IN THE MIRROR
By Susan Smallwood and Susan Griffith

Part 9

"You could be right." she agreed.

Lucy entered the ante-room of the publisher's office, the man close behind. At the Enquires desk, a bored young man sat, reading a novel. Lucy approached him, and said, firmly, "I should like to see Mr. Sproule."

But the young man paid her no attention, addressing instead the gentleman, who was now leaning against the counter. "I see you're back, Mr. Fairley."

"Obviously," Mr. Fairley said, his eyes never leaving Lucy.

"Have you decided to wait?"

"Forever, if I must." came the reply.

"I should like to see Mr. Sproule, please." Lucy repeated, nervously.

"Can't see Mr. Sproule without an appointment."

"But I have a manuscript," Lucy said, desperately.

The young man looked at her with annoyance, "So you have a manuscript, MOST unusual," he said, sarcastically.

Unexpectedly, the gentleman broke in, "No more so than your adenoids and your bad manners. Now take the lady's name."

Offended, the young man pulled out paper and pen, "Leave your name."

"Mrs. Edwin Muir."

Mr. Fairley frowned, "Mrs."

"Aha! You see? I was wondering what that dandified object was doing." the Captain growled.

"Mrs. Edwin Muir," Lucy repeated, loudly. "Gull Cottage, Whitecliff-by-the-Sea." She tried asking again for a brief chance to see Mr. Sproule, but was interrupted by a buzzer, and the departure of the young man. She found herself left alone with Mr. Fairley, and his persistent staring made her ill at ease. Clearing her throat, she walked to the bookshelves that lined the walls, and read the titles

from the paper colored spines.

"Beware, my dear Lucia," warned the Captain.

Carolyn frowned at him, then turned back to the movie.

"Is it a cookbook?" Mr. Fairley said, grinning at her.

Lucy stiffened.

"Not another life of Byron, I hope. Or is it a book of dreams?" he continued.

Turning, she glared at him coldly.

At that, Carolyn said, "Oh, please! Why would he think that? Women can write anything!"

"Ah, WE know that, but this ... this ... incompetent womanizer doesn't seem to realize it!" the Captain snorted. "At least this Lucia seems to be aware of what he might be thinking! I am very glad

that I was not on the receiving end of such a fierce look from such a beautiful woman!" He grinned over at Carolyn, and his grin grew

even broader when she scowled at him.

"Oh, look, that Fairley, man has given Lucy his appointment! Isn't that nice of him?" Carolyn said.

"Forward! That's what she calls it? That bilge rat actually PUSHED her into the office! Shameless -"

"Captain!"
 

"Here! Here!" the Enquiries boy came swooping towards the office door, only to be held off by Mr. Fairley.

"She's mad about you," he said, slyly, to the flustered young man. "Couldn't you tell?"

Carolyn smothered a chuckle at this point. "He IS rather forward, but amusing!"

Lucy leaned against the door of Mr. Sproule's office, petrified with fear.

"Come in, Fairley, come in." he called, without looking up. "Your new book is terrible. The most awful trash I've had on my desk since - " he stopped short as he glanced up at Lucy. "Who are you?"

"I - I'm - that is -" Lucy stammered, desperately.

"Who let you in?"

"The gentleman outside said it was all right."

Mr. Sproule rose angrily, his Irish temper up. "Oh, he did, did he? Well it isn't all right. And I'll trouble you to take yourself elsewhere."

Finally able to move, Lucy approached him, "Oh, please, Mr. Sproule! I simply had to get in to see you!" She held out her parcel, "I - I have a manuscript."

A look of contempt passed across Sproule's face, "Of course you have. Twenty million discontented females in the British Isles, and every blessed one of 'em's writing a novel!"

Lucy started to speak, but was cut off abruptly,

"Don't tell me what's in it! I know! Bless my soul, Madam, I have to publish this bilge in order to stay in business, but I don't have to read it! No, Madam, I do not! Now if you'll pardon me, I'm busy."

Lucy tried to protest, but was speechless, and Mr. Sproule had moved towards the door and was motioning her to leave.

Carolyn sat forward. "SAY something! Don't let him push you around! He's just a publisher!"

"Come back here, you blasted grampus!" the disembodied voice of Captain Gregg suddenly roared, in a tone that demanded obedience.

Slowly, Sproule turned to face Lucy, blinking owlishly with shock. "Madam?"

The Captain roared with laughter, Carolyn joining in.

Thunderstruck, Lucy could not speak, her gaze darting quickly about the room.

Mr. Sproule clicked his tongue, "Such a nice looking woman, too."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Sproule. I - I didn't mean to say that. Only you're all wrong about the book. It isn't what you think at all . It's a biography - it's - it's the unvarnished record of a sailor's life."

Sproule looked at her doubtfully, "A sailor, eh? I ask your pardon, Madam, but what do YOU know about sailors?"

"Oh, a great deal, believe me."

"Not enough to know that the term is SEAMAN, not sailor!" snorted the Captain again. Carolyn shushed him.

"Hm." Sproule grunted, taking the manuscript. "Unvarnished, you said?"

Lucy nodded mutely.

"Well, perhaps I have time for a few pages at that." He sat down at his desk, and before long his delighted laughter was ringing through the room.

Hours had passed when Mr. Fairley came back to the ante-room and addressed the Enquiries boy, "Still in there?"

The answer was to the affirmative, and a slight frown passed over the older man's face, before he sat down to wait.

"I DO wish they had let us hear some of his story. I am sure it would be interesting." the Captain said.

"I'm sure it would be." Carolyn said. "Maybe even as interesting as YOUR memoirs." Then she peeked at him, a small smile lurking on

her face. "But I doubt it."

A pleased look crossed the Captain's face, but he said nothing as, at last, the publisher had finished reading the book and sat back.

"Well!" Sproule said, with satisfaction in his voice. "You're not going to pretend you wrote this, my dear?"

"No."

"No." he echoed. "It's a man's book. And what a man! Is he your husband, Mrs. Muir?"

Embarrassed, Lucy looked down at her hands, "Oh - no."

"This Captain X - I'd like very much to meet him." Sproule said, hopefully.

"I - I'm afraid that's impossible. He's - away."

"On a voyage, of course."

"Yes. A very long voyage." she added, her voice very soft.

"What a good way of saying it. I'll have to remember

that." Carolyn said.

"Bless my soul," Sproule said, heartily, taking up his pipe, "What a yarn! What a life! I'll tell you a secret. If I hadn't had a mother and two sisters to support, I'd have gone to sea myself. Bless my soul! To live like that, instead of turning out indigestible reading material for a bilious public. Of course we'll publish it, Mrs. Muir. You're empowered by the Captain to act for him?"

"Yes." Lucy rose from her seat. "He's given me the rights."

"Hm. Well, my dear, you've presented me with a most enjoyable day. Bless my soul, yes. Remarkable!" he rose, and showed Lucy to the door. "Just leave everything to me. And be happy that you know such a man. There aren't many like him these days. You appreciate that?"

"Yes," Lucy said, softly, looking quickly around the room, "I think so."

"As I have said before, you see what a treasure you have in me?" the Captain said to Carolyn.

"He was talking about THAT Captain ... X, I believe." Carolyn grinned. "Not you."

"Ah, but if he thought that about that Captain, just imagine what he would think of ME."

"Yes, just imagine." Carolyn spoke dryly. "Oh, that man -- Fairley -- is following Lucy again. He DOES appear to be smitten!"

Lucy stepped out of the shabby old building, and her smile turned to frustration as she saw the heavy rain coming down. Foolishly, she had forgotten her umbrella.

"It's very easy to understand why the most beautiful poems about England in the spring were all written by poets living in Italy at the time."

Glancing back at Mr. Fairley, Lucy said, coldly, "How do you do?"

"I'm not a poet, but I've got an umbrella, and your hat, if I may say so, is singularly inadequate under the circumstances."

"I didn't bargain on this blasted rain!" she said, sharply. Suddenly realizing what she had said, Lucy corrected herself, "I mean, I'm afraid I shall be late and miss the last train for home."

Carolyn chuckled again.

Mr. Fairley was amused. "I could call you a cab - if you ask nicely."

Furious, Lucy lifted her chin into the air, and prepared to step out into the pouring rain. Laughing, Mr. Fairley pulled her back, and stepped out to do the job himself. Having gotten the cab, he helped Lucy into it, "Where to?"

"Victoria."

"Victoria?" he said, cheerfully. "What a coincidence!"

"Coincidence, indeed!" the Captain muttered, watching Mr. Fairley climb in the cab, beside the displeased Lucy.

Lucy sat stiff and straight, her eyes ahead. Mr. Fairley grinned, "The word you are looking for is brass."

"Brass?"

"To describe my behavior and me. You don't approve of either, do you?" he added.

"Not very much." Lucy said, truthfully. "Still, in a way, I should be grateful to you."

"Of course," he settled back against the seat, then suddenly looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Mr. Sproule has agreed to publish my book."

"Splendid! So the old boy has developed a taste for feminine literature, has he? I can't say that it's one of mine."

Lucy looked at him out of the corner of her eye, "This book might surprise you."

"It's surprising to me," Mr. Fairley said, slowly, "to find a lady author infinitely more exciting than her heroine could possibly be."

"Why that -"

"Captain, sh!" Carolyn hissed.

"Do you - do you write, Mr. - " she stammered.

"My name is Miles Fairley. Yes, I write a little. Children's books.

"Children's books!" Lucy asked, incredulously. "You? I should like to see one."

"I'm afraid you already have. I write under the name of 'Uncle Neddy'."

"Uncle Neddy? YOU'RE Uncle Neddy?"

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" he chuckled.

"Then all your cynicism must be nothing but a pose." Lucy said, in a softer voice. "You're adored by half the children in the world."

"Uncle Neddy is a pose." Miles said, frowning slightly. "In my innermost heart, I loathe the little monsters."

"My little daughter is not a monster, and she'll be very happy to know I've been talking to her favorite author."

"I'll make an exception of your daughter. I'm looking forward to meeting her. And your husband," he added.

"My husband is dead." Lucy said, awkwardly.

"Oh." Then, realizing what she had said, Miles Fairley's eyes lit up, "Oh?"

"I knew it!" Carolyn exclaimed.

Lucy swallowed nervously, "Oh, I DO wish he'd hurry." she said, eyes on the driver.

Miles leaned close to her, ignoring her expression of discomfort. "Oh, there's no rush now. We'll get there in time."

"Now THERE is a cad!" the Captain said.

"Well, Lucy doesn't seem too sure of him either," Carolyn said.

Finally they were at the train station, and Miles guided Lucy through the crowd to an empty train compartment and helped her in, "Well, goodbye, Mrs. Muir."

"Goodbye, Mr. Fairley," she said, standing at the window, "and thank you very much."

As the engines started, a cloud of smoke streamed into Lucy's face, and she pulled out her handkerchief to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked, with concern.

"Oh, yes. Quite all right, thank you."

The train began to move slowly away, "Cheerio," Miles called, before impulsively dashing forward and taking the handkerchief from her hand.

Lucy smiled back at him, and closed her window as the train picked up speed.

Still standing where she had left him, Miles raised the handkerchief to his face and smelled it.

"A cad and a fop!" was the Captain's comment to that.

"Miles Fairley is just showing his interest in her." Carolyn defended Miles' actions, although she wasn't even sure she liked the man. She wondered even more when she saw the smile playing on Lucy's face as she sat down, and primly patted down her hair.