TWO MEN AND MARY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 23 May 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 Xl.—Continued. “Eight will turn up this time. It’s my other lucky number,” she said. It did: the croupier with a little smile pushed a heap of chips across the table to the American girl. “Only God can save her now,” said Murdock with a smile. “Won’t you have a shot?” Mary shook her head: “I always lose at games of chance. Still, it’s fun watching Laurette.” Within half an hour the American girl was the equivalent of nearly twenty pounds to the good. She played with the calmness and complete lack of emotion of a poker player. “We’ll call it a night,” she said suddenly. “Take us somewhere where there’s dancing, Mr Murdock. What do you say, Mary?” “Be an angel and get me cash for these, Mr Murdock, will you?” She gave him the varied assortment of she had gathered together. “Keep it for me, will you?” she said when he came back from the cashier’s office. “And pay our exes tonight out of it.” “Nonsense,” he protested, “You’re my guests.” ’“Sure! But I was playing for the party. Exes out of winning!” “That’s fair,” said Mary, who saw what was in her friend’s mind. “If you insist,” said Murdock doubtfully. “We do. We’re very strong-minded women, aren’t we, Mary?” He took them to an amusing little club in Beaulieu, more French than cosmopolitan. He was evidently wellknown there and was able to get a good table near the dancing floor. “I’m tired,” said Mary. “You two children dance.” “You’d really rather not dance?” Murdock asked. “There are several men I know here who would be delighted to make a four.” “Really,” she assured him. “Leave me to my coffee and cigarette.” She watched them dancing. They were an exceptionally good-looking pair and seemed to move together as if they were impelled by one will. Several people in the room, Mary noticed, were watching them. Laurette was talking animatedly and it was obviously that Murdock was enjoying it. The cabaret which followed was more cosmopolitan than French, and rather ordinary, but presently the orchestra started again. ‘ ■» “Now it’s your turn, Mary,” Laurette said. “I’d rather not dance tonight, my dear. I’m perfectly happy sitting here watching you two children enjoy yourselves.” “It’s unkind of you not to play,” the American girl complained. But Mary smiled without replying. “If you really don’t want to . . ” said Laurette doubtfully. A pleasant, animated evening and Murdock at least thoroughly enjoyed it. It was past midnight when they got back to their hotel. “I’ll come in to tuck you up,” the American girl said to Mary. “You’re a dear.” Half-an-hour later she tapped at the door; “Gee!” she said from the doorway. “If he’d seen you in bed I shouldn’t have had a look-in.” And, indeed, in the soft light from the reading lamp at her bedside Mary Rossiter did look very charming. “You’re quite safe,” Mary smiled. “He won’t.” “Isn’t he a lamb?” “He’s quite nice.” “Quite nice! Dont be so casual. He’s a positive lamb. And he dances beautifully.” “Anyway, come in and shut the door for a minute.” “Thanks. I fell completely for his accent.” “It’s what we call the ‘Oxford’ manner.” “But he went to the other place . . . Cambridge.” “Same thing. So you like him?” “Vurry much! He’s poor, isn’t he?” “I don’t know. Probably.” “I’ve got enough for two anyway,” said Laurette calmly. “My dear, youv’e only met him once and for an hour or so.’ Mary laughed. For all you know, he may be married!” “No. You can always tell a married man, something hang-dog about them. I suppose he’ll be working tomorrow?” “Oh, yes. He’s in the Imperial Bank, here.” ■» “But he’s going back to England very soon.” “So I believe.” “Honest, Marv, you don’t mind my butting in? You found him.” Mary Rossiter laughed: “I love your phrases,” she said. “He was here when 'I got here. Don’t you worry. I’m not in the least interested. I think he’s a very pleasant youth, but that’s all there is to it.” “I think he’s why I came to Europe,” said the American girl, solemnly. “Good gracious,” smiled Mary. “He’s taking us some place in his car on Sunday.” “Oh? He did mention it. I’m not too keen on Sunday motoring.” “Drop it,” snapped Laurette. “Anyway,” smiled the English girl, "I’m certainly not keen on playing gooseberry. I’d far rather wander up

to old Monaco on my own.” "Wander nothing. He’s bringing a friend. We’re going to have a swell time. He knows a fourteenth century church.”

“Are you interented in fourteenthcentury churches?” “Of course I’m not, silly. Any more than you are.” “But I am,” teased Mary Rossiter. “I’m sure it’ll be very interesting. You shouldn’t laugh. This is LUV!”

“Bunkum! You’ve been to too many movies. Run along to bed, y(>u silly. If you go on like this I shall be buying something for a wedding present before I know wher I am.”

“I wonder what Poppa will think of him? Momma’ll fall like a lot of bricks, but Poppa’s apt to be difficult. Not that it’ll make any difference.” “My dear child, you’ve known the young man for about six hours —”

“I know. That’s what makes it so wonderful. If I’d known him weeks and weeks it would be just ordinary.” “I want to go to San Remo in the morning. Coming?” “Sure. But why?” “I want to have some real spaghetti.”

“Fine. I thought it was another church or a picture gallery. I’m through with sight-seeing, Mary, for the time being.” “Well be back here in time for dinner and I’ve no doubt that your Mr Murdock will be waiting.’ “D’you think he will?”

“I’m quite sure of it. He gave me the impression of being in a similar state of dither to your own.” “To listen to you, you must be a hard-boiled cynic.” “But I am.”

“Not you,” said the American girl quietly as she stood up. “What time do we start in the morning?” “Eleven?” “Sure. Good-riight, Mary.”

Alone in the darkness of her room Mary Rossiter smiled. Laurette was so young, so irresponsible. The young man was duly waiting in the vestibule of the hotel when they came-down the next evening, complete, moreover, with a second young man, a Frenchman, calfed Paul Lecour.

He wondered, diffidently, if they would like to go to a County Club in Becourt —a village some ten miles away on the top of a hill overlooking the- sea.

“It sounds very attractive,” said Mary. “What do you think, Laurette?” “I’ll try anything once,” Laurette asserted.

And when dinner was over the party set out in Murdock’s car It was a car that had seen better days: “Sorry .about the old ’bus,” he said. “But I thought it would last out my time here. She’ll get us back all right.” “That’s the main thing,” said Mary. Murdock drove and Laurette sat with him in the front. It was a famous club, with a famous orchestra, and Mary was rather worried. Normally, as she knew, a bank official, while being comfortably off, cannot afford as expensive an evening as this one gave promise of being. She was dancing with Murdock just before they were going. “You understand, Mr Murdock, that Laurette and I mean this to be fifty-fifty.” “Nonsense,” he said “I insist,” she said firmly. ‘T make it an invariable rule.”

“Now don’t spoil it. You’re all my, guests Even Lecour. Don’t worry. I’m really quite well off. My father happens to be a director of the bank.” She shrugged her shoulders.' “So am I; so is Laurette.” <•» “Please,” he said. “Isn’t she marvellous?”

“Who?” asked Mary, with the air of one who really wanted to know.”

“Laurette. I think she’s the loveliest thing that ever happened.” “She’s a very nice girl.”

“You’ve said it,’ he said. “I was wondering how on earth I could persuade her to come to London. I go back a week earlier than I thought.” “Have you tried to persuade her?”

“Not in so many words.” “I believe —indeed I’m sure—that she and her people' intend to visit London before they return.” “You’ve met her people?”-

“Yes. I met them all in Avignon. They’re very nice. Good luck, anyway,” said Mary with a smile. He looked at her in surprise. “Thanks,” he said with a smilq„which, if not like that of Clark Gable, was certainly an attractive one. Lecour was a pleasantly innocuous youth, but Mary was far more interested in watching the development of the age-old emotion which absorbed Laurette and young Murdock than she was in her partner. The drive home in the soft moonlight. with the glinting darkness of the sea below them, was almost silent; but a silence which, in the front seats at least, Mary felt was charged with significance. Laurette “folks” turned up on the Thursday. They were staying at a far more spectacular hotel, but Laurette insisted on remaining at the Couronne. at which Murdock and Mary were present. But Murdock and Laurette were in deadly earnest, and the situation was complicated by his imminent return to London.

He was obviously on his very best behaviour and several times during the evening Laurette winked at Mary—in spite of her seriousness. Mrs Costairs took an opportunity when she and Mary were alone for a moment of sounding her about Murdock. “Have you known Mr Murdock long?” she asked. “I met him here in Monte Carlo.” “He seems a very gentlemanly man.” “He is a gentleman,” said Mary with a smile. “That means a lot in your country?” “It does, rather.” “It doesn’t mean that he’s wealthy?” “Oh no. It means that he’s well-be-haved, courteous, and that sort of thing. Personally, I like him very much. His father, I understand, is a director of the bank in which he is working.” “You see, Laurette is so impulsive. I’ve never known her fall for a man so completely before.” round. “They went out together a minmuch in love.” “There’s a boy back home waiting for her,” said Mrs Costairs doubtfully. “At the moment I don’t fancy his chances,” Mary said with another smile. “Nor do I. I understand that he’s talking to Poppa this evening.” “Good luck to him, ayway.” “Poppa’ll toe the line if Laurette really wants him. She always had him under her thumb. He doesn’t know it, but she has.” Then it was that Mary noticed that neither “Poppa” nor Murdock was in the room. Mrs Costairs noticed her looking round. “They went out ogether a minute or so ago,” she said. “I say. It’s quite thrilling'.” “Poppa may throw his weight about a bit, but he’s a dear really. He’ll come in all right,” Mrs Costairs said. Laurette was talking to some fellowcountry people whom she had met that evening for the first time, and it was clear from her apparently casual glances at the door that she knew what was happening. “Here they are!” said Mrs Costairs. Poppa came in followed by Murdock. He crossed to his daughter and in the presence of the company kissed her. Then he came across to his wife, who was sitting by Mary’s side. “Those children want to get married,” he said. “So I understand.’ “So you know about it?” “Of course.” “Well?” “It is well, Tom.. She’s no fool.” “He’s a son of Sir Halliday Murdock!” Poppa announced proudly. “He’ll be a ‘Sir’ one day.” _ “Does that make Laurette a Lady-so-and-so?” his wife asked excitedly. “Sure!” . “Really?” “Sure. Ain’t it swell? Look here, we’ll announce it.” - And he did, there and then. Moreover he made a speech about it. More champagne was opened and healths were drunk. The whole proceeding struck Mary as being strange, almost bizarre, but as she watched Laurette’s face it dawned on her that the American girl was really in love. She had seen the whole thing; she herself had introduced them, and seen Murdock politely but none the less definitely switch over to Laurette. When the French Lecour was roped in to make up the four, he was her partner. To Mary it seemed more like a scene r movie than one in real life. Difficult, indeed, to imagine English parents allowing their only daughter to become engaged to a man whom she had known for a few days—indeed, for a few hours only. She fell to thinking of Anthony McCarthy, alone in his bungalow. At that hour —ten o’clock—he would be sitting by his fireside, smoking his pipe, probably reading. Laurette and Murdock broke in on her thoughts: “Isn’t life good!” demanded Laurette. “Bless_ you, my children,” laughed Mary. “I can’t believe it!” said Murdock. “Tomorrow I go back to London. Look here, Laurette, we’ll have to rush round and get a ring.” “Sure,” said Laurette. “And then I shall leave her with you. She’s coming over to see my people almost at once.” “Poppa’ll have to alter his plans and spend longer in London.” “You can stay at my flat. I’m returning in a day or so. There’s a second bedroom there,” Mary suggested. “Really. You angel! Isn’t she an angel?” “She is,” said Murdock. “You’ll have to rope in the boy friend —the lawyer. We'll have a swell time,” cried Laurette. That night, although it was late when she returned to the Couronne, Mary wrote to Anthony McCarthy. She told him all about the romance of which she had been the cause. “I’m sure it will amuse you very much,” she wrote, “But they are such children and they do seem so absurdly in love with each other. Laurette, I think, will stay at the flat with me for a while. I hope to arrange a meeting when we get back but I'm afraid that you are a very busy man these days.” A friendly impersonal letter which she placed on her table ready for the post in the morning. (To be Continued.)