THE PRISONER'S SISTER

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 August 1938, Page 10

THE PRISONER'S SISTER

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

PEARL BELLAIRS

(Author of “Velvet and Steel”)

CHAPTER XlV.—Continued. The girl was carrying on a lively conversation with the Guards officer, Captain Marsham, who was sitting on the arm of her chair. She wore a mar-vellously-cut golden frock made of metal tissue. Her figure was slender but strong-looking, and her features were regular, with a beautiful but hard perfection. She had an air of assurance and will-power, and she looked just the cold, unsentimental, socially flawless person .who would make a perfect match for a man in Rand’s position. That was the impression that Julie got, in her fleeting glance as she'passed. The girl was drawing out a description of something she had seen in America; like the young interior decorator, she put a tremendous emphasis into her voice, as though she couldn’t convince herself without it. “. .. . excruicating! Millions, of course! And I said: ‘Where are you going to put the swimming path?’ and he. apologised because there wasn’t room ...” Julie closed the door of the lounge, shutting out the sound of the idle, artificial sound voices. She wanted to run away from all those people who were so perfectly pleased with themselves that they looked at one as though one were not quite human, and not because they happened to be a little luckier than most, and had more money and possessed more things than their fellow humans. It would be wrong to say that she didn’t, envy them. Because she knew that to live in pleasant surroundings and eat gbod food and feel secure was a good thing; and that living in dirt and distress and worry was a bad thing. But it seemed to her that wealthy people were like winners in a game of, chance, and that only bad winners go round crowing. CHAPTER XV. With all her most democratic instincts aroused by the glimpses that she had had of Rand’s friends, Julie made a general inspection of things; and after going over to her quarters to see that the children were sleeping soundly she came back to her office. She had a good deal to think about. What Rand had said that afternoon—she couldn’t help puzzling over it. Had his conscience really worried him about Tom? Did she really make him suffer by the things she said . . ? Was he in love with Lorna Treeves—or was he the sort of person who was not weak enough to know the meaning of the phrase? At ten o’clock the Guards officer, Captain Marsham, came into the office to put through a telephone call to town; but he was the only' person whom Julie saw. He stared at her, and Julie didn’t i- much like his expression. His eyes were pale blue and stood out of his head. “Are you the typist?” he said. “Manageress,” said Julie. “Manageress? You don’t look old enough to be the manageress, do you—what?” Julie said nothing. “Ever go to London? You ought to come up one day in your time off.” Julie looked surprised, and made no reply. She was glad .when his call came through. He talked for a long time to someone called Chicken, telling her that he couldn’t possibly get somewhere or other—absolutely out of the question. When he had finished he said to Julie, as he went out of the office: “Au revoir, then. See you later!” And then at half-past ten the house ’phone rang—Room Number 4, Rand’s private sitting room. Julie plugged in, expecting to hear Ell or Mr Hill; but it was Rand’s voice

at the other end. “Miss Moffat?” “Yes.” ’ “Are you busy, or could you oblige me by coming up?”“Very well,” said Julie. She put down the receiver in some surprise. What did he want with her? Perhaps something was wrong with the way she was running the hotel. It even occurred to Julie that he might mean to sack her, or give her some other job where she would be out of his way. She composed herself as she went up in the lift. As she passed the door of the lounge she heard the sounds of music. They were dancing in there. She found Rand alone in Number 4. It was the green room, with the “treble touch of gamboge.” He was standing with his back to the electric wall heater, smoking a cigarette. The desk was covered with papers, as though he had been, or was about to begin, working. His manner was as formal as his general appearance, in his very well cut evening dress. “Oh, Miss Moffat —sorry to bother you. Do you know how the windows open in here?” Julie breathed an inward sigh of relief.

. “Yes, I think so, Mr Rand.” A little flushed, but looking as cool and competent as she could, Julie closed the door and went over to the window. The window fastenings were a little stiff still with paint, but there was no difficulty in opening them. Rand did not come to help her, which instead of arousing Julie’s resentment, merely deepened her depression. She left one of the windows slightly open, and turned back to the room to find him still standing where he was. “I’ve left one open,” said. “Will that be all?” “The electric heater, Miss Moffat —!” He was looking at it in apparent dissatisfaction. Julie crossed over obediently to where he was standing. “Yes, Mr Rand?” She looked at him enquiringly to find that he was smiling. “Suppose we sit down in front of it?” he said.

He took up a full cocktail glass and held it out to her. Julie coloured with surprise. “No thank you! I'd rather not. I —l should go back to the office!” “Part of a manageress’s job is to make people comfortable; and I should be much more comfortable if you would sit down in that chair!” Unable to refuse, Julie sat down; and he sat opposite her, on the other side of the cocktail table. Half giving way to the comfort of her surroundings, but none the less ill at ease, Julie gazed at him, wondering what he wanted. He drank half the cocktail she had refused. She noticed, as she had noticed before, how well he looked in evening dress. His manner puzzled her. His gestures were moody. He seemed absent-minded, and yet as soon as he spoke it was to say something personal. “Well, Julie, tell me—what does it feel like to be manageress iof an hotel?” Julie hesitated, arrested by his use of her Christian name; then countered gently: “What does it feel like to be head of a huge engineering firm?” “I suggest that we forget that I’m not an average human being!” Julie smiled. “Well, you aren’t, are you?” “Not what?” “You aren’t an average human being. So /how can one forget?” “H’m” He scowled. “What am I, then? A walking and talking picture of a big industrialist?” “I suppose you must be what your occupation makes you.” , “How abominably true!” He rose and began pacing moodily up and down. He shook his finger at her: “Don’t think, my girl, that you’re telling me something I haven’t wakened up to already! It’s like telling Rip Van Winkle that he’s grown old!” Julie stared at him, her face rather pink, and her eyes bright with doubt; she plucked up courage to say with a smile:

“Don’t tell me, Mr Rand, that you aren’t very pleased to be what you are —because I shan’t believe you!” “Oh! So I’m self-satisfied, am I? That’s what you think of me?” Julie said nothing. She wasn’t going to deny it. He still paced up and down. Julie wondered why he had asked her to come up, why he had left the lounge —surely not just to talk to her? His face was a trifle pale, and his eyes oddly dark and intense. He looked and behaved as though he were labouring under the force of some .repressed emotion. “No; I’m not self-satisfied! You see, Julie, when a man has filled every waking hour since he was a kid doing and thinking and living one particular job, however successful he may do it, there are times when he wakes up to the fact that he has lost as much as he has gained. He has lost the time he could have spent in becoming another, more human kind of being. His work has become his life, and he’s just a machine for thinking things out and telling other people how to do them! In fact one suddenly finds that one has no capacity for doing anything else.” He paused, and swung round moodily. “Or perhaps one finds that one has the capacity—only it’s too late!” “Perhaps if you know that you’re petrified,” Julie suggested faintly, “you can’t be all stone!” He smiled, ahd gazed at her for a moment. “What can you know about it?” he said in quite a different tone. “You have never tried to be anything but the normal natural being that you are!” Julie hesitated. “Well, I’ve just—lived, I suppose!” “It sounds a very simple process to have produced such an appealing result!” Julie was silent, not knowing if this was quite impersonal flattery, feeling that she had better take it as such. He paced up and down without saying anything; then set down and finished his cocktail. Julie sat up in her chair. “I think I ought—” “To get back to office? Why? Don’t go yet.” He startled her by saying: “You haven’t yet congratulated me on my engagement.” Julie coloured, hesitated, then replied quietly: “I do congratulate you on it.” “You’re too young, I suppose, ever to have thought about getting married yourself?” “No, I never have.” “And if you did, what would you consider to be the best way of setting about the business?” When she hesitated, he replied for her: “I assume that being an intelligent young girl, you’d do everything possible to provide for your future happiness and marry in a sensible and level-headed manner!” He smiled at Julie’s doubtful face and went on with a touch of mockery which made it difficult to know whether he meant what he was saying or not. “You would first of all decide what was the type of person you required! In fact, one should choose one’s partner in life as one chooses a partner in one’s business, because of the capital and valuable connections they might bring. The person about to marry should calculate as coolly as possible in the matter —don’t you agree? He should find the person of his acquaintance whose tastes are most similar to his own, whose health would make them a successful parent; and then marry with the idea of upsetting himself as little as possible over it. Only a fool would bother to get married in any other way. At least, that’s always been my intention. What do you think of it, Julie?”

(To be Continued).