Part 50 (1/2)

Going downstairs quietly she went to the telephone.

”Gerrard 60000,” she called, conscious that both her voice and her knees were unsteady.

After what seemed an age there came the reply, ”Quadrant Hotel.”

”Is Lord Peter Bowen in?” she enquired. ”Thank you,” she added in response to the clerk's promise to enquire.

Her hand was shaking. She almost dropped the receiver. He must be out, she told herself, after what seemed to her an age of waiting. If he were in they would have found him. Perhaps he had already started for----

”Who is that?” It was Bowen's voice.

Patricia felt she could sing. So he had not gone! Would her knees play her false and cheat her?

”It's--it's me,” she said, regardless of grammar.

”That's delightful; but who is me?” came the response.

No wonder woman liked him if he spoke like that to them, she decided.

Suddenly she realised that even she herself could not recognise as her own the voice with which she was speaking.

”Patricia,” she said.

”Patricia!” There was astonishment, almost incredulity in his voice.

So Elton had said nothing. ”Where are you? Can I see you?”

Patricia felt her cheeks burn at the eagerness of his tone.

”I'm--I'm going out. I--I'll call for you if you like,” she stammered.

”I say, how ripping of you. Come in a taxi or shall I come and fetch you?”

”No, I--I'm coming now, I'm----” then she put up the receiver. What was she going to do or say? For a moment she swayed. Was she going to faint? A momentary deadly sickness seemed to overcome her. She fought it back fiercely. She must get to the Quadrant. ”I shall have to be a sort of reincarnation of Mrs. Triggs, I think,” she murmured as she staggered past the astonished Gustave, who was just coming from the lounge, and out of the front door, where she secured a taxi.

CHAPTER XXI

THE GREATEST INDISCRETION

I

In the vestibule of the Quadrant stood Peel, looking a veritable colossus of negation. As Patricia approached he bowed and led the way to the lift. As it slid upwards Patricia wondered if Peel could hear the thumping of her heart, and if so, what he thought of it. She followed him along the carpeted corridor conscious of a mad desire to turn and fly. What would Peel do? she wondered. Possibly in the madness of the moment his mantle of discretion might fall from him, and he would dash after her. What a sensation for the Quadrant! A girl tearing along as if for her life pursued by a gentleman's servant. It would look just like the poster of ”Charley's Aunt.”

Peel opened the door of Bowen's sitting-room, and Patricia entered with the smile still on her lips that the thought of ”Charley's Aunt” had aroused. Something seemed to spring towards her from inside the room, and she found herself caught in a pair of arms and kissed. She remembered wondering if Peel were behind, or if he had closed the door, then she abandoned herself to Bowen's embrace.

Everything seemed somehow changed. It was as if someone had suddenly shouldered her responsibilities, and she would never have to think again for herself. Her lips, her eyes, her hair, were kissed in turn.

She was being crushed; yet she was conscious only of a feeling of complete content.

Suddenly the realisation of what was happening dawned upon her, and she strove to free herself. With all her force she pushed Bowen from her.