YOUTH TAKES THE HELM

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 299, 18 December 1935, Page 27

YOUTH TAKES THE HELM

BY PHYLLIS HAMBLEDON

CHAPTER X. • When Lorraine awoke the next morning she wondered what was the matter, what was the meaning of this dull, numb feeling at her heart. Then she remembered Beryl had turned up again with all her woman of the world wiles, with her charm, her knowledge. She and Mickey had gone uji together to inspect Wickliam Manor as a possible residence. They had passed her trudging back to her rooms in the village street. Well, thought Lorraine, she ought to have known. Had not Beryl herself implied that she and Micky were lovers. They were possibly lovers again. Oh, why had she ever butted in? She should have left the Wickliam fruit farm alone, kept away from it. Kept away from Micky with his charm, that gay laughter of his, his eyes. She should have married Eddie 'quickly, quickly. He mightn't be very exciting, but he was better than all the others. She dressed listlessly, and made her way through the still sleeping village towards the farm. Usually she enjoyed this walk in the clear, crisp morning. But to-day it was raining a little —her limbs dragged intolerably. When she had left the village she met a man. He wore tweeds and a cap, and his face was. vaguely familiar to her. He seemed to recognise her, too. He stopped and pulled off his hat. "Good morning, miss. You're the secretary at the Wickliam Fruit Farm, aren't you 1" "Yes," said Lorraine, non-committally. "What do you want?" "To warn you. I'd advise you to get out. quick. The place is going smash." Lorraine said nothing, but made as if to pass on. He barred the way. "X dos't expect that stingy devil Fansliawe- gives you more than thirty-live. Now, I've a little project that may interest you. Come in with us and I'll double your screw for you." "Will you let me pass!" saicl Lorraine dangerously. At that moment McDougall, the foreman, came round a bend of the road. The other man made oil". McDougall joined Lorraine. "That fellow Hendry bothering you?" lie asked. "Oh, so it was Hendry," said Lorraine. She remembered now that she had seen him the day he had been sacked from the business. "Yes," said McDougall. "I can't imagine what he's hanging about for either. He's been here for a day or two now, and I'll be bound he's up to no good. He was always a low, .sneaking fellow. I'll tell the boss about him." Lorraine, too, thought she would mention- Hendry's vague threat to Micky, but he wasn't in the packing room that morning, as he usually was. She occupied herself in arranging the finer grades of greengages in eight-inch chips, each nestling in sawdust, and in packing lightly over them the shining, transparent paper. Generally the work pleased her; to-day it was merely tedious, and the sweet, heavy scent of the fruit made her sick. She had no appetite for breakfast, and was" punctually in the office by nine ready to attend to the correspondence. She waited around for Micky to come, thinking to read in his face what might have happened on the previous evening. He did come at last. He stood in the doorway for a moment looking at her. His face was dead white. His eyes burned like coals. She saw that lie had not slept, that something had happened. What was it? Why did he look like that? Was there anything Beryl could have done for him? Then he spoke and his words were entirely unexpected. "You are sitting in the wrong place," he said. She thought at first he meant that lier desk was a little in the shadow. "I can move," she said. "Yes, please do, to my desk: A stenographer's desk is not a suitable place for the owner of the Wickliam Fruit Farm, Miss Carmichael." Lorraine gasped. "Who tokl you?" she exclaimed before she could" stop herself. "So it's really true," said Micky. He had hoped until that very moment that it wasn't. He had hoped that it had been some lying rumour of Beryl's. Lorraine saw what she had admitted— too late. She realised that here was crisis. "Yes, it's true. I bought the farm early this year Jiefore I lost my money. Somebody suggested it to me as a profitable investment." "Why didn't you buy it under your own name?" said Micky. "Because I thought " "You you bought it in order to give me a job," said Micky. "Didn't you ?" "No, no, of course not. I wanted something interesting to do with my money." "You made Eddie pretend that it was his," said Micky, "because you thought if I knew it belonged to you, I'd refuse to take a job in it. You believed, oddly enough, that I'd object to charity from a girl who didn't consider me good enough to marry her. It was very good of you to worry about me, Miss Carmichael, very kind, very considerate. Christian-like one might say —turning the

other cheek." He spoke with a deadly quiet, more impressive than anything melodramatic. In his mind still rang Beryl's words. "She's keeping you —just like I used to keep you." He couldn't get away from them. They were burnt like acid into his mind. "Oh, Micky, it wasn't just like that," said Lorraine. "But," said Micky, taking no notice of her interruption, "I'd rather do without your kindness. I'd a thousand times rather have swept the streets than have been indebted to you. I thought I was standing on my own feet at last. I was glad. I d got some self-respect. I could face the world again. And then I find out it's just another woman being kind to me. Oh, my God —how sick to death I am of the kindness of women." "It wasn't kindness," said Lorraine. "The farm has paid. I've done well out of it too." "Does a woman ever do a kindness without hoping to do well out of it?" said Micky. It was unpardonable. He knew it the minute he had said it. Lorraine sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing. "How dare you—how dare you say things like that! How dare you throw my kindness back in my teeth? I wish I'd never met you. I wish, too, I'd never bought the farm. I wish I'd never thought about you again—forgotten about you. I wish I'd never seen you again. You've never done anything but make me unhappy " "You need never say that again of me," said Micky. He was whiter even than he had been before. "You're right. It was a pity for you, you ever met me. But you never need meet me again. The fruit farm's on its feet now. McDougall's an excellent foreman. I hand in my formal resignation, Miss Carmichael. I spent the night putting my papers in order. You'll find them quite easy to follow. Will it be convenient for you to let me go at the end of the day, please? And may I, too, say I wish I had never met you." "Oil, go!" said Lorraine. "Go! Go to Beryl!" "Why not—after all?" said Micky. He wanted to do nothing more than to hurt her. He was so hurt himself. He was losing everything —not only Lorraine—he had never had her, but his . work, the work that had given him satisfaction, and peace and happiness. He moved towards the door. But Lorraine bethought herself, and ran after him. "Micky, you can't go—not like that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's I that am going—Micky." She held his arm, clung to it. Her face was near to his Suddenly before he knew what he was doing, with a quick movement he put his arm about her. He held her fiercely against him, he bent his lips to hers. He kissed her fiercely, brutally, with a fierce exultation bccause he knew that he was leaving her. A kiss that was to last him all his life. And then just as suddenly he released her. "There," he said, "that's to remember you by. Good-bye, Lorraine!" The door closed upon him. He was gone. » ■ * - • • • ■ As it happened, Eddie had been sent abroad for his firm. It was 10 days later before he returned to town. By this time August had drifted into September. London was airless, torrid. The man who looked after his rooms had a message for him. "There's a gentleman been ringing you up, sir. Wouldn't leave a name. Wanted to speak to you particular. Said he'd ring up again to-night at seven." At seven the 'phone went. When Eddie took up the receiver there was Micky's voice at the end of it. "Hello, Eddie!" "Hello, Micky! How's life?" "Fair, thank you. Have you heard from Lorraine ?" "Not since I saw her last week. I was thinking of running down again to Wickliam to-morrow." "I would, if I were you." "Why?" said Eddie sharply. "Is there anything wrong with her?" "No, but she may need your advice about certain matters. By the way," said Micky, "I'm no longer with the Wickliam Fruit Farm." "No longer! But I say, Micky—" "I handed in my resignation to the proper quarters," said Micky. "But look here —I say, old man —" began Eddie in [lerturbation. There was no answer. The 'phone had gone dead. He realised then that Micky had rung off without telling him in the least where he might happen to be. After a second's hesitation he got on to Trunks. A few minutes later he was speaking to Beryl in . her hotel at Brighton. "Hello, Eddie—that you? What's the matter?" "I wanted to get into touch with Micky Fansliawe," said Eddie. "He isn't with you by any chance?" "No, he isn't. Beryl sounded terse. "You're not expecting him ?" asked Eddie. "No, I'm not. I've dropped Micky, as a matter of fact. He's deteriorated very badly since he was at Freyne, Mixing with all those rough people on that fruit farm, I suppose. Is there anything else you want me for, Eddie? I'm dining and going to a show with Captain Emscott."

"No; that's all," said Eddie

He hung up the receiver deeply perturbed. Things, he saw, had been happening. Micky had found out that Lorraine and owned the fruit farm. He had gone. This required looking into. Eddie contrived to be down at the fruit hum just at 12 o'clock the following day. The hands were knocking off for the week-end, departing towards their homes, square-shouldered, lionest-eyed men, women with pleasant brown faces, working on the land, thought Eddie. It makes a man of you, somehow. He walked towards the office and saw Lorraine immediately. She was sitting at the desk which had been Micky's. At the other desk in the corner sat a new stenographer, a girl with a pudding face, taking down a letter. McDougall, the foreman, stood in front of Lorraine, cap in hand. She looked pleased when she saw Eddie. "Hullo," she said. "Just a minute. You think we could begin picking the damsons on Monday, McDougall?" "Yes, miss I do. You'll get a better price for them than you will next week." "There's an inquiry from the Heath Jones people for 200 bushels of Victorias the last half of September. Can we promise these ?" "Two hundred bushels, that's a tidy lot, miss. There's the order from the Jade Jelly Company, too. I'd have to look at the trees again before telling you certain. We only got 150 bushels last year." "Well, let me know on Monday. I think that's all for the present, McDougall. I hope we get that rain over the week-end." "So do I, miss, even if it does make a mess of some of the posh folk down at Brighton." "Even if it does," agreed Lorraine. McDougall went and the pudding-faced girl brought the letters. Lorraine signed them, with a "Lorraine Carmichael" above the typewritten word "Manager." Then the typist, too, faded away. Eddie and Lorraine were alone. "My dear kid," he said, "what is the meaning of all this?" "Micky's gone. He found out somehow about the place belonging to me. He cut up rough about it. I rather think he'd heard from Beryl. Did you ever tell her, Eddie ?" "No, but—oh, dash," said Eddie, "you remember we fixed it all up, when she still had the flat above mine. She may have seen something, but I didn't think —I'm dashed sorry, Lorraine." "It doesn't really matter," said Lorraine. "Micky had to find out some time, I suppose." "I suppose he had, but he needn't have • gone away anyway. He always did go | off at the deep end," said Eddie. "He's left eyerything beautifully in I order," said Lorraine. "I'm carrying j on, and McDougall's a treasure. I've learnt more about fruit farming in a week than I ever thought possible. Of course, at present it's the rush season, but it's simple. The summer pruning is over. There's only the gathering and marketing to deal with." "Only," said Eddie. "It sounds a mouthful to me! Come out and have lunch with me, won't you?" "I can't. Have lunch here with me. If it doesn't rain to-night, the extra ( hands will have to come back for water- , ing. I've six little boys to scare the I birds. I've got to keep an eye on them, too. It was rather a shock to every- j body when they found I was the owner, but they've been surprisingly nice about it." I She was looking rather pale and haggard and not as pretty as usual. Lunch was a utilitarian affair. They had it in the room that had been Micky's. It was still strictly masculine. Lorraine had had no time to give a feminine atmosphere." Eating Cold mutton aft'd salad, stewed plums and rice, she talked. She had tlie fruit farm on the brain. The 1 orders from Covent Garden, from the j jam factories, from West End retailers. | "Blow!" said Eddie suddenly and violently. I > Lorraine had been discussing the price per bushel of Persliore plums. She | blinked. I "What did you say?" ' "I said, blow Covent Garden, blow the jamming factories, blow the West End retailers, and above all blow the Wickliam Fruit Farm! This is ridiculous work for you. Lorraine, I disapproved. as soon as I heard of it. You've got to find a new manager as soon as possible and then you're going to marry me." j "Why, Eddie?" I "Why not?" said Eddie. "Didn't I ask you ages ago, before you started this asinine stenography business? Hasn't it been pretty well understood between us?" j He came round the table and put his' arms behind her over her shoulders. She took his hands ar-d held them. "I'd forgotten," she said. "Of course," jeered Eddie, "you can't expect little details of that kind to stay in your memory." (To be continued daity.)