"SECOND CHANCE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 31 August 1940, Page 12

"SECOND CHANCE"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

HOLLOWAY HORN

(Author of “George,” “Two Men and Mary,” etc.

CHAPTER V. (Continued). She was Lucia Desmund; Mary Donovan knew hex- at once. Evidently she was on her was to the theatre. She was, judged at least by Mossford standards, beautifully dressed, but there was a strained look on her face. She turned, and for a few steps followed his retreating figure, but apparently thought better of it, and pulled up SO that she and Mary Donovan came face to face. She was perfectly made up, but in that moment her guard was down and Mary Donovan glimpsed the woman behind the professional mask. And she was sorry for her. Whatever she had done, however glamorous her life, the woman in Mary Donovan pitied her. It was the face of a woman who had consciously missed the few simple things which are really worth having. In less than an hour she would be on the stage and two would go through the whole of the revue that night. “Love and Laugh!” Slowly and thoughtfully Mary Donovan walked on. Even as she had watched, Lucia Desmund’s face had changed, the mask she held up to the world had been replaced. But for a I moment there had been no mask. | She caught her usual bus and passed I Ferguson as he was turning into Manor j Street, but he did not see her. What was the connection between these twain? What their story? And what concern, she suddenly asked herself some minutes later as the trolley-bus came to rest at the end of her road, was it of hers? Nor had she answered any of these questions when she sat down to her evening meal.

The following afternoon, Mary Donovan was in Mr Mumford’s office alone. The manager was not yet back from his lunch, which, with him, was a movable feast and, for once in a way, Mary had little or no work on hand’ Her thoughts had wandered, as they had frequently done of late, but the telephone recalled her to herself. “Is Mr Ferguson back yet, Miss Donovan? ’ the girl in the enquiry office asked.

“I don’t think so—why?” ‘There’s a gentleman here wants to see him.” “He won’t be long. Send him up,” she said and replacing the receiver went out into the corridor. A moment ox- so later .she was not altogether surprised to see the jaunty figure of “Teddy Wilson.”

“You wanted Mr Ferguson?” she asked. “Yes.”

‘‘He’s not back.” “What time do you expect him?” “I'm not certain. I don't think he’s been gone long." "Then I'll wait.” "You’d better come into my office,” she said. “Seen the show?” he asked, crossing one leg over the other, “Which show?” “ ‘Love and Laugh.’ At the Theatre Royal.” “Yes, I did.” “I’m in it.” “Oh? Yes, I remember. You were the gigolo, weren’t you, in the cafe scene?” “Have a cigarette?” “No, thank you. We don’t smoke in the office.” “Ticked off!” he laughed. “Has Mr Ferguson been here long?” “I think you had better ask him, don’t you?” “Ticked off again. He's an old pal of mine.” “I’m not certain when he’ll be back. Could you leave a message?” He shook his head. “No. It’s just a little personal matter.” “I see. Come this way, will you?” she said, on a sudden impulse, and led him to the waiting room. “As soon as Mr Ferguson gets in I’ll let him know you are here.” “Right ho! You tell him it's Teddy Wilson. On a personal matter.” “Very good.”

Having safely parked Mr Wilson, whom she found herself disliking more and more as the minutes passed, she went along the corridor to Ferguson’s room. He was not yet back, and she decided to keep a sharp look out for him. There was something oily about Teddy Wilson. He was a little man and so foreign in appearance that his stage name was grotesquely inappropriate. His clothes were of an exaggerated smartness and she disliked the suede shoes he affected more than anything else about him. She was still there when Ferguson himself came up the stairs. “Hallo!” he said. “I was waiting for you.” '"Why—particularly?” he asked in surprise. "There’s a man waiting to see you— Teddy Wilson.” She saw his expression change. "Nasty little beast!” she said impulsively. “He wouldn't leave a message and described himself as an 'old pal.’ Ferguson's lips softened for a moment into a smile: “Where is he?" he asked. “I pushed him into the waiting room. If you like I'll tell him that you are not coming back this afternoon and see him off the premises.” “No. But thank you. Mary. I'll see him, I think.”

She thrilled, in spite of her anxiety. Never before had he called her by Christian name.

“If there’s anything I can do . .” “I know. It's nice of you. But there isn't. I’ll see him,” and then he added with a momentary smile: "Don’t worry!”

Without saying anything further he turned and went back to the stairs which led to the ground floor and the waiting room. It was a small room and at that time of the day usually empty. In spite of the rule of the firm, Teddy had lit a cigarette.

“Well, well!” he said as Ferguson came in. “So it’s Mr Ferguson now?” “Yes. What do you want?” Ferguson asked.

“Just a friendly little chat. Or would you rather see me somewhere outside?”

“I’d rather not see you at all.” “Now look here, I’ve not come here to make any trouble.” "That’s good hearing—if you mean it.”

“But I do want a talk with you. And you know about what. Moreover, I mean to have it. Otherwise . . His sentence was finished with a gesture which left no doubt of his meaning in the man who was watching him. “I leave here at five-thirty.”

“That’ll do. I’m not due at the theatre until six o’clock. I'll be outside at five-thirty.” “Right.”

“Cheerio!” said Teddy Wilson as he rose. “And be there, Mr Ferguson. I’m an unpleasant man if I’m annoyed.”

“So I found.” “Then . . until half past five.” Slowly Ferguson went back up the stairs. As he passed Mr Mumford’s office Mary came out. She had evidently been waiting. “Is it all right?” she asked “I don’t want to pry into your affairs, but I loathed that man at sight.” “I think it will be all right,” he said.

“He’s bobbed up out of the past rather unfortunately. One day I will tell you all about it. I owe it to you.” “Nonsense!” she said.

“And once more, thank you!” At five-thirty, Ferguson walked firmly down the stairs to the front entrance. Mary Donovan was a little behind in the press of people leaving the building. But she saw Teddy Wilson waiting, saw the two men turn towards the Market Square together. She wanted desperately to help Ferguson; she hated the other man. But she could not help him. What could the man want?

It was clear that he had some power over Ferguson—his assurance, his impudent assurance showed that. “Unfortunate . . Out of the past.”

Phrases that Ferguson himself had used came back to her but they merely increased her distress, deepened the fog that seemed to envelop him. Just after she reached home the phone bell went.

“It’s bound to be for you,” her mother said.

“Hallo?” she said as she lifted the receiver.

“That you, Mary?” “Yes,” she said, recognising Inspector Garrod’s voice.

“Look here, old lady, I’m off this evening. What about going places and seeing things?”

She hesitated. She didn’t feel in the least like it, but a sudden thought came to her: “Well, what do you suggest?” she said.

“What about this thing on at the Theatre Royal? I hear it’s jolly good.” “I should like to go,” she said, without hesitation.

“Splendid. Then I’ll drop in for you about eight and a half. I’ll book seats.” “Get them in the front row of the stalls, will you?” “Won’t that be too near?” “No. I’ll pay for my own.” “You won’t. But what you says, goes, Mary. How’s Ma?”

“She’s fine!” said Mary, who was usually irritated when he referred to her mother like that.

“Sorry, I forgot,” he said with a laugh. “Still, one of these days I’m going to call her ‘Ma.’ Half-past eight!” “It was George,” she said to her mother listlessly. “He’s taking me to the Theatre tonight.” "But you’ve been!” "I know that. I rather want to see it again.” Her mother watched her in silence for a moment or so before she said, “Well, anyway, get on with your tea’ Mary. It’ll be cold.” One saw the revue more intimately, as it were, from the stalls, and Mary was able to watch closely the two people in the cast who interested her. There was something unpleasant about 1 Teddy Wilson which she couldn’t understand. “What do you think of that fellow—that gigolo dance creature?" she asked Garrod. “Not much. Nasty piece of work." “There’s something evil about him.” George smiled. “Mustn't judge people by their appearance,” he said. “First thing you learn in the Service. You’re looking prettier than ever tonight, Mary.”

You musn’t judge by appearances,” she smiled. “In or out of the Service.” “Any show would be a good one with you,” he whispered. “Don’t talk soft,” she replied. “It's true! Have an ice?” She shook her head: “What do you think about Lucia Desmund?” "Not so nice as you." “This part is better," she said as the curtain went up.

“No. We won’t get a bus,” she said as they left the theatre. “I want to talk to you.”

“Now what have I been doing?” “I don’t know and I don't particularly care, George. But I do want to talk to you. About Mr Ferguson." Oh! There was a keen disappointment in his voice.

He s a friend of mine.” she said. “I'm sorry for him.” "What do you know about him?” “Very little. But 1 do know there’s’ a past of which he hasn't spoken.” “What’s all this leading to? What’s he go to do with you?”

“No, George, don't start getting jealous. * There’s no need, really. Mr Ferguson and I are just good friends. But I'm worried about him. I want your advice.”

(To be Continued)