The Avenging Lover

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 71, Issue 37, 23 November 1950, Page 7

The Avenging Lover

By Moyra E. Haywood

Serial Story

(Copyright)

CHAPTER XV. ENTER JULIA WAYNE ' £BS. “Please don’t start disapproving all over again, darling. And, anyway, you must realise that I’ve got to do something desperate!" But Guy had a last shot. He could not bring himself to the idea of Rosamund accepting any favour from the actress. Anything would be better than that. “Why not try Creighton instead,” he suggested. “He’s a queer fish, but he seemed quite anxious to be of service.” Her quick retort silenced him. “I hate Mr Creighton and dpn’t want his assistance!” Guy laughed at her warmth. “Sorry! I was trying to be helpful.” Rosamund felt a little ashamed as she returned his smile. “I didn’t mean to be snappy. You're a dear, Guy; but I can’t follow your suggestion. Besides, Mr Creighton has no love for me either, I. can assure you!” . . “Well, that’s not entirely a disad vantage in business,” he assured her with a grin, and she was inclined to agree as she recalled that her curt rejection of the only post offered her had been prompted by the coarse familiarity of her prospective employer. She shuddered at the memory of the fat, greasy hand he had placed on her shoulder.

They arrived at the House and Guv pushed .open the gate and stood aside for her to pass through. “Anyway, you won’t have time to write any letters to-nightl” he told her. “Why not?” she inquired. His expression was that of a conjurer about .to produce a rabbit from his hat. “Because you’re coming up West to dine and dance with me, and I know how long it takes to deck yourself!” She looked at him in amazement. “But, Guy! We can’t do that! Besides, I don't want to. • . " She was thinking of Kelvin. He had been dead barely seven weeks, and here was Guy suggesting ah evening’s gaiety. It seemed rather heartless. Yet, as the idea sank into her mind, she felt a little ashamed that its enormity faded so quickly. After all,. Kelvin would understand that no amount of dancing and dining would ever lessen her mourning for him. „ Still, convention must be considered. • Other people might very well misconstrue such conduct. What, for instance, would Mrs Bentham think? She put the question to Guy, and he answered her gravely. “I’d like you to go out with Guy, and that a little light and laughter would be the best thing in the world for you, but come along and we'll ask fcer.” He was right. Mrs Bentham was not horrified by the proposal, and her gentle wisdom set Rosamund’s mind at rest.

“I'd like you to go out with Guy and enjoy yourself, my dear,” she said. “You’ll come back with a new heart for your search for work,” and, as the girl bent down to kiss her, she added softly: “Don’t think for a moment that my husband or I feel hurt, or imagine that you’ve forgotten our dear Kelvin. You are young and have your life before you; it wouldn’t be healthy or natural if your grief retained its intensity.” Rosamund's impetuous hug rewarded her understanding, and when the girl had gone upstairs to dress she wiped a tear from her faded eye. She would miss this elf-like child tremendously when she left them to join Mollie Tanner, and deep down in her heart was a vague, scarce formulated hope that, some day, something might happen which would strengthen the link which bound her to the girl she loved as her own. Perhaps, even. . . .Guy .'■..! But she checked the premature thoughts which were born of her desire. On Guy’s suggestion, Rosamund rang up Mollie Tanner and asked her to join them. “I’ll get old Reggie Thornton to make a fourth,” he said. So. at eight o’clock the quartette met in the vestibule of the small but delightful restaurant of Guy’s choosing. They dined to the faint allure of music from an unseen band, and Rosamund's eyes sparkled, while her senses were quickened by the gay, yet unobtrusive atmosphere which nervaded the softly-lighted room. Molly Tanner kept them amused with the steady flow of chatter which rippled from her tongue. She was Irish, and a native wit brightened her conversation and drew the laughter of her companions. Guy had every reason to be pleased with the success of his party. Rosamund had lost her weariness and was a picture of youthful beauty in a long blue dress, which reflected its colour in her eyes. He had never before noticed how prettily her redgold hair coiled round each ear. Not that he really admired fair hair; it could not, for instance, be compared with Mollie Tanner’s dark curls. Still, Rosamund was looking wonderful and he was caught by a sudden wave of "big-brotherly” joy at the sight of her happiness. Then, in the middle of a most diverting story, Mollie’s voice broke off abruptly and she gazed down towards the large glass doors which swung open so silently on their hinges. “Oh, my dears! Isn’t she lovely?” she gasped. They followed her look, and Rosamund’s eyes widened in amazement. “Julia Wayne!” she exclaimed excitedly. “But, Guy, how simply extraordinary that we should see her just as we’ve been speaking about her!” . “How thrilling! Why, she’s even more beautiful off the stage than on!” Mollie said enthusiastically. “And who’s the Greek god with a sick headache?” she inquired. “Oh,'that’s Mr Creighton. He’s written her next play,” Rosamund told her, but the interest had gone from her voice, only to return with her next remark. “Well! That saves me a yiree-half penny stamp, anyway.” Guy glanced at her flushed face sharply. ~ . “You’re not going to speak to her here, are you?” he. asked in some alarm. She laughed at him gaily. “Of course I am! Now don’t worry! I’m not intending to get up right now and dash' Up to her. We’ll let her have her dinner in peace, and- then . . but she’ll probably spot us before long.” X.TO be Continued.) The characters in this story are entirely imaginary, and no reference to living persons is intended.