Only a month ago she had thought she knew where she was going. She had almost made up her mind to take a definite partnership with Marie Gibson, but even that seemed to have fallen through, and Marie never even referred to it when she telephoned.
That night as Bobbie was packing to go back to the Sorensen house, she took a couple of winter frocks out of the wardrobe and tucked them into her case. It was getting decidedly cooler. Autumn had set in with a vengeance now and she would have to be putting away her summer clothes.
She also put two thick sweaters into her grip and the Ambrose Abbott book which she had borrowed. She had finished reading it and at a suitable moment she must return it to its place on the Sorensens' library shelves.
So that she would not forget she took it to her office the following morning when she went to start work. Harry arrived a minute or two later, looking as if he had not been up to bed. Judging by the state of two rumpled blankets lying on the settee on the other side of the room Bobbie had already come to the conclusion that he had slept there the previous night in preference to going upstairs. She suspected that he did this often and wondered why it should be necessary to work so far into the night. The book, as far as she could tell, seemed to be proceeding fairly smoothly, and they were already nearly half-way through.
Harry rumpled her hair as he passed her chair and asked idly, 'Had a nice week-end?'
'So-so.' Bobbie's voice was abstracted as she looked up from the corrected notes which he had left on the end of his desk for her to retype.
'You don't sound very enthusiastic,' he observed as he sat down behind his desk, and his eyes ran over her observantly. 'I understood from your boss Marie that you were whooping it up with the faithful boy-friend all week-end. Didn't he come up to scratch?' and his eyes twinkled.
Bobbie was silent for a moment while she took in his words. Had he seen Marie, then, over the week-end? It seemed possible, since she had only let John know at the last minute that she would be free to come up to town. So it seemed either Marie had been down here or Harry had been up to London.
Before she could think of a reply, however, Harry had already lost interest in the conversation and was looking at the papers on his desk, so she picked up the sheaf of notes, said briefly, 'I'll get on with typing these,' and made for her own small office.
She was still more mystified when at coffee time he brought the tray into her office and sitting on the edge of the desk sat looking through the window. He suddenly turned and looked directly at her. 'I suppose you wouldn't consider cutting yourself completely free from your agency in London and coming to work for me full-time as my private and confidential secretary?'
Bobbie's eyes opened wide. 'Well, it would be a bit difficult,' she began.
'You're not under any partnership agreement, I understand, with Marie. It was talked about at one time, she says, but you never got around to finalising anything.'
'No, that's true,' Bobbie replied. 'On the other hand, it would seem awfully mean to cut myself loose to take on something better.'
Harry raised his eyebrows and laughed. 'Don't be too sure about that, dear girl. You'd find when you were completely dependent on me as an employer that I was much more of a slavedriver than I am already.'
Bobbie laughed, 'I don't think there's much fear of that!'
'No? You'd have to wait and see,' said Harry. 'All the same, it would be nice if you could have severed your connection with Marie,' and he drained his cup and put it down.
Bobbie got up to return her own cup to the tray and as she stood beside him she looked up, curiosity in her eyes. 'I wonder if you'd mind if I ask why this sudden urge to have me completely under your thumb. After all, when the book's finished you'll be going off for your usual long holiday.'
'I've got to find a permanent secretary and replace old Batty some time or other. And since you and I get on so well I thought you might be agreeable to chuck up the London business and come down here for good.'
'Perhaps I might,' Bobbie said, 'if I hadn't been working for a typing agency. But as things are it would seem awfully disloyal to Marie—' She stopped, at a loss for words. 'Oh, I can't explain it.'
'All right,' Harry's voice was firm, 'say no more. Forget the whole thing, we'll go on exactly as we are,' and he got up with an audible sigh.
The sun coming through the window was lighting up Bobbie's abundant hair, making it gleam here and there. He raised a finger and pushed a lock back from her forehead. 'You've really got absolutely glorious hair, Bobbie, I like the way it curls at the ends. Most girls with long hair look rather bitty unless they wear masses of false hair-pieces, but you don't need to, do you?'
Bobbie laughed. 'No, I don't, thank heaven. But it used to be the bane of my life at school. I was always getting things said to me like "Roberta, can't you do something with your hair" or more simply "Tie it back at once, Roberta." I never seemed to be out of trouble for having it hanging in my eyes. Now of course I've come into my own. It's my one claim to fame.'
'Well, I wouldn't put it like that.' There was a decidedly mocking gleam in Harry's eyes as they ran over her face and figure. 'You've got everything else in the right place, I can assure you.'
Bobbie found herself blushing as laughing outright he turned to go. Harry stopped abruptly, however, as his eye alighted on the book beside the typewriter. He picked it up, glancing almost shyly through his lashes as he asked, 'Like this type of whodunit, do you, Bobbie?'
'Very much—Dad too. I borrowed that one from the library here. Someone in this house has collected every Abbott book written.'
Bobbie studied Harry's face thoughtfully. He was turning the pages of the book, but his expression told her nothing and he made no comment. 'Who is the Abbott fan here?' she persisted as he still did not speak. 'Nils and Sean were most secretive, made out to me they didn't really know. Do you buy them, Harry? Do they give you ideas for your own books? I must say whoever thought up a kind of Restoration James Bond has really got a winner in my opinion. And the ingenious way he uses just the weapons and commodities available in those days to get himself out of tricky situations always has me gripped right from chapter one. I wish they'd make a film of one of Abbott's books.'
Harry put the book down, smiling faintly. 'Quite a fan of his, aren't you, dear girl?' he remarked as he opened the door. 'I expect Abbott would back you to the hilt, though, in that last idea of yours.' He grinned. 'Just think of those film rights. Oh, boy!' and rolling his eyes expressively he departed to a shout of laughter from Bobbie. It was only later that she recalled he had completely evaded her questions.
CHAPTER FIVE
The weeks slipped past and October turned into November. By this time all the leaves were down and the last of the chrysanthemums and dahlias dying as the first of the winter frosts caught them. Mr. Bentham had been busy pruning, sweeping up the dead leaves and having huge garden fires and whenever she was able Bobbie went home and helped him.
She had seen quite a lot of the Sorensen twins, going out with them both to several parties in the district, but she had managed to evade further invitations from John Davenport. Marie Gibson had driven down to have lunch with Harry on two occasions and once Bobbie was sure she heard him making arrangements to go to town and meet her. No more had been said about Bobbie leaving Marie's employment, and she wondered where these meetings with Harry were leading. Was Marie seriously interested in him or just cultivating him because of his reputation?
Harry himself was beginning to look increasingly tired as the weeks went past. He was working very hard now and Bobbie knew that after she left the office and went up to bed he worked on, sometimes until early in the morning. Twice when she went down in the morning she had caught him still asleep on the settee in his workroom, and once he had even fallen asleep at his desk late one afternoon. When she had tried to remonstrate with him he had only laughed off her misgivings, saying that he must get on and that he had a deadline to meet. It was not until Bobbie caught a mild dose of
influenza that she really discovered what Harry was up to and why he was beginning to look so haggard.
She had gone to bed feeling vaguely unwell, only to wake up at about three o'clock with a severe headache and dry aching throat. Getting up to find some aspirin, she discovered they were in her handbag and that in her hurry to have an early night she had left this downstairs in the drawer of her desk.
Feeling decidedly unsteady, she crept downstairs and went along the corridor to let herself into Harry's workroom, praying that this was one night he would not be burning the midnight oil.
When she pushed open the door all seemed in darkness and for a moment or two she thought she had been lucky. Then Bobbie noticed the pencil of light coming out of her own small office and heard the sound of a typewriter being used.
She walked across and pushed the door wide open, her eyes big with astonishment. Behind her desk sat Harry tapping away with two fingers, and when he realised there was somebody standing in the doorway he looked up and a guilty expression crept into his eyes.
For a few minutes they stared silently at one another and then Bobbie reached over and picked up the top sheet from the pile at his left hand. The Gibbet by Ambrose Abbott, she read out slowly, and then she lifted her eyes and stared at Harry. 'So this is why you were all so mysterious when I borrowed the book. You're Ambrose Abbott!'
Harry laughed. 'I can see that I was destined to be found out. I've been desperately trying to…'
'But why all the secrecy?' Bobbie interrupted, her voice indignant. 'Do you mean to say you write two books simultaneously, one under your own name and one as Ambrose Abbott? Is this why you've been keeping such late hours and looking so tired? Why on earth didn't you tell me in the first place? You couldn't trust me, I suppose.'
'Don't take on, my dear girl,' Harry replied. 'When Batty was here she was in on the secret, of course, so we were able to get the thing done together, but I thought two lots of typing might be too much for you.'
'Oh, don't be ridiculous. If Miss Battersby could do it, so can I. But I can't believe you've been writing two books and typing one of them. It's staggering.'
'You do go on,' Harry remarked again mildly, 'and if it comes to people looking haggard from overwork, I must say you don't look exactly in the pink yourself. Can't you sleep or something?'
Bobbie remembered why she was here. 'I've got a bit of a headache and I'd forgotten my aspirin. They're down here somewhere,' and leaning over she pulled open the drawer. Straightening up, the aspirin in her hand, she said, 'Promise me you'll go straight off to bed, Harry, and I'll do this for you tomorrow.'
Harry examined her face for a moment. 'If I'm any prophet you'll not be working at all tomorrow, you'll be in bed yourself. Come on, I'll get you a hot toddy.' Despite her protests he pushed her out of the room. When they reached the kitchen door he whispered, 'Go straight upstairs. I'll be up in a second or two with a hot drink.'
Only too glad to obey him, Bobbie went back to her bedroom and climbed into bed. She lay there thinking about the secret she had just surprised. No wonder she had thought the Ambrose Abbott books so good! She wished very much that Harry had trusted her sufficiently to tell her his secret. She did not believe that he had wished to save her more work. Perhaps he considered discretion was not her strong point. Had he insisted, she would have kept absolutely silent about it, even though, like herself, her father was an Abbott fan and would have been delighted to discover the identity of the author.
When Harry came in with the hot whisky she looked accusingly across at him. 'You're not wondering if I shall tell everybody, are you, Harry, now I've discovered what you get up to when you work so late?'
Harry looked down at her in silence for a moment. 'Trust a woman to get hold of the wrong end of the stick! I didn't refrain from telling you because I was afraid you would let the cat out of the bag,' he went on, 'but simply because you'd never worked for an author before and I didn't think you could possibly cope with endless memoranda and two typescripts at the same time. That was the sole reason, my dear girl, I do assure you.'
Bobbie lay gazing at him, trying to discover whether he was telling her the truth or just a story to salve her sore pride. As if he guessed her thoughts he went on, 'And I'm not making up a tale so that your vanity will be a little less bruised. I trust you implicitly. Now drink this hot whisky, take your aspirins and get off to sleep. And don't come down to the office in the morning. That's an order!'
Next day Bobbie felt a little better, but when she stood up beside the bed her head felt decidedly swimmy, and she was only too glad to take Harry's advice and crawl back between the sheets.
At about eight-thirty Mabel came in with a cheerful 'Good morning' and a tray of tea and toast. 'Mr. Harry told me you weren't feeling too well, Miss Bobbie, so I thought you'd probably be glad of a hot drink. I've brought some aspirin as well. Got a bit of a head, have you?'
'I think I've got a dose of 'flu,' Bobbie told her, 'though I daresay it's only the two-day variety. I expect I shall be up again tomorrow, but Harry ordered me to stay in bed today—and I must admit I don't much feel like going down and pounding a typewriter.'
'No, you just lie right where you are,' Mabel insisted. 'I'm going to turn the central heating up. It's a bit chilly in here,' and she went over and adjusted the thermostat, pulling the curtains back and remarking as she did so, 'Best place for you, if I may say so, Miss Bobbie. It's miserable out today and looks as if it could be foggy this afternoon,' and she went away again, leaving Bobbie to enjoy the hot tea.
She slept most of the morning, and though she tried to read after her light lunch had been brought and eaten a return of the headache made her put the book back on the bedside table and lie gazing out to where the garden was rapidly darkening.
The light had quite gone by four o'clock and Bobbie turned over and switched on her bedside lamp. As she did so there was a brief knock on the door and it was pushed open as Harry himself came walking into the room balancing a tray on one hand.
He put it down and turned to smile at her. 'You're looking decidedly better than you did at three o'clock this morning,' he began. 'I really thought you ought to have the doctor to see you today, but Mabel assured me you weren't bad enough for that, so I let well alone. Have you had some more aspirin?' and he began to pour out the tea.
'Mabel's been plying me with it all day. It's practically coming out of my ears,' Bobbie laughed. 'I had some with coffee at eleven o'clock, more with a light lunch at one, and I just don't dare to swallow any more. My headache's practically gone, so I'm sure there's no need. I'm not awfully keen on dope, anyway.'
'Nor me,' Harry admitted, 'but there are times when an aspirin or two comes in useful, especially to get a temperature down. Yours looked as if it might be about a hundred and two last night, although I didn't say so in case I frightened you.'
Bobbie smiled, aware that he was being very nice to her since she could not possibly be looking her best. Although she had struggled out first thing this morning and had a brief wash, by now her hair must be in a very tangled state indeed, and she would have given a great deal to have had time to brush it before her visitor arrived.
But that was where Harry was so comfortable, she thought, gazing at him over the rim of the teacup. It did not seem to make any difference whether you were ill and looking hot and bedraggled or dressed and looking your best. He treated you the same whichever state you were in, it seemed, and Bobbie smiled warmly at him as she handed back the empty cup and saucer.
He responded by grinning down at her, tickling her cheek with one long forefinger before saying, 'Settle down and try and have another kip before suppertime. I think Mabel's got something special lined up for you,' and picking up the tray he sauntered out of the room again.
By next morning Bobbie was feeling quite well again. She got out of bed as soon as the alarm went off and went along to have a quick shower, feeling much refreshed as she shrugged into a towelling bathrobe, and thrust her feet i
nto an old pair of bedroom slippers. She dressed warmly in a navy blue woollen trouser suit and thick red sweater, tying her hair back with a matching scarlet ribbon before she went down to breakfast.
As she pushed open the dining-room door, Harry seated at the table lowered his newspaper. He watched carefully as she walked across the room towards him and drawing out a chair gave him a cheerful 'Good morning.'
'Well, you're a sight for sore eyes,' he observed. 'I thought you'd be flat on your back for another day at least. You're quite sure you feel fit for work?'
'Perfectly sure,' Bobbie assured him, and poured herself out a big cup of coffee. 'Don't I look it?' she asked him cheekily, and gave him an audacious grin.
Half an hour later they were in Harry's workroom hard at work, and they did not stop until eleven-thirty when Mabel unceremoniously interrupted them with a morning drink.
As they sat enjoying the piping hot coffee Bobbie indicated the two piles of manuscript on the desk. 'You'll be glad to have a break when you've got both of these off your chest, I should think. Got anybody lined up to accompany you on your latest spree, Harry?' And her eyes twinkled as she looked across the desk at him.
Harry nodded. 'Yes, I have. That is, if she'll play, of course.'
Bobbie raised her eyebrows in assumed surprise. 'Don't tell me anybody's refused you, I can't believe that.'
'Then you don't know anything about your own sex if that's your opinion,' he remarked.
'Well, do you?' Bobbie countered.
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