Tomorrow's ghost

TOMORROW'S GHOST

Anthony Price

CHAPTER ONE

After only a week of exposure to her, Gary the Messenger Boy was ready to die for Marilyn the Temporary Secretary, Frances judged. So it was his good fortune that the scenario did not envisage his role as being self- sacrificial.

'Any urgent letters. Miss?' he inquired, leaning hopefully over her desk as far as he dared. He had invented several extra collections a day since her arrival, and this was the first of them. The secretaries had never had better service.

Thank you, Gary.' Frances smiled at him and threw out Marilyn's chest for his entertainment as she sealed the first of Mr Cavendish's morning letters into their envelopes. The gratification of Gary's adolescent daydreams was not the worst thing she had ever done, if hardly the most admirable: it was simply the best and quickest way of doing what had to be done.

Thank you, Gary.' She offered him another smile with the sealed letters, leaning forward slightly as she did so. Although she lacked the measurements for a really spectacular view, the top three buttons had been carefully left undone to offer what there was.

'Thank you. Miss.' Gary wiped his sweaty paw on the seat of his jeans before accepting the gift. But then, instead of turning to Mrs Simmonds at the next desk, he lingered in front of her, rocking on his three-inch heels until she began to wonder if the lungful of over-applied April Violets which he had inhaled was about to knock him out.

'Yes, Gary?'

He summoned up his courage. 'Got another story for you. Miss - true story.'

Mrs Simmonds sniffed disapprovingly, though whether it was at Gary or the April Violets, Frances wasn't sure.

'Yes, Gary? A true story?'

'The letters, Gary!' snapped Mrs Simmonds.

Frances ran the tip of her tongue deliberately over Marilyn's Glory Rose lipstick and gazed expectantly at Gary. Mrs Simmonds rated nowhere, compared with Gary; she was just a secretary, and (which was more to the point) she didn't gossip round the office like Gary.

'I read it in this book,' began Gary breathlessly. 'There was this Indian uprising, see - '

It had been an Indian uprising last time. Gary's reading was either limited or highly specialised.

'Comanches, they were. In Texas - '

Perhaps Gary's mother had fancied the hero of High Noon so much that she had imprinted him with an obsession to go with his name.

'And there was this girl they took prisoner - a blonde like you. Miss - ' His eyes feasted on the dyed curls ' - and they started to take ... to take her clothes off. Miss - '

'Gary!' Mrs Simmonds fired his name like a warning shot.

'But she was wearing this - this thing - ' he floundered ' - it's all laced up, with bones in it - ?' He blinked desperately at Marilyn.

'Whalebone,' said Frances. 'A corset?'

'That's it. Miss - a corset!'

'Charming!' murmured Mrs Simmonds, her back now as rigid as if it was also whaleboned and laced-up, but interested in the Texan maiden's fate against her better judgement.

'And they couldn't get it off, see - the Comanches couldn't. So when they got her down they couldn't - '

'That's enough!' snapped Mrs Simmonds. 'Quite enough.'

Gary shook his head at her. 'But it's true, Mrs Simmonds - honestly it is. I can show it to you in this book.'

'I believe you,' said Marilyn encouragingly.

'But that isn't the end of it, Miss - ' the words rushed out ' - they shot arrows at her, only the arrows stuck in the - the - in the bones - an' she was saved by the Texas Rangers.'

Before Mrs Simmonds could draw a bead on him he snatched the letters from her hand and scuttled out of the door.

Mrs Simmonds traversed her sights on to Marilyn. 'Miss Francis ... I know you're only a temp ... and you won't be here with us very long ... But you really should know better - '

The door swung half open and Gary's grinning face appeared in the gap. 'If they'd caught you, Miss - the Comanches - you wouldn't 'uv stood a chance!' he delivered his punch-line.

'Don't be cheeky!' Mrs Simmonds' anger bounced off the closing door. She turned back to Marilyn. 'There! That's exactly what I mean. If you give the dirty little beast a chance - but you positively encourage him!'

Marilyn examined her Glory Rose nail polish critically. That was also exactly true, thought Frances, making a mental note to uproot any roses in her garden at home which might even remind her of this particular shade of red. And (looking down past her nails to what Gary had tried to see) Marilyn certainly wouldn't have stood a chance with the Comanches either, that was also true.

Marilyn shrugged. 'He's harmless.'

'Nothing in trousers is harmless.' Mrs Simmonds caught her tongue as she stared at Marilyn, and Frances knew