The Morning After Chapter : 5

They sat at the little table and talked and danced again. The dancers grew fewer, the dining room emptied, but they did not notice. Then, abruptly, James looked at his watch. “We must go.” When they reached her apartment, she gave him her key and they came in together. Only one small light burned on a table. But this time he did not take her in his arms.

He watched as she turned on the shaded lights. Then they sat together on the divan and talked; talked of things that did not matter, because they did not dare to talk of the things that filled their hearts.

Without being told, Claire knew that he was saying goodby. He belonged to another world; he belonged to another woman. She had known that at first, but she had forgotten it.

So they sat and talked of little things that did not matter, while the hours slipped by. They did not notice that the darkness had begun to give way to a deep gray, then to a lighter gray.

Suddenly Claire looked out of the window. “Why, it’s morning!” she cried. She glanced down at her blue duvetyne dress of the afternoon and evening before. “I’ll put on a house coat and make you some coffee. Then you must go.”

“Yes,” he said gravely, “I must go.” It took her just a moment to put on the soft yellow house coat and tie the cord about her waist. James stood in the kitchenette watching her put on the coffee and get out the cups. Vaguely she heard Rubye stirring in the next apartment, but she was listening to James, looking at him; because soon he must go and she would not hear his voice, or see him again.

They sat down at the little table to drink their coffee. They were silent now, for their time was almost up.

The doorbell rang, and with its shrill clamor Claire felt a tremor of fear. She went into the living room, opened the door and faced Rubye.

The girl’s green eyes were sparkling maliciously. “I can hear as well from my side of the wall as you can from yours,” she said. “You spoiled my game the other morning, so today when I heard James in here I did a little phoning. Here are some visitors.”

She stood back, and Claire saw an elderly man and a girl. The girl was James’ fiancée.

As she faced the two of them, Claire began to realize that it was seven-thirty in the morning, that she was in her house robe and that James stood just behind her in dinner clothes, a breakfast napkin in his hand.

The elderly man looked at them, his eyes glittering. “I wanted to see for myself, and have my daughter see, what’s going on here,” he said in his cold formal voice.

James took a quick step forward. “I don’t like your implication, sir.” His voice was controlled, but Claire could feel the anger in it.

“Implication, nothing!” the girl said, and Claire saw that her close-set eyes were looking down her pointed nose. She was no longer pretty; she looked a thorough vixen. “Do you deny,” she demanded, “that you spent the night here in this room with this girl?”

James hesitated a moment. “No,” he said quietly, “I do not deny it.”

Claire was not sure what was said after that. She was conscious of the girl’s voice rising shrilly, of James’ voice, cold with anger. When the girl and her father had left, the large solitaire diamond she had worn was lying in James’ palm.

He stood looking at the ring a moment; then he put it in his pocket and turned to Claire. “I’m sorry this had to happen, my dear.” He took her hands and held them, and she felt comforted and secure. “That engagement was a mistake. I have known it for some time, but I did not know how to get out of it.”

He smiled at her, a warm, tender smile. “I am free now. Free to tell you that I love you; that I have loved you from the instant I saw you standing in that doorway with your sweet face framed in a white wedding veil. I knew right then that I had found my bride.”

He put his arms about her and drew her close, and she knew at last, without a doubt, that he belonged to her world, that he belonged to her.

The End