"FREEDOM FOR TWO"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 April 1940, Page 10

"FREEDOM FOR TWO"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT

By

MARGARET WATSON.

CHAPTER 1. Her knees showed a tendency to buckle and let her down; but in face of his coolness she could not for pride's sake show any further weakness. She drew herself from his arm resolutely; and reluctantly, for its solidity and monumental calm was reassuring. “Sure you’re all right? No breaks, no sprains ?” “Only bruised." she said, “and I’ve earned those. But you—the wing struck you.” "Yes, I'm afraid it must be badly bent. Don’t worry, I'm not breakable, I’m afraid,” he added, peering down at the wreckage in the ditch, “as much can’t be said for your car. Wait a moment, I’ve a torch somewhere.” He groped in his pocket and produced a little electric torch. In the circle of white light it threw, the slant of the forgotten rain sprang to sight rather surprisingly. It gave, too, an impressive, if incomplete, picture of the man who carried it. He was very big, that was the chief thing about him. He must be at least six feet two, and broadly made to match, with big, long-fingered hands which looked very strong and very nimble as they flashed round the engine. Shoulders which sat back frankly and easily. If his voice and his hands had intrigued her, his face intrigued her even. more. "Who is he?” she wondered, with sudden irresistible excitement, “and what is he?” He turned, spread his hands with the torch still alight in one of-them, smiled his whimsical, assured smile. “I’m sorry. You’ll never drive that chariot again.” Erica had to stir her mind back to reality before she could feel the slightest sorrow for the car’s decease; and even then the name by which he had called it demanded first comment. She said guiltily: “I was driving furiously." "Oh, is that the word? Curiously was the one I had in mind.” She laughed with him, with no hysteria this time. “Only a quarter of an hour ago I was told that I drive splendidly.” She laughed again. "Of course, I wasn't so crazy as to believe it.” “You’ll have some private belongings in there?” he hazarded, nodding towards the wreckage. “My case —that’s all.” “I hope you haven’t very far to go," he said, his voice muffled as he fumbled within the shattered tonneau and brought out the case. It had suffered more from the crash than she, and as soon as he stepped upon the muddy road with it, it broke open in his hand and shed concert tickets right and left in a pink snow-storm. They fell upon them together in haste, gathering them back into the case as best they could. “There!” he said, balancing the case upon his raised knee as she tumbled the last batch into it. “Now, we'd better get you home out of the rain.” She began to say that she \vas quite all right, and had only a little way to go; but she stopped, for he was examining the concert tickets. He looked up, found her eyes on him, and smiled. “You must forgive me. Concert tickets are recognisable the world over, and I happen to have seen a bill for this particular concert in one of the shop windows in Brandford. Are you one of those energetic people who sell tickets?” “I try to,” she said gravely. “Well, will you sell me one?” “With pleasure —for ten shillings.” “The most ambitious I noticed in picking them up.” he said with mock meekness, “were marked five.” “Yes, I know they are. But for the other five shillings I'll sell you a piece of advice without which the ticket is valueless. Erica was bruised and cold, but she knew now that she was enjoying herself,, that she would not have missed this for the world. She saw in the dim reflected light of the torch his •muddy cheeks dip inward for that self-sufficient smile. He put a hand into his pocket, and extended a little pile of silver to her. “Now give me the piece of advice.” Erica gave it in the same moment with the ticket, and in a hollow whisper appropriate to conspiracy: "Don't go to the concert.” He laughed, but instantly asked: “So you don't care for music?" "Music?" Oh. I see. Oh. yes, I love it; but this is the Brandford Orchestral Society." They laughed together. “But there’ll be soloists, won’t there? Surely they'll help." “They'll have to be better than usual." said Erica, “to compensate for the Society. There’s a pianist by the name of Elson, possibly good, probably fairly good, anyhow." He put the ticket away very carefully. and dropped the neat little pile of half-crowns into her hand in its place. There were six of them; she looked at him, and the corners of her mouth lifted. "I think," he assured her. "that your advice will be well worth the difference." For a moment the coldness of disappointment invaded Erica's mind. She could not understand why it should be so. Was it possible that she really ’ contemplated changing her own mind about the concert if ho went to it? It was not a reassuring thought: but even i less comfortable was this recognisable depression which she felt now that he had practically said lie would not go. In the reaction from her reasonless excitement. she had time to feel cold, and a little shaky. She shivered, and tried too late to' conceal the weakness. ; "I'm sorry!" lie said, in quite a new . tone. "I forgot —this is probably your

first accident. Come on, we’d better make for- home." "It isn’t yours,” she said with conviction, as they fell into step together. “Bless you —no. It’s just about 13 years 'too late to be my first.” He slipped his hand under her arm. and quickened the step. Erica was more than a little glad of that firm and solid arm under her own before they reached the close where Brandford church slept. She was not. after all. of the perfect temperamen! for adventure; she could not even tip her car into the ditch without feeling distinctly faint afterwards. But on the flags of the church close she did stir herself to end the scene with dignity. “This is home,” she said. “My father is the rector. My name is Erica Manning. Do come in and be thanked, won’t you? I’d like, after doing my best to run you down, at least to mend the sleeve of your coat. He stood with his hand upon the swinging gate, which defied any latch to keep it closed, and looked at her jver it. "And I’d like you to. But unfortunately I’m already rather late for an appointment which can't be shelved, so I must run. I’m at the Brandford Arms, so I haven't far to go.” She thought as she gave him her hand. “I suppose I shall never see you again.” And whether because of his undoubted good looks, or because her independence hated to see the slightest debt go unpaid, she found the reflection unpleasant. “Don’t bother about the car. I'll get the garage people to bring home the pieces for you, if you’ll let me do so much. And—may I ring up tomorrow, Miss Manning, and assure myself that you're all right?” In spite of her bruises, her heart was uncommonly light as she turned and went into the rectory.

CHAPTER 11. There were great exclamations over the state in which she came home, and many questions asked. "I always knew,” said Mrs Manning, “that something dreadful would happen sooner or later with that terrible car. I'm glad it’s gone.” “It wasn’t very dreadful, really,” said Erica, smiling, “and now I haven’t even a car to drive to the station.” But she could not feel properly sorry for the loss of the two-seater; it seemed, for some reason, so unimportant. She sat beside the fire while her hair dried sldwly into the light cloud round her head, and answered her parents’ questions in good-humoured detail. “Yes. he was a complete stranger." She felt that her mother, behind the lovely, gentle middle-aged face so like her own young and eager one, was thinking it. in true Brandford style, rather modern and distasteful to try. and run down a perfect stranger. “He was a' person who hasn't, I should say. ever spent much time in a place like this. Even if he was born here I can't imagine it holding him for long.” Across her head they exchanged glances of regret for this eternal restlessness in her which could not find its outlet, and yet could not bear to be confined. She looked at her reflection in the mirror above the fire, and exclaimed in dissatisfaction at her own beauty. “I must get a wave tomorrow. I must look my best for the concert." What had put that into her head again? She had told Michael she would not go. The unknown had said, or yet pretended, that he would not go, and yet he had put away the ticket with such significant care that she had hopes he would change his mind. At any rate, he was going to ring her up in the morning. As it happened, she was still in bed when the call came; but she heard thering, and was halfway down the stairs in pyjamas and dressing-gown before the maid looked up from the instrument and said with a surprised smile: "For you, Miss Erica.” Erica took the phone, her tumbled hair showering over it. “Hullo! Erica Manning here!” The remembered voice, low-pitched, deliberate and swift almost to violence. said: “I really needn’t ask. You sound excellently well." "1 am, thanks. What about you? No ill results, I hope? By the way. I never did tell you how guilty I feel about it all.” "Please don't! I quite forgot to tell , you what is perhaps the most important thing about me—my name's Martin Hirst. 1 gave it, you see, when I reported the accident.” “Oh, but I'm letting you do everything," said Erica in a startled gasp. "I'd quite forgotten it was necessary to report the crash. Why didn't you remind me? It isn't good for anyone to be looked after so well, especially when they're the cause of all the trouble.” "Oh, I don't think you'll be spoiled." he said, with such a slow, rich tone that she could almost see the deep smile flooding his face. "Apart from losing the ear. things didn't turn out so badly, after all." He added, mischievously. "I’m glad you haven't caught a chill. It would have kept you away from the concert. You're going, of course? You’ll probably see me there, though I may be late." She felt the beat of her heart quicken. There was no time to be deceptive about her own decision. "Yes, I'nl going. You're not acting on my advice then?" "Oh, f really think I'd like to hear | this Olaf Elson." lie said, still laughing, she supposed at the memory of i their last night's conversation. "Well. I I’m glad you're not to be deprived of> the same pleasure. Good-bye!" r (To be Continued).