'You don't seriously expect anybody to take that sort of job on, do you?' Bobbie asked. 'We've lots of very amenable girls on our books, but they certainly wouldn't want to live in, nor would they want to come so far from London. As to expecting them to work eccentric hours—oh, be your age! You're expecting a miracle.'
'Well, they do happen, even in this day and age and I was hoping you were one,' Harry said, apparently quite unmoved by her outburst. 'Ring up this girl who owns your agency and see what she has to say about you staying on for the next week at least.'
Bobbie stood in silence for a moment. 'Well, we aren't run off our feet at the moment,' she remarked at length, 'but I must be back by Friday. Suppose I stay until Thursday evening? I can't live in, of course. I must go back to the cottage at night.'
Harry got up. He was now looking extremely exasperated and rather bad-tempered. 'Whoever I have to help me simply has to live in.'
'Well, our house is pretty near at hand, and even if we did work fairly late I can quite easily walk home.'
'And you really expect me to let you turn out say at midnight and go home on your own. No! If you agree to come you must sleep here. I can't be getting the car out at midnight or one o'clock, especially if I'm into go on working myself even later. I do have a bit of consideration for my secretary, you know. But if she's had all afternoon off, I don't think it's asking an awful lot for her to work say from nine until midnight.'
Bobbie cast him a rather sceptical glance. 'It's quite easy to see why you hung on to Miss Battersby, even if she wasn't always very accurate,' she commented dryly. 'You knew jolly well you wouldn't get anyone else to come.'
Harry grinned. 'Come on,' and he pushed the telephone even nearer, 'give this Miss Whatsit a ring.'
Rather reluctantly Bobbie lifted the receiver and dialled Marie Gibson's home number.
It rang a long time before a male voice answered the telephone and a few minutes' conversation longer before Marie came on the line. Rather hesitantly Bobbie explained the problem. She was only half-way through when Marie interrupted her.
'Do you really expect me to let you stay down there until Friday while I try and cope alone? What's the good of discussing partnership terms, Bobbie, if at the first attractive alternative you go hiving off to work somewhere in the back of beyond! We've got lots of temporaries on the books, what about one of them coming down to do this job, whatever it is?'
'It's a rather unusual project,' Bobbie explained hesitantly, 'and I doubt very much whether anybody on our books would be willing to take it on. It's only because the request comes from someone I know personally that I've suggested the arrangement. Subject to your approval, of course, Marie. He's in a frightful fix. His secretary's dashed off and got married overnight.'
'I'm sorry for anyone who's left in the lurch,' Marie said. 'All the same, I can't have my second-in-command appropriated. No, I'm sorry, Bobbie. You'll have to say you can't do it.'
While the telephone conversation had been going on Harry had been listening attentively and it was quite apparent from the look on Bobbie's face that she was getting nowhere. Before she could say another word he suddenly took the telephone out of her hand and spoke into the receiver.
'I'm sorry to interrupt the conversation,' he announced to an astonished Marie Gibson, 'but this is Henry Redmayne speaking.'
Bobbie could almost hear the awed hesitation at the other end or the line as Marie absorbed this piece of information. She was near enough to the receiver held at Harry's ear to hear Marie ask hesitantly, 'Henry Redmayne? You don't mean…?'
'Yes, I do,' Harry said, and there was no trace of a smile in the solemn voice which was reaching Marie's ear, though he was looking distinctly wicked as he glanced into Bobbie's eyes. 'I'd be awfully grateful if you'd let Bobbie stay for a few days. I'm in the most fearful mess with my secretary leaving like this.'
'Mr. Redmayne, I hadn't understood.' Marie's reversal was quite unashamed. 'Keep Bobbie as long as you want. I'm sure I shall be able to manage. I didn't realise who she was referring to when she asked to stay down there and help out.'
'It's more than kind of you,' Harry's voice was smooth. 'I'll be getting in touch with you again,' and he put the receiver down and grinned at Bobbie. 'You see! I told you if we got on to your boss we'd be able to settle it between us.'
Bobbie tried hard not to let a smile appear on her own face, but almost against her will the corners of her mouth began to turn up. 'Really, Harry, you're the absolute end,' she said. 'Coming the old…'
'I know,' Harry really did sound contrite this time. 'It was a bit mean of me. I don't usually take advantage, but I just simply had to have you down here. Now come on, Bobbie. I've got two more tapes here.'
'Don't I even get a cup of tea?' Bobbie asked in a pathetic voice.
'Great heavens, is that the time already?' Harry exclaimed as he looked at his watch. 'You've had no lunch either, have you?'
Bobbie shook her head, her eyes twinkling. 'Time seems to stand still in this particular part of your house. I was quite surprised nobody came in with a tray.'
'Nobody dares,' Harry admitted. 'Once I'm in here, nobody, but nobody is allowed to disturb me.'
'Oh, like that, is it?' Bobbie said as she began to walk away towards the little office, the tapes in her hand.
Harry came round the desk. His voice stopped her. 'Look here, I'll fetch some food if you don't mind it picnic fashion. Sandwiches and a pot of tea. In the meantime perhaps you'd like to have a wash. I didn't show you over the premises properly when you arrived this morning,' and opening another door which led out of the large room, he showed Bobbie into a well-equipped bathroom with glass shelves laid out with everything she might need to re-do her face.
'Ready for any eventuality, are you, Harry?' she asked as she glanced at the various cosmetics, and Harry grinned as he closed the door on her saying, 'No cheek now, Miss Bentham. Have your wash and I'll be back in ten minutes with the chow.'
He was back in under ten minutes with a loaded tray which he placed on a coffee table beside the settee. They sat chatting quite amicably for about half an hour while they consumed the contents of the plates and emptied the teapot, until at last Harry got up and stretched.
'Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work before inspiration vanishes for today,' and taking her cue, Bobbie picked up the tapes once more before shutting herself into the little office with her typewriter.
Harry kept her working without another stop until eight o'clock when he suddenly pushed open the door of her little office, saying as he did so, 'Come on, Mother's got dinner ready. And when you've eaten, I'll run you home. There's no need to move in until tomorrow night.'
As he dropped her off at the cottage later that evening he ordered, 'Be ready with your bag packed tomorrow. I'll be down at ten-thirty,' and when Bobbie began to argue, he said equally abruptly, 'You surely don't think I'm going to let you walk all the way up to our place carrying a suitcase? I'll be down to collect you. Please don't keep me waiting,' and he drove off leaving her standing on the doorstep of the cottage dearly longing to box his ears.
True to his word the next morning Bobbie heard the peep of his car horn on the dot of half past ten, and running downstairs she opened the front door. Her bag was packed and standing in the hall, and while she locked up carefully, making sure that she had shut all the windows, Harry put the case in the back of the car.
When Bobbie climbed in beside him she remembered the first time she had seen his low-slung sports car several weeks before when it had been standing outside Pratt's garage, graced then by the glamorous personage of Sonja Osmark. It reminded her that she had not seen the Swedish girl recently.
'What's happened to your Sonja?' she asked Harry idly. 'Where is she now?'
'No idea,' Harry remarked carelessly. 'We had a gorgeous three weeks in the south of France and then she flitted off again, goodness knows where. Probably entering another beauty contest for all I know.'
&
nbsp; 'Don't you care?' Bobbie asked him curiously.
'Care?' Harry looked slightly amused. 'You don't imagine I was serious about her, do you? Oh no! I just like a little breather between books. And what's nicer than to spend it with some luscious piece of femininity?'
'You're impossible!' Bobbie said irritably.
'Impossible? What do you mean? Just because I enjoy feminine company and I'm open enough to admit it. I suppose you'd like it better if I pretended I wasn't really interested in your sex.'
'Oh, let's drop the subject,' Bobbie snapped, stung by his tone. 'It's none of my business anyway.'
There was silence from Harry, but his agreement hung in the air between them and Bobbie flushed. He was too polite to snub her in actual words, but he had not liked the conversation, she could see, and she could have kicked herself for behaving with what her mother would have considered bad taste. It was none of her business how Harry Redmayne spent his spare time.
He certainly could not be permitting himself much spare time at the moment, she realised, because when, after leaving her suitcase in the pleasant bedroom allocated to her, she went down again to join him in his office she found three more tapes of notes ready for her to transcribe. He certainly must have burned the midnight oil to get them done. However, as she got through the first of the tapes it crossed her mind what a great deal of preliminary work went into the preparing of a long novel like this. Harry had made his name by writing interesting biographies of some of the lesser known people in history, and this present one was to be about the life of one of the Gunpowder Plot conspirators. Although she was not well up in early seventeenth-century history as she typed page after page of notes on the period, customs, dress and characters who were to be included in this book, Bobbie began to feel interested in spite of herself. She could hardly wait for Harry to actually start writing the book itself, and she wondered how long it would be before he started on chapter one.
But she had to possess her soul in patience. The following day, instead of starting her on yet another pile of notes, as soon as she appeared Harry gave her a list of books that he wanted from the local library, as well as a reference he wanted her to look up while she was there. 'No need for you to actually bring that other book,' he commented as she was leaving. 'A note on the context will do. Take my car. You can drive, can't you?'
Bobbie nodded as she went off to collect a coat before going round to the garage and backing out Harry's powerful car. For several minutes she sat on the driveway familiarising herself with the gears and the many switches on the dashboard before putting the car into gear and starting off, feeling glad, on this nice morning, not to be spending it in an office, however warm and comfortable.
Half an hour's steady motoring found her running into Stevenage. She did not care to take chances with somebody else's car and especially not this chromium-plated monster of Harry's, so she parked it carefully in the public car-park before getting out to make her way back to the public library.
It took her some time to find all the books which Harry had put on his list and even longer to look up the reference. It was lunchtime before she emerged and she decided to have something to eat before she went back to Charlton Heath.
She was walking down the main shopping street wondering where to go for lunch when a hand touched her arm and she looked up, startled out of her absorption, to find herself face to face with Sean Sorensen.
'Well, here's a piece of good luck,' he said. 'I was just wondering how to kill a couple of hours, and lo and behold, the fair Bobbie Bentham appears. Come on, my dear, lunch!'
Before she could protest he had put a hand under elbow, hurried her across the road and inside the doorway of a promising-looking inn. Sean must have been here before, because without any hesitation he pushed open a door to the right and Bobbie found herself in a low-timbered dining-room. There were not many people eating as yet and a waiter came across to them immediately.
He smiled as he recognised Sean and said, 'Good morning, sir. Two, is it, as usual?' and Bobbie could not help a small smile touching her lips. It was not only that Sean had been here before but it was also obviously not the first time he had been with a companion.
When they were seated at the table and he had given an order for drinks Sean turned and looked at her. 'Now what, might I ask, are you doing wandering round the gay streets of Stevenage at this hour of the day?'
'Doing a job for Harry. He wanted some references from the library.'
'Harry! And what, might I ask, have you got to do with Harry?'
'Haven't you heard?' Bobbie looked surprised. 'Miss Battersby has dashed off and got married and at the moment I'm helping Harry out with his new book.'
'Well, by Jove!' Sean sounded delighted. 'I didn't know anything about Batty. Do you mean to say at her age she's…' and then he stopped abruptly and a wicked gleam appeared in his bright blue eyes. 'Well, if that doesn't beat the band! You never know the minute, do you? They always say there's no fool like an old fool.'
'Oh, don't, Sean. She's quite a dear little creature. There's no reason at all why she shouldn't get married if she wants to. She's not in her dotage, you know.'
Bobbie had not liked the note of derision in Sean's voice.
Sean was silent for a moment, his eyes wandering over her face. 'All right, have it your own way,' he said. 'Only I can't imagine any point in getting married when you've practically one foot in the grave. But as you say, there's no reason why Batty shouldn't take the plunge if she wants, so I'll say no more.'
The protest died out of Bobbie's eyes as she gazed across the table at him. It was no good getting angry with Sean, or Nils for that matter; you could never change them. She turned the conversation into safer channels, asking him what the new station was like and whether there was a decent crowd in the mess.
She soon had him chatting quite amicably again and this continued throughout the delicious meal which he ordered for her. As they came out of the restaurant later Bobbie looked up at him. 'I must say when I was wondering where to get a spot of lunch I never expected to be treated to a huge spread like that. I feel as if I shan't want to look food in the face again today, and goodness knows what your brother's going to say when I get back.'
'Oh, don't worry about Harry. If he's got his head between the covers of a book he'll never notice whether you're there or not.'
'I wouldn't be too sure,' Bobbie replied. 'He knows precisely how long it would take me to get here, visit the library and drive back again. He's probably been tapping his foot for the last couple of hours.'
'You should worry,' Sean said sarcastically. 'After all, you're only helping him out, aren't you? He'll be looking for somebody permanent to fill old Batty's place, I daresay.'
On this remark Bobbie did not feel disposed to comment. It was best to leave Harry to explain his private arrangements to his brother if he wished and it was not her business to divulge his intentions.
They strolled together in the direction of the public car-park where Sean said he too had left his car. 'I'll probably be seeing you at the week-end—that is, if you're still in Charlton Heath,' he began. 'Nils and I have both promised to come down on Saturday night.'
'I don't know where I'll be,' said Bobbie. 'I'm really due to go back to London on Friday. It depends whether I can put your brother sufficiently ahead to manage without a secretary while he looks around for a new one.' And on this note they parted.
When she had put the car into the garage and walked back to the house, one glance at Harry Redmayne's face told Bobbie that she had been only too correct earlier in saying that he would have noticed her delay in returning. He did not speak a word as she walked down the long room and placed the heavy books on the corner of the desk, but as soon as she turned away he got up and looking at her out of narrowed eyes he asked sarcastically, 'Had a nice half-day's holiday, Bobbie?'
Bobbie stopped dead half-way between the desk and the door into her own small office, and then glanced meaningly at the
clock on the wall. The fingers pointed to a quarter past three. 'I don't know where you learned your arithmetic,' she said coolly, 'but a quarter past three doesn't mean the day's half over to me. If you'll give me time to take my coat off and wash my hands I'll be quite prepared to work from now until midnight, if that's what you expect,' and without waiting for a reply she stalked into the bathroom and shut the door with a crisp click.
To her surprise when she emerged ten minutes later the big room was empty, but the door of the little office was open and on the typewriter two more tapes were awaiting her attention.
She shut the door, opened the window as wide as it would go and set to work. About an hour and a half later there was a knock on the door and when she looked up she was surprised to see Harry standing on the threshold, a cup of tea in his hand. He eyed her for a moment in silence as if trying to weigh up her mood and then, walking across, put the tea down beside the typewriter.
'I've arranged with Mother for us to have our evening meal about seven o'clock. I hope that's all right. I've taken you at your word about working on a little later this evening,' he said. 'It will soon be Thursday and I want to get as much done as possible before you go.'
'I can stay until late Thursday if you don't mind me getting up at the crack of dawn Friday morning to travel up to London.'
'Why must you be back on Friday?' Harry enquired. 'Is it one of your busy days?'
Bobbie smiled impishly. 'I'll say! It's the day all the weekly temps come in for their pay. It's like a seething madhouse from twelve o'clock onwards.'
'Oh, I'd forgotten about pay-day,' Harry said, and grinned. 'I don't envy you. Leave me your telephone number before you go. I may want to speak to you. Will you be there on Saturday as well?'
'Marie Gibson and I usually go in. Not the other girls, of course, they insist on a five-day week. If you want to get in touch with me I shall be there most of Saturday, I guess. I'll leave you my flat number as well if you want, though I don't know until I've seen Marie who we've got on our books that might suit you. Have you been in touch with any of the other agencies yet?'
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