Agent in Place by Helen MacInnes Page A

excitement of travel, partly because there was his move to Washington, but mostly because being a bachelor had become a habit hard to break. (After all, if the boy of eighteen was loaded down with family responsibilities, the man he became had already had enough of them for a while.)
    And then Tom and she had met.
    In a television studio. (She was arranging interviews on the Bud Wells Talk Talk Talk Show, and Tom was one of the victims that day.) Ten minutes, no more than that, ten minutes together, and there it was, bingo. “The hard-case bachelor of thirty-seven, the career girl of twenty-six—goodbye to all set plans and determined ideas; hello to a future of whatever it took to make it work.
    She smiled at the memory, and carefully fastened her earrings into place. They dangled brightly. The rope of mock pearls was discarded. Enough was enough. Looking critically at her image in the mirror, she wondered what kind of woman Chuck had imagined for a suitable sister-in-law: plump and speechless, or grey-haired and motherly? He resented her; she could feel it, although he hid it well. Just as she resented the way Tom still worried about him. But one rule she had made right from the beginning: never criticise Chuck, that delightful, brilliant, and forgetful young man. Why didn’t he call? Tom hadn’t seen him in almost two months. And it hurt Tom: of course it must.
    Dorothea went into the sitting-room. “You know, darling, he may never have got my message.”
    “Chuck? You worry too much, my pet.” Tom’s voice was carefully casual.
    Do I? she wondered. Then she smiled in relief as the telephone rang. But it wasn’t Chuck. It was the desk-clerk announcing Mr. Bradford Gillon.
    Brad connected in her mind with another thought. “He is going to publish your book, isn’t he?”
    “Hasn’t backed out so far.”
    “If only you could get some time to yourself and finish it. Just six months—”
    “Would you settle for three?” He was laughing at the surprise he had given her. “Meant to keep the news for dinner, but you really coax things out of a man. You’d be a good reporter.”
    “Oh, Tom—did the Times tell you today, actually promise—?”
    “They’ll consider a three months’ leave.” He caught her, held her close. “But that will depend on how the world news breaks,” he added to keep their excitement in check.
    “Oh, Tom—” she said again, her arms flung around his shoulders. “I’ve got plans too. I’m taking a year off. Oh, I know, I may never get that job back again, but—”
    “A year?” He looked at her quickly.
    “Two, if necessary. There’s more to life than having my name painted on my office door. Besides, I saw Dr. Travis first thing this morning. She says I’m in great shape now. No further risks. She sounded definite about that. Everything’s fine. All systems go.”
    “Thea—”
    A quiet knock sounded on the door. Tom released her and went to answer it. “Hello, Brad. Isn’t Tony coming?”
    “Sure. I saw him circling around the lobby.” Brad’s usually serious face was showing definite amusement. “He’ll be arriving by himself any minute.”
    “By the stairs?” Tom asked with a grin. He left the door ajar.
    Brad was now wholly absorbed with Dorothea. “You look wonderful.” He gave her a brotherly hug and a warm kiss on the cheek.
    “So do you.” A little heavy, perhaps, but he was a tall big-boned man, so he carried his weight well. Strong features, hawk nose, heavy eyebrows, almost sombre in repose. White hair waving back from a large brow—plenty of brains inside that massive head. Gentle eyes, blue and quietly observant. “How is Mona?” Dorothea asked, minding her manners.
    “Just recovering from her third attack of ’flu this fall.”
    “It’s a hint to make you take her to Florida sunshine for ten days.”
    “Wish I could. Haven’t had a week off the chain since last Christmas.”
    Recently he had been in France and Germany, Dorothea