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  ‘Oh, I am sorry.’ The thin young man with the light brown hair and large pebbly glasses looked contrite, and Ginny laughed.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Lester! You did give me a fright. You see, my mind was miles away.’

  ‘I could see that,’ he said, a little sadly. ‘I don’t expect you even noticed I was late yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, but I did,’ she assured him, and then thought, a little guiltily, that the only reason she had observed he was absent was because she felt so much more at ease when he was not present.

  ‘I was kept at the office,’ he said.

  And Ginny, more for something to say than anything else, interposed, ‘Oh, but I expect you didn’t mind. You like the work there, don’t you?’

  There was a short pause and the young man said vehemently, ‘I hate it!’

  ‘Hate it?’ Ginny regarded him with genuine interest. ‘But I always thought it was the sort of work that appealed to you; that you intended climbing up and up, as it were, until you got to the top. I mean, it’s that sort of job, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ He took off his spectacles and rubbed them angrily. ‘It’s a stupid, silly job. I sit at a desk all day long totting up figures and I haven’t the slightest prospect of advancement. The whole thing was my mother’s idea. I never wanted to go into an office.’

  ‘But why did you?’ Ginny said reasonably.

  ‘Oh, I suppose because I wanted to please her. There was no one to encourage me with my little plans - that is until I

  met you.’

  Ginny regarded him with round-eyed amazement. ‘I don’t understand,’ she stuttered. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, just that underneath I feel you’re an adventurous sort of person, Ginny. With you by my side I could do some of the things I’ve always planned to do. You wouldn’t mind taking a chance with a man; security wouldn’t come first with you, as it does with most girls.’

  Holding the dripping wooden porridge spoon, Ginny regarded him helplessly. His pale blue eyes were sparkling with determination behind his thick lenses, and she realized to her horror that there was no way of diverting him. Whatever he had in mind he intended to say; it would be impossible to sidetrack him. ‘You’re not proposing, are you?’ she stammered incredulously.

  ‘That’s exactly what I am doing, he said firmly. ‘Why should you be surprised? Is it just because it’s me?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she hastened to assure him, ‘but it is rather an extraordinary place to choose. I mean—’ She glanced round the gloomy kitchen with the high old-fashioned dresser, the pot bubbling on the black range, and then giggled suddenly. ‘I mean it’s not the type of setting one would imagine for a proposal.’

  ‘I haven’t much chance of choosing the right setting, have I?’ he said gloomily.

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Ginny conceded, ‘but all the same you must admit it is a little unusual. I really don’t know what Mrs. Clarkson would say.’

  ‘Never mind Mrs. Clarkson,’ he said, his eyes glimmering determinedly. ‘I want to get your answer now, before that dreadful Morley creature gets up and demands her breakfast. ’

  But it’s all so unexpected, Ginny was going to say, and then realized that this wouldn’t be either original or true. She had known for a long time that Lester Philips was ‘taking an interest’ in her, as Miss Conway had expressed it discreetly, but she had not dreamed that he would actually propose. His attentions had proved embarrassing, but she had never visualized the time when she would be faced with such a decision - not that there was really any decision to be made, of course, although she was naively flattered that he should have thought of her in that light. It was warming to know that, to him at least, she held the ingredients of romance, although he himself was not the type who would make a girl’s heart beat faster.

  ‘Well,’ he said a little impatiently, ‘you’re not going to pretend you didn’t know that I’d fallen for you?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I did in a way,’ Ginny admitted. She had a blunt and honest approach to life which Mrs. Clarkson often found disconcerting when it was applied to her guests.

  ‘All right, then,’ he persisted, ‘you must have thought about it. Girls do! You must have reached some sort of conclusion.’

  As she searched her mind in an effort to refuse tactfully, Ginny’s hand strayed subconsciously to the letter in her pocket.

  His eyes followed the movement and his face became prim with disapproval. ‘Oh, I see! Stupid of me to ask. It’s fairly obvious what’s happened. You’ve heard from those solicitor fellows, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ginny admitted. ‘They want me to call on them.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re all agog to begin your new life?’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Well, it would be fun, wouldn’t it? You’re right, you know. I am an adventurous sort of person, I think, and Clarkson’s isn’t a terribly exciting sort of place - although,’ she hastened to add, ‘Mrs. Clarkson has been simply wonderful to me.’

  ‘Never mind Mrs. Clarkson,’ he said. ‘What about me?’

  ‘About you?’ Ginny echoed.

  ‘Yes. You’d no right to encourage me the way you did when this business was at the back of your head. It’s fairly obvious that when you’ve the prospect of being taken up by

  your grand relations you’ll consider me a pretty small drink.’

  Ginny flushed. ‘How can you say such a thing?’ she said defensively. ‘You know I didn’t encourage you, as you call it.’

  ‘I made it perfectly obvious,’ he said, ‘how I felt towards you.’

  Again it was impossible, Ginny felt, to tell him that he was such an extremely unattractive young man that a girl would simply not consider him as a possible swain. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you that impression, but honestly I’ve no intention of getting married, and it’s not really because of this letter. I wouldn’t have married you anyway,’ she added ingenuously, not realizing that she had struck the final blow to his vanity.

  When he had departed from the kitchen with an air of icy and faintly ridiculous disapproval, Ginny hastened to dish up the breakfast. She was longing to share her news with Miss Conway, but realized she would have to wait until she got her alone. Mrs. Clarkson, of course, would have to be told, but her thoughts sheered off from that because she knew the problems that would arise and the decisions that would have to be made should anything come of the interview.

  But she had not counted on the fact that her emotions were transparently open, and Professor Norris had no sooner set eyes on her when she came in with his cornflakes than he said with elderly coyness, ‘I see you have had good news, my dear, from Messrs. Ruttledge & Sons.’

  Mrs. Morley looked up with quick suspicion.

  ‘How did you guess?’ Ginny asked, dismayed that her feelings should be so obvious.

  ‘It was easy,’ Professor Norris chuckled. ‘When you’re pleased or excited about anything your eyebrows arch up on to your forehead - rather in the manner of an Egyptian wall painting,’ he added thoughtfully.

  ‘My goodness,’ Mrs. Morley laughed sardonically, ‘you are observant, Professor Norris!’

  ‘Yes, aren’t I?’ the Professor said equably. ‘But then you

  have to be when you’re in my business.’

  As she found it impossible to disconcert the Professor Mrs. Morley gave up and fixed her attention on Ginny. ‘Well?’ She carefully finished peeling a pear with her silver knife and faced Ginny challengingly. ‘Well, did they give any definite idea of what they want you for, or is it one of those usual mumbo-jumbo letters that one gets from solicitors, meaning nothing?’

  Ginny’s heart sank a little. It was true that the letter hadn’t really said anything definite, except of course that they wished to interview her. She clutched at this idea eagerly. ‘They want to see me,’ she said, ‘and they say they will discuss things further then. ’

  Miss Conway laid down her spoon. ‘Did they really?’ she said eagerly. ‘That really sounds
as if they’re in earnest, Ginny, and I’m dying to know what they’re going to say.’

  ‘Huh! I expect they want to get a look at you and see just how gullible you are,’ said Mrs. Morley.

  ‘Now that’s not kind,’ Miss Conway said firmly, and Ginny glanced at her in surprise. Usually Miss Conway didn’t spring to her defence as she was rather in awe of Mrs. Morley, and she felt quite a rush of gratitude towards the thin, elderly woman.

  Later on, as she cleared away the table after Mrs. Morley had retired to the sitting-room she decided firmly that she would not let herself become too sanguine about the coming interview. Probably it was, as Mrs. Morley had so brutally said, that they simply wanted to look her over. Perhaps she would prove to be unsuitable for whatever their intention was, and she remembered a little wistfully that even her very best coat was rather threadbare and that she certainly wouldn’t have enough money to buy a new one. She would not make a very impressive figure, she realized, with her small pale face and large dark eyes and her short undeveloped figure - and she had not the slightest hope that she would impinge on Messrs. Ruttledge & Sons. However - she tilted her chin determinedly with a little proud gleam in her eyes - Messrs. Ruttledge &

  Sons, whoever they were, would have to take her as they found her!

  As she climbed the wide granite steps Ginny noticed the enormous gleaming brass plate that announced that Messrs. Ruttledge & Sons were solicitors and justices of the peace. The curved brass sign flashed in the weak afternoon sun, and Ginny felt her heart beat a little faster as she entered the waiting room. It was an old-fashioned firm, but evidently an important and well-established one. A great wide mahogany desk formed a sweeping arc and the secretary behind her barricade had an air of polished efficiency. An old man with a pile of documents came in soundlessly from a high solid mahogany door and after a whispered consultation with one of the clerks glanced up at Ginny inquiringly. He nodded to her in a kindly way and Ginny plucked up courage to say brightly, ‘I’ve an appointment with Mr. Ruttledge for two o’clock. I’m afraid I’m a little early, but you see I’m the sort of person who needs to start early or I’m late.’

  Again the old man smiled reassuringly at her. ‘Which Mr. Ruttledge?’ he inquired.

  Ginny racked her brains and couldn’t remember from the wild squiggle which had terminated his communication exactly what Mr. Ruttledge’s first name could be. ‘I think it was a J,’ she said at last, and was aware with embarrassment of the little titter of amusement that went through the clerkesses at the naivete of the reply.

  ‘If you will take a seat for a few moments,’ he said,

  ‘I shall tell Mr. James that you have arrived.’

  Gratefully Ginny sank into the wide leather settee. As she waited she reconsidered her position. That morning Mrs. Clarkson had been unusually silent. It had been easy to see that although she was willing that Ginny should ‘have her chance’ as she called it, she was distressed at the prospect of losing such a loyal worker. Ginny too, now that the crucial moment was approaching felt her nervousness gathering in a hard little lump. What would this Mr. James Ruttledge have to say to her? It had been obvious from the old clerk’s manner that he was an extremely important member of the firm and that whatever he would have to say would carry considerable weight.

  She had not long to wait, however. Again the mahogany door opened and Ginny was ushered into a wide, almost austere room with long windows that reflected the greyness of the sky. With his back to the window at a long leather-covered desk sat a tall, thin old gentleman. He looked more like an actor playing the part of a solicitor than the real genuine article. His long astute face and cold grey eyes surveyed her as she, a little diffidently, walked towards the desk.

  Through long habit his face concealed the surprise he felt as he surveyed the small thin figure in the worn navy coat and strange little hat which made her look rather like a governess in an old-fashioned Victorian novel. He shook hands with her in a perfunctory way and, when she was seated, again surveyed her for a moment in silence. It would be difficult, he realized, to explain his client’s motives, and he felt a short spurt of the irritation Nicholas Kendrick always inspired in him. Eccentrics were such a nuisance, he thought, especially when you had to explain them away to someone who looked so sensible and unimaginative. However, the Kendricks were amongst his most important clients, and as he managed most of their business affairs the astute side of him was prepared to put up with the old man’s eccentricities.

  He joined his hands together and surveyed Ginny severely. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘that you know very little of the circumstances surrounding the search that my client instituted?’

  Ginny shook her head. ‘I have no idea,’ she confessed. ‘I often heard my mother say that she was vaguely related to the Kendricks, but that it was so far out that she didn’t consider it important. ’

  ‘As you say, the relationship is extremely distant,’ Mr. Ruttledge said approvingly. He studied his fingernails and then said pointedly, ‘The Kendricks, as you probably know, are an extremely rich family. Nicholas Kendrick can afford to indulge his little - shall we say - hobbies.’

  Wide-eyed, Ginny gazed at him. She felt a sense of growing mystification and wondered uncomfortably if Mr. Ruttledge would ever reach the point when he would divulge in plain terms exactly what she was wanted for.

  He picked up a paper knife and traced a design on his blotter. ‘Nicholas Kendrick takes a deep interest in genealogy and has spent the past few years in tracing the minor branches of his family. He can afford to do this as he has both leisure and money to indulge his tastes,’ Mr. Ruttledge said a little caustically.

  Ginny could see that he didn’t approve, yet wondered why he should take such a severe view. It seemed alter all, a harmless sort of occupation.

  ‘Naturally he has dug up some extremely undesirable connections who are solely interested in battening on his credulity. ’

  ‘Oh!’ Ginny’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘Not, of course,’ Mr. Ruttledge hastened to say, ‘that I am hinting that you are anything but genuine. We have proved beyond doubt that your connection with the family is absolutely authentic, but what I wish to point out is that my client’s interest doesn’t stop at tracing and locating these connections. It extends to issuing invitations to stay for prolonged periods at Falcon’s Keep, the family home. Obviously,’ he added a little bitterly, ‘Nicholas Kendrick sees himself as the patriarchal type.’

  Ginny gazed at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. ‘You mean,’ she said, ‘that Falcon’s Keep is - well - full of Mr. Kendrick’s relations?’

  ‘Happily no,’ he said. ‘So far only a Mrs.—’ He looked at a file. ‘A Mrs. Clifford and her daughter Anthea have agreed to stay. However, they are not expected immediately. It seems the young lady is an actress - of sorts, or at least studying for the — ah - profession. The others have wisely declined.’ He felt faintly irritated as he saw the wide questioning look in Ginny’s dark eyes. ‘I say wisely, advisedly,’ he said dryly. ‘There is much more to this than simply the indulging of an old man’s whim. There are also grandsons. Richard—’ Mr. James pursed his lips in disapproval. ‘An extremely wild and undisciplined young man, I’m afraid. Then there is the heir, Luke Kendrick - naturally, at least as far as Luke is concerned, these guests are not entirely welcome. He is not inclined to look kindly on his grandfather’s eccentricities, and after all one can see his point. Some day he will inherit the estate and he’ll hardly want it to be cluttered up with a collection of charlatans and adventurers.’

  ‘I see,’ Ginny said flatly.

  ‘You must remember, too, Miss Lovelace, he added hastily as he saw the disappointment that made her whole figure wilt, ‘there is also the fact that the Kendrick residence is situated in a very remote part of the country. Although they are a rich family they have let things rather go to seed. Like most old families,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘they are rather peculiar and inclined towards the Bohemian
. Any girl who stayed there would have to adjust herself to a pretty abnormal situation. I have had occasion to visit Falcon’s Keep,’ he went on primly, ‘and, apart from an elderly and extremely insolent housekeeper, there seems to be no permanent staff. Naturally Luke cannot interfere at this stage, but no doubt later on when he comes into his property there will be many changes. He is a man of extremely strong personality. In some ways perhaps a little too, shall we say, overbearing. A man who in due course will have no difficulty in having his plans carried into effect. ’

  What a horrid person this Luke sounded, Ginny thought, feeling dislike grow for this unknown character. But his grandfather sounded an old dear. Mr. James Ruttledge’s description of the Kendrick family fascinated her. It appealed

  to her sense of adventure and she wondered whether the Kendricks were really as extraordinary as he implied, or was it simply that this conservative, hidebound old gentleman with his ordered way of life would look with disapproval on anyone who didn’t conform to his own rigid standards?

  ‘Well, I’ve put the situation before you,’ he said briskly. ‘What do you intend to do? Naturally the choice lies with you.’

  Slowly Ginny stood up. ‘I really don’t know,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘It’s not the sort of thing one can rush into.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said approvingly. ‘You are obviously a most sensible sort of person. You appear to be happy in your employment and I strongly advise you to stick to it. My client, I should inform you, is a changeable and frivolous old man who would possibly, if he took a dislike to you, dismiss you on a whim. Naturally you wouldn’t wish to expose yourself to such an eventuality.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Ginny said thoughtfully, and then, with an air of maturity that rather surprised the old man, she held out her hand and said gravely, ‘Thank you, Mr. Ruttledge, for making it all so clear. I’ll think it over and perhaps discuss it with a friend first.’