The Man in Possession

by Hilda Pressley

  She cried out and covered her face with her hands, unable to take any more from him and feeling as though her heart would break.

  There was an exclamation from Roger. Unexpectedly, his arms came about her and he held her close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Julia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It—it just makes me mad to see that fellow around the place. I can’t stand him somehow, and—I’ve had one hell of a day, one way and another. Forgive me—please.’

  For a second or two nothing mattered except that—magically—she was in his arms, but the mention of his difficult day coupled with what Celia had told her brought her to a true realization of things. Her heart torn with pity for him and pain for herself, she pushed against him and freed herself.

  ‘It’s—all right, I understand. There are times when I—don’t much like Max myself. At others, he’s bearable.’ Pride prevented her from saying that almost any company is better than none when you’re lonely. ‘I can tell him not to come again, if you like,’ she offered.

  ‘No, no.’ He put his hand under her arm and led her towards the bank of the river. ‘You came out for some air and I picked a quarrel with you. I’m sorry. And please forget what I said about the houseboat. I should have learned by now to keep a better control over both my tongue and temper. Instead of saying things to you like I did I should have been thanking you for having Celia. It can’t have been easy for you.’

  Julia tried to reassure him without actually lying. ‘I haven’t minded in the least,’ she said. ‘I only hope she’s been comfortable and has enjoyed her stay.’

  ‘I think she has, but she’s not a great lover of the country. She’s happier in the city where there are lots of shops and theatres, and plenty going on of the kind of thing she likes.’

  ‘Will you—ever go back to London, do you think?’ she ventured to ask, and held her breath for his reply.

  He leaned against a willow and gazed out on to the water. ‘I don’t know. As of this moment, I don’t want to. It depends on—so many things—or maybe only one.’

  There was a moment of silence. Julia was treasuring every moment of this time alone with him, this precious, quiet conversation, even though his mind was occupied with thoughts of Celia.

  ‘Some—decisions are hard to make,’ she said. Then she added, wanting only his happiness and remembering Celia’s extraordinary ideas about love: ‘I should think that if you find yourself torn two ways about a course of action, it’s best to wait until you’re absolutely certain you’re doing the right thing. It’s so easy to make the wrong decision by trying to make up your mind too quickly. It’s unsettling, I know, but—’

  He turned and smiled at her and her heart gave a small leap of pleasure.

  ‘I think that’s very sound advice. I’ll take it.’ He put a hand on her shoulder for good measure. ‘Maybe it’s the sort of advice you should follow for yourself too. And now I think you’d better go and get your beauty sleep. It’s getting chilly out here.’

  Her treasured moments were over. He walked with her to the houseboat and they said goodnight. Celia’s light was out. Julia let herself in quietly and locked the door, feeling a little more at peace with herself. At least she had probably influenced him into not giving way to Celia about going back to London. Celia did not love him, Julia felt sure. At least, not the way he deserved to be loved. She shut her ears to the voice which told her that if Roger took a chance and put off making his decision about going back to London, this might result in Celia deciding to stay here with him and marrying him. She went to sleep with the feel of his arms about her, her head resting on his shoulder.

  She woke up the following morning feeling happy too, until she heard Celia call out from the other room: ‘J-Julia, have you made any tea yet?’

  ‘Won’t be a minute,’ Julia answered, putting her feet to the floor with the realization that nothing was changed. Roger was still in love with Celia. His conversation last night had shown that.

  She set the kettle on to boil and made morning tea, then took it in to Celia. The weather had changed during the night, and rain was now slanting down sharply, drumming monotonously on the roof of the houseboat.

  ‘You’re awake early this morning,’ she told Celia. ‘It’s only half past seven.’

  Celia glanced at her bedside clock. ‘It isn’t, you know. It’s half past eight. You’re late.’

  Julia put her wrist watch to her ear. ‘Good heavens, so I am! I must have forgotten to wind my watch last night.’

  She handed Celia her tea and received a cool, speculative glance.

  ‘By the way, did you go out last night after I’d gone to bed?’

  ‘Only for a breath of air.’

  ‘I could have sworn I heard a man’s voice.’

  Julia temporized. It might be wisest not to mention her late-night tête-à-tête with Roger, if it could be avoided.

  ‘Really?’ she answered. ‘But I’ll have to fly. I’d just hate it if Roger were in the office before me.’

  Later on in the morning, it occurred to her that perhaps Roger objected to Max coming to the boatyard because of Celia. He might not be as ignorant of their meetings as was supposed. The thought gave her little comfort.

  The rain continued, on and off, for the rest of the week. Celia became more and more bored, and more and more irritable.

  ‘Imagine spending the rest of your life in a dump like this!’ she deplored one afternoon during a particularly heavy shower.

  ‘You call green fields, an open sky and a clear flowing river a dump? Then what would you call the slums of London?’ Julia asked her quietly.

  ‘I don’t happen to live in a slum,’ Celia retorted. ‘I don’t know how you can stand it. I’d be bored to tears.’

  ‘It’s having nothing to do which makes you bored,’ Julia told her.

  ‘Well, I’m on holiday, aren’t I? Roger won’t leave his work to take me out—and heaven knows he has enough people working for him. Why he has to do any, I can’t imagine. If he wants to hang on to the place as an additional interest, I can’t see why he doesn’t hire a manager. After all, it’s only a couple of hours from London on the train, and not much more by road in a decent car. I shall have a word with him about it.’

  But towards the end of the week something happened which gave Roger plenty to worry about besides Celia.

  Frank Willis came into the outer office looking extremely worried.

  ‘What’s the matter, Frank?’ asked Julia.

  ‘It’s the new auxiliary, Miss Barclay. It’s not really turning out as it should. Either there’s something wrong with that design or my name’s not what it is.’

  ‘But—but that’s impossible. I mean—’

  ‘That’s what I thought, but we’re following it in every detail and—’ He broke off. ‘Is Mr. Leighton in his office? If so, I’d better have a word with him, too.’ Roger was in. Julia tapped on his door and went in, followed by Frank. Roger looked up from his desk in surprise.

  ‘What’s this—a deputation?’

  Julia came straight to the point. ‘It’s the new auxiliary,’ she told him. ‘Something’s gone wrong with it. Frank will explain.’

  Roger invited them both to sit down and Frank told them what the trouble was.

  ‘It’s not turning out the right shape. As soon as the first of the frames went in, I was suspicious, but as the design had been drawn by an expert I thought I must be mistaken. But now we’re putting the planks in, I’m sure of it. The yacht just won’t be stable.’

  ‘And you’re sure you’ve followed the measurements correctly?’ asked Roger.

  ‘Absolutely. Everything has been double checked. The figures are clear enough.’

  Roger reached out for the telephone. ‘There’s only one thing to do. Get the designer here as soon as possible. In the meantime, find yourself some odd jobs around the yard.’

  Within the hour the designer was at the boatyard. Together he and Roge
r, accompanied by Julia, went into the boat-building shed. The designer looked at the skeleton of the new yacht, then walked over to the wall where his design was pinned up.

  ‘Do you mind if I take this into the light?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not.’

  The man removed the drawing pins and took the drawing out into the daylight. He studied it for a moment, then said emphatically:

  ‘This isn’t my drawing.’

  Frank stared at him. ‘But of course it’s your drawing. When Mr. Leighton gave it to me, I brought it straight into the shed and pinned it up.’

  The designer shook his head. ‘I don’t care what you say. I didn’t draw this. I’ve brought a photostat copy of the original with me in the car. I’ll get it and you can compare the figures.’

  ‘We’d better go to my office,’ Roger said gravely.

  There was no doubt about it. When the two drawings were compared they were identical in every particular except the measurements. At first glance they looked the same, but the figures showing dimensions were different.

  ‘I don’t know whose drawing that is,’ the designer said, indicating the one Frank and his team had been working from, ‘but it certainly isn’t mine.’

  ‘In that case, somebody or other has taken the one you supplied and substituted the other. Now who, I wonder, could it be?’ Roger said grimly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  There was a silence in the office for a moment or two. No one, it seemed, was willing to speculate as to who was responsible. Frank Willis was the first to speak.

  ‘Well, whoever the culprit is, one thing is certain. We shall have to begin all over again, so I’d best go and get on with it.’ He glanced at Roger. ‘I presume you want us to continue, Mr. Leighton?’

  ‘Of course. I only hope we can get to the bottom of this business.’

  The designer rolled up the incorrect drawing. ‘Just to make sure you start with the right one,’ he said, ‘I’ll leave you with the photostat. And if I were you, I’d keep it under lock and key.’

  ‘You bet,’ answered Frank, going to the door. ‘I shan’t let it out of my sight.’

  He went out and the designer turned to Roger. ‘Shall I take this or do you want me to leave it with you?’

  ‘Leave it,’ Roger answered. ‘I’ll keep it locked up in my desk until I decide what to do about this business.’ When the designer had gone, Roger asked Julia:

  ‘Have you any idea as to who might have monkeyed about with the design?’

  Julia hesitated before answering. It would be a terrible thing to accuse anyone on mere suspicion.

  ‘I’d—rather not say, Roger, if you don’t mind. At least, not until I’ve had a little time to think.’

  He nodded. ‘Fair enough. I’ll do a spot of thinking, too, then we can find out if we come up with the same answers.’

  ‘But what good will it do? I think I’d rather not know who was responsible. Couldn’t we just forget about it?’

  His expression became stony. ‘No, I don’t think we can. At least, I can’t. Until we find out, there’ll be a continual suspicion surrounding everybody. It might even be one of our own workmen, and if it is, I just don’t want the man working for me. It was done quite deliberately—and by someone who knew his way around as well as knowing what we were doing.’

  ‘I realize that. That’s why—’

  The telephone rang and Roger lifted the receiver. The next moment his face became dark.

  ‘It’s for you,’ he said. ‘Max Windham. You’d better take it in your own office.’

  Julia turned and went out. Why was it that nine times out of ten, when Max rang, Roger answered the telephone? But of course, that was nonsense and almost inevitable, no matter who rang, when they had only one line and an extension. She lifted the receiver of her own telephone and heard the click as Roger replaced his.

  ‘Hello, Max.’

  ‘Ah, darling girl,’ came his cheerful voice. ‘How are things?’

  ‘ “Things” are not too good,’ she answered sharply, nettled at being called ‘darling girl.’

  ‘Oh?’ he asked promptly. ‘What’s up?’

  But almost immediately, she had regretted answering him the way she had.

  ‘I’m sorry, it isn’t something I can talk about.’

  ‘Oh—mysterious. Well, what about a date?’

  Julia suppressed a sigh. She didn’t really want to see him, but she didn’t want an argument and she certainly did not want Max to come to the houseboat again.

  ‘Sorry, Max, I’m going to be tied up for the next few days.’

  ‘Tied up where?’ To your office desk?’ he asked facetiously.

  ‘I have things to do, anyway. So if you wouldn’t mind—’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he persisted. ‘Did I offend you the other evening?’

  ‘No, of course you didn’t. I just don’t want to see you for a while, that’s all. And I must ring off now, Max. ‘Bye.’

  As soon as she replaced the receiver Roger came through and passed outside without saying a word. Feeling utterly wretched, Julia sat down at her desk. Life really was becoming impossible. Who had stolen that design and replaced it with a false one? Tony Sheldrake was the first person who came into her mind. But from what motive? Annoyance at being given the sack? But he couldn’t have acted so quickly. And how had the change-over been done? Frank would surely have noticed if the drawing had been missing at any time. She really couldn’t see, in all honesty, how Tony Sheldrake could have been responsible. He had never been left alone in the boatyard, and Frank had discouraged any boatyard hands not concerned with the boatbuilding from going into the shed.

  In a vague sort of way, as she went about her work, she went through the names of all the men who worked for Wingcraft, or who had any business in the yard, mentally eliminating them as most unlikely to do a thing like deliberately sabotage Roger’s efforts.

  But suddenly she was brought up with a jerk. Max. That Sunday morning when he had turned back to make a telephone call. Suppose he—

  She rejected the idea, feeling ashamed of herself. It was true that he had tried to persuade herself to find various ways of ensuring that Roger did not succeed in the business. But that had been for her sake, so that Roger might become fed up and return to London, leaving her with another chance of becoming the owner herself. He had nothing to gain himself. Unlike Celia who—

  This was terrible. She would be suspecting herself soon. That was the worst of trying to discover who had done a thing like this. Everybody was under suspicion. It would be far better to forget the whole incident. No great harm had been done. It had put the project about a week behind and probably wasted a little timber, that was all.

  Roger went about grim-faced. She saw him talking to one or other of the men throughout the day and guessed he was questioning them about the affair. But when it came to Tony Sheldrake’s turn—whom Roger interviewed in the office, voices were raised very high indeed. It was impossible not to hear what they were saying.

  ‘So now I’m being accused of spiriting away your precious boat design and substituting a phoney one! Who did you blame for all these things before I came on the scene, I’d like to know?’

  At first Roger’s voice was quiet. ‘I’m not accusing you. As to whom we blamed before you came, you force me to say that we had no troubles until recently. We never had engine troubles, for instance. And who is to blame for those sort of things if not the man whose job it is?’

  ‘And because of a few lousy breakdowns I have to take the rap for everything? That’s rich! Thank heaven I’m leaving tonight, that’s all I can say!’

  ‘But for the generosity of Miss Barclay you would have left weeks ago,’ Roger answered. ‘What I would like to know is—where were you, really, before you came here? And why did you choose this particular boatyard?’

  Julia was about to go outside. This was tantamount to eavesdropping. But Sheldrake’s next words arrested her.

 
; ‘The generosity of Miss Barclay, indeed! Why don’t you ask her if she knows anything about the yacht design? She’s got the most to gain if you get so fed up that you quit, if all I hear is true.’

  Now Roger’s voice was thunderous. ‘Get out of here, Sheldrake! Get out of here before I throw you out, and don’t let me see you on these premises again. Your cards and your money will be posted to you. And don’t be surprised if the police come knocking at your door!’

  Sheldrake attempted to say something else, but the next moment the door was flung open by Roger.

  ‘Out!’ he roared, ‘before I pick up the phone and send for the police to have you arrested!’

  Sheldrake gave him a venomous look and glared at Julia as he stamped out.

  Roger drew in an angry, tight-lipped breath. ‘And how much of that did you hear?’ he demanded of Julia.

  ‘I’m sorry. All of it. I was going to go outside, but—’

  ‘How I kept my hands off the man I’ll never know. Get his cards out and make out a cheque for a week’s wages for him. I’ll sign it. And send it by registered post.’

  He stamped out, and as she was looking in the filing cabinet for the man’s insurance cards Julia saw Roger talking to Celia. What Sheldrake had said about herself was a terrible thing. Surely Roger had not taken the man seriously? It could so easily have been true. At least, some men might have thought so. He had made no effort to reassure her. She would have to ask him for his opinion.

  But there was no opportunity that day of asking Roger anything. He and Celia went out sometime during the afternoon and did not return until quite late.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Julia asked her. ‘A cup of tea perhaps?’ She had already learned that Celia did not like milky drinks. To her surprise Celia nodded.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she answered, and sat down. There was a brief silence while Julia switched on the kettle, then Celia announced: ‘I’m going back home on Sunday. Roger’s driving me, of course, and you might be interested to hear that I’ve promised to marry him.’