No Just Cause Page 3

  “Oh, bother,” she exclaimed, “here comes Armand, and it’s not me he’s about to pounce on, but you!” For an instant her expression was wry. “I’m going to disappear and leave the field open to you. As a matter of fact, I want to powder my nose!”

  She disappeared, impishly, and Carole was left to greet the Comte and pretend she didn’t really notice the frankly admiring expression in his eyes. She had bought herself a new corded silk outfit of navy-blue and white, and she looked charmingly slender and English as she stood there with her glass of orange juice in her gloved hand, and everybody else in the room seemed to be talking loudly at the same time and filling the place with noise.

  Armand made a face, and put both hands up over his ears.

  “What a hubbub! Why does anyone ever accept an invitation to such a function as this? Believe me, I would rather face an angry lion than some of the determined females who are collected here this afternoon.” His brown eyes twinkled, and he put his mouth as close to Carole’s ear as the brim of her hat would allow. “Most of than have daughters, you know,” in a dry tone—“daughters of marriageable age. And as I am not already affianced I am fair game!”

  Carole looked at him, reliving her first impression of him that he was an exceptionally attractive man. Not handsome in the way that James Pentallon was handsome—and at the moment he seemed to have disappeared—but slender and personable, and with a quiet strength about him. She knew that if she was brought face to face with an angry lion she would feel much safer if he was somewhere reasonably close at hand ... for she was quite sure he could cope with the lion quite adequately. He might even cope with other difficult sets of circumstances with the same amount of ease.

  And in addition to looking so nice he had a title, and was probably quite well off. No wonder the mothers of unattached daughters were inclined to lay traps for him.

  “I don’t think you are afraid of the mothers, or their daughters,” she said with confidence. “Like Mr. Pentallon you will marry only when you feel like it.”

  “Heaven forfend that I should do the same sort of thing that James does,” the Frenchman remarked, with a slight gleam of disapproval in his eyes. “For instance, he has brought you here—presumably—and left you. I do not approve of that, and if I’d brought you here...” And then he shrugged. “But I would not have brought you here. I would have taken you somewhere more interesting.”

  Carole smiled at him.

  “To me it is interesting,” she admitted. “You see, in the ordinary way I wouldn’t be doing things like this ... I mean, I’m not Marty. I’m just someone who has to earn her living, and people who earn their living the hard way don’t get invited to cocktail parties like this.”

  “People like you should not be permitted to earn their living the hard way,” he told her, frowning. “They should be provided for, cared for.”

  For a moment the look in his brown eyes confused her. She glanced away, aware that a flush was mantling her cheeks.

  “Here’s Mr. Pentallon,” she said, in a tone of relief. “And that lovely Madame St. Clair is with him...” She broke off, wondering whether she ought to have mentioned the fact that Madame St. Clair was clinging to the arm of the tall Englishman—and somehow he seemed to tower above everyone else in the room, and also to look a trifle harassed.

  Madame St. Clair was all in black—crisp, costly black that suited her and her rose-flushed skin perfectly. There were diamonds sparkling about her wrists, encompassing her long suede gloves, and diamonds glittered alluringly in her ears and on the front of her dress. Her eyes were bright as diamonds, and even the softness of her lips had a sort of shimmer, as if her lipstick was reinforced with something that was actually alive and glowing, like a ripe fruit under a hot sun.

  To Carole’s astonishment she heard Pentallon address her almost urgently as he led the lovely Chantal up to them, and they formed a quartet in the corner near the window-seat, a window-seat that was screened by many expensive hot-house flowers.

  “Carole! Where on earth have you been hiding yourself? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  Carole’s own lips fell a little apart, and she stared up at him as if she was convinced he had no real idea what he was talking about. Perhaps the hot sun, and he had been out in the garden ... it really was a very warm afternoon, quite plainly the commencement of another heatwave.

  “I didn’t know you wanted me,” she said, a little awkwardly. And both Chantal and the Comte stared as he slipped an arm about her slim shoulders and gave her an extremely affectionate hug.

  “Don’t be silly, darling,” he rebuked her. “Is there any man alive who isn’t anxious to find his fiancée when he mislays her? And as we’ve only just become engaged I think I can be excused for getting slightly hot and bothered when you give me the slip.”

  He looked down at her, his almost navy-blue eyes compelling her to say or do nothing apart from let him talk ... And he did talk.

  “I don’t think you ever really met my fiancée, Chantal? Oh, I know you saw her one night when we were having dinner, but as far as I can recollect there wasn’t a proper introduction. Carole, my sweet, this is Madame St. Clair... a very good, and a very old friend of mine. Chantal, the future Mrs. James Pentallon!”

  Carole stood very still within the close circle of his arm. Madame St. Clair seemed bereft of speech, and so—for that matter—did the Comte de Sarterre.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ABOUT an hour later they were driving back to Paris. Marty was consumed with laughter on the back seat, but her brother was quite plainly in no mood for laughter, and Carole felt as if everything akin to laughter had dried up inside her.

  She felt shocked and outraged, and bitterly resentful. Because she was someone of no account she had been made use of ... How dared he? Just to suit his own ends! To submit her to such an ordeal because the situation was awkward for him, and he had to do something about it. She had been forced to lie unconvincingly and appear extremely foolish into the bargain.

  And she would never forget the reproachful look in the eyes of Armand de Sarterre when he congratulated her, stiffly ... so stiffly that the words seemed to stick in his throat.

  “It appears that we have met a little too late,” he observed. “I am sorry!”

  And then he turned away abruptly and left them. Whether he left the party without saying goodbye to his hostess she had no idea, but she did not see him again.

  “I shall never forget the fury in Chantal St. Clair’s eyes when you introduced Carole as your future wife,” Marty gurgled, suffering something like convulsions on the back seat. “She was so taken aback at first that she just stared, and then I thought she was going to spit ... like a cat! What a lucky thing for you, James, that you’re free of her at last! And why did you allow yourself to get so involved?”

  “I don’t consider it necessary to enter into explanations of that sort with a chit like you,” James replied, increasing the pressure on the accelerator so that the car leapt forward like a live thing. “In any case, it’s not your business.”

  “But Carole is my friend, and she’s my business!”

  “Carole will be recompensed for any trouble or inconvenience caused her,” James said tersely.

  “Oh, indeed?” At the risk of his running the car off the road Carole turned sideways on her seat and addressed him in a tone of concentrated indignation. “And what would you consider suitable recompense, Mr. Pentallon?” she demanded. “I haven’t any feelings, of course. I’m just a stupid pupil teacher without any particular background—not even a brother to stand up for me like Marty—and just enough intelligence not to let you down when you make a most extraordinary demand on me, but for all you know I might have a considerably inflated idea of the kind of inconvenience I’m likely to be put to as a result of this afternoon. It probably hasn’t occurred to you, but I could be already engaged—”

  “You’re not,” he said, with a cool, insolent smile at her. “I found all that out
from Marty. I discovered that you’re quite uncommitted.”

  She froze on her seat, while banners of red flamed in her cheeks.

  “Marty doesn’t know everything about me and my private life,” she protested indistinctly. “After all, I’m three years older than she is!”

  “And in three years you could have crammed a great deal of experience?” But she realised he was laughing at her ... And now that the realisation that he had escaped from something that he plainly considered highly undesirable was beginning to sink in he was obviously more capable of laughter; and she could actually feel him beginning to relax as he slid lower in his seat behind the wheel, and much of the tension went out of the lean brown fingers that were gripping the wheel itself.

  “No, of course not,” she answered stiffly. “I mean, whatever I could have done I haven’t,” she corrected herself.

  “So you’re not engaged?”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even a particular boy friend?”

  “No.”

  “But you do feel very strongly about having your name temporarily linked with mine?”

  “Yes.”

  Marty leaned forward and patted her soothingly on the shoulder.

  “It’s only for such a short time,” she pointed out. “Perhaps only for a day or so! James simply wanted to convince Madame St. Clair that he isn’t in the market for marriage, and you being on hand, and not in any way involved yourself, he decided you might be quite glad to help him out. After all, you and I have known one another for so many years, and James is my brother. I couldn’t bear it if that St. Clair woman had really got her hooks into him.”

  “People don’t get their hooks into anyone unless they are encouraged to believe there will not be any serious rebuff when they do so,” Carole pointed out with a stiffness this time that indicated her whole body had become as inflexible as a ramrod.

  Marty seemed mildly surprised, and glanced at her brother.

  “Touché!” he said, with great dryness.

  “All the same, you have to admit that she’s a horrible woman—”

  “She’s an exceptionally beautiful woman.”

  “And a widow!”

  “That’s her misfortune,” Carole replied primly, and looked down at her hands that were tightly clasped in her lap.

  James gave a short, sharp laugh; and then surprisingly began to laugh as if he was really enjoying himself.

  “This is very refreshing,” he observed, as they neared the suburbs and he slowed the pace of the car. “Our friend Carole has obviously the right attitude to life. She thinks widows are unfortunate, and I’m a bit of a bounder. In fact, rather an outsize bounder, letting down that lovely, unfortunate creature who had been deprived of the support of one husband, and thought she had another in the bag with a bigger income than the first! I do appreciate how badly she has been used, and how much you sympathise with her, Carole ... but that doesn’t alter the fact that I never intended to marry her! And she knew it!”

  Carole bit her lip. It was not, after all, her concern, and she certainly had no right to sit in the seat of judgment. But he had involved her, and therefore she had a right to protest.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know it’s not my affair.”

  Suddenly his near hand deserted the wheel, and she felt it covering one of her knees, and patting it gently.

  “That’s all right, my dear,” he said, in an engagingly soft and attractive voice. “I realise that you’ve been taken base advantage of, and in addition you had no briefing whatsoever. On the whole I consider you played up splendidly.” Carole shut her eyes for a moment, and absurdly and quite extraordinarily the moment she recaptured was the moment when he had daringly lowered his cheek to hers and kissed her, tenderly ... under the eyes of Chantal and Armand de Sarterre. She opened her eyes rapidly and blinked at him, and he smiled. “Just continue to play the part for a few more days, and then we’ll consider the situation saved and we can break off the engagement. You and Marty can go off on some sort of holiday jaunt together—of course I’ll pay all expenses, and I promise you it shall be the holiday of your life! The one thing you’ll have to do is decide upon which corner of the globe you like the sound of. Do a complete round-the-world tour if you like!”

  “I think, as the holidays are approaching in any case, the best thing we can all do is go home to England,” Marty suggested. “Carole has never seen the Abbey, and she can spend the whole of the summer with us there.”

  “A good idea,” James applauded. “But I probably shan’t remain with you for long. However, I’m sure you’ll get along without me,” and he sent Carole a curious sideways smile. She was quite sure there was a great deal of mockery and amusement mixed up in it.

  When they reached the grey town house that provided an attractive exterior for Miss Dove’s attempts to influence the lives of young females between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one, James decanted his passengers, but seemed in a hurry to get away.

  “I’ll ring you,” he said briefly, to Carole.

  “What for?” she demanded with a blank look.

  He smiled with a hint of irritation.

  “It’s the normal thing to do when you’ve just acquired a fiancée,” he explained to her. “Au revoir, little one! Try to contain yourself until you hear my voice over the telephone!” and she saw his white teeth gleaming derisively as he drove away.

  Carole followed her friend inside. She also followed Marty into her small but luxurious bedroom, which she was fortunate enough to have to herself since the size of the fees her brother paid for her made that small indulgence possible.

  “Marty!” she exclaimed, as the other cast her hat with the chic blue velvet bow on the bed, and then dropped into the one comfortable armchair the room contained, which was pleasantly close to the open window, and started to fan herself with a magazine. “Marty, I don’t like this! I don’t like it at all!”

  Marty looked up at her languidly.

  “Darling,” she protested, “it’s terribly hot. Why don’t you run away and have a shower, or a bath, or something, and then we’ll have a good old talk after dinner.”

  “What about?”

  “Oh, all the things that will be expected of you as a temporary fiancée.” She fanned herself more vigorously with the magazine, while carefully avoiding the other girl’s eyes. “Naturally, James will have to appear with you in a few public places—restaurants, and places like that. He may take you to the opera and the theatre ... It all depends whether you like opera. And of course, you’ll have to have some clothes, and he’ll buy you a ring.”

  Carole was aghast.

  “A ring? But that would be carrying the thing beyond all bounds of reasonableness! And I can’t afford to buy clothes.”

  “Darling, of course you can’t. James will foot the bill for them. Or I’ll pay for them, if that will make you feel happier.”

  “I wouldn’t accept anything from either of you.”

  Marty sighed.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, “this is going to be very awkward. I always thought you were really and truly my friend.”

  “I am, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I know nothing at all about your brother ... except that he seems to expect people like myself, who are probably quite insignificant and unimportant in his eyes, to feel flattered and excited when he elects to make use of them in an absolutely outrageous fashion! And not merely does he expect instant compliance with his wishes—and, preferably, no questions asked!—but the utmost co-operation. However,” she added, as she walked over to the window and stared unseeingly out at the brightness of the garden, “he won’t get it from me!”

  Marty dropped her magazine, and sat upright in her chair. She regarded her friend’s back in mild consternation.

  “I’m sorry you feel like this, Carole,” she said—“really sorry. And it must have been awful when James simply introduced you like that, as his fiancée. I could see Armand was quite startle
d ... and you seem to like Armand! But it won’t last for ever, and James is really sweet when you get to know him ... I mean he can be sweet! That’s why the women run after him ... And they do run after him!”

  “I have not the smallest intention of running after him,” Carole informed her, clenching her small fists tightly because she felt very strongly on the subject of James. “And if women run after him it must be largely because they know he’s very, very far from a poor man. In fact, he admitted himself that Madame St. Clair is after his money.”

  “But not his money only.” Marty frowned as she continued to stare at Carole’s straight, disapproving back. “He’s my brother, and even I think he’s terribly attractive. In fact, I think the girl who finally secures him for a husband will be really lucky.”

  “Perhaps,” Carole agreed, through tight lips. Marty shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

  “Of course, if you feel so strongly about it ... and apparently you do! I could have a talk to James.”

  “I wish you would.” Carole swung round to her with an expression of wild relief on her face. “Point out to him, please, that it’s an impossible situation for me. No one would understand it—in fact, they’d despise me for allowing myself to be used!—and when it’s all over I shall look so absurd...”

  “So that’s it, is it?” Marty said, as if she had never thought of that eventuality herself, and it struck her as slightly novel. Her blue eyes gleamed between her enchanting thick eyelashes as she once more lay back in her chair and surveyed Carole. “Well, darling, I’ll do all I can,” she promised. “I’ll have a talk with James tonight on the telephone, and I’ll try and get him to see reason. I’ll point out to him that it isn’t fair to you!” She shook her head with its lovely sleek dark hair, but her eyes were frankly sparkling now with amusement. “No, it really wouldn’t be fair to you! I can see that.”

  But, whatever she said to James on the telephone that night, and however urgently she tried to persuade him that he would be seriously wronging her friend if he continued to make use of her, James was apparently unconvinced when morning dawned, for, shortly after breakfast, while she was preparing a class of sixteen-year-olds for a lesson in deportment, and making certain there were plenty of weighty books to hand that they could balance on their heads while they paraded up and down the room in an effort to correct their posture, a message was brought to Carole that Mademoiselle, who was still deputising for Miss Dove, wished to see her in her room.