Happy With Either

by Ruth Clemence

  He nodded gloomily. 'No joy from any of them, I'm afraid. Blow Batty and her romance!' and he walked slowly out of the room.

  Later when they were studying a passage in one of the reference books which Bobbie had brought from the library he looked up at her. She was standing above him at the desk and glancing down she suddenly observed what thick eyelashes he had. Like Sean, was the thought that passed quickly through her mind. She had noticed too that Sean had a trick of looking at you through his lashes, and now she saw that Harry had the same habit. It was the first time she had observed a similarity between the half-brothers, apart from the fact that Harry and Sean both had the same dark brown hair.

  'You know, you're wasted, Bobbie, working in an ordinary office and sending girls off to other jobs. You've really got interested in this historical nonsense the last few days, haven't you?'

  Bobbie stood there for a moment in silence, then to her own surprise she nodded. 'Yes. I never was much good at history when I was at school,' she replied thoughtfully. 'It wasn't one of my pet subjects. But I don't know how it is, I've become quite intrigued by all the bits of information I've typed, and although at first I thought it would be tiresome going down to the library, I got carried away during a conversation with one of the librarians this morning, and then afterwards—' She hesitated a moment; she had not intended to tell Harry about the lunch with Sean, but since he had shown no curiosity about what she had actually got up to during the morning she volunteered the information. '… When I came out of the library I was still so far away in the seventeenth century that it startled me when I ran into Sean.'

  'Oh, so that's why you were so late. I suppose he carried you off to his favourite pub for lunch!' Harry remarked, closing the book with a distinct thud and swivelling round so that he looked directly up at her face.

  Bobbie nodded. She felt more than a bit guilty and wondered whether it showed in her face. 'I suppose I ought to have telephoned you,' she confessed.

  'That's all right. Think nothing of it,' and Harry swung his chair round again as he waved an airy hand. 'I know how persuasive my two young brothers can be. Well, you're here now, so let's get on. If I've only got you for two days longer I'd better make the most of my opportunities,' and without giving her any further opportunity for confidences he hustled her off to her own office to type out another lengthy memorandum.

  By the time she climbed into bed on Thursday Bobbie felt as if she had been run over by a bulldozer and hoped she would be able to totter out of bed to catch the train the following morning. As she wound up her small travelling alarm clock and set it for a quarter to six she looked around her. Really now that she was actually going she felt rather sorry to be leaving this house. These last few days had been quite enjoyable, despite the fact she had kicked at first against the way she had been stampeded into helping Harry Redmayne out of his predicament.

  She was even more surprised next morning when she came down to breakfast to find him sitting at the table. He had obviously eaten the first half of his breakfast because he had already reached the toast and marmalade stage. He looked alert and very wide awake, freshly shaved and obviously just out of the shower, because his dark, slightly curling hair was still damp.

  'Hurry up,' he said as soon as he saw her. 'If you're going to get your train you'll have to get a move on.'

  Bobbie glanced at the clock. 'Heavens, I hadn't realised it was that time. My watch must be slow. I'll just have some toast and coffee.'

  'Nonsense,' said Harry. 'You can't do a day's work on a piece of toast. If I know anything about you you'll skip lunch too. No, it's bacon and egg first. You can have the toast afterwards. There's time enough for that. Here, have some orange juice while I'm filling your plate,' and getting up he strolled over to the hotplate on the other side of the dining-room.

  He brought her back a very appetising-looking plate of bacon, sausages and scrambled egg, and Bobbie, half-way through it, realised how hungry she felt this morning. Despite his persuasion she skipped the toast, had two cups of coffee and then got to her feet. Already Harry was at the door and holding it open for her.

  'I've got the car round at the front. It'll only take five minutes at this hour of the day to get to the station,' and Bobbie was still slightly out of breath when the car roared into the station car-park.

  Harry insisted on buying her ticket despite her protestations, and as the train was pulling out he leaned in through the window and pushed an envelope into her hand. 'I'll be getting in touch, but here's a cheque for your professional services, and thanks for all your help, my dear girl,' he said as the train slowly drew away.

  There was only one other person in the compartment, hidden behind a newspaper, so Bobbie felt free to open the envelope. Inside was a generous cheque, and she stuffed it into her handbag a little thoughtfully. She could not accept such a huge remuneration, unusual though the circumstances had been, and she would have to have a word with Marie about sending Harry a proper invoice and return the cheque at some future date.

  She was still puzzling about his unexpected kindness in getting up and seeing her to her train when she reached London, and was in a taxi and on the way to the office before she had sorted out her confused thoughts. The day's problems closed over her as soon as she set foot in the office and Bobbie did not find time to have a word with Marie Gibson before six o'clock that evening when the last of the permanent staff left and the hubbub died down.

  A few minutes after the door closed on the last of the girls, Marie came out of the small office where she interviewed applicants and prospective employers and sauntered over to the desk in the big outer office where Bobbie habitually worked. She lit a cigarette and sat down on the other side of the desk.

  'Now we've got a few minutes' peace I want to hear the whole story. And we've got to decide about next week.' Without waiting for a reply Marie went on, 'What I can't understand is why you've never mentioned in all the time I've known you that you had Henry Redmayne for a neighbour. I'd have been oozing with excitement merely to have a nodding acquaintance with him. And here you've known him intimately for years.'

  'His mother and mine went to school together,' Bobbie explained. 'I can't say I know Harry all that well, although of course our families have been friendly since I was a little girl.'

  'But what a super connection! You can't mean you don't like him?' Marie's tones bordered on the suspicious as she glanced at Bobbie. 'I could hardly believe my ears when he came on the line the other afternoon and said who he was. If you'd told me at the start who wanted a temp I'd have raised no objections, you must know that. My goodness! Supplying Henry Redmayne with a secretary could open up all sorts of prospects for the firm. I suppose that never occurred to you?'

  Bobbie shook her head. 'I don't think you'll get a lot of business through Harry. He's much too self-centred to give us free publicity. He only thinks about those books of his and when he's researching he's lost to the world.'

  She stopped speaking. Was she being unkind? On reflection Harry did not give the impression of being wholly self-centred; indeed this very morning he had shown he could and did think of other people. He had been under no obligation to get up at such an inordinately early hour to run her to the station. She flushed guiltily. What had come over her? She did not usually condemn a man behind his back. 'That was unjust, forget I ever said it, please, Marie. Harry has actually been very good to me. I didn't think it would be much fun working with him, but he's been unexpectedly considerate and I've a large cheque in my handbag to prove it. We shall have to return it, of course, when we send him an account.'

  Marie's face was thoughtful as she listened to Bobbie's halting explanation. 'I take it,' she began slowly, 'that you wouldn't actually be averse to working for him again next week while I try and find someone to suit him?' Seeing Bobbie's mouth open in protest, she went on quickly and persuasively, 'We don't want to lose such an important client to another agency if we can help it,' and then as Bobbie remained silent
asked, 'Well, what do you say?'

  Bobbie answered by asking a question of her own. 'How will you manage here?'

  For a second Marie looked ill at ease and then she smiled confidently. 'Mary Lane can do your work for a while. She can be pretty efficient if one keeps an eye on her.'

  Bobbie was silent. Here was a change of heart. Marie had so often dismissed Mary Lane as totally incompetent and unreliable that Bobbie wondered why she kept the girl on. Now she was considered good enough to undertake Bobbie's own responsible position. And what about the proposed partnership? If she went down to Charlton Heath to work as Harry Redmayne's secretary again the arrangement might well be continued indefinitely. And why should Marie suddenly announce that she could manage the agency alone when only two days ago she had said the exact opposite? It didn't make sense.

  Bobbie looked across the desk as Marie stubbed out her cigarette and blew a last plume of smoke. Somehow her nonchalant air did not ring quite true. 'Who's been talking to you, Marie? Harry wouldn't have telephoned, by any chance?'

  Marie laughed a little uneasily and shifted her chair so that she no longer faced Bobbie across the desk. 'We certainly had a word this morning. He rang to find out if I'd found anyone suitable to send down. Well, I had to tell him, of course, we had no one willing to work all those odd hours, not to mention living in. The only person who has no family and might have been likely to accept is Mrs. Stone, and the moment I said the job was in the country she got up and walked out, saying she was a town mouse and had no intention of burying herself in the wilds however high the salary. No, it's got to be you, Bobbie. There's no one else.'

  'I can't see why,' Bobbie replied defensively. 'There are hundreds of typing agencies in London. Surely one of them can fix Harry with a girl.'

  'But I've no intention of losing his business,' Marie said definitely as she got up. 'I've never had a really well-known personality as a client before and I don't intend to let him slip through my fingers just because you don't fancy working for him. No, that's settled. You'd better go down on Sunday night and settle in. I'll phone and let him know,' and she walked away to her own office before Bobbie could think up any more objections.

  Bobbie sat completely silenced and staring after her thoughtfully. Harry must have been very persuasive, and she would have given a great deal, she thought, to know what he had said to bring about such a change of heart in her usually immovable employer.

  But I'm not going to take it completely lying down, she thought that night when back at her own flat she got ready for bed. The girls had welcomed her warmly, wanting to know where she had been all week. After a hasty meal during which she had managed to fob off most of their questions Bobbie went to her own room to sort out some clean clothes and think things over.

  No, she would not give in without a fight and consent to being moved about like a pawn just to suit Marie Gibson's ambitions. But when next morning, during a suitable break in the morning's work, she tried to re-open the subject, Bobbie discovered she was getting nowhere. Marie refused point blank to discuss the matter further, and as they sipped their morning coffee all she would say was, 'I thought we'd settled all this yesterday, Bobbie. You're surely not going to argue round and round the subject. Incidentally, I've been meaning to ask you, what's Henry Redmayne like to look at?'

  Bobbie was shocked into surprised silence at the question and then she replied, 'Like to look at? Well, I don't quite know.'

  'Do you mean to say you've been neighbours all these years with one of our most popular novelists and you don't know what he looks like?'

  'Of course I know what he looks like, but I've never really observed him, if you know what I mean,' Bobbie replied thoughtfully. 'He's dark. I think his eyes are… brown… no, they're not, they're a very dark grey.'

  'Married?' enquired Marie Gibson.

  'No, not married, and in his early thirties.' Bobbie smiled cheekily. 'Getting interested, are you, Marie? I can assure you you're wasting your time.'

  'What do you mean?' Marie demanded, a shade defensively.

  'Well, compared with the stunners whom Harry Redmayne usually escorts around you and I would both fade into mediocrity,' Bobbie explained.

  Marie patted her elaborately styled blonde hair. 'Speaking for myself, I've never had any trouble in getting a man to look my way.'

  'I daresay you haven't,' Bobbie remarked dryly, 'but there are men and men, and Harry is pretty choosy. If you could have seen the number of raving beauties who've fallen flat on their faces at one look from him—oh, it's quite a saga, I can assure you. He's well known round the district.'

  'You intrigue me more and more.' Marie almost licked her lips. 'I'll have to come down and look over the wonderful Mr. Henry Redmayne one of these days,' and although she laughed as she said it Bobbie could not help thinking as she resumed work that there had been more than a hint of intent about Marie's laughing remark.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mr. and Mrs. Bentham were coming home next day from their holiday, so Bobbie was up early to catch the morning train down to Charlton Heath. She had had the forethought to arrange for a taxi to pick her up at the station and it deposited her outside the cottage shortly before midday.

  The weather was still warm, though there was a blustery wind, and opening all the windows and the french doors leading out of the living-room, Bobbie soon had the house delightfully fresh, with all the stale, shut-up atmosphere driven away. A box of groceries had been delivered and left in the garage, and she set about putting this away and preparing a cold meal ready for her parents' arrival.

  She wondered whether she ought to have a word with Harry on the telephone, and while she was still dithering about whether she should ring or not there was the roar of a powerful engine outside and glancing through the window, she saw Harry himself climbing out of his car.

  His first words as she opened the front door were, 'So you're here. I was afraid for one awful moment that you were going to dig your heels in and not come down.'

  Bobbie looked him up and down before she said, a touch of ice in her voice, 'I've not come down here primarily to help you, Harry. I've come to get the house ready for Mother and Father.'

  Harry's eyebrows rose alarmingly as his mouth curled up at the corners. He stood there clad in what Bobbie thought was the most scruffy-looking outfit she had ever seen—ancient faded trousers, a much laundered sports shirt and rope-soled sandals. 'Shall I crawl away again?'

  She looked astonished in her turn, and then, as the meaning of his words sank in, began to grin rather ruefully. 'I didn't intend to snub you,' she said. 'Did I sound schoolmarmish?'

  'Most definitely,' Harry replied. 'Shall we go inside? I hate having conversations on doorsteps,' and he half pushed, half propelled Bobbie into the living-room. 'I thought it would be better to come down and see you than to phone. Sven and Mother have got the house full of people and the boys are down again this weekend, so it's absolute bedlam. I didn't even go up to bed last night. I kipped down on the settee, then had a shower and got into some old gear that I happen to keep in the bathroom cupboard. I've got to get back, though, and make myself decent for lunch, so we'll have to make it brief. I suppose you won't want to come and sleep at the house tonight, so I'll be down for you first thing in the morning, say about eight-thirty. I've made a start on chapter one and I want to get cracking in real earnest tomorrow. Can do?'

  Bobbie found herself nodding, forgetting her resolutions as Harry carried her away on the tide of his enthusiasm. 'I'll be ready.'

  'Fine, be seeing you,' Harry said, and he was gone as swiftly as he had arrived, leaving her standing wondering whether she was an absolute fool to fall in so complacently with his arrangements. She was more than ever aware of being manoeuvred by him and Marie for their own benefit, but her personal problems were soon put aside as she glanced at the clock and saw it was time to go and meet the train on which her parents would be arriving.

  She got out the Mini and drove slowly down to C
harlton Heath station. The train was on time and she was soon hugging her mother and father and exclaiming over the wonderful suntans they had acquired. 'Oh, we had a holiday of supremely marvellous weather,' Mr. Bentham said as they all piled into the car. 'Not so much as a shower all the time. In fact your mother was saying how much she'd enjoy seeing a drop of good old English rain.'

  Bobbie laughed. 'Well, don't wish it on us, Mummy! I'm all for the good weather continuing, especially as I'm going to be down here for some while.'

  There were exclamations of astonishment from Mrs. Bentham. 'Down here? Why, have you got a holiday?'

  'No, I'm not due at the moment,' Bobbie said. 'The fact is Harry Redmayne's secretary has got married and he's been left with no one to type his latest opus.'

  'Miss Battersby's left? You don't mean it?' Mrs. Bentham asked.

  'Yes, she went out to Malta for a holiday, met an old flame she hasn't seen for years and married him overnight. It's really quite taken the wind out of Harry's sails—and Aunt Jo's too, come to that.'

  'I must say it's a surprise,' Mrs. Bentham remarked reflectively. 'Whoever would have thought it? Meek little Miss Battersby! I didn't think she had it in her.'

  'You never can tell,' said Mr. Bentham. 'You know what they say about still waters.'

  'Yes, but she's worked for Harry for years and never so much as looked at a man,' Mrs. Bentham replied. 'However, there you are.' She went on, 'How long are you going to be here? I suppose Harry's having difficulty getting somebody like Miss Battersby who's willing to drudge at all hours.'

  'That's just it,' Bobbie admitted. 'And at the moment I've been nominated. Marie's quite overwhelmed by the prestige of us having a famous novelist on our books and I simply couldn't wriggle out of it. Still, it will be nice being down here and seeing a bit more of you. The only snag is that Harry insists I sleep in.'