The Man Who Killed Himself Read Free Page B

that the writer was in her middle twenties – add ten years on to that , the Major thought – and unattached, and that she wished to meet a gentleman rather older than herself with marriage in mind. Miss Parker said that she had been a secretary, but was not working at the moment. She wrote from an address in one of London’s northern suburbs. In the last paragraph she wrote in her neat, rather characterless hand: ‘I understand the usual thing is to put applicants in touch by letter, but before deciding whether I wish to avail myself of this service I should be glad if I might see you personally, as there are certain points I would like to discuss with you.’
    Something about the stilted phrases had caught the Major’s attention. He knew from past experience that the point for discussion would probably be the revelation that Miss Parker had an old mother who would be expected to share the home of the married pair, or was handicapped in her search for a husband by a wooden leg, or wanted to put before him some other mental or physical problem that, so far as he was concerned, was insoluble. It was unwise to see her, no doubt about it. Yet there had been occasions in the past when such letters from women clients had led to delicious little romances of a personal kind. There was something about this letter, although he could not have said what, that made him answer it. Now, as he re-read the letter and waited for Miss Parker, he told himself that he had been foolish. It was obvious that she was one of the wooden leg brigade.
    ‘Half an hour,’ the Major said aloud – he often talked to himself when he was alone. ‘Half an hour with Miss Pegleg and then a spot of lunch.’ And after lunch he would pay in the cash to the bank, an occupation which always gave him pleasure. The outer bell rang. He went outside, ushered in Miss Parker, asked her to sit down. As she sat opposite him, demure and not quite smiling, Major Mellon took a good look at her and was frankly bowled over.
    Patricia Parker did not look a day over twenty-five. Her face was pretty rather than characterful, but pretty it undoubtedly was. She had a beautiful skin, her brown hair shone silkily, her figure – well, it was not easy to judge when she sat in a chair but she was obviously shapely, and it was just as obvious that neither of the legs she displayed to him was a wooden one. Miss Parker was no dazzling beauty but she was a pretty young woman, and pretty young women did not often come Major Mellon’s way in the course of business. For a moment or two he goggled at her. Then he recovered.
    ‘My dear Miss Parker,’ he leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I have sent my secretary out for half an hour. Unfortunately these offices are not as spacious as I could wish, and I thought that perhaps you had something confidential to discuss…’
    He left the sentence unfinished. Miss Parker said that was thoughtful of him. Her voice was low, pleasant, unemphatic.
    ‘You wanted to have a chat with me in person. Here I am.’
    ‘Yes.’ She seemed to find it hard to know how to begin, and Major Mellon continued. Suspicion had quickly replaced pleasure in his mind. Was this girl trying to play a trick on him? His next words were spoken bluntly, almost harshly.
    ‘Forgive me for saying so, but it surprises me that you should have any difficulty in finding a husband. I am here to help, but I doubt if there is anything Matrimonial Assistance can do for you that you couldn’t do quite easily yourself.’
    ‘Don’t say that.’ It was the first sign of emotion she had shown. ‘Please don’t say that.’
    The Major softened, but only slightly, and suggested that she should tell him about it.
    ‘It’s difficult. I don’t know if I can.’
    ‘Try.’
    ‘I can’t if you’re looking at me. Will you close your eyes – or look out of the window. Then I might be able to.’
    So Major Mellon swung round his chair, turned his back on her and looked at the