JILL DOESN’T COUNT

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 63, Issue 309, 9 October 1943, Page 6

JILL DOESN’T COUNT

SERIAL STORY.

A Romantic Story of Rival Sisters?

(Copyright).

(PHYLLIS HAMBLEDON).

CHAPTER XXXVI. “ISN'T IT MOULDY, MALCOLM?" Jill put the cheque into her handbag. Even ten pounds she thought, gave her a grand and glorious feeling. But Freyne was, not unnaturally annoyed. Secretly both lie and Trant had counted on Jill taking the part, when she realised how well it fitted her. He wondered if she were standing out for a higher price, then decided that she wasn’t. She had a streak of genius, he thought. Never once in the scenario reading, had she suggested that her heroine was anything but plain, never once had she been less than adorable. Every plain girl in every auditorium will visualise herself in that part, thought Freyne. They had cocktails before she left, and all the doings that go with expensive cocktails: inches of celery dusted with grated cheese, shrimps on sticks, sausages ditto, potato crisps, spread with foie gras. “I’ve eaten as much as I usually eat in a day,” said Jill quite frankly, as she buttoned Viva’s lianded-down coat around her, as she prepared to go out to Malcolm’s car. The two men laughed. Freyne relaxed his gloomy pessimism. “Well, it’s been a pleasant Sunday afternoon at any rate.” “It’s a pleasant Sunday evening, too,” said Jill, a little later, driving I under a clear and starlit sky. Malcolm’s car ran with heavenly smoothness. It was so comfortable, Malcolm himself, so altogether nice and satisfactory. “Don’t drive too quickly, Malcolm,” she said. “I haven’t been out of the house for days. Don’t drive too slowly either. Oliver may want me.” “Oliver may want you —that’s the whole slogan of your life, now isn’t it?” said Malcolm bitterly. “i‘m married to him,” said Jill simply. “That’s no reason nowadays for your making a doormat of yourself for him,” said Malcolm violently. “He doesn’t appreciate you and that’s a fact. Viva may be a star, but she’ll never be an actress, in spjte of the grooming she’s had, in spite of the fact that she’s never done a thing, since she has grown up, unconnected with the film world. You have the makings of a real comedienne, and comediennes are rare. And, instead, you wash bottles and make up dope for kids with tummy-aches!” Jill laughed. The laugh was too much for Malcolm. He stopped the car. “All right,” he said. “Laugh, but I love you! You won’t believe me, when I say I’ve never said that to a woman before, but it's true. Oh, I’ve played about. I’ve enjoyed playing about, but I thought I was hard-boiled. It’s you who had to get me. And you’ve tied yourself to a man who doesn’t even realise what he’s got, who hasn’t even the sense to be jealous, when you’re out like this, in a car with me!” “Oh, Malcolm, isn’t it all just mouldy?” said Jill. Her hand found his, and held it fast. He clutched hers in return. So they sat, two miserables beneath a starry sky. When he kissed her, she kissed him back again, simply, sympathetically. It was mouldy for him, as it was mouldy for her. Then they drove home again, and he left her at the door. “Do you often let your wife go out' with Malcolm Trant, Oliver?” Viva was saying. She had heard in the studios, of the scenario reading that would take place that afternoon. She knew that Oliver would be alone. She had arrived when Miss Croft was taking her Sunday nap. Mrs O’Flynn brought Oliver a message that Miss Viva, Ferrand had come to have tea with him, goggling a little because her Arthur collected pictures of Viva, while her Ethel collected Joan Crawford. There’ll be no holding our Ethel, when she hears this, she thought. She decided to slip, along home, and fetch her, so that she could ask for Miss Ferrand’s autograph. “Do you always let your wife go out with Malcolm Trant?” “Why. shouldn't I?” said Oliver. “Jill’s had a pretty dull time lately. I’m glad she’s got an afternoon off for a change.” “Even with Malcolm Trant?” said Viva. “He’s a decent chap,” said Oliver. “Dear Oliver, how sweet and simple you are,” said Viva. “I don’t know what you are insinuating,” said Oliver angrily. “Nothing whatever,” said Viva. “But when Jill was my little sister, and not your wife, I didn’t let a man like Malcolm Trant take her out.” “Did lie want to?” asked Oliver. “Oh, he’s always had a, crush on her,” said Viva. “Roues like Malcolm always go for dewy innocence.'’ “I’d trust Jill anywhere,” “said Oliver. “But of course,” said Viva, opening her eyes widely. “Did I ever say that you shouldn’t?” She went a moment later, feeling that she had said as much as was judicious for the present. Before she went, she kissed him lightly upon the forehead. Olived moved restlessly. He wished she hadn’t come. He was tired now, bothered, bothered as to whether Malcolm Trant really was a roue. He hadn’t wanted that kiss of Viva’s. He was too weak, too weary of himself for kisses. He wanted Jill —Jill’s quietness and Jill’s lack of spectacular effect, and Jill’s understanding. When she came in she found him tossing restlessly. “You’re going to sleep for a little now,” she said gently. “I’ll bring you your supper in an hour’s time.” “Viva has been here,” said Oliver. “She says that Malcolm Trant was always in love with you.” “He never looked at me in the old

days,” said .Till truthfully. “Now — well I’m afraid he has got it rather badly. I kissed him to-night—he was so unhappy. You don’t mind, do you?” “Oh, no I don’t mind. What right have I to mind?” said Oliver lyThen he had the grace to be a little more courteous. “I don’t wonder Trant loves you!” he said. “You’re worth the loving. I’ve such a lot of gratitude for you.” “Gratitude’s a nasty word,” said Jill. “I don’t want you to be grateful to me. I’m doing what I like the best in the world. So why be grateful? Go to sleep, my dear. You’re tired.” Before she left him she kissed him, He did not mind that kiss. But-Viva’s remark about the roue and dewy innocence, was like a nail digging angry marks into his consciousness. (To be Continued). The characters in this story are entirely imaginary. No reference is intended to any living person or to any public or private company.