The Other Linding Girl by Mary Burchell Page A

begins?”
    “You do. You made the call.”
    So she explained then, very carefully and fairly, about Paula’s distress at not seeing him, and Hester’s insistence that he should not be blamed, and finally her uncle’s decision that he should be made free of the house again.
    A long silence followed. Then he asked, in an odd sort of tone,
    “Who was the active agent in all this?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Who got busy, and saw that Sir Everard was made to take full note of Paula’s anxiety and Hester’s attitude, and generally persuaded him to this somewhat unexpected reaction?”
    “Well, I suppose I did. I was worried about Paula, and the whole situation seemed silly—and sad, and— anyway” she told him lightly, “perhaps I missed you too.”
    “ like to think so, Rachel.” He sounded perfectly serious, but one could not tell, of course, without seeing those laughing eyes. “Thank you. You’re a dear girl.”
    “That’s all right.” She tried not to sound genuinely moved. ‘Now tell me your news.”
    “My news? Oh, it’s not as sensational as yours. Though I suppose it might become so. I’m being permitted to entertain Miss McGrath tomorrow evening, and put my case to her. Wish me luck, Rachel.”
    “Oh, I do—from the bottom, of my heart!” Rachel told him. “I hope the old lady proves to be putty in your hands—”
    “Rachel” said Sir Everard’s voice behind her, “I did say there was no need to overdo the welcome. Surely you’ve had time to make the situation clear by now?”
    “Oh; yes—Yes, indeed, Uncle.” Rachel spoke with some confusion And then, as her uncle went on standing there, she added hastily into the telephone, “Well, that’s quite clear, then. I must go now, Nigel. Good-night.” She though he returned her good-night in an amused tone, and she supposed he must have found the interruption funny. Anyway, none of that mattered now. He would be coming to the house again as a regular visitor.
    She could tell Paula as much tomorrow. And the thought made her so happy that even her uncle’s somewhat admonishing air, as he said good-night, could not quench her spirits.
    The next morning, she gave Oliver Mayforth an expurgated account of what had happened, and he seemed unusually amused.
    “You’re really very clever,” he declared with a laugh, “and you have a very nice talent for mimicry.”
    “For mimicry?” Rachel was rather shocked.
    “Certainly. Didn’t you realise that you reproduced your uncle’s voice and characteristic wording almost exactly?”
    “Well, I don’t know that I meant to do that, quite. I just told you because I—I thought you’d better let Hester know. So that she won’t go on worrying about her brother.”
    “I’ll tell her, of course,” the assistant surgeon promised. “But I don’t think she was doing much worrying on Seton’s account. She was quite confident of being able to have things to suit herself, as soon as she returned home. Still, this was a much better way. I do congratulate you.”
    ‘Thanks,” Rachel smiled. “I felt almost like a celebration, myself.”
    “Then let us have one!” Oliver Mayforth said unexpectedly. “Come out with me tonight, Rachel Let’s dine and do a theatre.”
    “With the idea of meeting your ex-fiance and discomfiting her once more?” enquired Rachel, with a touch of irony, for the thought of that newspaper photograph still rankled.
    “Meeting—? No, certainly not!” The assistant surgeon actually coloured slightly. “For the sheer pleasure of your company and— Oh, I can’t make speeches like Sir Everard! Do come, Rachel.”
    There was no gainsaying that. And anyway, the idea of a dinner and theatre was extraordinarily pleasant, after the quiet evenings which had been inevitable in her uncle’s house of late. So Rachel agreed, with real pleasure —and had the added satisfaction of earning her uncle’s approbation in the process.
    “I’m delighted,” he declared, when