TWO MEN AND MARY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 30 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. She returns to her house at Wandsworth Common to find her father taken suddenly ill. Dr Forsyth, her father’s partner, assures that there is no immediate danger. On the following day, however, owing to a sudden relapse, John Rossiter dies. ANTHONY MCCARTHY, her father’s solicitor, arranges the sale of the doctor’s practice and the house. Mary then takes a small flat at Red Lion Square. From the first, Mary instinctively trusts McCarthy, who offers to be her friend. He is a young man of thirty, six feet tall, with curly dark brown hair and frank blue eyes. Some days pass and Mary finds her work in the office extremely embarrassing. Sir Hector, whose health is steadily, breaking down, leaves matters to his son and makes him a director. Ronald Gilroy constantly asks her to go out with him to dinners and dances and Mary finds it hard to rebuff him, since he is her chief. She, however, resents his attentions, the more so when he says he is married. Mary confides her troubles to McCarthy, her only friend. She learns some of his trouble, too. He is married and his wife is in a sanatorium in Davos, where she is being treated for lung trouble. (Now Read On.) CHAPTER II (Continued.) But he was her boss. And he was a man, which meant that sooner or later he would either tire of her or fall in love. She could not see why he had mentioned his marriage to her. In that evening's mood, he was manageable; but Mary Rossiter was not a fool, and she knew that principals do not formally take their employees out to dinner in the nature of friendship. She mentioned the matter to Anthony McCarthy one evening at her flat. He had called in connection with certain papers he wanted her to sign and had stayed on chatting when the business side of the interview was completed. “I suppose he’s a decent fellow?” said Anthony McCarthy. “I think so. He seems desperately lonely.” “How old is he?” “Thirty—thirty-one perhaps.” “I’m always a little suspicious of men who are lonely and confide their loneliness to a woman.” "In some ways he is an entirely honest man,” she said. “Sometimes I don’t like him at all. I would far rather as I told him, keep business in a watertight compartment.” “Our relationship is primarily one of business,” he reflected. “But you’re an entirely different man,” she laughed. “I certainly would not have Master Ronald here. When you called I was about to make myself an omelette. If I make a large one would you care to share it?” “I'd love to,” he said, without hesitation. “As a matter of fact, I'm not merely lonely, but depressed tonight.” “Oh?” “I’ve had very bad news about my wife.” “Your wife? I’d no idea that you were married.” “The point didn't arise,” he pointed out. “Evelyn is in a sanatorium in Davos. She has been there for six months. I heard from the medical superintendent this morning. She’s very ill again. I’m going across tomorrow evening. That, really, was why I suggested calling here this evening. I wanted to get your affairs settled first.” “I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “It’s her lungs, of course?” He nodded. “I met an old priest in Davos the last time I was there. He said something which stuck in my memory: ‘God,’ he said, ‘never tries a man beyond his •apacity for bearing.’ ” • That’s a new easy philosophy.” I think it’s true,” he said simply. But it’s kind of you to offer me a

share of your omelette and most unkind of me to be so depressing.” “Nonsense,” said Mary. “I think you are very brave. And I will set about that omelette at once.”

“But can such a highly educated young woman as you cook at all?” “Wait and see. If it’s too hopeless you shall take me to the cafe round the corner.”

It was an excellent omelette:“You deserve a bar to your degree and a diploma,” he said. “It’s splendid!” “I don’t really like thing out of tins but it’s a bother to cook just for one.” “Do you like apples?” he asked. “Rather.” “Then I’ll send you some up from my farm.” “Your farm? You are surprising.” “It was my uncle’s. He left it to me. It’s in Kent. There’s a bailiff there. But one of these days when my ship comes home I’m going to take it over myself. I’m a countryman in my bones in spite of the fact that I work in Lincoln’s Inn.”

“I should love some apples.” “We lived down there for a while. Evelyn would have had no chance in London. But when she had to go to Davos, I came up to town. There’s a very pleasant little bungalow there.” “It sounds awfully attractive.” “It’s near Edenford,” he said. He left soon after the meal and Mary sat alone thinking over the events of the evening. Curious that both men with whom she had come into contact should have been married. They were wholly dissimilar types and yet for one reason or another the knowledge that they were married had surprised her. One thing was settled. She had an excellent education, health, a job which, in its way, was a good one, and close on a thousand pounds. But she was alone.

Anthony McCarthy came back into her thoughts. . He deserved better luck. He was kind. He never complained. She was still thinking of him when she turned out the light in the sitting room of her lonely flat and went to bed. CHAPTER 111. Ronald Gilroy’s experience of women was extensive, and he knew that the methods which achieved success with one would very likely fail with the next. And Mary Rossitter attracted him as few women had ever done. In addition to her brains and education she was a very pretty girl. And in the evenings, at those little dinners he so skilfully arranged, beneath the softly shaded lights and with the aid of the modern, cosmetics that few reasonable young women fail to use, she could be very beautiful indeed. Moreover, to a man like Ronadl Gilroy, there is a fascination in tentatively exploring an unknown country. He liked to be kept guessing. He played his cards cleverly. Nothing was forced. Slowly he endeavoured to build up confidence in her, to create the impression that he was really a very good sort. “Where is your wife?” she asked him one evening when he had referred casually to her. He shrugged his shoulders: “Rio . . . B.A. . . Pernambuco. She’s a dancer. Probably with some partner or other. The last one I heard of was a man who called himself Carlo.” “Why did she leave you?” Again he shrugged his shoulders: “I suppose because she preferred people like Carlo.” “But have you no affection left for her?” “I don’t think of her. She is a chapter that is closed.” “She may turn up here?” “It’s not likely. She had no English. I don’t think she’s ever been out of South America.” “It’s curious to me that you could have married a person and then let her go utterly out of your life. You must have loved her at one time.” “Love comes . . and goes,” he said. “But don’t let’s talk about her. I’m far more interested in . . you, for example.” He blew a perfect series of smoke rings as he awaited her comment. She made none, however. “I'm afraid the old chap is really crocking up,” he said, after a silence. “Sir Hector, you mean?” He nodded: “His business days are over. The doctor he saw in town yesterday was apparently very firm. A long sea-voyage, he prescribed. The Pater was ramping about it." “I know your mother is very anxious about him.” “He’s not old as things go nowadays. Hardly sixty. But he’s used himself up.” "Will he do as the specialist wants him to?”

“I hope so. If he doesn’t he’ll crock. The Mater will probably go with him.” “We shall miss him at the office,” she said, thoughtfully. “Yes. But not so much as he thinks —no one is indispensable.” "He is an exceedingly able man. His grasp of detail sometimes amazes me.” “That’s rather backhanded to me, isn’t it?” he asked with a smile. “I didn't mean it so. But since you

raise the point, and much as I dislike comparisons, I don’t think you have his business ability.” “Still. I shall have the same exceptionally able secretary,” he said with another smile. “I say. It’s half-past ten. We must go,” she said. “Is there any violent hurry?” “Not violent. I’m tired.” “Come on, then,” he said. “It’s a lovely night. You don’t feel like a run out into the country? We could be back within an hour or so, and a breath of real air would do us both good.” “No, thanks,” she said. “Just as you like. I think that I shall go by myself, when I’ve dropped you.” His car was parked in an adjoining square, and within a few minutes they had reached her flat. “I feel lonely tonight,” he said. “I suppose you wouldn’t care to ask me in for a coffee?” “I’m really too tired.” “Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” he smiled. “I’m not afraid. It just doesn’t ” She checked herself. “Good night.” And turned away. Sir Hector reluctantly did as the specialist had advised him. The specialist’s advice had been more in the nature of an ultimatum than he admitted. On a day, he said good-bya to them in the office and set out on a tour round the world, accompanied by his wife. . “I know you’ll give Ronald the same loyalty you’ve given me,” he said to Mary. “I shall try to, Sir Hector.” “I’ve done my best to train him in my methods, but youth always has its own ideas.” “Of course.” “I hate leaving the old firm. Forty years it’s been ,my life.” “I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve never been bored in business. It’s boredom I’m frightened of. Goodbye, my dear!” Gravely they shook hands and she watched him turn and leave the office. Ronald saw his parents off at Waterloo, but came back to the office in the afternoon. “Well,” he said. “I’m on my own at last.” “It’s a big responsibility,” she pointed out. “Yes. Doing anything tonight?” “I’m dining with a man I met at Cambridge.” “Pity. I’ve nothing to do.” “But with all London on your doorstep, you will soon find something.” “A Cambridge friend?” “Yes. A scientist. A rather brilliant man.” “Hum . . Tomorrow night, then?” “I’m not certain, Mr Gilroy. It’s stupid to mix business with pleasure, as I told you before. Really, I’d rather not.” “That’s very unkind of you, surely?” “I don’t think so.” “What possible harm can there be in sharing a meal with me in a public restaurant?” “You know what I think about it. After my work here, I’m tired.” “You work too hard. We must alter that.” “Nonsense,” she said sharply, and turned to the work on her desk. The situation worried her. The young man from Cambridge was a figment of her imagination. Actually, she had fler evening meal alone in her flat and Afterwards spent an hour or so with a book by the side of her tiny electric fire. She was under no illusions about Ronald Gilroy. She did not definitely dislike him—she had no cause to—but he was not her type. She very much preferred, for example, Anthony McCarthy. And at the back of her mind there was a vague distrust. Gilroy was so slick, so sure of himself. Had she not met him continually in the office, she would have turned down any overtures he made without hesitation. It was—she hesitated for the wordcaddish of him to pester her. Twice only she dined with him after Sir Hector had left them, and the second time he attempted to make love to her. It was in a taxi. He put his arm round her. Se sat forward: “Don’t do that again,” she said coldly. “I hate being pawed.” “I've never heard it put quite like that,” he said with a laugh. “It's silly to be upset. After all, you're a girl and I’m a man. What’s more natural? Don’t be childish,” he protested. “Hang it all, I might have bitten you.” “That would have been idiocy.” “I don't think I’ve been so beautifully ‘ticked off’ in my life," he said with frank admiration. “Then presumably you have not met a woman of my type before.” “I certainly haven’t, Mary. I’m sorry; forget it.” “I'm only too anxious to,” she said. “I shan’t refer to it again and I hope you won’t.” For some time after that unfortunate taxi-ride there was no further suggestion of a little dinner, and Mary felt that the “ticking off” had been effective. They worked together in the office, but without constraint. She knew that she was at least pulling her weight there, but Gilroy was not a man easily turned from any thing he wanted. (To be Continued).