TWO MEN AND MARY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 29 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.)

(Synopsis). MARY ROSSITER, eighteen, exceptionally pretty, having completed her education at Wybrow Abbey, goes to Cambridge. Excepting her father, JOHN ROSSITER, a doctor with a big practice in South London, she has no other relatives. Gambler as he is, John Rossiter is often hard up. He, however, conceals the fact from Mary and manages to pay her expenses. The three years Mary spends at St Hilda’s are happy though uneventful. She works hard and obtains an excellent degree and proficiency in French, German and Spanish. On her return to London, SIR HECTOR GILROY, the head of a big firm of South American merchants, employs her as his personal secretary. Sir Hector is an ugly old man, with, however, a pleasant smile. From the first he likes Mary. One day, on the invitation of Sir Hector, Mary goes to his place at Mossford, where LADY GILROY is giving a party. There she meets RONALD GILROY, Sir Hector's son, who has recently returned from South America. Ronald-Gilroy is an attractive young man of twenty-five and seems much too anxious for Mary’s company. Mary dances with him once or twice during the evening, but she does not like him. (Now Read On.) CHAPTER II (Continued.) That evening she went out in the dusk and walked alone round Wandsworth Common. There were courting couples on the seats beneath the trees; few of the people whom she met were alone. But Mary Rossiter felt isolated; a woman who walked along a lonely trail. She was conscious that evening of an affection for the man who was dead. He, too, had walked in a wori of his own; he, too, had been lone)? It was as if there had been an intangible but impassable barrier between them. Was she to blame? In that revealing loneliness, she felt that, in part at least, she was. If she had consciously attempted to break down that barrier between them, things might have turned out differently. It was too late now to tell him how she missed him, that she loved him Sir Hector had been very kind when she telephoned to him: “Don’t worry about the office at all, Miss Rossiter,” he had told her. “We’ll carry on. Come back as soon as you can; I leave it to you.” She returned to the office on thMonday after her father’s funeral to find Ronald Gilroy' occupying his father’s chair.

“I’m jolly glad to see you back,” he greeted her. “The pater’s crocked up —bronchitis, an old trouble of his — and I’m afraid I’m rather at sea. He went down suddenly. “He’s not seriously ill, I hope?”

“I don’t think so. Several of the big medical bugs have seen him but beyond looking supernaturally wise they don’t say much. He went home almost as soon as he got here on Friday.” “But Mr Daily knows all about everything.” “I suppose he does. Only he’s too pompous. He gets on my nerves.”

“Anyway, we’ll manage between us,” she said. “And I’m glad there’s plenty of work. I want something to take my mind off personal things.” “The Mater was very upset when she heard of your loss.” “Lady Gilroy is very kind.”

It was late before she left the office that evening, but she felt that she had straightened out several of the more awkward and urgent tangles. Both Ronald Gilroy and Daily, the office manager, were complimentary, and she reached home so tired that she fell asleep by the fire. That evening she told Mrs Balding that she had made up her - mind to take a small service flat. The housekeeper was inclined to be tearful, but agreed that it was wise of her.

The morning brought a letter from Anthony McCarthy and a ’phone message from Dr Forsythe telling her that they were in touch with a doctor who wanted to purchase her father's share of the practice. The solicitor suggested that she should call at his office on Saturday afternoon, by which time he hoped to be in a position to give her an idea as to how things stood with her father’s estate. Most of the flats she wanted were beyond her means, but in the end she discovered a very small one near Red Lion Square which, for the time being at least, would provide her with everything se required. It consisted of a bedroom, a sitting-room, a kitchen so small that even the house agent described it as a kitchenette, and a really pleasant bathroom. It was not in the accepted sense, a service flat, but the caretaker's wife was willing to provide all the assistance that Mary needed and the geyser provided the equivalent of constant hot water.

It would be fun, she decided, to look after herself for a while. She had never before had to do so. Her knowledge of cooking was of the vaguest, but a cookery book and enthusiasm,

she decided, would take her quite a long way.

She told Anthony McCarthy what she had done when she saw him on Saturday.

“It’s quite near here,” he said. “And within a few minutes of the city. A ’bus . . and you’re there.” “I should like to live right out in the country,” he said. “But .. to business. Here is the statement, showing the assets and liabilities of the estate.” ‘This means,” she said as she glanced at the document, “that when everything is settled up, there will be between five and six hundred pounds over?” “Yes?” “I’m glad . . that he was solvent.” “Some of the shares he bought, which at the moment are of a nominal value only —you have a list of them there —may, sooner or later, improve. But, it’s doubtful.”“There’s the furniture at home, of course.” He nodded. “I shall furnish the tiny flat I’ve taken out of it, and sell the rest.” “Well, that’s the position. I take it you wish us to obtain Letters of Administration for you?” “I’m afraid I don’t know a great dff about it, Mr McCarthy. I certainly want you to do whatever is necessary.” “I understand. There are one or two things I should like you to sign and then you can leave the rest to us. There . . and there.” She signed where he indicated. “Do you make a habit of signing documents without reading them?” he asked with a smile. “No, I don’t,” she said. “But you seem a very honest person;” “Thank you. Just one more point. You would like to realise the whole estate, I gather?” “Please. And when I’m settled in my flat, if you care to drop in one afternoon I will give you a cup of tea.” “I’m very fond of tea,” he smiled as he rose. “I shall certainly drop in. Don’t forget, that if there is anything I can do, lam at your service. By the way, are you taking this flat on a lease?”

“No. On a monthly tenancy. I signed a printed agreement, but I read it before I Signed it.” “Still, it would have been better to have let me glance at it, Miss Rossiter. There are snags even in the simplest agreement.”

She took with her from that dim office the memory of his friendly smile. He was her friend. She felt that. And she was not a girl who made many friends. Sir Hector approved of the flat when she told him about it.

“It’ll be convenient for you,” he said. “Has it a telephone?” “Oh, yes.” He had made a complete and rapid recovery from his indisposition, but she noticed that his old abounding energy was not quite so much in evidence. “I’m afraid my wife was right,” he told Mary. “I’ve got to go quietly.” As the days went by he left matters more and more to his son. Ronald Gilroy was made a director and the possibility of his return to Rio receded. “You look tired,” he said to her one evening as she was leaving the office. “I am tired. I shall be glad to get back to the flat.” “What about a spot of dinner?” he asked, with disarming casualness. “Really, I’m too tired. All I want to do is to sit by my fire with a book.” “Look here, get a taxi to your flat. I’ll pick you up there in half an hour’s time. There are several little matters we can talk over during dinner, which will save time in the morning.” “Well . , if you put it like that,” she said doubtfully. “Good! I’ll be on your heels as soon as you’ve powdered your nose. Don’t dress. I’m going as I am.” They dined in the grill room of a fashionable restaurant and he proved an amusing companion. He had been talking about a famous actress whom he had known when she remarked: “So far, I’m afraid our discussion will not lighten the work in the morning.” “Oh, that,” he laughed. “My dear girl, I was lonely and I wanted you to share my meal. That statement was what is technically known as eyewash. Once I leave the office . . I leave it. And believe me, it’s a good plan.” “It was a stupid thing to do. Business and pleasure don’t really mix. You’re my boss and it’s better from every point of view to keep things on that simple basis.” “As a matter of fact, I had one thing I wanted to discuss with you . . in confidence.” “Go ahead.” “I value your friendship, just as I value you in the office.” ’■Well?” “I want to be your friend; I want you to be mine." “We can be perfectly good friends . . in the office." "Damn the office. It's outside the office I’m lonely. And I suspect you are.” “No. I have my friends.” "Men friends?” "Yes.” "So have I. But also —and this is