Inheritance

Chapter Sixty-three. Moonlighting.

Chapter Sixty-three 

Moonlighting 

At work, John treated Rachel courteously and in a professional manner. Outside the confines of the factory, they never met. He had rented an apartment in what was once the Golf Hotel, bought himself a cherry red 1966 Triumph TR4A and disappeared from the sport and social scenes. He became a virtual hermit. This was so unlike the John that Rachel remembered. 

During John's absence in the States, Rachel had made firm friends with two other girls who worked at Glaxo - Moira in the canteen, and Brenda in the typing pool. They, like Rachel, were both in their early twenties, and in the eyes of the local matrons destined for the shelf. They were very athletic and valued members of both the Glaxo field hockey and tennis teams. They still attended local dances and were very active in organizing events at the Glaxo Club. Despite the valiant efforts of many, they remained inseparable and free of any serious involvement with the opposite sex. This led to some malicious gossip that they fanned by taking summer vacations together.  

Their latest plan was to spend their two weeks holiday in the summer of 1967 at the World's Fair in Montreal. This was proving to be a far more expensive proposition than they had anticipated and all three girls were attempting to supplement their meager incomes by taking on as much overtime as possible.

 As usual on a Saturday lunch time they met in the cozy confines of the Rose and Crown. Discussion, as usual, turned to their precarious financial situation. Moira had exciting news. 

"Rachel, did you see that job advertised in the daily bulletin yesterday?" 

"I can't say that I did. What was it?" 

"Someone is looking for a part time secretary to work evenings and weekends - flexible hours and above average hourly wage. Right up your alley, Rachel." 

"Who placed the ad, Moira?" 

"I don't know, but anyone interested was asked to call this number."  

Moira rumbled through her shambles of a purse and eventually produced a torn piece of paper.  

Rachel examined it.  "It's a local number. I bet a lot of the girls in the typing pool have already applied. I'm probably too late." 

"Don't be such a pessimist, Rachel. You're an ace typist and let's be honest no red-blooded male could resist spending evenings in your company. You're a shoo in." 

"How do you know it's a man, Brenda?" A blushing Rachel replied. 

"Either way, you should apply, Rachel. There's not much chance of overtime in Personnel and we have to make a deposit in a month's time. Go for it, girl." 

"Okay, okay. You've convinced me. I'll call from home later this afternoon. 

Rachel, for financial reasons, still lived at home with her parents and two sisters who were suffering through the years of teenage turmoil. She still occupied the same room but it no longer bore any resemblance to a bedroom come study. Elegant Queen Anne furniture had replaced the original desk and bookshelves. She had removed the pictures of Elvis. Wallpaper, carrying a delicate floral design matching the coverlet and pillows on her single bed, now covered the walls. Only the wicker chair and her favourite teddy bear remained. A phone, with her own private line, lay on the bedside table. She sat on the side of the bed, picked up the phone and dialed the number. There was an answering buzz. She heard someone lift the receiver.  

"John Gregson speaking. How may I help you?" 

Her hand trembled. Her vocal cords constricted. She slammed down the phone. She couldn't do it. For what seemed an eternity she lay prostrate on the bed. Her gaze strayed to the wicker chair. That's where he used to sit during tutorials. How well she remembered capturing his admiring glances, the tell tale scar. They had been wonderful times. She had wanted him so much but he was so uptight. Maybe she had just come on too strong. But there was no excuse for the way he had dumped her. There was no going back. But what about the money? Maybe they could let bygones be bygones and work together as colleagues if not as friends. Still racked with uncertainty she picked up the phone. 

"John Gregson speaking. How may I help you?" 

"Good evening, Dr. Gregson. I was calling to ..." 

"Rachel is that you? " There was evident excitement in his voice. 

"Yes, but..." 

"Are you applying for the job?" 

"I was thinking about it." 

"Thank God. I was so hoping you would apply. You are so perfect for what I have in mind." 

"And what might that be?" 

More than typing? 

" Look I've so much to tell you and I don't want to give you an astronomical phone bill, so how if I treat you to lunch tomorrow, say one o'clock at the Farmer's on Market Square."  

"I think I can make that." 

"Fine. See you tomorrow then. Bye. 

"Bye."