Chapter 28

The Art of Proposing

Lately all he was doing was polishing glasses behind the bar of the International House and eavesdropping on Miss Heatherstone conversing with gentlemen, it seemed to Hank Sullivan. He vividly remembered yesterday’s heated talk with Jarvis Raymond; a meeting that had started with Mr. Raymond forcefully pushing the reluctant lady into a chair and ended with a very thoughtful-looking Miss Heatherstone leaving the restaurant and the gent, smiling contently, ordering a bottle of champagne.

But, unlike Mr. Raymond, Hank knew the New Yorker hadn’t won his game yet. From the moment Mr. Cartwright, sporting a flashing white bandage on his head, had turned up at lunchtime and taken a seat at the usual table, watching the front door with a never-wavering gaze, Hank had toyed with the thought of getting another bottle of champagne from the ice cellar; but for the life of him he hadn’t wanted to miss the arrival of the lady Mr. Cartwright was so desperately waiting for.

He hadn’t been disappointed by Miss Heatherstone’s entrance. She had turned up at twelve o’clock sharp, in a dress Hank had never seen on her before, and which easily outshone her dress at the barn dance. Lustrous pale blue and white-striped silk trimmed with red, surprisingly low necked for a day dress, narrow waisted and with a luxuriantly ample skirt, it set off her aristocratic features and slender physique, and underlined the un-ladylike but healthy and complimentary freckles and slight tan on her face. While Hank, gaping, had stared at the unexpected beauty, he had felt movement at his side, and then a small voice had whispered into his ear, “Dressed to kill, the good lady.”

As he had turned, Paula, his fellow waitress, and pretty in everything she wore (or at least that was what Hank thought,) had smiled at him, then picked up a towel and a glass and joined him in polishing and eavesdropping. In pure awe they had witnessed how Adam Cartwright let his delighted eyes wander over Miss Heatherstone’s figure, stood and helped the lady into her chair, complimented her on her apparently new dress, replied soothingly to her affectionate inquiry about his well-being, and ordered lunch and tea for two. When Miss Heatherstone had leaned over the table and breathed, “Adam, there’s something I’d like to ask you,” they had shared a surprised, albeit knowing, look; Paula had mouthed “Champagne?” and Hank had nodded and hurried to fetch the required item.

He came back in record time, just as Paula, after serving sandwiches and tea, returned to join him behind the bar. She shook her head, and whispered, “Not yet.”

Storing the champagne in a bowl filled with ice chips, Hank and Paula resumed polishing glasses, both leaning slightly over the bar, so as not to miss a single word.

Miss Heatherstone took a sip from her tea, then looked at Mr. Cartwright. “Well, Adam,” she started, “the thing is…Jarvis had offered me the position of a head of department at the New York Times.”

Mr. Cartwright blinked at her. “That sounds like a generous offer, Juliet,” he said, somehow cautiously. “Are you going to agree to it?”

“I don’t know. I…I really don’t know what to do, Adam. That’s what…well, I wanted to ask for your advice. I don’t know whom else to consult. I trust you to…mean well for me, and so your advice would be highly appreciated.” The lady spoke unusually hastily, and she blushed slightly, something neither Hank nor Paula had her ever seen doing.

“I’m honoured by your faith in me, Juliet. I’m not sure if I’m the best counsellor on this case, but I’ll try and give my best.” Cartwright scratched the side of his neck, just behind his ear. “Well, can you tell me the pros and cons of this offer?”

“The pros are a promotion from a simple writer to a head writer, second in command to the editor; a wider spectrum of themes to write about; easier access to background information; the chance to meet and interview influential people; a larger readership; a better salary; no Mr. Goodman….” She trailed off, chuckling. Then she bit her lip and looked at the man before her. “He isn’t that bad, though.”

“No, I guess not.” Cartwright looked as if he had been smacked into his stomach. “Are there any cons at all?” he then asked.

“Well, I’d have to move to New York, and…I like it here. Somehow.”

“Is that all?”

She gazed at him. From where Hank and Paula were watching, they could see her frantic eyes searching Cartwright’s face while her mouth tried to form words that she didn’t even seem to know. Cartwright’s face was void of any emotion; it reminded Hank of the times he had watched him playing poker. But surely, Cartwright knew this wasn’t the time to play poker. Hank looked at Paula, who shook her head and shrugged.

Miss Heatherstone sighed. “Yes, that’s all. Unless you know any other cons.” She lifted an eyebrow and gazed expectantly at him.

“It sounds like a clear case, doesn’t it? You were very quick in finding advantages, and didn’t offer any real objections, did you? And you relocated before, you can do it again.” His statement sounded cool, emotionless, logic. His face was blank, his voice was composed.

Paula groaned.

Miss Heatherstone took a deep breath. “There was more in Jarvis’ offer. A…proposal,” she said slowly.

Hank and Paula held their breath.

Adam Cartwright frowned. “A proposal?”

“Yes.”

“What kinda…? Oh. A proposal.”

“Yes.”

“And did you…accept?”

“I asked him for time.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I…don’t know, frankly.”

“Do you love Raymond?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. And Jarvis doesn’t love me, either.”

Cartwright shook his head. “Then why are you considering…”

“Because it would be the logical thing to do.”

“The logical thing? What on earth would be the logic in marrying a man you don’t love?”

“It would provide me with safety, and with respect from the men whose superior I would be at the New York Times.” She crossed her arms and looked defiantly at him.

Cartwright leaned to her, narrowing his eyes. “And Raymond? What’s in it for him? He wouldn’t do it without cause.”

“He likes my writing.”

Cartwright leaned forward even more and lifted an eyebrow. “And…?”

Miss Heatherstone closed her eyes for a moment. She heaved another deep breath. “He wants the title. The Earl of Barnstoke will have access to certain circles….”

“He will be the Earl of Barnstoke when he marries you?”

“No, but his son will.” She blushed.

“Oh. I see.”

Cartwright picked a sandwich from the selection on the etagère on the middle of the table and bit into it violently. He gulped the sandwich down, then wolfed through another piece of bread, wiped his mouth on the napkin, and threw the cloth on the table next to his plate.

“Well, this all sounds well thought through, and you’d be stupid not to accept an offer as good as that,” he said somehow restrained. He looked into Miss Heatherstone’s startled face, and added more softly, “You can certainly do better than work for the Territorial Enterprise. You have a talent that should be fostered and made widely known. You are too good to write about horse selling or barroom brawls. New York will suit you, and you will meet people there who can support you and help you exploit your full potential. And perhaps you will even find a better logical thing than Jarvis Raymond, too.”

Miss Heatherstone had followed his speech with a face that went from surprise through capitulation to composed gratitude. “Thank you for your advice, Adam,” she said rather formally. “I appreciate your honesty. And your much too high praise.” She stood and offered him her hand. “I’ll have to go now and start making arrangements. Jarvis wants to leave with the Saturday-coach, so I’ll only have today and tomorrow to pack and sort things out with Mr. Goodman.”

Adam Cartwright stood and rounded the table. “I suppose you’ll be too busy for another meeting,” he said shaking Miss Heatherstone’s hand. She nodded silently, and he continued, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mylady. While New York will make a great improvement with you being there, Virginia City will lose a lot.”

Miss Heatherstone smiled faintly. “The pleasure was all mine, Adam. My stay here would have been very different without you. You…were a good friend.”

“Well, don’t become a stranger, Juliet. Write me from New York, and tell me about your adventures.”

Hank and Paula spared themselves from listening to the further platitudes their customers were exchanging. It didn’t take long, though, until Miss Heatherstone, after a final goodbye, left the restaurant, looking back once and waving her hand at Mr. Cartwright.

Hank gazed at the front doors for a long time after they had stopped swinging from Miss Heatherstone’s exit. He let his eyes wander back to Mr. Cartwright, who had sat down again and now played with his napkin, staring into nowhere like an abandoned child. Hank knew he wasn’t supposed to speak to customers about things he just had “overheard,” but he would have loved to walk over to the solitary man, smack him a good one and shout, “Idiot!”

When he turned to Paula, the girl gave him a venomous glare, as if this all had been his fault, and hissed through clenched teeth, “Men!”

Hank felt not only completely innocent, he also felt absolutely wrongly accused. He would never, never ever, be so dense and miss a perfect opportunity to let the woman he so clearly loved know exactly that. And so, on sudden impulse, he took Paula’s small hand, went down on his knee and asked hesitantly, “Would you, my lovely prairie rose, do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

After a short gaze at Adam Cartwright, who, unaware of his surroundings, still stared into space, Paula whispered “Yes” into Hank’s ear; and the new couple had the decency to wait until after the departure of their unfortunate customer before they opened the bottle of champagne and celebrated.

________________________________________________________________________

Goodbye, no use leading with our chins,
This is where our story ends:
Never lovers, ever friends.
My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best, my very best I set you free.
Albert Beac/Charles Trenet