sight of him, and thinking he was one of the better things of this world. Now, she forgot him. A second car had appeared on the narrow road, travelling much faster than the first. The second one was larger, and black. The green one turned out of sight of the window, and in a moment would come to a standstill. She was sure that she didn’t know the man. She watched the second car with greater anxiety, because it might be the police, and she was seriously worried in case Alan had met with an accident: that seemed the obvious explanation, and it scared her. She heard the door of the green car slam, and heard the engine of the second car roar. A young man came in sight at the window, first glancing in, and then turning and looking round, as if very interested in the people behind him.

Gillian poked her fingers in her hair, took off her plastic apron and hurried with it towards the kitchen, but only just reached the doorway when the telephone bell rang again. “Damn!” she exclaimed, and screwed the apron up, flung it into a chair and missed, slammed the door on it, and hurried back to the table where she had been talking to Momty. She was a little flushed, and had no idea how attractive that made her. In fact, she did not know the magic there was in her movements and in her eyes; the kind of magic which could work a spell on young men. It appeared to be doing so on the young man from the green car, who was standing at the window and staring at her without the slightest attempt to conceal his presence or his interest. He looked startled, and his lips were parted. All she really noticed was that he had red hair, which caught a shaft of sunlight and seemed the brightest thing in sight.

She snatched up the receiver. “Hallo!” Instead of a reply, she heard the sound of a button being pressed and pennies dropping. The coppery-haired young man no longer goggled, for the black car drew up. Everything happened at once, that idiot Monty was bringing a guest, and she simply couldn’t understand what had happened to Alan.

“. . nk,” went the last coin, and a man said : “Hallo?”

“This is Selby Cottage, please “

“Is that Miss Selby?”

“Yes, will you please hurry, someone’s at the door.”

“Miss Selby,” the man said, “I’m coming to see you in about an hour’s time. I’ll have a message from your brother. Don’t tell anyone that he is missing until I’ve seen you, or he might get hurt.”

It was the last phrase which caught her unawares. One moment she had felt a surge of relief at the promise of a message from Alan; then the warning had followed without meaning very much, until the man said in a clear, clipped voice: “Or he might get hurt.”

It was the voice of a man who seemed to mean exactly what he said.

“What do you mean?” she made herself ask quickly. “Who are you ? Where’s Alan ?”

“I’ll see you in about an hour,” the man repeated, and the line went dead.

Gillian stood with the receiver in her hand, staring at the earpiece as if it were to blame. The coppery-haired young man was out of sight now, but another, shorter, older, darker clad, was passing the window, a determined looking “I-am-important-mind-out-of-my-way” kind of individual. Then there came a sharp knock at the front door.

Gillian replaced the receiver slowly, but didn’t move. She could hear the telephoned words as clearly as if they were being repeated, and they seemed to get inside her, making her feel cold. She shivered, a swift, sharp spasm, then made herself move towards the front door. This opened straight onto the porch and the garden, there was no hall to the cottage. Another door led to a small front room and the stairs to the two bedrooms and the bathroom.

The knock came again.

Gillian said, in a strained voice : “What on earth was he talking about? Why should Alan get hurt?” She neared the door as the caller knocked again, and suddenly she exploded: “All right, I’m coming!” She had completely forgotten Monty and the promised visitor, and could not get the threat out of her mind.

Then she opened the door.

The young man with coppery hair was smiling at her, as charming a smile as she had ever seen. The important looking man was not smiling, he was staring haughtily, and he managed to get his word in first.

“Are you the owner of Selby Farm ?”

She didn’t want to talk about the farm, she didn’t want to think about anything but Alan. She looked at the young man blankly, knowing that she was behaving oddly, and heard the other add :

“Are you Miss Selby?”

“Yes.”

“In that case “

“I’d like to buy your farm,” declared the coppery-headed young man, in a voice unexpected in its deep American drawl. “I’m sure you’ll agree that first come should be first served.”

“Miss Selby, my name is Lodwin,” said the other man. “I am authorised on behalf of my principals to offer you the sum of ten thousand pounds for that property and menage known as Selby Farm, subject to immediate contract, surveyor’s approval, freehold purchase and vacant possession.”

“I want to buy it for myself,” drawled the young man, smiling, “but I couldn’t find ten thousand. Not cash, anyhow. I’d gladly fix a mortgage.”

“My principal would make settlement against exchange of contract,” declared the dark, self-important man. He was pink of face and grey of hair, he had a small mouth and was a little too fat. His suit was dark grey, and he wore a bowler.

“You’re going to have to make quite a decision,” said the young man. “Miss Selby, my name is “

“I’m sorry,” Gillian interrupted, “but the farm isn’t for sale at the moment.” As soon as she said it, she reahsed how foolish ‘at the moment’ sounded, but that didn’t matter; all she wanted to do was to get these men away from here, and give herself time to think.

Because Alan might get hurt.

Вы читаете The Toff on The Farm
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату