You arrive with complete effrontery, no explanation, three-quarters of an hour after us, although we all left together.”
Miss Pettigrew flushed and looked a little guilty.
“I know,” joyously claimed Miss LaFosse. “He kissed her.”
“He’d be a fool if he didn’t,” commented Michael.
Miss Pettigrew’s face was a complete give-away.
“I knew it,” triumphed Miss LaFosse. “You sly minx. After all your lectures to me. Taking poor Joe for a joy-ride. What chance had he against your charms?”
“These abandoned women.” Michael shook his head.
Miss Pettigrew hastily gathered together the shreds of her tattered dignity.
“I assure you,” said Miss Pettigrew earnestly, “I did it for the best. Mr. Blomfield said you had just got together and would definitely not want to be disturbed for a little while. He suggested a short run until you had time to…to get yourselves adjusted.”
Michael grinned.
“Sound man, Joe. I’ll stand him a drink next time I see him.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Miss LaFosse. “You turned the glad eye on him and he couldn’t resist you.”
Suddenly Miss Pettigrew giggled, looked naughtily wicked, a little arch. To be teased about a man! It was definitely fascinating.
“I knew it,” repeated Miss LaFosse. “Tell me the worst.”
“I admit,” said Miss Pettigrew with guilty pleasure, “Mr. Blomfield placed his arm round me in the taxi. It was very cold and he did not wish me to get a chill.”
“Oh! Oh!” cried Miss LaFosse. “Excuses! Such excuses!”
Miss Pettigrew found that she could not tell even Miss LaFosse and Michael about Joe’s kisses. They were private between themselves: too precious to be detailed even to the best of friends.
“Oh, you tiresome Sphinx!” cried Miss LaFosse. “He kissed you. Come. Confess.”
“Well,” said Miss Pettigrew grudgingly, “he did kiss me good night. I understand it is the custom among people of your…your Bohemian tendencies.”
Michael and Miss LaFosse burst out laughing.
“Bohemian girls!” cried Miss LaFosse joyously. “And old Spanish customs!”
“Stay me with flagons!” gasped Michael. “Oysters are in. Her lips are sealed.”
“Never say die,” choked Miss LaFosse. “Fetch me a tin-opener.”
Miss LaFosse teased her. Michael teased her. Miss Pettigrew grew pinker and pinker, her smiles broader and broader. She forgot all about departure. The clock crept round.
“Good Lord!” said Michael at last. “I must be off.”
It was like the knell of doom sounding to Miss Pettigrew. Suddenly she remembered. She scrambled to her feet.
“Good gracious! I forgot the time as well. I must go too. I must rush. How could I forget? I must change your clothes at once. I will fly.”
“Nonsense,” said Miss LaFosse. “You’re staying the night, of course.”
Miss Pettigrew fought with temptation. She caught hold of a chair to steady herself. She could not speak for two or three seconds. She drew a deep, quivering breath.
“Thank you,” said Miss Pettigrew at last. “You have been very kind, my dear, but I must go. You and I have had a very pleasant day today, but tomorrow will be different. I cannot trespass on your kindness further. I couldn’t bear this day to be spoiled by a…an anticlimax.”
“Well,” said Miss LaFosse. “After the way I’d counted on you! I didn’t think you would be so unkind, leaving me in the lurch like this.”
“In the lurch?” said Miss Pettigrew, bewildered.
“If you won’t stay, I’ll have to,” said Michael. “That’s all there is to it. It’s drastic, I know, and I hope no one will learn for Delysia’s sake, but I’ll have to do it.”
“That’s right,” said Miss LaFosse firmly. “I will not be left alone. Nick might turn up any time. I’d be afraid to be left alone.”
Miss Pettigrew looked from one to the other. They looked very serious, a little reproachful. Suddenly she remembered Nick had a key. Did Michael know? He could not. No wonder Miss LaFosse was nervous.
“If you really need me!” stammered Miss Pettigrew. “I wouldn’t intrude…but if you really need me?”
“You’ll stay,” cried Miss LaFosse. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“My eternal gratitude,” said Michael. “I’d hate to compromise Delysia, but I’d have to do it. I can’t have her upset.”
“Certainly not,” said Miss Pettigrew sternly. “I wouldn’t countenance such a thing. I’ll stay if you are sure you want me.”
She thought there had been quite enough compromising of Miss LaFosse already, even if Michael knew nothing about it. It was high time a sensible woman like herself took charge. And it was almost a miracle that Miss LaFosse should really need her for the night. Things always looked so much brighter in the morning. She could set off in search of a job with renewed courage. She had not known quite how terrified she had been of spending the night outside until the need had gone. The flood of relief that poured through her left her quite weak.
“That’s settled,” said Michael. “I said we could count on you. Where’s my hat? Where’s my coat? Where’s my woman? Good night, darling! Now’s the time for your Bohemian tendencies.”
“Your coat,” gasped Miss Pettigrew. “The bedroom. I will put it away.”
She seized Miss LaFosse’s fur coat and beat a hasty retreat into the bedroom. There was an interval of silence. The door banged.
“All clear,” called Miss LaFosse. “You can come out of hiding. Nothing to shock your modesty now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
3.47 AM—?
Miss Pettigrew came out looking embarrassed.
“I understand,” said Miss Pettigrew, “that young people always prefer their farewells to be in private.”
“You make an ideal chaperone,” said Miss LaFosse. “I’ll do as much for
you.”
“Now,” said Miss Pettigrew, “it is very late. I think you had better get straight to bed and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh no,” pleaded Miss LaFosse. “I’m not a bit tired. Do let’s sit and have a little chat. Men are all right in their place, but I do like a nice feminine gossip.”
“Strange to say,” said Miss Pettigrew happily, “I’m not at all tired myself.”
They sat in front of the fire.
“So you’re really going to marry Michael,” said Miss Pettigrew contentedly.
“Yes,” said Miss LaFosse.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am,” said Miss Pettigrew earnestly. “It sets my mind at rest.”
“Were you as worried as all that?” asked Miss LaFosse.
“I was,” said Miss Pettigrew. “I knew that in the end Nick would leave you unhappy. I know that it is very easy for an outsider to advise and very different when it is yourself suffering the pangs of love, but there are times in this life when all is not worth losing for love.”
“You’re quite right,” said Miss LaFosse soberly. “But without you I would never have been free. It was no use. The minute Nick said ‘Come’ I had to go.”
Both women were silent a moment. Each was seeing in her mind’s eye Nick slowly disappearing from the room, with his dark head, his brilliant black eyes, his bitter tongue, his compelling glances, his wicked little black moustache, his lithe, feline body. Nick had lost this once, but he would still carry on his conquering ways, still bring joy and sorrow to other women. Miss LaFosse would always hate her successors. Miss Pettigrew gave him a last regretful tribute. Wicked he might be, but fascinating he undoubtedly was.
“Some men are like that,” agreed Miss Pettigrew.
“Yes,” said Miss LaFosse in a low voice. “Nick was.”
Miss Pettigrew leaned forward and caught Miss LaFosse’s hand.
“But not now,” pleaded Miss Pettigrew urgently. “Promise me not now. It doesn’t matter whether he comes and goes down on his knees, promise me you won’t go back to him.”
The door closed firmly on the wraith of Nick.
“Never again,” promised Miss LaFosse earnestly. “It was just as you said. When Michael stood towering over him, I felt a surge of pride in Michael. When Nick sprang to his feet in a fury, I felt a surge of pride in Nick. And then…when he hesitated…I don’t know. Something just went ‘click’ inside me, and I saw that he was all just…just ice-cream. And he melted away. Just like that. He couldn’t get me back now if he tried.”