Choose the One You'll Marry (17 page)

I suppose I’m being selfish,
she thought.
Or perhaps it’s just that I’ve had nearly enough of studio gossip at the mome
n
t. Suppose it were something else. Suppose he were talking about hotel problems—as Michael might
—
I’d be much more interested. Maybe that’s because I know that world. And then, of course, Michael has an especially amusing and interesting way of putting things.

This, she realized, had little to do with the question of whether or not she wanted to make breakfast for Angus for the rest of her life, and she was oddly relieved when the door opened and Aunt Henrietta came in, carrying a cup of coffee.

“Can I join you, dear? Or do you want to sleep?”

“I don’t want to sleep a bit,” Ruth assured her with a smile. “And I’d love to have you come and gossip. I was getting a little bored with my own company.”

Aunt Henrietta sat down in an armchair by the bed, regarded Ruth with satisfaction and said, “I’m going to miss you after tomorrow.”

“I’m going to miss you, too—and all this spoiling.”

“I do hope you’ll come again soon, my dear.” Aunt Henrietta sounded genuinely pleased over Ruth’s appreciation. “No need to wait for another television program. Just come for a long weekend, whenever you can fit it in.”

“It sounds most attractive, and I—I will if I possibly can,” Ruth said. But she thought of her promise to Charmian, and she supposed disconsolately that she must not come back to stay under the same roof as Michael, if she could possibly help it.

“And I shall be visiting Castlemore again, of course.” Aunt Henrietta continued to pursue pleasant plans for the future. “Michael will be up there a good deal, and I’ll take the chance of accompanying him sometimes.”

“Michael will be up there?
Will
he?” Ruth looked surprised. “I thought he’d completed his—his survey, or whatever it was, and that he wouldn’t be coming again. Not, at any rate, for a while.”

“Oh, yes. Didn’t he tell you? The company is very pleased with the general solid worth of the Excelsior, and they think it justifies quite an expenditure of money on improvement and a certain amount of modernizing. Michael will be in charge of all that, so of
c
ourse he will be making frequent visits.”

“I—see,” said Ruth slowly.

She supposed she ought to feel disquieted, in view of Charmian’s probable reaction when she found Michael was to be often i
n
Castlemore and not so often in London. But by no effort of reason could she feel disquieted. Instead, she felt so entirely elated and happy that she simply could not keep the smile from her face nor the sparkle from her eyes.

“
Didn’t he tell you?” Aunt Henrietta asked again.

“No,” Ruth said. “No, he hasn’t told me.” And she could not help wondering if he had told Charmian yet.

The rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. And then, accompanied by the anxious good wishes of Martin and Aunt Henrietta, Ruth took herself off to the studios.

She told herself that by now she was beginning to feel quite at home in these surroundings, and that she was not even particularly nervous about the evening’s program. But this was not entirely the case, of course. And even after the run-through, in which everything went quite surprisingly well, she still felt a few tremors at the thought of the moment when the cameras and the microphones would be turned upon her, and she would be repeating her part before a vast, unseen audience.

During the short interval that took place between the run-through and the actual performance, Charmian came over and made herself quite agreeable.

“Come and have a coffee in the canteen,” she suggested. And surprised and even in some queer way relieved, Ruth agreed. Less than twenty-four hours ago the invitation would have carried with it the distinct impression that a dose of arsenic might be slipped into the coffee, she could not help reflecting.

At a corner table, with cups of unexpectedly good coffee before them, Charmian relaxed still more and even talked to Ruth quite pleasantly about her part in the program.

“You’re good, you know,” she said. “You’ve got a sort of natural poise, and an excellent speaking voice. You ought to get after Angus to give you a regular place in his Castelemore program.”

Ruth smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t think I’m a natural
TV
or stage artist,” she replied frankly. “I have enjoyed the novelty, and I see that I fitted into this particular niche quite satisfactorily. But I’m not really especially gifted in this line, you know. And I don’t know that I even want that kind of life.”

“Nonsense!” Charmian evidently didn’t even take her protest seriously. “Quite successful
TV
personalities have been built up out of less than you have. And provided you were in a local program, you’d have the extra ‘pull’ of being from the district. That always gratifies an audience. Nothing charms people more than the ‘local girl makes good’ story. That’s what you want to aim at—” she leaned slightly toward Ruth and spoke with considerable emphasis “—regular appearances in a local program.”

For a moment Ruth actually thought how nice it was of Charmian to take so much interest in her, and to insist on even specifying just what line she should take. Then—she could have laughed aloud—she saw exactly what the motive was. Ruth safely tied to Castlemore could not, so Charmian supposed, be of any danger where Michael was concerned.

“It’s kind of you to say all this.” Ruth managed to smile pleasantly. “And I’ll think over what you’ve said. But I have a regular job, which I quite enjoy, in Castlemore, you know. Only some very strong inducement would tempt me to give that up.”

“Oh—I see. You have a regular job in Castlemore?” Charmian repeated that with unconcealed satisfaction. “What do you do?”

“Why, I work at the principal hotel there.” Ruth looked surprised. “Don’t you remember?”

“No. I didn’t remember.”

Charmian spoke quite casually, and Ruth saw that she had indeed entirely forgotten. Just as she forgot anything else that had no special bearing on her own interests.

It was .such a complete revelation of her self-absorption that Ruth hardly knew whether to be amused or embarrassed by it. But in any case, before they could continue the conversation further, they were both summoned to the makeup room, and after that there was no more opportunity for continuing the discussion.

The last few minutes before the program actually went on the air were, as Ruth had discovered from her previous experience, much the most trying of all, and she found herself feeling sorry for Angus. Not only did all the final responsibility of the program rest on him, but in addition his was an ever recurring anxiety that had to be faced each week.

No wonder he lacks any real repose—and is so lightweight and unstable,
thought Ruth, in the nervous clarity of the moment. And even as the astonishing and unbidden phrases formed in her mind, she saw the light flash on, to indicate that they were on the air.

It was fortunate that Ruth was not called on to say anything during the first few minutes of the program, for her mind was blank of anything but the implication that followed on those phrases she had used to describe Angus in her own thoughts.

More dramatic and urgent than any flashing light signal, the final discovery had burst upon her—

I can
’t
possibly love him if I can think of him in those terms. And of course—I don’t love him! He’s romantic and charming and it’s been wonderful fun knowing him. But—I don
’t
love him.
I
don
’t
even respect him very much.

Afterward she wondered just what happened in those first few moments of the program. Certainly she had no recollection of them. All she knew was that there suddenly floated into her consciousness, out of the discussion around her, familiar words, which presented themselves as her first cue.

And then she heard herself replying—composedly, even gaily—and with a part of her mind quite detached from the rest of it, she thought proudly,
this is what’s meant by “the show going on.” I’m behaving just like any professional!

Either this thought or the meticulous rehearsing sustained her throughout. For, when the program was over, she received more than her share of congratulation, and Angus actually kissed her and said she was fine.

She didn’t mind Angus kissing her. But then she was not madly thrilled about it, either. It was just part of the general fun and excitement. It was even, she supposed with a certain wry humor, part of the show.

It would be just the same—or very nearly the same—for any nice girl who had helped to make his program a success,
she thought, without rancor.
And if one takes it like that
—
it’s all right. He wouldn’t like me to say so, and I daresay he even imagines he is in love with me at the moment. But it’s all rather light and passing.

She was astonished that she did not feel more hurt about it all. But in some curious way, none of it seemed to
matter.

Other things are more important,
was the odd sentence that drifted through the back of her mind, as she chattered away to the girl who was taking off her makeup. But she could not, at that precise moment, concentrate sufficiently on her own affairs to find out just what things were more important.

As she came out of the makeup room, Angus was passing, and catching her by the hand, he said, “Come and have a drink, to celebrate the successful conclusion of your first London program. And then later we’ll go somewhere together.”

She really wanted to say that he need not take her out—that they had already had several evenings together. But then she remembered that, at some much earlier point, she had promised to go out with him after the program, and she supposed she must keep to that.

Together they entered one of the larger dressing rooms, which was crowded by everyone connected with the program and what were presumably a number of friends and relations who had been in the studio audience.

On the long shelf in front of the mirror was a formidable array of bottles and glasses, and the general atmosphere was one of relaxation and mutual congratulation. It was all quite gay and amusing, and Ruth was not at all averse to playing her part in it. Only—in strange way, she suddenly felt detached from it all.

Perhaps it was something to do with the momentous discovery that Angus really meant little to her. Perhaps it was that she had now had enough of a life that was just not her life. She felt neither critical nor bored. She simply did not belong. There was no one there whom she really cared about—

“Congratulations,” said a voice behind her. And swinging around, she found herself looking up at Michael.

It was, for the second time that evening, an astounding moment of self-revelation. For suddenly the gathering took on a quality of complete significance. It was no longer something to which she did not belong—from which she was detached. It was not true that there was no one there whom she really cared about. She was looking up at Michael—and she knew, all at once, that she cared about him more than anything else in the world.

CHAPTER TEN

The second revelation
of the evening came to Ruth as a much greater shock than the first. To discover that she was not really in love with Angus had surprised and shaken her. It had even caused her a certain amount of nostalgic regret. But it had not shattered her.

Now—as she looked up into Michael’s smiling eyes and knew that his smile meant all the difference between her world being bright or dark—the discovery carried with it rapture, terror, astonishment and unspeakable dismay. And to the dismay was added special point when she looked beyond him in irresistible fascination, to see Charmian watching them.

If she stood by her bargain with that cold-eyed girl—and how could she dare do less—she must not even smile too warmly and intimately at Michael. She must not greet him with the joy that was welling up in her heart. She must be casual and even a little offhand.

And even as she thought that, she heard herself say rather flatly, “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“I was in the studio audience.”

“Were you? I didn’t notice you.” Somehow—she could not imagine why or how—she gave that an inflection that suggested he had not been of sufficient importance to her for her to notice him.

“You were pretty busy doing other things,” he reminded her, without rancor. “You were awfully good, Ruth.”

“Thank you.”

For the life of her, she could add nothing to that. And after a moment he inquired, “What are you doing with the rest of the evening?”

“I’m going out with Angus,” she countered quickly
—
even a little defensively.

“Oh, yes—of course.” He looked—unusually for him—a trifle disconsolate, and she longed to catch him by the arm and tell him that she would far, far rather go out with him.

Instead, however, she forced herself to say, “Didn’t you think Charmian was splendid?” And at the same time she gave Charmian a slight smile of invitation to join them.

“Yes, of course.” Michael sounded just a little absent. But when he realized Charmian was standing at his elbow, he smiled and said, “Congratulations.”

It was exactly what he had said to Ruth when he first saw her, but somehow it sounded quite different.

“I must go. Angus is waiting.” Ruth forced yet another bright smile to her lips. And before Michael could make any other suggestion—Charmian obviously thought it a suggestion that could not be improved upon—Ruth slipped away into the crowd and, with a heavy heart, rejoined Angus.

For a little while longer she had to play her part. To look gay and interested, accept congratulations and give them, convey the impression that she really cared what happened to the program next week—and the week after. But at-last Angus turned to her and said, “Shall we go?”

She told herself that now the worst part was over—she would not have to play her role quite so intensively. There was even no sign of Michael on the way out, so she was spared the necessity of exchanging a few final words with him.

But as she went out to the car with Angus, her heart was indescribably heavy. She might tell herself that she was relieved not to have to speak to Michael again, but she felt cheated and disappointed, too.

In the car she was unusually silent, but Angus did not press her to talk. Perhaps he felt she was entitled to a little relaxation after the strain of the program and the social demands of the gathering after it.

But when they were seated in the restaurant he had chosen for their last evening together, he appeared to tak
e
more notice of her silence. And once their meal had been ordered, he looked across at her quizzically and asked, “Is anything wrong?”

“No, of course not!”

The quick denial sounded automatic and carried little conviction.

“You’re not cross with me about something?”

“Angus—no!” She put out her hand and patted his in a friendly way. Because, far from feeling cross with him, she was feeling faintly guilty about him, in her sudden discovery that she simply could not fall in love with him. “Nothing to do with me, then?”

“No. Except—” Suddenly she had an overwhelming desire to clear up at least one half of her problem. And in any case, she supposed she owed it to Angus to let him know how things really were.

“Except—what?” he inquired, as she paused.

“I—I don’t know quite how to put it. You’ve been so wonderfully kind to me. You’ve given me a lovely visit, and you’ve been the means of giving me experiences I couldn’t have had any other way—that I’ll value always—”

“But?” he interjected with a rueful smile.

“How do you know there is a ‘but’?”

“There always is when someone begins to enumerate one’s virtues or list the pleasant things one has done.”

“Oh—” She smiled faintly, too. “The ‘but’ is about ourselves—our own relationship. You were—good enough to tell me you loved me, Angus. I don’t know how seriously you meant that—”

“Entirely seriously, of course!”

“I wish you didn’t,” she said helplessly, and bit her lip. There was a moment’s silence. Then he made a slight face. “That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it does, Angus. You don’t need me to repeat how much I like you and how grateful I am for all your kindness—”

“It wasn’t kindness, child. It was pure, selfish, personal enjoyment—having you with me and trying to make you take a place in my life.”

“I’m—so sorry.” She gripped her hands together very tightly. “I can only tell you again how grateful I am. But—I don’t love you.”

She had expected him to break into eager protests—to try to make her change her mind. But he just said slowly, “You’re quite sure?”

“Yes—absolutely.”

“Then that means there is someone else.”

“Oh, Angus—” she was startled out of her composure, and she stared across the table at him with widened eyes “—it doesn’t necessarily mean any such thing. Why should it?”

“Because you were quite undecided only twenty-four hours ago. Only some tremendous event could have made you so certain in so short a time.”

“But there wasn’t any tremendous event! Nothing happened—really,” she assured him, and she supposed, in a way, that was true. No dramatic happening had occurred. You couldn’t call it a tremendous event when you just looked up into a man’s face and made the discovery that he mattered more than anyone else.

“I suppose,” he said moodily, “it’s Harling?”

“Angus!” She was aghast. “You mustn’t say such things. There’s absolutely nothing between me and Michael. If he’s interested in anyone, it’s Charmian Deal.”

“Silly ass,” observed Angus, but without heat. Perhaps because he had all too recently been the same sort of silly ass himself.

“Please,” Ruth begged earnestly, “please don’t run away with the idea that Michael has been—making love to me—or anything.”

“I wasn’t. I suppose you just decided suddenly that he was the man for you. I didn’t say anything about his attitude.”

She was silent, appalled by his clear reading of the case, and not knowing how to head him off from complete discovery, without lying right and left about the most important thing in her life.

“Anyway, don’t worry.” He grinned at her suddenly. “If you really want him, he’s yours for the asking, I’m sure.”

“Angus—please don’t say such things. There’s nothing—”

“All right,” he agreed, “there’s nothing. So far as a fixed engagement is concerned. But let me tell you something in crude, simple fact, my sweet child. If you want Michael Harling, and really set out to get him, I wouldn’t give that—” he flicked his fingers contemptuously “—for Charmian’s chances.”

“Oh, Angus—” trembling between hope and fear at what he was saying, she found it difficult to keep her voice steady “—I don’t know how on earth we have come to discuss such a—such a preposterous situation.”

“By the simple process of your turning me down flat, and my seeking around for the explanation,” he told her calmly. “And I hope you observe, my love, that I’m behaving in a very noble and disinterested manner. I’m actually encouraging you to think hopefully of my immediate rival. Though why, I can’t imagine.”

“Probably because you’re kind and generous by nature,” Ruth told him with a faint smile, “but please don’t cast Michael for that role. You’re—you’re making a big mistake.”

“Am I?” He looked at her half tenderly, half discontentedly. “If I’m making any mistake at all, it’s in not insisting that you give me another chance to persuade you that we would be happy together.”

“But we wouldn’t be, Angus. You know that, don’t you? We—I guess we just haven’t got enough in common.”

He didn’t answer that immediately. And then the waiter brought their first course, and they had to break off any sort of intimate conversation for a few minutes.

When they were left alone together again, Angus balanced his fork thoughtfully on his forefinger and said, “You won’t have some idea that you don’t want to see any more of me, or anything like that?”

“Of
course
not. I’ll enjoy seeing you, whenever you come to Castlemore. It’s just—”

“Yes,
I
know.” He spoke rather sharply, perhaps because he didn’t want her to put into words yet again the fact that she could not love him. “We’ll leave it at that, Ruth. You’re at liberty to think you’ve given me the brush
-
off, in the nicest way possible, and I’m at liberty to believe that maybe the last word hasn’t been said yet.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“It isn’t any good, you know,” she told him, in the kindly voice she sometimes used to Susannah, when her younger sister just would not abandon a lost argument.

“We won’t quarrel over that, my sweet.” He smiled back at her. “Only time will tell which of us is right. Let’s have this evening, anyway, and just enjoy it for what it is.”

That at least seemed reasonable and, thankful not to have had to stand up to a barrage of emotional argument, Ruth willingly conceded Angus his one evening.

In point of fact, she enjoyed it enormously. That was to say, she enjoyed it with the part of herself that was not thinking of Michael. It was impossible not to enjoy Angus’s charming company, the witty revue to which he took her, and the subtle impression that she was, to someone at any rate, the most important girl in the world.

When he took her home, he refused to bid her anything in the nature of a serious goodbye.

“I shall be up in Castlemore early next week,” he told her. “I’m taking over the program there again. So for the moment, it’s only au revoir.”

He kissed her firmly on her mouth—a little too possessively perhaps—but Ruth felt this was hardly the moment for protest. Angus had taken his dismissal pretty well, on the whole, even if he had not entirely admitted acceptance of it, and perhaps he was entitled to his parting kiss.

He doesn’t believe that’s what it is, even now,
she thought, as she entered the building.
He doesn’t know how completely it’s all over. But it will be easier to make the break when I’m back at the hotel. Our relationship is so very different there. Even he must be aware of it.

As she entered the apartment, Aunt Henrietta called out to her from her room, and smiling a little, Ruth went in, to hear what she had thought of the television show and to exchange a few comments on the evening.

“You were splendid, darling,” Aunt Henrietta assured her. “And Angus looked extremely handsome. I really do understand why you’re so keen on him.”

“Oh, Aunt Henrietta, I’m not!” Ruth laughed and flushed. “At least, I mean—”

“But you were, dear,” Aunt Henrietta reminded her reasonably. “Only a few days ago. You haven’t quarreled, have you?”

“Oh,
no
!
Nothing like that. It’s simply that—I suppose I’ve readjusted my ideas a bit. He’s a charming friend—that’s all.”

“I see,” said Aunt Henrietta, and took it upon herself to look extremely well satisfied.

She did not ask any more, even though Ruth stayed and chatted for several minutes longer. Then they exchanged good-nights, and at the last minute Aunt Henrietta remarked, “Oh, you’ll find Michael in the drawing room. He has some new suggestion to make about your journey home, I think.”

“Has he? But it’s rather late to make alterations now. I’m catching the ten-thirty in the morning.”

“Well, talk to him about it,” Aunt Henrietta advised.

So, half reluctant, half eager, Ruth crossed the hall to the drawing room, where she found Michael lounging in a chair by the fire, reading.

“Hello—” he got to his feet, and ran a hand over his rather ruffled hair “—had a good time?”

“Lovely, thanks. Aunt Henrietta said you had some suggestion to make about my journey home.”

“Oh, yes. I find I should go up there in the next day or two. I couldn’t make it tomorrow, but I could make it Wednesday. Why don’t you stay over another day, Ruth, and I’ll take you up by car?”