BATTLE AT FOUR

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 44, 21 February 1940, Page 16

BATTLE AT FOUR

SHORT STORY . . .

JURS. BARRIXGFORD explained her request with a sweet reasonableness. She was a pretty, pink and white, competent woman of 43, and to old Jedwick she seemed a mere girl. "Guy," she began, "has got himself engaged to the manageress of a dairy." Old Jedwick's yellowish face expressed neither horror nor dismay. As senior partner in that notable firm cf solicitors, Messrs. Jedwick, Jedwick, Marsden, and Jedwick. he always believed in letting the other party make the first move, even if that other party happened to be a valued client. "Of course," taid Mrs. Barringford, "it's too ridiculous. But it may be serious. That's why I've come to you for your advice." Jedwick smiled. He knew very well she * J not come to hini for his advice. In the twenty odd years he had acted for the family, Mrs. Barringford had relied entirely on htr own judgment. "If my husband were alive—" "Ah," said Jedwick vaguely. If her husband had been alive, it would not have made the remotest difference. She had controlled him with iron in velvet, controlled his thoughts, controlled his income of fifteen thousand a year. "Guy's no more than an irresponsible boy. Any girl could twist him round her little finger. It's not that I've spoilt him. He simply happens to be young for his age, generous, impulsive—almost romantic." Jedwick nodded in diplomatic agreement. In his private opinion, Guy was a nice young man drifting towards futility. He drove about in highpowered sports cars, danced, played polo, did everything except work. Mrs. Barringford stroked the back of her impeccable left glove. She pursed her rather small mouth,- and considered him with benignly earnest blue eyes. "Guy will never do wonders. I may be a doting mother, but I'm not a stupid one. If he marries a girl of good social status and plenty of energy, he might go on the local Bench, become a member of his county council, perhaps enter the House. I don't expect more than that. But I don't expect less." "Quite." "There's Dulcie Collington, Lord Wrestwood's daughter. There Anne Travers-Hill. There's Lady Lettice Carbury. Three girls who'd be perfectly delighted to marry him, and I'd be perfectly delighted to have any of them as a daughter-in-law. And he* goes and gets himself engaged to this dairy person." "Have you met her?'' Mrs. Barringford looked pained and amused. "I'm not impulsive like Guy. I've no intention of meeting her until I've— prepared the wav. All I know is—" She counted >-on her slim fingers. "Her name is Enid Roberts. She manages one of the branches of Trent's dairies. And Guy's madly in love with her." "Well, in these democratic days—" "But are they, are they? It seems to me they are just the opposite. Dictators rule the roost. If Guy is to have a happy marriage, he must marry a dictator. A sweet and charming "one, of course, but—" "Perhaps this Enid Roberts—" Mrs. Barringford's laugh was like a piece of silky rubber, completely erasing that "perhaps." "Shall we put it bluntly? This girl may be fond of him. I don't say she isn't. But the fact that he has seven thousand a year of his own is the real attrition. Don't you think so?" "1 's likely." "I'm afraid it's certain. What would happen if he married her ? She'd *sp<md his money. Put a beggar on horseback—'' She shook her 1 _>ad with a caressing sadness. "Something has got to be done. If Guy had no monev, the girl wou 1 drop him." * " She leaned forward slightlv, and old Jedwick wished she wculd stop looking at him in that appealing way. He sensed the asking of some" difficult favour. "As you are aware, Guy is a dear stupid where money's concerned. He's n~ver read his father's will. What ha knows is what I've told him. He believts that he came into seven thousand a year when he was 21." "He believes correctly."

Yes, yes, yes, but—" Her finger tips touched old Jedwick's arm. "Suppose that allowance lay at my discretion. Suppose the entire income had been left to me as a life interest, with a stipulation that I could make Guy what allowance I thought fit. It w'ould simplify things, wouldn't it?" Old Jedwick's brows rose. "Mv dear lady, what's the use of supposing?" "If I had an interview with this girl, an I she was given to understand that Guy's allowance depended on me—" "She might not believe you." "I had thought of that. She certainly eau't be .a fool, or she wouldn't be employed as a manageress in a great combine like Trent's. I can imagine she wouldn't believe me. But If I could .show her something in black and white —something that looked like a page of dear Henry's willi—" "It won't do, said old Jedwick sternly.

"Why not? Surely you have Guy's happiness at heart? I'm not asking yo.i to commit a forgery." Her trill of laughter was silvery. "I'm not asking you to take any risks. But if I could produce something with a legal atmosphere about it—l could do the rest. If I fail, I fail. You won't be involved at all." "Tut, tut, this is impossible!" She sighed. "After 20 years, Mr. Jed wick, am I to believe you don't care a straw what happens to Guy?" . "It isn't that. You're asking met "To write a few lines on a sheet of that nice, thick, parchmenty paper you solicitors use. I shall fold it, and sho-v her just enough —'* "She could pay the fee at Somerset House and get e copy of the will." "I could convince her, I feel confident.'' Old Jedwick continued to argue. Mr*. Barringford was patient, gently pathetic. untiring. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of using it, except as a last resort. First, I should appeal to her sentimentally. If she loves Guy, she will put him first, put his career first. If that fails, I can mention the—clause in the will. I assure you, GUy wouldn't disbelieve me, he's so trusting. If that fails, something in black-and-white—" "I can't!" "You're a very upright man, Mi\ Jed wick. But I believe you could." And in the end, Mrs. Barringford \\\>n and thanked him with a graciojisne?.quite free from gush.

. . . By DUDLEY HOYS

She drove back to Aneastcr Square serene in the knowledge that the document, of necessity drawn up by old Jedwick's own ha nek, would be posted to her that evening. Dear Guy would be saved. There was no doubt about that. Once this manageress person realised that he hadn't a penny of his own, there would be no more bother. From the discreet and immaculate opulence of 23, Aneaster Square, Airs. Barringford wrote a letter to Miss Enid Roberts. It was a friendly little note, without a trace of insincerity. '"Dear Miss Roberts,'' it ran, "I have heard about you from my son, Guy, and as Guy's mother, I am naturally anxious to meet you. I should be so pleased if you could come along and have tea with me next Thursday, about four o'clock. Unfortunately, Guy will be away with some friends in Scotland. That", however, will enable us to enjoy an intimate chat. I am looking forward to meetin.'; you.—Yours sincerely, Mary Barrim?ford." .'J The reply she received made Mrs. Barringford dilate her shapely nostrils. It was well written, neat, and easily worded. But one sentence had the effect almost of an offensive odour: "I can"t get away on Thursday, as 1 have to look after the shop, but I could manage Wednesday, which is our early closing day, or Sunday .... The shop. Early closing day . . . Somehow Mrs. Barringford thought of a tweed cap being worn at the Eton and Harrow match. - t She wrote back and suggested Sunday, and when the Sunday afternoon arrived she waited with the polished, kindly, ruthless confidence of a woman who had never been beaten in her life before. There was no attempt to over-awe the visitor. That might put her on the defensive, and Mrs. Barringford had every intention of making the girl like her immediately. Instead of receiving her in the white and powder-blue draw-ing-room, she deliberately hurried into the hall when the footman opened the door, so that the girl should see her hastening to greet her. "I'm immensely pleased you've come,"' said Mrs. Barringford. She took the girl's hand, and shook it firmly. Her swift scrutiny was taking in every detail —the oval face, the rather wide forehead, the steady grey eyes, the full determined mouth, the neat costume and hat. "Xot more than twenty two or three," thought Mrs. Barringford. "But she knows how many beans make five." The girl would not be a simple opponent. Obviously she had brains, and a will of her own. "My dear, come up to my little sanctum. It's more cosy. Walters, we'll have tea at once." Mrs. Barringford's little sanctum was a magnificent room overlooking a garden unusually fine for a town house. The furnishings were the harvest of vears of discriminating taste. Her husband, who had been an easy-going man, used to say it made him feel humble. (To be concluded.)