ANNE ALONE

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 4, 6 January 1931, Page 14

ANNE ALONE

j _ By ERSKINE FRASER. ' : — . _r==EEEEEEEEEEE i

CHAPTER XXIV. Anthony's News. "Anthony! Anthony!" Before she bad pushed open the door of the flat, which she found ajar, Anne was calling out her brother's name.. She had spent all the afternoon with Timothy, but she had said good-bye to him at the front door of No. 14, Olive Street, as she wished to tell the news of her engagement by herself. "Anthony! Where are you ?" She burst into the little sitting-room. "Anthon—oh—James. Why on—l mean how did you get in? Where's Anthony?" "I don't know where he is." James beamed at her as he rose from his chair and came forward. "And I'm afraid I came in without asking. There was no one to ask, and the door was open. So I thought I'd wait. Symbolical that. ! I'm always waiting, you know, Anne." j When slip saw James, Anne had told herself that she would not let him know of her engagement ■ to Timothy. She had made a quick resolve not to distress him while he was with her. He could learn of her engagement from someone'else. But his last words made Jier alter her mind. She would have to tell him now. •"James ... I say, Ja.mes, dear . . . it's—it's no good waiting for me." j How stupid and trite her words were, she thought It was horribly difficult to tell him. Although she had refused to marry him before, she knew that ho had not given up hope that she might some day change her mind. And she hated seeing the cheerful beam fade from his round, boyish face, as she continued. j "It . . . it .. . . isn't any good now. You see . . . I'm in love with someone else . . . I'm—engaged to him . . ." In spite of herself, Anne could not keep the joy and excitement out of her voice. i "It's—l hate having to tell you, James. Because you've always been so ..." "I . . . I've always been in love with you, Anne." James spoke slowly and carefully. "But I don't think you—you need niind telling me . . . I—l understand, you know. I knew you didn't love me.* You never protended you did. And though ... I hoped in a way that you'd never meet someone you'd.—" he halted for a moment, "you'd fall in love with—it—it was a pretty forlorn hope. And ... a selfish one." He smiled at her —Anne thought it was the most pathetic smile that she had ever'seen. "Anyway, 1 can go on hoping. Hoping that you'll be happy, I mean. I've—l've always hoped that, you know. More than anything else. And . . . and I can still see you sometimes, Anne ? I'm— I'm not the sort of fellow ... to make anyone jealous."

Anne could , have wept. James' humility and devotion touched her more than she could say. Ja.mes pulled himself together. It wa« characteristic of him that he realised what she was feeling, and immediately tried to make things easier for her. "You. haven't told me who he is. Do I know him?" "It's Timothy Carr —the painter." "Then of course I do. At least I've met him. At the Ishams'. Awfully clever chap, and awfully good looking." James did not let Anne see the effort this generous praise cost him; his voice had regained its normal placidity. "And very amusing, too. I—l didn't know you knew him well." ■ "And ■ I'm sure you thought he was going to get engaged to Elizabeth. Everyone thought that except Timothy himself —bless him. I thought 'so. Oh, James, it's awful when you're in love with someone and you think that they're —" Anne could have bitten her tongue out.

James smiled. "IJon't mind, Anne darl — I mean, you needn't mind my feelings. That's not. sarcasm. I'll . . . I'll get over it, I expect," he added without conviction. "By the way," he went on, quickly steering the conversation away from himself, "You've heard that Elizabeth has left Liverpool for the winter?" | "No—l hadn't." "Yes. Gone to London to stay with her aunt. Mr. Isbam's a bit upset--you know how he adores her. But she insisted On going. I was in at dinner one night, and she had made up her-, mind then. London was life —Liverpool was death, sort-of-thing. So discon-1 tented and—well—disagreeable 'gener- ] ally that I was sure she'd get her own way." . ' ' ! "She usually does. Not," Anne was thinking of Timothy—"not always, though." Anne jumped up suddenly. "Oh ... listen. There's Anthony coming up the stairs. Anthony!" she called to her brother before he had entered the flat. "Anthony, I've lost my job—but I'm—" _ ! Anthony came into the sitting-room. His face was glowin'g with excitement. Anne had not seen him look so happy for weeks —for months. He did not seem to hear what she said; he was too taken up with his own news to listen. "Anne —oh, hullo James—Anne, the tide has turned. The pendulum has swung. It is dawn. I've got a job. And more than that. I am the job. I mean I'm my own boss. Absolutely." "Well, I've lost—" "Here—don't interrupt yet. Must have' my say or I'll expire." Anthony sat down on the table—his hat perched on the back of his dark head. "Keep her quiet, James, while I go on. Well, this morning just after you'd dashed off, Anne, I had a message. Note from Uncle Paul. Asking me to come downj to his place as he wanted to see mc: there and then. Very cordial. I couldn't possibly have refused to go. I thought he probably wanted to cliat about the Whitney business, And I made up my mind that I'd tell him I was on the verge of a job in case he wanted to tip me, or something." '' . ~ "Full of independence and pride, isn t he, James? We'll need all the tips we can get because I've —" "So off I went," Anthony continued, without paying any attention to the interruption. "Brushed up my clothes and tried to look prosperous. Last clean col-i lar for the occasion. Turned up at Uncle Paul's' office about eleven' o clock and was shown into his private room. Uncle Paul wasn't there, as it happened, so J had a look round. . You know, lie must be a pretty successful architect. The walls were plastered with photos of houses and things he'd done. I always thought he was one of those art-crafty merchants. Diletante sort of fellow, that stuck an ornamental chimney on a house or designed a rare fireplace for a friend. Never

thought he'd such a practice. It occurred to me then that he must have added to his fortunes a bit." "Wish we could' add to ours." "After a little, Uncle Paul came in. Apologised for keeping me waiting. Told me to sit down. Then he began. . ." Anthony paused. "I never knew anyone so long-winded as you, Anthony. It's a sign of age. You'll become one of these awful' M remember-um-um-um-let-me-see' old men. Well, I won't be living with you then, because —" "Uncle Paul told me what he'd wanted me for. Anne, he's bought Whitney's shop. Just concluded negotiations yesterday. He's bought everything in it—lock, stock and barrel." "And the Norman table?" c "And the Norman table, which was thrown in gratis. The whole blessed outfit is his." "Ah. . ." Anne began to see light. "On with it, Anthony. Why did he want you?" "He started off by saying that I was a jolly good salesman. Bit of a twinkle in his eye—but I didn't mind. Then he asked if I was fixed in a place anywhere." "And you said that although you'd the pick of thousands of places, it just happened that you were free at the moment, T suppose" "More or Jess. I wasn't going to fall over him with eagerness at his hint. I tried to be casual, you know." "He'd spot that. The sudden glad light in your blue eyes would give you away." "Perhaps it did. Well then, he said that he wanted to make the shop a success. Wanted to run it as a business proposition and wanted—" "Wanted a trustworthy, diligent young man in charge of it. Oh, Anthony—"

"Yes. . . . He asked me if I would ] be his manager. There and then. Said I needn't think that he was doing it as a charity to mc. That there was ] nothing charitablc about it. Said be wouldn't have asked me if he'd thought that I wasn't capable of running the place properly. Said, too, that I'd find him a very sharp employer — though not a dishonest one. That he'd expect the shop to yield him a rcspect&blc profit." "JTope yon told him what a swell you were when it came to adding upcolumns of figures and managing the financial side of things? It'll be a fine treat for him to see your monthly, or whatever it is, account sheet's. Pounds, shillings and pence in a gorgeous riot all over the page. D'you remember. James, when Anthony was treasurer of our badminton club?" "I do," James spoke with feeling. "I was the member who took his yearly report to an accountant. The accountant had to call a conference of ten strong clerks to deal with it." "I informed Uncle Paul," Anthony's tone was dignified, "that mathematics was not my strong point. I told him that accounts were apt to become involved when I was left in charge of them. And I suggested that, if he was agreeable, I would engage a reliable young clerk who could look after that side of the business." Anthony was elaborately casual. "Matter of fact. I suggested Jean for the job. She seemed to me to be the best person I could think of." "Matter of fact." Anne mimicked him. "T think you were right. Wonder how you thought of'her, Anthony? Not often she's in your thought, is it? What did Uncle Paul say to that?" "Oh. . .lie —he thought it a jolly good idea. He suggested my bringing Jean along so that he could discuss it with her. He was prepared to take my word about her efficiency and all that, but htf v wanted to see her for himself. . . I'd '. . . I'd let him know what a lot I thought of her—her work, I mean." •"Oh we know you mean her work, Anthony. Don't 'we, James? These business men, James. Look upon everyone as mere machines. Jean's just a mechanical calculator to Anthonj. Well, did you bring Jean along?' "I* did. I happened to know where she was —" ; » "Extraordinary bit of luck, that "And I introduced her to Uncle Paul." "What as? Your future—stenor grapher?" Anthony affectec' not to hear her.

"Uncle Paul liked Tier straight off. Her father is an architect in Edinburgh, you know, and that helped no end. Uncle Paul said he'd heard of him, and. . "Were you talking, about hei' father?" asked Aline innocently. "Going .to meet him sonic time, perhaps?" "Oh I wish you'd shut up, Anne. Subtlety isn't your line, and you're not funny. I am going to marry Jean, if you want to know. As soon as I can. I've told Uncle Paul, too. Tie was awfully nice about it—especially after he'd seen Jean." Anne embraced her brother exuberantly. "That's topping. Can't say my breath's taken away by surprise. I had my little suspicions. When you began to roll your j-'s Edinburgh-like, I knew it .was significant. Oh, An thony, I'm awfuTly glad. And you're tremendously lucky. . ." She turned to James. "You don't know her .ye* but she's the dearest thing imaginable. Rather like a bird. A jolly little Scotch robin." "Yes. . .she's adorable." Anthony jumped down from the table. "And think of it, Anne. Everything's fixed now. We take over the shop to-morrow. Berrington's. It may be Berrington's and nephew soon. Uncle Paul says so—and lie doesn't go back on his word. If it's a success. And it will be a success. Jean and I couldn't help succeeding together," he added confidently and jubilantly. Anne pretended to look mournful. "But I've lost my job," she said sadly, "kicked out to-day." "Never mind. Jean and I will let you do posters for our show. Don't Avorry, Anne." "Thank you. But I'm not worrying. You're not-the only person that's engaged to be. married, let me tell you. There's going to be another female sacrificed on the marriage altar shortly. Me, In fact. I gave my bashful consent to-day." "Oh. . ." Anthony looked at James. "Well. James, I can't altogether congratulate you, but—" James winced. "It's —it's not me; Anne's not going to marry mc—she——" Anthony saw his mistake. Well then, I can congratulate you. James. Do so most heartily. Who's the man I've to commiserate with, Anne?" "While I'm mourning with Jean," Anne retorted, "vou can sympathise with him. It's Timothy." James got up to go. He felt lie could not stay there much longer. "Better push off now. Anthony, I— I'm awfully glad about your success. You've had a rotten time and you deserve it, both matrimonially and in business. Sounds very patronising. But it isn't meant to be. Best of luck. . .and all that." He shook Anthony by the hand, and then he turned to Anne. "Needn't congratulate , you, Anne." He had forgotten Anthony was there. "You don't need congratulations from me. • They'd be unnecessary. You— I've never seen you look so happy and— and—so lovely. Timothy is—" He could not say any more. "Goodbye, my dear. . ." James left the flat. "Poor James." Anne's eyes were soft. "I wish—l wish he —" She stopped/; . "But it's Timothy I. love, you see. Timothy," 6he repeated, and her eyes were radiant, James had been forgotten.

(To be eoncludcd.)