Vintage Love (248 page)

“Will you be back before the office closes?” Judith wanted to know as she prepared to get out of the car.

Alan had kept the motor running and was double-parked. “I’ll try and get back by five to take any calls and sign those letters.”

“Fine,” she said with a bright smile of encouragement as she let herself out. “Good luck with Wheaton!”

Alan reached across to close the car door after her. “I have an idea I might need it,” he said.

She hesitated a bare moment on the busy sidewalk and watched him drive off up the hill. Judith had known Allan since his school days; they had grown up together in houses built close together in the old city’s exclusive Mount Pleasant district. They had spent a lot of time in each other’s company before things had changed for her. So it was natural there should be a closeness between them not normally found in employer and secretary. With a sigh she turned and went into the shadowy hallway of the old building to take the elevator to the third floor offices of the law firm.

She remembered entering the building with her father before his death. There had been a stooped, elderly man operating the single elevator then. She and her father had been going to the offices of the insurance company on the second floor; the company that provided financial backing for her father’s building projects. Wilfred Barnes had made a name for himself as a pioneer in putting up modern housing developments in the area. To Judith he seemed to be continually successful, so it had come as a rude shock that afternoon to learn that he was in a strapped financial position.

Oliver Wilson, the solemn, bespectacled head of the insurance firm, had regarded her father gravely across his desk while Judith sat by, not knowing what she was about to hear.

“You’re on the verge of bankruptcy, Barnes,” Oliver Wilson had bluntly told her father.

With his usual charm, her quiet father had parried the remark with a sad smile. “I’ve been through difficult times before and made out all right.”

“I don’t know whether that will be true this time,” the insurance head had warned him. “We can’t bail you out. We’ve extended your credit as far as we dare.”

“I’ll manage,” her father had said with blithe assurance. And then, smiling across at her, “I wanted you to meet my daughter. She’s taking a course in business administration at the university. I wondered if you could use her in the office during the summer holiday period?”

Oliver Wilson had brightened and studied her behind his glasses. “How is your typing and shorthand?”

“I’ve had plenty of experience in both,” she’d assured him.

“We’ll be glad to have you, then,” he’d agreed.

So it had been settled, and she’d worked all that summer in this same building.

Somehow her father had kept the business going through that summer and into the beginning of the next year. Judith had wondered what was happening but hadn’t had much chance to discuss it with him. In fact, he discouraged her on the few occasions when they were alone together. And when her mother was present, she didn’t dare risk involving her in the worry. Millicent Barnes had been the only child of elderly parents and, along with a fragile, wistful beauty that had faded early, she’d inherited a delicate constitution and bad nerves.

So she was ill-prepared for the heart attack that suddenly took Wilfred Barnes off. Judith, although heartbroken, was not too surprised. She suspected the strain of business had contributed to her father’s death. His company went into bankruptcy, as the solemn old Mr. Wilson had predicted it would, just a month after his death.

One of the S.C. North companies had taken over the housing project and, as far as Judith knew, was now making money on it. All that she and her mother were left with were the fine old house on Mount Pleasant, a small summer place at Millidgeville and the relatively small amount of insurance owned by Wilfred Barnes. There was no question of Judith continuing college until she earned her degree. She was forced to look for a job at once. And because there had been none that paid well enough in Port Winter, she’d gone to work for an insurance company in Manchester. However, her mother complained of being left in the big house in Port Winter, and so Judith had tried to find a job in her home town once again.

It was during Easter holidays the previous year that she’d met Alan Fraser at a dance given by the Yacht Club and he’d told her he was looking for a secretary. He was already chairman of the bridge authority and had a lot of extra paper work to be looked after. Because she liked Alan so much and thought the job might be a challenge, Judith eagerly offered herself for the post.

Now, as she emerged from the elevator, she found it hard to believe that so many months had passed. She was now firmly established in the job and knew most of the local personalities with whom Alan had to deal in charting the troubled course of the bridge. The offices which she and the young man shared were set apart from those occupied by his father, Brandon Fraser, and his partners. But they were on the same floor.

Judith reached in her purse and produced the office key. Up until the time Alan Fraser had been given the important job of spearheading the bridge construction, he had been a relatively minor cog in his father’s office. This was not due in any way to a lack of ability on Alan’s part but reflected a strained situation that existed between the quiet young man and his patrician father.

Judith sighed as she put aside her purse, seated herself at the typewriter desk in the outer office and began to sort her notes preparatory to putting Alan’s letters into official form. There had been a time when she’d secretly hoped there might be a romance between herself and Alan. All during her growing-up days she’d worshipped him with the warmth of a younger sister. A smile crossed her lovely face. She must have acted the sisterly role too well, for that was how Alan always seemed to have thought of her. So even though she knew him and his problem better than most people, she had ended as being merely his secretary while he’d gotten himself engaged to a more flamboyant type.

She paused in her examination of the shorthand notes to decide if the description flamboyant was suitable to Alan’s fiancée and decided that it was. Pauline Walsh was a striking blonde, a member of their own social set who had been divorced and was now living at home with her father, a wealthy owner of a shoe manufacturing plant. After a couple of years in New York, Pauline had come back to Port Winter to cut a dash.

As an occupation she had opened an art gallery, the first commercial one Port Winter had known, and stocked it with the work of local artists, along with a lot of reproductions of the better sort and a line of art supplies and high class stationery. Because she was outgoing and aggressive, she had done well.

Judith began typng the first of the letters: a reply to one of the contractors who was building the road approaches on the eastern side of the harbor, explaining when the work would have to be completed.

She was half done with this when the phone rang. A hearty voice at the other end of the line inquired for Alan. Recognizing the voice, she asked pleasantly, “Is that you, Mayor Devlin?”

“Who else?” the Mayor said breezily. “How is my favorite girl today? When are you going to give up slaving for Alan and come work for me?”

She laughed. “I feel so secure here. You might not get elected next time. Then what would happen to me?”

“Smart girl,” the Mayor agreed. “I may not even offer next time.” He was one of Judith’s favorite persons: a brash, middle-aged sports announcer with the local television station, who had made a host of friends with his nightly telecasts. When he had run for councilman as an amusing experience, he’d done so well he’d been persuaded to run for Mayor in the next election. His down-to-earth personality and innate honesty had won him the chief office in Port City.

“Is there any special message for Mr. Fraser?” she asked.

Mayor Jim Devlin chuckled. “Well, now, that’s what I call a formal question!”

“He should be in at five,” she said politely.

“No good for me; I’ve got a meeting to attend,” the Mayor said. “But you can give him a message from me. And have him call me back here in the morning.”

“Of course,” she said.

“Tell him I think something’s brewing,” the Mayor went on. “Senator Lafferty and a committee from the North End Real Estate Owners Association have asked to be allowed to present a petition at the city council meeting tomorrow night.”

“I see,” she said, writing it down. “I understand the Senator has been out to look at the bridge several times recently.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” the Mayor said. “I don’t know what it’s all about, but I’d be willing to bet it’s something unpleasant. This group have hired Lafferty as their legal representative. But I wouldn’t be startled to find out that the bills went to S.C. North eventually.”

Judith’s voice expressed concern as she spoke into the phone. “You don’t think he’s still trying to do something to stop the bridge?”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” the Mayor said, “not with the State and Federal governments having money in it, as well as the city. But he’s a big man and might be interested in trying something. Tell Alan what’s going on and have him phone me after nine in the morning.”

“I will,” Judith promised. “Thanks for calling.”

“A pleasure,” the Mayor told her in his best breezy sports announcer fashion. “It gives me a chance to talk to you.” And he hung up on this happy note.

Judith worked on, and by the time Alan arrived back in the office at a few minutes before five she was typing the last of the letters he had left with her. She saw at a glance that his interview with Harvey Wheaton must have been a trying one. He looked weary.

Pausing before her desk, he asked, “What’s been going on?”

“I’ve finished all your letters,” Judith said. “And there was a phone call from Mayor Devlin.”

Alan’s thin face became grave. “What did he want?”

“He says Senator Lafferty is appearing before the City Council tomorrow night with representatives from the North End Real Estate Owners Association. He doesn’t know what it’s all about but thought you should be told. And he wants you to ring him in the morning, as soon after nine as you can.”

The young lawyer offered her a tired smile. “Well, that fits in with Lafferty’s being over to look at the bridge. He’s got something on the frying pan, and no doubt the flame is being supplied by S.C. North.”

Judith returned his smile. “It sounds as if they haven’t given up their wrangling about the bridge yet. What’s the matter with North? Is he so big he can’t tolerate the idea of a fair defeat?”

“It’s the loss of the steel contract that really made him livid,” Alan said. “And I have an idea he’s delighted to know we’re hung up for steel now.”

“How did you manage with Harvey Wheaton?”

Alan Fraser shrugged. “He put a long distance call through to the factory while I was there. They’ve been having some union troubles, but the shipment is on its way here.”

“Then it may come in time to avoid a stoppage on the job,” she said hopefully.

“There’s a bare chance of it,” he agreed. “But I don’t count on any of their promises any more.” He started for his office. “Bring the letters in and I’ll sign them.”

Judith gathered up the various letters and took them into the larger office occupied by Alan. Two of its walls were lined with law books. On the wall opposite his desk were his framed diploma, a large photo of himself along with other members of the Dartmouth track team, and several old English prints. Behind the large desk at which he was seated two tall old-fashioned windows looked out on King Street and the front of the North Building.

As Judith stood waiting, he carelessly glanced over the letters and affixed his signature to each of them. Then, gathering them, he passed them back to her.

Before she could leave he said, “I’d like to send a long letter to Wheaton’s head office, trying to make clear our situation here and explain why any further delays in shipments could spell important trouble for us. Would you mind staying until six to get it done?”

Judith shook her head. “No. I’d be glad to stay.”

Alan offered her a grateful smile. “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll try to figure out a rough draft first. And then when we’re finished we can go across to the Harbor Restaurant for dinner. My bonus to you for overtime.”

She laughed lightly. “No bonus is required.”

“I’d like to do it,” he insisted. “Phone your mother and tell her you won’t be home until after dinner and not to wait for you.”

Judith hesitated. “I’m afraid any variation in the routine upsets her,” she said. “Perhaps I should go home as soon as we’ve finished.”

“Nonsense!” he said. “You should get out for dinner once in a while. This gives me a chance to treat you on my expense account. Go ahead; call her!”

Judith said, “I’ll call and see if she’s gone to any special trouble for dinner. If not, I’ll stay in the city with you.”

“That’s more like it,” Alan said approvingly.

Before Judith could leave the inner office, the door to the suite opened and Brandon Fraser came in. Alan’s father was a tall, elegant man with iron-gray hair and the finely chiseled features of a patrician.

Advancing to the doorway of Alan’s office, he gave Judith a nod and then focused his attention on his son. His dark soft hat and neat blue suit were in keeping with his dignified figure, and he carried a trench coat over his arm.

“I’m stopping by the Federal Club for a drink,” he said in his voice of quiet authority. “Are you planning to visit there, or are you going straight home?”

Alan was on his feet. “I don’t think I’ll bother with the Club tonight, Dad. I have an important letter to get out.”

His father’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “You’ll be working late, then?”

“Yes. And I’ll be having dinner across the street.”

“I see,” the older man said. His shrewd eyes gave Alan a piercing glance. “You’re not in any sort of trouble with the bridge?”

“Just the regular day to day problems,” Alan said.

“Oh!” His father hesitated in the doorway, not seeming quite convinced by Alan’s answer. “Things are going ahead as you hoped, then?”