Across the Counter by Mary Burchell Read Free Book Online

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?
    Apparently it did not matter at all. Because she went on sitting there for some time undisturbed. Then to her secret irritation someone came to a halt beside her table. She refused to look up, telling herself that if she took no notice he would go away.
    But he did not go away and after a moment an oddly familiar voice said, “What’s the matter, Miss Renner? Are you ill?”
    And to her astonishment and confusion, Paul Kendale sat down opposite her on the other side of the table.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    If Katherine had been less taken aback she might have produced the standard excuse that she had a headache. But the sight of Paul Kendale sitting opposite her completely froze her powers of invention and for a moment she just stared at him without saying anything.
    Then because one had to find some sort of words, she asked in a slightly husky little voice. “Why aren’t you at the party?”
    “What party?”
    “To celebrate your sister’s engagement to ... to Malcolm. Malcolm Fordham,” she added in a belated attempt to appear on suitably distant terms with him. But this was defeated by the shaming fact that uncontrollable tears came into her eyes at the mention of the party, and though she blinked them back she thought he had noticed.
    “I didn’t want to go,” was his simple reply. “And anyway I was busy elsewhere. Come to that, why aren’t you there if you know about it? You’re a friend of his, aren’t you?”
    “I didn’t want to go, either,” replied Katherine, without conviction.
    “Sure?”
    “How do you mean—sure?”
    “I thought there was an undecided note in your voice,” he said lightly, and she was immediately reduced to silence.
    He got up then—but not to go away, it seemed. He said, “I’ll get you another cup of coffee. That looks pretty cold and cheerless. Have you had anything to eat?”
    She shook her head.
    “I don’t want anything,” she declared, but again without much conviction.
    “ When did you have your last meal?”
    It was not really his business, of course. But it was difficult not to answer his abrupt questions.
    “ I suppose ... at lunchtime. And I did have a cup of tea later—at the Grand.” She winced suddenly at the remembrance.
    “ Alone?” he asked unexpectedly.
    “N-no,” she was startled into saying.
    “I see.” She wondered what he did see. But before she could think of any way of asking he went on, “ Well, you don’t seem to have been overeating. You must be starving by now. What will you have?”
    “I’m not hungry. I don’t w-want anything,” she