I Hear Adventure Calling

Emilie Loring

Description

Bored with the endless round of gaiety of New York society, Fran Phillips, an orphaned heiress, chooses a career and becomes assistant to a world famous dealer in a fashionable Maine art colony. Her adventure turns into a nightmare when a priceless treasure disappears and all the evidence points to Fran! Helpless against unknown enemies, Fran turns to attorney Myles Jaffray, her guardian--and a man she thought she hated...

Sujets

• Romance historique
• 20th Century
• Historical
• Romance
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 12 mai 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781773238463
• Langue: English

Extrait

I Hear Adventure Calling
by Emilie Loring

Firstpublished in 1948
Thisedition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria,BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
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All rightsreserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted inany form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, includingphotocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrievalsystem, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quotebrief passages in a review.

The names of all characters in this novel arefictitious. Use of a name which is that of aliving person is accidental.
I HEAR ADVENTURE CALLING

by Emilie Loring
I
he door of the elevator closed with soundless speed.The sandy-haired operator in dark blue with an abundance ofgold trimmings glanced inquiringly at the slim girl in a brownsuit and matching beret.
“Grimes & Phillips.” She answered his unspoken question.He touched a button and looked at the tall, dark-haired manin gray, the other occupant of the car.
“You said—”
“The roof,” the man answered quickly.
“I thought you wanted—” The operator muttered therest of the sentence and punched another button.
“Decided suddenly on the roof. Grand view of the cityfrom there, I understand.”
Nice voice, deep, rich and, boy, I’ll bet he’s used to gettingwhat he wants, the girl thought. She stole a glance at him butthe broad brim of his gray hat covered the upper part of hisface as he looked down at the memoranda book he held. Hehad the just-out-of-uniform look. “Seeing Boston,” shedecided and watched the floor numbers as they lighted andblacked out.
“Seven.” The door opened without benefit of human touch.As she stepped to the corridor she heard the operator say:
“Thought this was the floor you wanted, Mister.”
She opened a door which proclaimed in conservative blackletters that Grimes & Phillips pursued the practice of lawwithin. The young woman with tightly curled brick-red hairat the switchboard in the office looked up and grinned.
“The Judge is waiting for you, Miss Phillips. Guess if ithad been anyone else he’d have canceled the appointment, he’seating raw dog, these days, if a client is late. He sure has acase on Frances Phillips—Yes, sir ,” she spoke into an inter-officephone. “Yes, sir, I’ll send her in.” She snapped off theconnection. “He’s in the library. Better make it fast.”
Fran paused at an open door. She had known the man witha mane of white hair seated behind the flat desk since shewas a small girl. His hair hadn’t been white then, hisshoulders hadn’t sagged as they sagged now as if tired fromcarrying a load of responsibility. Not surprising when oneremembered that the son who had planned to come into theoffice was now a white cross in a Belgian field and that herbrother Ken, who had inherited the Phillips half of thepartnership, was still in Germany.
“Come in, come in, Franny, what you waiting for?” TheJudge rose and glared over his spectacles. “You’re late, thenyou stand staring at me as if you were scared to death. Shutthe door. Now sit down.” As she perched on the edge of thechair across the desk from his, he asked:
“Did you bring the letter?” She nodded assent. “Read itto me again. I’ve had several communications from Ken anda long distance phone about how set you are against thechange in trustee.”
She drew two closely typewritten pages from her greenshoulder bag.
“Remember, Judge, that this letter is dated one month beforeI received it.” Her eyes followed the lines: “Ken writesthat he intends to remain in Germany during this criticalperiod as long as he is needed, which at present means indefinitely,that he has transferred the trusteeship of theproperty Aunt Rebecca left me to Myles Jaffray. Why, why did he pick on him?”
“What’s the matter with Jaffray? Ever seen him?”
“No, and I never want to. Matilde, Gene Sargent’s sister-in-law,went off her head about him—her husband Benand he were training at the same airfield, they had grown upin the same summer resort. She was preparing to leave herhusband and little girl—”
“For Jaffray?”
“It was the consensus of the woman’s friends.”
“That doesn’t establish it as a fact. Who told you thegossip?”
“Gene Sargent, at the time we were in college together.She was so terribly upset that I suspected she was that wayherself about him. The day he was coming to see her—hewas home on a short leave—she told me the story, so Icould keep out of the way and avoid meeting him. I hadn’tbeen mild in expressing my views about a home-smasher.”
“Did the wife run away?”
“No. Ben crashed soon after the talk began and Matildeleft the station with the child.”
“So-o, she told you that you might keep out of the wolf’sway? I don’t see that the Sargent girl’s yarn proves anything,except that the home-smasher—that’s your word, not mine—maynot have reciprocated her affection. Ken has livedand fought beside Jaffray for five years; since the end of thewar they have been working together as administrators inthe American Zone. Do you think he would have made himtrustee of your property if he believed the Matilde story?How did your brother and he get together? Coincidental, asthey say in the movies?”
“No. Gene told Myles Jaffray to look up Ken at theOfficers’ Training Camp. He did and they became friends.”
“Something about the Matilde angle strikes me as phony.Your friend Gene doesn’t happen to have green eyes?”
“No, they are almost black and very beautiful. What dogreen eyes have to do with my detestation of Myles Jaffray?”
He tapped on the desk with the tips of his fingers.
“Might have a lot to do with it, Franny,” he said thoughtfully,with his eyes on the steel skeleton of a building risingagainst the sky beyond the window. “But that isn’t what youare here to talk about. Read the letter. Stop giving me extracts.”She picked up the two sheets.
“He writes that Myles is returning to this country, toNew York, then goes on, ‘No use fighting me about this,kiddo. You resented the fact that Aunt Becky tied up theestate she left you until you are twenty-five.’ ” She droppedthe pages to the shining mahogany desk.
“Why did she, Judge? My home was with her from thetime I was eleven, when Mother died. Father went a fewyears later. Because she was a partial invalid I wouldn’t leaveher while we were at war though I fairly ached to enlist. Iselected a college near our home so that I could live withher. I doubled as her secretary, kept her accounts, knew toa dot what she was spending. I loved her. I’m twenty-three.It hurts to know that she didn’t trust me to take care of theestate she willed to me.”
“It wasn’t that she didn’t trust you, Franny. Your motherwas her young sister whom she adored and spoiled. Whenthat same sister eloped with a stinker, in spite of the damningevidence Rebecca had dug up about his escapades, she wasfuriously angry. It didn’t help that a few months later shecould say, ‘I told you so,’ when the heel deserted his wife.Your mother divorced him and later married a fine man,your father. Rebecca liked him but she was haunted alwayswith the fear that you might lose your head and heart overa no-good as your mother did, especially if you had moneyto tempt one.”
“Even so, how could you, an up-to-the-minute person ifever I saw one, draw a will with the crazy clause that if Imarried without the consent of the trustee I lost the property?That belongs back in the days when fathers turned erringdaughters out into a snowstorm. You have known me all mylife. Do you think I have no common sense?”
“Sometimes when love comes in at the door common senseflies out of the window, Franny. I agree with you that whatyou call the crazy clause is early nineteenth-century stuff. Idid my best to convince Rebecca that it might precipitate thevery situation she dreaded. No use. It was her fortune, shehad a right to dispose of it as she wished. I drew the will,heaving a sigh of relief when she made your brother Kentrustee, free to name his successor if it became necessary.Cheerio, in two years you can wave good-by to Jaffray. Nowlet’s get on with the letter.” She picked up the pages.
“Where was I? Here it is, ‘Myles is the straightest, finestfella in the world—I know the truth about that Matildeepisode—added to that he is an attorney who, in the fewyears between receiving his degree and enlistment, specializedin probate law. He drew the transfer of trustee papers, inconsultation with an eminent Massachusetts lawyer at presenton the staff of our general. They are fight-proof.’ ” Shelooked questioningly at the man across the desk. He noddedagreement.
“They are. The probate court has passed on them thoughit hasn’t allowed them yet. Go on with the letter. Keep yourvoice up. Can’t hear myself think with that darn rivetinggoing on outside.”
“He goes on, ‘Myles didn’t want the responsibility, kickedlike a steer against taking it when he read the clause that ifyou marry before you are twenty-five without the consentof the trustee—Aunt Becky figured that would be me—thebulk of the estate she left would be divided between certaincharities.
“ ‘Even when I explained to him how deeply hurt AuntBecky had been by Mother’s runaway marriage, he said,“Nothing doing. Why saddle me with the responsibility ofsaying you can or you can’t to your sister Frances as to theman she wants to marry? From what you have told meabout her—and boy, have you talked—sure as shootin’ thekid will go haywire, plunge through hell and high water tomarry the guy she thinks she wants to prove her independence.” ’”She looked up from the letter.
“You don’t think I am idiot enough to do that fool thing,do you, Judge?”
“I don’t know what I think, Franny, when you look at mewith those enormous eyes which always remind me of brownvelvet pansies. Go on with the letter.”
“Let’s see, here we are: He’s still quoting Myles Jaffray.‘I’ve studied the photograph of your sister you carry roundwith you, enough to realize that.’ He’s referring to the plungethrough hell and hig