Caryn had been his secretary for four years. She had come to Lansworth from a position in a typing pool with a firm of solicitors, but like Mellor himself, she had been ambitious, and he had recognised her determination as soon as he saw her. They got along well together, and on those occasions when he needed a hostess he always called on Caryn.
He knew of the affair with Loren, of course, although not all the personal details. He knew she had been Tristan Ross’s secretary for a while, but he had not connected that with her subsequent pregnancy. When she died, he was sympathetic, and he always prided himself on being open-minded about things like that. Consequently he had not connected her sister with Caryn’s request for two days’ leave of absence to visit a sick relative in South Wales.
Caryn returned to the college on Thursday, and to her relief Laurence was out of the office all morning attending a governor’s meeting. By the time he returned she was immersed in her duties and able to answer his enquiries without obvious embarrassment. Even so, she was taken aback when he came to perch his ample frame on the corner of her desk and said without warning: ‘Have you decided yet what you’re going to do about Loren’s baby? I don’t think I approve of you working all day and all night as well.’ Caryn finished fitting the wedge of typing paper into the machine to give herself time to recover, and then said casually: ‘I don’t work all night, Laurence.’
‘No.’ He fingered his tie thoughtfully. ‘But you do look after him in the evenings, don’t you? And there must be—nappies to wash. That sort of thing.’
He sounded as though such an occupation offended the fastidiousness of his nature, and she had to smile. ‘There are nappies,’ she agreed, ‘but only wet ones. There are disposable pads on the market now, you know.’
‘Nevertheless, you have very little free time these days,’ he insisted. ‘You can’t go on like this, Caryn. It’s not right. It’s not as if the baby were yours.’
Caryn looked up into his broad expressive face. He was obviously concerned for her, but she couldn’t help wondering if he had some occasion coming up when he would need her assistance, and was sounding her out about babysitters.
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t plan to keep him much longer,’ she admitted slowly, and his face brightened considerably.
‘No?’
‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s someone—someone I know, who might—give him a home.’
‘A relative?’
‘Sort of.’
‘I see.’ Laurence looked much relieved. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m not delighted, because I am.’ He slid off the desk to stand before her, taking his watch out of his fob pocket and examining it absently. ‘As a matter of fact, something’s come up, something I wanted to discuss with you. I was hoping you might be able to have dinner with me.’
Caryn hid the wry acknowledgement of her suspicions, and frowned consideringly. ‘I don’t think I could make it tonight, Laurence,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’ve been away a couple of days, as you know, and I don’t think I ought to ask Laura to babysit again tonight. Maybe tomorrow …’
‘It can wait another day,’ Laurence agreed at once. ‘Tomorrow evening it shall be. Where shall we eat? In town—or out?’
‘Wherever you like,’ Caryn replied, quite looking forward to the break from routine, and Laurence went away saying he would think about it.
In fact they ate in town, at Beluccis in Soho, where Laurence was a valued customer. The restaurant was small, but not inexpensive, and a corner table was always found for him. The lighting was subdued and intimate, and Caryn had accompanied him there twice before.
He ordered Martinis, and then got straight to the point. ‘I’ve been invited to the United States during the summer vacation,’ he explained, and Caryn felt a twinge of interest. ‘It’s a tour of several university campuses, some lecturing, some studying. A kind of sabbatical, I suppose.’ He paused as the waiter brought their drinks. ‘But I don’t want to go alone,’ he went on, when they were alone again. ‘I want you to come with me.’
‘To the United States!’ Caryn gasped. ‘Laurence!’
‘Well, why not? You’re my secretary, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Ah, I see. You’re worried about what people will say. I don’t blame you. Colleges are notorious places for gossip.’
‘It’s not just that, Laurence. I mean—the expense …’
He put his drink aside and reached across the table to take one of her hands in his. This was something he had done before, too. When he wanted something, he could be as persuasive as the next man. But this time Caryn was disturbed by the light in his eyes.
‘Caryn,’ he said softly, ‘have you ever thought of getting married?’
‘Married?’ She shook her head. ‘Not seriously, no.’
‘Never?’
‘No.’ She tried to make a joke of it, not liking the serious turn the conversation had taken. ‘No one’s asked me.’
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘Well, no one I would want to marry,’ she conceded lightly.
‘Marry me, Caryn. Marry me!’
She withdrew her hand at once, pressing it close into the other in her lap. ‘Laurence!’ she exclaimed, realising she had been afraid of this happening. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I am. I am.’ He sighed. ‘Is it my age? Is that the barrier?’
‘I don’t love you, Laurence …’
‘Love!’ He scoffed at the word. ‘What is love? I loved Cecily and look where it got me!’ He shook his head. ‘You think I’m too old, don’t you?’
‘Laurence, if I loved someone, I wouldn’t care how old they were. Honestly.’
He refused to give up. ‘You could learn to love me. I would teach you.’
‘Why?’ Caryn’s brows ascended. ‘Do you love me?’
He shifted restively. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t believe in that sort of emotional foolishness.’ He pressed on: ‘Caryn, we have so much in common. Our work, our liking for books and music …’
‘It wouldn’t work, Laurence. They’re not good enough reasons for getting married!’
The waiter was hovering, waiting for their order, and somewhat impatiently Laurence suggested they chose what they planned to eat. But Caryn’s appetite had been drastically reduced, and she insisted that an omelette with salad was all she wanted.
The waiter departed and Laurence returned to the attack. ‘Very well,’ he said levelly, ‘if you won’t marry me, at least come with me. I need you.’
‘You need someone,’ she corrected him quietly. ‘And that’s why I won’t marry you, Laurence. Because I’m not just someone, I’m me! I don’t want to spend my life as a cipher!’
He looked hurt. ‘I think you’re being unnecessarily harsh. If I’ve ever treated you that way, I’m sorry—’
‘I’m not saying you have—yet. But if we were married … Oh, it’s no use, Laurence. Let’s forget it, shall we?’
‘And the tour?’
‘I don’t know.