Читать книгу The Missing Angel (Sci-Fi Novel) - Erle Cox - Страница 9

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Beside the door of Tydvil Jones's private office at the warehouse, was a railed enclosure containing a large writing table. This was presided over by Miss Geraldine Brand, who was a young woman of no small importance in C. B. & D. She was not only guardian of the door, but was Tydvil's private secretary and his link with the departmental heads.

The self-possessed and entirely adequate Geraldine knew as much of Jones's affairs as did his banker or his solicitor. Heads of departments paused at her desk and treated her as a fellow and an equal. From her they learned if their visits were propitiously timed.

Tydvil, who had tested her carefully, knew that she would correct lapses of English in his dictation, and that she knew how to keep silent in matters where silence was golden. She remembered nothing which she should forget and forgot nothing she should remember. Their relations were entirely impersonal. To him, she was a perfect instrument for his business needs. No one ever knew what Geraldine thought of Tydvil.

On the morning of the revolution, Geraldine arrived on the stroke of nine. In the inner office she spent a few moments patting a helmet of hair, more red than gold, into order. Systematically she surveyed the great oaken desk, saw the date stamp had been altered, straightened the wide blotting pad and glanced over, the pen stand. Then she opened one of the two office safes, and took from it two basket of papers, one of which she placed on either side of the blotting pad. Satisfied that all was well, she seated herself opposite the leather padded chair for the first work of the day.

There was a long pause until she heard the sound of hasty steps approaching. A junior hurried in bearing a large bag, from which he sent an avalanche of letters on to the table in front of Geraldine. As the boy turned away, she halted him with a peremptory "Stop!"

He looked at her uneasily. "Listen, Jimmy," she said decisively, "this is the third time in a fortnight you have kept me waiting. If it happens again you'll be hunting another job—understand?" She cut short a glib explanation with, "No good, Jimmy! I've heard that yarn better told by a procession of your predecessors. Your job is to have the mail on this table at nine. Chase yourself!" The boy fled. With the deftness of long practice, Geraldine sorted the letters into piles. Some few she passed untouched to the blotting pad opposite. Then, taking a long, pliant blade, she swiftly cut envelope after envelope along three sides, leaving the contents undisturbed. As she cut them she stacked them neatly at her right hand.

She was so intent on her work, that the new-corner who had entered quietly, had ample time to enjoy the picture she made before a movement on his part impelled her to turn. The slight frown at the interruption changed to a smile as he walked round the table and, without ceremony, seated himself in the chair sacred to Tydvil Jones.

After the first glance, the girl had turned to her work again without speaking. The man watched her for a while as one who gazed on something worth seeing. Presently he said, with mock ceremony, "Good morning, Geraldine."

Without pausing to look up, she said quietly, "Good morning, Mr. Brewer." There was just enough emphasis on the prefix to convey a rebuke.

The man smiled. "My name, Geraldine, happens to be William, but it's generally Billy."

"And mine," the girl retorted, "happens to be Miss Brand. I wish you would remember it.'

"I've a shocking memory," pleaded Billy, "and Geraldine is about the only name I think of."

The letters passed swiftly through the slender white hands to the zip-zip-zip of the flying blade. If she had noticed what he said, she gave no sign. Brewer was silent, content in looking at her. Presently she glanced up. "Do you realise that you are occupying Mr. Jones's chair, and that he is likely to be in at any moment; and also,"—she paused to draw a fresh pile of letters towards her—"you have no business in this room whatever."

Billy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Oh! That one so lovely should be so false." He chuckled. "Tyddie will not be here for another thirty-five minutes, as you know better than I do. I consider looking at you to be most important business. As for the chair, it fits me admirably. So much for your objections to my presence."

The girl gave a light laugh. "God gie us a guid conceit o' orselves. You're not nearly big enough to fit that chair comfortably, Mr. Billy Brewer."

"If you would admit how extremely capable I am, you would not have said that. However, Geraldine, your attempt to hurt my feelings has failed. Flopped! My pride remains uninjured."

"I don't flatter myself that anything I could say would shake your colossal self-conceit," she retorted.

Billy laughed heartily. "It is not often you are really complimentary, Geraldine..."

"Miss Brand," she interrupted sharply.

"Geraldine," he continued unmoved, "but when you are you make a man blush."

"You blush!" she said scornfully. "The fact is that you think because you are easily the best salesman in the city—I grant you that..."

"Please don't!" he protested. "You make me feel dizzy."

"You are an ass," she said dispassionately. "Because no buyer, man or woman, can resist your insidious influence, you think you are big enough to run C. B. & D. But you're not, my friend, not by miles."

"Would that you were a buyer, Geraldine," he said, grinning provocatively and leaning towards her. She prodded at him with the paper knife and returned to her letters.

"Perhaps," she said presently, "you think you should be offered a partnership."

"Would you accept a partnership if it were offered to you?" he asked, smiling.

"Rather!" she replied incautiously.

"Hooray!" he exclaimed. "Then I do offer you one. Let us go into partnership as Brewer and Brand, doing business under the style of William Brewer—unlimited."

Geraldine placed the last of the letters together and leaned back in her chair. Unabashed at the suggestion, she met his eyes steadily. For months there had been this sparring between them. The girl knew he was in earnest. Worse still, she had reached a stage where she scarcely cared to analyse her own feelings. She looked at him reflectively before speaking, and then said deliberately, "Indeed, and how many sleeping partners would there be in the firm?" There was no mistaking the intention or the innuendo. Billy flushed under her unwavering eyes, and tried to pass it off with a jest.

"Really, Geraldine, you shock me," he said, half laughing. "If I am dumb, I am not deaf," she went on. "You're not dumb, Geraldine, I'll swear you're not. I heard you speak most distinctly just now."

"You think," she took up the tale, "that because people make no comment to you, that they are blind to the habits and customs of Mr. William Brewer. You might just as well disabuse your mind of the idea. I believe in saying what I think."

"Yes," he broke in, "I have noticed that."

She went on without noticing the interruption. "And I'm not blind to the fact that you have seen fit to give me the benefit of a good deal of your society lately. If a fraction of what is said about you is true, if you have any regard for a girl, you can show it best by keeping away from her."

Billy whistled softly. "Your hand is not nearly as light as it looks," he said. "However, I suppose none of my kind friends has told you that I have cut out all that sort of thing these many moons." He paused. "Just because I realised what you have just told me. Give me a chance," he pleaded, and his voice was very soft.

She shook her head and stood up. "Billy Brewer, you have been a very bad boy, and I'd want to be very sure of you before I gave you a chance."

"If you were sure?" he asked.

For the first time, her eyes fell. "Prove to me that I can be sure."

She bent to pick up the letters from the table as he moved round beside her. Then, thinking that direct action might succeed where persuasion failed, Billy Brewer made a false move. As she bent, he swiftly flung an arm round her, pinning her arms to her side. Instantly she straightened and half turned. Billy took a complete tactical advantage of the unguarded lips.

With a little cry, she wrenched her arm free. As she did so, a strange thing happened. Brewer released her suddenly and stood with his eyes fixed on some object over her shoulder.

Blind with anger, Geraldine did not notice the change in Billy's attitude. "You brute! You utter brute!" she gasped, and, with all her force, she struck him in the face with her clenched hand. It was an active tennis and golf hand, and Geraldine struck to make her mark—and did. Three times that hand landed on the same spot before Geraldine awoke to the fact that Billy was staring over her shoulder, and made no effort to defend himself. He might have been cast in bronze for all the notice he took of her enthusiastic assault.

Then she, too, turned, and herself became frozen into one of a group. For, there in the doorway surveying the scene, stood Tydvil Jones. Aye! Tydvil, who by his self made laws, should not have arrived for another twenty minutes, at the earliest.