John Dene Of Toronto Part 32

As Dorothy left the office a few minutes after six he called her back.

"If I've forgotten anything you'd best remind me."

"Mother," she remarked, when she got home that evening, "John Dene's the funniest man in all the world."

"Is he, dear?" said Mrs. West non-committally.

Dorothy nodded her head with decision. "He wastes an awful lot of time, and then he hustles like--like--well, you know."

"How do you mean, dear?" queried Mrs. West.

"Well, he'll sit sometimes for an hour looking at nothing. It's not complimentary when I'm there," she added.

"Perhaps he's thinking," suggested Mrs. West.

"Oh, no!" Dorothy shook her head with decision. "He thinks while he's eating. You can see him do it. That's why he thinks salmon is pink cod. No; John Dene is a very remarkable man; but he'd be very trying as a husband."

Dorothy spoke lightly; but during the last few days she had been asking herself what she would do when John Dene was gone. Sometimes she would sit and ponder over it, then with a movement of impatience she would plunge once more into her work. What was John Dene to her that she should miss him? He was just her employer, and in a few months he would go back to Canada, and she would never see him again. One morning she awakened crying from a dream in which John Dene had just said good-day to her and stepped on a large steamer labelled "To Canada." That day she was almost brusque in her manner, so much so that John Dene had asked her if she were not well.

The next morning when Dorothy arrived at the office, she found John Dene sitting at his table. As she entered, he looked round, stared at her for a moment and then nodded, and as if as an after-thought added, "Good morning."

Dorothy pa.s.sed into her own room. She was a little puzzled. This was the first morning that John Dene had been there before her.

As she came out with her note-book she looked at him closely, conscious of something in his manner that was strange, something she could not altogether define. His voice seemed a little husky, and he lacked the quick bird-like movements so characteristic of him.

She made no remark, however, merely seating herself in her customary place and waited for letters.

He drew from his pocket some notes and began to dictate.

Never before had he used notes when dictating. Several times she glanced at him, and noted that he appeared to be reading from the ma.n.u.script rather than dictating; but she decided that he had probably written out rough drafts in order to a.s.sure accuracy. His voice was very strange.

"Did you sleep well last night, Mr. Dene?" she enquired during a pause in the dictation.

"Sleep well," he repeated, looking up at her, "I always sleep well."

Dorothy was startled. There was something in the glance and the brusque tone that puzzled her. Both were so unlike John Dene. She had mentally decided that he spoke to her as he spoke to no one else. She had compared his inflection when addressing her with that he adopted to others, even so important a person as Sir Bridgman North. Now he spoke gruffly, as if he were irritated at being spoken to.

Apparently he sensed what was pa.s.sing through her mind, for he turned to her again and said:

"I'm not feeling very well this morning, Miss West, I----" Then he hesitated.

"Perhaps you didn't sleep very well," she suggested mischievously.

"No, I'm afraid that's what it was," he acknowledged Dorothy's eyes opened just a little in surprise. A minute ago he had stated that he always slept well. Either John Dene was mad or ill; and Dorothy continued to take down, greatly puzzled. Had he been drugged? The thought caused her to pause in her work and glance up at him. He certainly seemed vague and uncertain, and then he looked so strange.

When he had dictated for about half an hour, John Dene handed her a large number of doc.u.ments to copy, telling her that there would not be any more letters that day. To her surprise he picked up his hat and announced that he would not be back until five o'clock to sign the letters. Never before had he missed lunching at his office. Dorothy was now convinced that something was wrong. Everything about him seemed strange and forced.

Once or twice she caught him looking at her furtively; but immediately she raised her eyes, he hastily shifted his, as if caught in some doubtful act.

At twelve o'clock lunch arrived, and Dorothy had to confess to herself that it was a lonely and unsatisfactory meal.

At five o'clock John Dene returned and signed the letters with a rubber stamp, which he had recently adopted.

"When are you going away, Mr. Dene?" asked Dorothy.

"I don't know," he responded gruffly.

"I merely asked because two people on the telephone enquired when you were going away."

"And what did you say?"

"Oh, I just said what you told me. A man called this afternoon also with the same question."

For a moment he looked at her, then turning on his heel said "good evening," and with a nod walked out.

Dorothy had expected him to make some remark about these enquiries.

She knew that John Dene had no friends in London, and the questions as to when he was going away had struck her as strange.

The next day was a repet.i.tion of the first. A few letters were dictated, a sheaf of doc.u.ments handed to her to copy, and John Dene disappeared. Again lunch was brought for her, which she ate alone, and at five o'clock he came in and signed the letters.

By this time Dorothy was convinced that he was ill. The strain of the past few weeks had evidently been telling on him. When he had signed the last letter she bluntly enquired if he felt better.

"Better?" he interrogated. "I haven't been ill."

"I thought you didn't seem quite well," said Dorothy hesitatingly; but he brushed aside the enquiry by picking up his hat and bidding her "good evening."

Dorothy was feeling annoyed and a little hurt; and preserved an att.i.tude of businesslike brevity in all her remarks to John Dene. If he chose to adopt the att.i.tude of the uncompromising employer, she on her part would humour him by becoming an ordinary employee. Still she had to confess to herself that the old pleasure in her work had departed. Hitherto she had looked forward to her arrival at the office, the coming of John Dene, their luncheons together and the occasional little chats that were sandwiched in between her work.

She had become deeply interested in the _Destroyer_ and what it would achieve in the war. She had been flattered by the confidence that John Dene had shown hi her discretion, and had felt that she was "doing her bit." Again, the sense of being behind the scenes pleased her. She was conscious of knowing secrets that were denied even to Cabinet Ministers. The members of the War Cabinet knew less than she did about the _Destroyer_ and what was expected of it.

John Dene was a man who did everything thoroughly. If he trusted anyone, he did it implicitly; if he distrusted anyone, he did it uncompromisingly. Where he liked, he liked to excess; where he disliked, he disliked to the elimination of all good qualities. Half measures did not exist for John Dene of Toronto.

When Dorothy discovered that all the old intimacy had pa.s.sed away, and John Dene had become merely an employer, treating her as a secretary, she was conscious that the glamour had fallen from her work. Somehow or other the _Destroyer_ had receded into something impersonal, whereas. .h.i.therto it had appeared to her as if she had been in some way or other intimately a.s.sociated with it.

It was all very strange and very puzzling, she told herself. Sometimes she wondered if she had done anything to annoy him. Then she told herself that there was something more than personal pique in his manner. His whole bearing seemed to have changed, as if he had decided to regard her merely as a piece of mechanism, just as he did the typewriter, or his office chair.

It was at this period of her reasoning that Dorothy discovered her dignity. From that time her att.i.tude was that of the injured woman, yet perfect secretary. Her sense of humour had deserted her, and she arrived at the office and left it very much upon her dignity. Even Mrs. West noticed the difference in her manner, and at last enquired if anything were wrong, or if she were unwell; but Dorothy rea.s.sured her with a hug and a kiss, and for the rest of that evening had been particularly bright and vivacious.

When Mrs. West mentioned the name of John Dene, Dorothy did not pursue the topic, although Mrs. West failed to notice that she was switched off to other subjects.

At the end of the week she noticed that John Dene handed her the week's salary in notes. Hitherto it had been his custom to place the money in an envelope and put it on her table. She concluded that this new method was to impress upon her that she was a dependent, and that the old relationship between them had been severed. That evening, Dorothy was always paid on the Friday evening, she held her head very high when she left the office. If Mr. John Dene required decorum, then he should have it in plenty from his secretary.

The next morning and the Monday following, Dorothy was very much on her dignity. She seemed suddenly to have become imbued with all the qualities of the perfect secretary. No hint of a smile was allowed to wanton across her features, she was grave, ceremonial, efficient. She worked harder than ever and, when she had finished the tasks John Dene set her, she manufactured others so that her time should be fully occupied.

For a day and a half she laboured to show John Dene that she was offended; but apparently he was oblivious, not only of having offended her, but of the fact that she was endeavouring to convey to him the change that had come about in their relations.

On the Monday evening he did not return to sign his letters until nearly six. By that time Dorothy was almost desperate in her desire to show this obtuse man that she was annoyed with him. She felt at the point of tears when he bade her good night and left the office, just as Big Ben was booming out the hour.

She would go home and forget all about the stupid creature, Dorothy decided, as she hastily put on her coat and dug the hat-pins through her hat. On reaching the street she saw John Dene standing at the corner of Charles Street. For a moment she thrilled. Was he waiting for her? No, he was looking in the opposite direction, apparently deep in thought. She saw a taxi draw up beside him. The driver, a little man with a grey moustache, Dorothy remembered to have seen him several times "crawling" about on the look-out for fares. The taxi stopped and the man bent towards John Dene. Dorothy stood and watched. John Dene was right in her line of route to the Piccadilly Tube, and she did not wish him to see her.