TWO MEN AND MARY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 27 April 1938, Page 10

TWO MEN AND MARY

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

HOLLOWAY HORN.

(Author of “George,” “That Man at Claverton Mansions,” etc.)

CHAPTER I (Continued.) “I’m staying until a fortnight after you roll up, to show you the ropes.” “That’s nice of you.” “You were at St Hilda’s?” “Yes.” “Sir Hector spoke about you. So was I. He always gets his secretary from there. Old Gladwin is his cousin or something.” “But have I really got the job? It all seems so informal.”

“You have . . If he said you had. You turn up here at nine-thirty on the first of next month. But don’t be too bucked. He’ll fire you just as easily if you aren’t what he wants. I’ve been with him four years . . the one before me was here three days!” “I see,” said Mary Rossiter with a smile. “But I’ll have a shot at it.” “Of course you will.”

And on the first of the following month, Mary Rossiter took over her first job. She continued to live in her father’s house although she would rather have taken a little flat as Miss Melchas had done. It was not that her father showed any greater desire for her company than previously, and after the comparatively communal life she had led at St Hilda’s, existence in the house on Wandsworth Common was dull. More often than not her father was out in the evening, whether professionally or in pursuit of those vague activities which filled his life she rarely knew. His comings and goings were his own concern. Nor did he worry what she did. She herself increased Mrs Balding’s inadequate housekeeping allowance, and did what she could to brighten up the place. But it was a lonely life. Mrs Balding was an excellent woman of her class, but Mary’s education and training rendered anything in the nature of friendship between them more difficult than would normally have been the case, even apart from the disparity in their ages.

The job itself presented less difficulties than she had anticipated. Some of the men who called on Sir Hectoi’ did not know English, but she was able to translate as rapidly as they talked. Even before Miss Melchas had left, she had picked up many of the threads in the complicated business of the house, and before many weeks had passed- she was quietly confident that she would be able to hold the job down.

On several occasions she was hopefully asked out to dinner by these South American visitors, but always her quiet refusal was effective. She was learning her way about in more ways than one. “Did that fellow Gomez ask you to dine with him, Miss Rossiter?” Sir Hector asked one afternoon. “He did.”

“He always does. He’s that kind.” “He won’t again,” said Mary. “Although we’re quiet friendly.” “Good. I was certain you had him taped up. By the way, I shan’t be here on Saturday. My wife is throwing a party. Could you drop in here, look through the mail, bring down anything I should see and stay over until Monday? You could get the ten-thirty at Euston.”

“Thank you. But I needn’t stay unless you wish me to.” “You might as well. Bring your tennis kit and swimming things. Break will do you good.” “Thank you, Sir Hector.” She mentioned casually to her father that she was spending the week-end at Mossford Lodge. “Hope you enjoy it,” he said. “Must be a bit dull for you here. I should be out on the Sunday evening, anyway.” There was only one letter in Sir Hector's mail on the Saturday morning with which she could not deal without consulting him, and she had no difficulty in catching the train he had indicated. It was a forty minutes’ run to Mossford, and at the barrier a chauffeur stepped forward. “Miss Rossiter?” he asked as he saluted her. “Yes.” “Sir Hector has sent the car, Miss.” She had expected he would. Mossford Manor - was a lovely old house standing on the edge of a Hertfordshire common; it might have been three hundred instead of thirty miles from London. An elderly butler came down the steps as the car drew up. “Sir Hector awaits you in the library, miss,” he said. But as she entered the hall a lady came out of an adjoining room. “How do you do, Miss Rossiter?” she asked. “I’m Lady Gilroy. Let Hector wait. You'd like to powder your nose first, I’m sure?” She led the way up the lovely staircase and ushered Mary into the brightest bedroom she had ever seen. “The library is to the right off the hall,” she explained. “You stroll down when you're ready.” “Thank you, Lady Gilroy.” She found Sir Hector as deeply immersed in papers as if he had been at the office. "Good," he cried when he saw her.

“You got that letter from the Argentine Consul?” “Yes. I have it here.” “We shan’t be long. Lunch is at twelve-thirty, anyway, and after that I’ve been forbidden to do any work until Monday.” As he was speaking the door opened and a- man in flannels came in. “Ronald . . . this is my secretary, Miss Rossiter.” He shook hands with her with a frank smile. She had heard of Ronald Gilroy in the office, and knew that he was expected home from Rio de Janeiro, where he had been managing the • firm’s Brazilian branch. “Looks as if you are going to be busy,” he said with a smile. “We are,” said the father. “And you certainly looks as if you weren’t, so clear out.” With another smile, he turned and left them. Mary liked him, as far as the casual, superficial meeting told her anything about him. There were people in the London. office who could have told her more about him than her superficial glance had revealed, but she was not the type of person who tolerated gossip. He seemed pleasant and affable, and Mary, as far as she was able, took people as she found them. He was far better looking than his father, but if one examined his face critically one might have noticed that his eyes were rather too close together, and a certain looseness about his mouth. Still, he had apparently made a success of his work in Rio de Janeiro and certainly had pleasant manners. The letter Mary had brought with her involved several telephone calls before the matters it raised could be decided. By the hour Lady Gilroy had appointed, however, they had finished and joined the other members of the party at lunch. They were, on the whole, as Mary had expected, a wealthy crowd, but she had no difficulty in holding her own. One of the few unquestioned advantages of an education such as she had received is that it allows one to meet anyone on terms of equality. There was no question of Mary’s being embarrassed. She was quite sure of herself. Indeed, she was apparently the only person present who could talk to Lady Gilroy’s foreign guests in their own languages. “I wish I could talk in Spanish- as you can, my dear,” her ladyship said to her after the meal. “It’s about the only thing I can do,” Mary replied with a smile. “No. From what Hector says, you're a very clever young woman. But I do hope you play tennis as well as you speak Spanish.” She seemed so serious that Mary smiled. “I mean it. That Argentine girl you were talking to ... . she’s played at Wimbledon. She was beaten —badly beaten —but she is quite insufferable about her tennis. And she does play well, I must admit, judged by our standards down here.” “I played for St Hilda’s. I can probably give her a game. Anyway, I’ll try to.” She did. Angelica—a name which Lady Gilroy, as she privately informed Mary, thought was something to eat —Angelica beat her, but she had to go all out to do so. Three times the South American girl reached set point, but three times did Mary level the score, only, however, to be beaten in the end. “Jolly good.” Sir Hector congratulated Mary, and his wife smiled her approval. “You make me feel tired,” Ronald Gilroy told her as they sat together during tea, which was served under an old cedar tree on the lawn in front of the Manor. “Oh?” “You’re so strenuous. You never seem to tire. I’m afraid South America makes one slack. I’m just back.” “Yes, I know. But don’t you play tennis out there?” “Oh, yes. But not to excess. Life is full of more amusing things, don’t you think?” “Not on an afternoon like this.” “I notice that it doesn’t make you appear as hot as it does some girls. Angelica, for example.” “Depends on one’s fitness. I’m just down from Cambridge—a few weeks ago—and we led the strenuous life there.” “You dance, of course?” “Yes. Not excessively. And not particularly well.” “Good. I’ve had a loud speaker fixed up on the terrace. We’ll persuade them to dance after dinner. If one isn’t jolly careful they’ll all settle down to bridge and that is the end of all things in this house. It’s a veritable vice.” “There are worse . . ’’ she said. “I doubt it. To spend hour after hour, night after night, losing a pound or so or winning it strikes me as being the height of'folly.” “You appear to be very critical. Tennis is too strenuous, bridge unintelligent. What do you like. Shuvapenny?

He grinned. One uses the word advisedly; it was a grin, not a smile, and in some way it changed the whole ex-

pression of his face. Mary knew rather less about men than the average girl, but in that second she realised that Ronald Gilroy was not merely a dangerous man, but one not wholly trustworthy. “Apparently you don’t find dancing strenuous,” she said, with a disarming casualness. “That's different. There’s something to dancing in Rio, they dance properly.” “Tango, isn’t it, out there?” “And others. Particularly others.” Once again that grin altered the expression of his face. In the evening they danced together several times and, apart from the fact that he danced better than anyone she knew, he seemed a very pleasant, ordinary young man. (To be Continued).