by Zenith Brown
He got his bag and went through into the kitchen. Dodo had been far more upset coming out of it than she had been looking across the courtyard at Nikki and Alla Emlyn. He looked around. There was nothing he could see that could have upset her. He crossed the room and looked out the window over the sink. Below him was a vegetable garden, trim weedless squares enclosed with fruit trees neatly cordoned along iron pipes. Up beyond them, behind a high screen of lilac trees, were the greenhouses, the stronghold of the two old monsters, Vranek and McTaggert. He could see them now, perched on stepladders with orange-handled clippers, pruning a vine or tree espaliered along the inside of the roof, caught in the rays of the sun through the squares of glass opened high for ventilation.
They looked more like gnomes than monsters, in their dusty blue denims and brown derby hats, slow-moving, methodical little men minding their own business in their own domain, hardly worth Dodo de Gradoff’s bitterness. But the whole setup was fantastic, of course, and bitterness hardly cares what food it eats.
He heard a car come in then, hidden behind the lilacs, and saw one of the gardeners put his clippers down and lean out through the open square of the glass roof. Fish picked up his bag again and went through into a small foyer and on into a bedroom with a bath. He washed up and changed his shirt in concentrated silence, thinking about the dilemma that had faced him when Dodo wanted to know if she should tell de Gradoff about the Trust. What would he have done if the view of Nikki and Alla Emlyn hadn’t distracted her? Would he have said, “Don’t tell him?” Would he, in other words, have said, It’s okay if de Gradoff kills you, as long as he doesn’t hurt Jennifer? Was that what he had in mind?
He shook his head and took a final swipe at his rusty short-clipped thatch, catching an unaccustomed full-length view of himself in the mirror on the bathroom door. He might not have patina, but at least he was a far cry from the driver of the battered truck in April in Virginia. He grinned in spite of himself as he went out into the hall and down the stairs.
The woven cedar fence between the stables and the rim of purple beeches hid the blue convertible in front of the greenhouses from view on the ground level, just as the lilacs had hidden it from the kitchen window when Jan Vranek leaned out to look down at the disappointed face of the dark-haired girl behind the wheel.
“Oh . . . I’ve missed him again!”
She looked up and saw the dour face peering down at her.
“Oh, Mr. Vranek! Hello! I’m looking for a friend of mine. A girl said she saw a New Jersey car come in here to Enniskerry. But you’ve forgotten me, haven’t you. I’m Jennifer Linton.” She opened the car door and got out. “May I come in and see the flowers?”
The two old men looked at each other in wooden silence.
“Mr. Vinlay at the stable,” Vranek said.
The other nodded and went on with his work. Jan Vranek climbed down the ladder and trudged dourly along between the benches to the girl looking delightedly around her in the greenhouse door.
CHAPTER : 5
How do you greet people who’ve just been as offensive as possible? Fish came around Dodo’s big car and crossed in front of de Gradoff’s sleek black car considering the problem with detached interest. But it was academic. Dodo was there alone, with Moulton putting glasses and a fresh thermos of ice on the bar.
“Darling . . . welcome to Enniskerry!”
She came gaily over to the steps, hands out, and bent forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Did I leave my compact and pills at your place?” she whispered. He brought them out of his pocket. She closed her hand over them and slipped the pill bottle down her bra as she put her other hand in his arm to lead him across to the bar.
“Nobody’s down yet.”
“Two of us are, darling.”
Alla Emlyn and Mr. Peter came from somewhere around the verandah that flowed like a pleasant river of shade around the house.
“Alla, darling, this is Fish Finlay. Nikki’s cousin Mrs. Emlyn, Fish.”
“How do you do, Mr. Finlay. . . . Fish, if I may call you that. I’ve heard such charming things about you.”
Alla Emlyn’s dark eyes raised to his were alight and mocking, not mocking him but Dodo, as she managed to convey to him that he and she, not the others, were basically akin. “I’m sorry we were all too flagrantly unclothed to receive you properly when you first came.”
“But you’re really clothed now, aren’t you, darling?” Dodo remarked.
In the lacy shadows cast by the fretwork gingerbread cornice of the verandah, her peachblow makeup was entirely convincing. Mrs. Emlyn was indeed clothed, from mid-calf to only slightly below the demands of normal decency. A chiffon stole covering her dazzling white arms and shoulders that slipped when she gave her hand to Fish was drawn gracefully up again as she moved to include Mr. Peter in the circle.
“And Nikki’s cousin, Peter de Gradoff.”
“How do you do, sir?”
Peter’s handshake was not cordial, but it was civil. His accent was neither so polished as Nikki’s nor so charming as Alla Emlyn’s, and his eyes, dark like hers, were sullen, like banked furnaces full of hostile fire. He was a handsome devil, Fish thought; fine profile, cleft chin, full arrogant lips, like the Belvedere Apollo.
“Where’s Nikki?” Mrs. Emlyn settled herself lazily in the bamboo chaise, lifting her chiffon skirt to let it fall in graceful folds over her slender legs. “And where’s that beautiful child of yours, Dodo? Peter’s utterly mad to meet her. Look at him.”
She laughed as Peter shot her a sullen glance.
“Who’d like a drink?” he asked curtly.
“Fish would, I’m sure.” Dodo said it easily, but there was cobalt fire in her own eyes. “And you can relax about Jennifer, Alla. She doesn’t pretend to be a beauty. Scotch and soda, Fish?”
“Every girl’s a beauty, by definition.” That was de Gradoff, at the bottom of the steps.
“If she’s rich,” Peter said under his breath, in French. It was audible only to Fish and Alla and presumably understood only by Alla.
Fish took the glass handed him. “Thanks.” They’re pushing Mr. Peter to bracket the Maloney dough and Mr. Peter won’t be pushed. He carefully kept the new cordiality he felt for Mr. Peter from showing in his voice as he looked back at Dodo, her face alight, going to meet her husband.
“Darling!”
“I didn’t know you’d got home, my sweet.” There was an overtone of coolness in the way he kissed her that wasn’t audible until he said, “I thought you were still over with Finlay, whose charm I am very happy to admit.” He said it without a smile. “Sorry, Finlay.” He glanced over at Fish. “But I’ve really been rather anxious, you know.”
“So sorry,” Fish said. He caught Dodo’s startled surprise. It was probably the one sure way to get him out, he thought, as he saw Dodo’s surprise change to instant flattered delight.
“Oh, don’t be silly, sweet,” she said gaily. “Actually, there’s nothing wrong with me. Dr. McNair said so.”
“Then I hope he gave you something to make you sleep,” Mrs. Emlyn’s remark had an edge of bitter interest.
“Not a thing, darling.”
Dodo spoke too brightly and looked too quickly at her husband. Fish, watching de Gradoff over the rim of his highball glass, wondered. Did he see the blue dragonfly swoop with which de Gradoff picked it up, or did he imagine it?
“I’m relieved about that, of course.” De Gradoff turned abruptly to Fish. “Mrs. Emlyn and I aren’t in agreement on some things,” he said stiffly. “I’m opposed to the use of the barbiturates. She hasn’t had my exceedingly bitter experience with them.”
“Well, you’re sufficiently on record, Nikki, darling.” Alla Emlyn yawned lightly. “A record we’re all a little tired of hearing, if you’ll forgive me.”
She smiled at him quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry, Nikki,” she said, with genuine warmth under the cream-smooth surface of her voice. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re psychotic
about sleeping pills. We’d all be, if we’d been accused of the murder of a stupid woman with them.”
There was a moment of silence there on the porch. Then Dodo laughed.
“What a thing to say! When I feel so bloody rotten and the doctor says there’s not a thing organically wrong with me. . . . Where’s that incredible tact of yours gone to, Alla, dear?”
She laughed again. But an extraordinary thing had happened. As light flashes more swiftly than sound, thought flashes more swiftly than light. Fish Finlay saw the flash of the thought in Dodo’s mind. And de Gradoff saw it. He moved toward her. For a split fraction of an instant she drew away from him. He stopped abruptly, and for another instant so brief that Fish was not sure he hadn’t only imagined it, he saw the blue dragonfly dart in de Gradoff’s eyes again, the thing that Polly Randolph had seen, and that Fish Finlay now did not have time to put a name to before it was gone. De Gradoff took the other half-step to Dodo and took her face in his hands, raising it to his.
“No, my dearest,” he said tenderly. “You’re not turning against me. That I couldn’t bear.” His voice was low and richly intimate, and to show he didn’t believe that anything at all had happened he smiled, almost boyish in his appeal, before he bent down, kissing her lightly, so that she flushed and laughed, happy again. He turned then, one arm pressing her to his side, and smiled at the rest of them, with just a touch of self-deprecation.
“Of course,” he said candidly, “it’s so wise of Alla, really. I’d assumed that Finlay must have heard all that. If he hasn’t, he will, here in Newport. So it’s much the wisest for us—”
The measure of the undersurface intensity of what had happened there on the porch was the shock with which they heard the sudden voice calling gaily from the driveway. “Hi there, Mother!”
The blue convertible had come cautiously through the purple beeches to reconnoiter. Vranek must be wrong, Jennifer Linton told herself. It couldn’t possibly be Mr. Finlay from the bank. There must have been two New Jersey cars on Nantucket Avenue. Then she saw the gray car standing in front of the stable, stepped delightedly on the gas and brought the blue convertible to a stop, facing her mother in front of the porte-cochere, seeing people there, her mother and Nikki standing together, their backs to her. It was the first time she’d ever been happy arriving at Enniskerry.
None of them on the porch, not even de Gradoff, apparently unperturbed, had heard her come. It took a moment even then, before they turned, curiously slow-motion, for the shock of Jennifer Linton herself.
“Great heavens . . . she is a beauty! Peter—look at her!”
Fish heard Alla Emlyn’s quick whisper in French as Dodo turned and saw her daughter.
“Jennifer! Baby!” She stood motionless for an instant. “Why, Jenny . . . you’ve grown up!”
Fish Finlay got to his feet, not knowing he’d done it. He stood there, holding his glass, looking at Jennifer Linton coming up the steps, her mother’s arm around her, Dodo’s face transformed with light, Jennifer’s shining with inner excitement, glowing and lovely, like the sickle moon in the evening sky, a subtle radiance around her. She’s like a marsh iris, Fish Finlay thought. She makes Dodo look like a painted marigold. And I’d forgotten her. I’d forgotten what she looks like.
He stood there half-dazed, trying to remember the other girl, and seeing only the tousled hair, strained gray eyes and white face, the torn shirt and green jodhpurs. That was the picture of Jennifer Linton that had stayed in his mind. He’d never in the wide world have recognized this as the same girl. Maybe it was the navy-blue dress. Or the lipstick. Her hair was still short—Capri cut, his sister called hers—and the dark curls flecked with gold where the sun touched. The thick glossy brows he remembered now, and the long curling black lashes, but her gray eyes were darker, dancing with light. But it was the sum total of all of them, and something else that was inside her shining out. She wasn’t pretty, she was beautiful, and fresh as dew. Even Mrs. Emlyn looked faded beside her and hard as brand-new railroad spikes, Fish Finlay thought, coming out of the fog, seeing Nikki spring forward with all his old-world charm intact.
She hadn’t even glanced at Fish. She didn’t recognize him, either. But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? That was when he glanced at Peter de Gradoff and saw him leaning casually against the bar, the picture of a young man contentedly adjusting himself to the pot of gold now he’d seen the rainbow that came with it.
She was speaking to Mrs. Emlyn now, with the opaque but polite reserve cultivated by the present generation of young ladies’ schools. It was his turn then.
“And Mr. Finlay, darling,” Dodo said.
“How do you do, Mr. Finlay,” said Miss Linton. He thinks I don’t recognize him. He thinks I’ve forgotten him. That means he’s never told my mother he met me.
“He’s that creature your banker, darling,” her mother said.
“Oh, really?” A demure and charming smile allowed itself to light Jennifer Linton’s face a moment. “I always thought you were old, Mr. Finlay. Old like Mr. Reeves.”
“Why, Jenny!” Dodo said, laughing.
“It’s the way I feel, Miss Linton,” Fish said. She hadn’t even recognized his name as her Assistant Trustee.
“It’s the way your letters always sounded.” She smiled and turned to Peter de Gradoff, the delight and amusement she’d been holding in check flashing through, her gray eyes dancing, dazzling all of them. “And you must be Nikki’s cousin Peter. Mother told me you’d be here.”
“Hi there Jennifer.” No old-world charm from Mr. Peter. But even Fish Finlay, reluctant to give the handsome devil his due, saw that Peter hadn’t expected to be that devastating that fast.
Fish put his glass abruptly down on the bar. He’d better get the hell out of here. It wasn’t Peter who made him sore; it was de Gradoff, and the ironic complacency in the amused smile he filtered across to Mrs. Emlyn. Her own face was expressionless. Fish saw it through the lazy cloud of smoke from her cigarette, and saw her eyes move over to him, quietly dissecting. He’d certainly better get out.
“I’ve got to get along, Dodo,” he said.
“What about that drink, Jennifer?” Peter asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve got to unpack.”
Jennifer had changed her mind about sitting down, and got up at once as Fish came across the porch. “We’re going to the Randolphs’ tonight, aren’t we, Mother? I met Polly down town.”
She was not looking at Fish, but she saw him stop a second.
“Oh yes, of course. Fish, I forgot.” Dodo put her hand on his arm. “I meant to tell you. They’d love to have you come with us.”
“Yes, do, Finlay,” de Gradoff said stiffly. “Take my place, will you?”
Dodo smiled archly and dropped her hand from Fish’s arm. “You will come, Fish, won’t you?”
“Sorry,” Fish said. “I’ve got a date,” he added, as Dodo smiled again.
“We’ll see if you can’t break it,” she said. “Come along, Jenny. I’ll take you up. Moulton’ll bring your bags.”
Fish went down the steps, aware of Alla Emlyn’s dark scrutiny following him, all hell getting set to break loose inside him.
Mrs. Emlyn watched him, listening to Dodo’s and Jennifer’s steps across the Aubusson carpet until they reached the stairs. She put down her cigarette.
“You’re stupid, both of you.” Her voice, no longer lazy, froze the complacent smile on Peter’s face. De Gradoff’s eyes were already cold.
“That’s girl’s in love. The man’s here in Newport. That’s why she was so late getting here. That’s why she was so breathtakingly beautiful when she came up those steps. It wasn’t you, Peter. And you’d better do something and do it quick, my love.”
She turned sharply to Nikki.
“Finlay’s nobody’s hired hand. You’re crazy. And he’s not here for any rest. He didn’t say ten words while he was here and he had one drink and left half of it. He’s watching us . . . believe me . . . and wi
th that face I couldn’t tell once what he was thinking. You’d better both take a lesson, you’re transparent as children. But you’re right about one thing, Nikki. Get him out of here—quick, if you can.”
She rose swiftly. “This date of his tonight . . . I’d find out who it’s with if I were you, Nikki. And you’re going to the Randolphs’. Your creditor’s going to be there. And you’d better see that he doesn’t talk to Dodo before I talk to him. And Polly Randolph. You remember Polly Randolph, Nikki. She’s the newspaper girl who really believes you killed the lady from the Argentine. Have you thought how extremely unpleasant it could be for all of us if Finlay’s date’s with her?”
CHAPTER : 6
The shadows dwelling among the high-pitched beams of the loft crept down as the sun gathered its last lingering robes across the ocean, and closed slowly in around Fish Finlay, sitting hunched forward on the sofa.
What the hell. He straightened up and reached into his pocket for a cigarette, his mouth still full of the bitter fruit of another empty dream. If he hadn’t come to Newport . . . if she hadn’t come . . . he might have gone on deceiving himself. He was in love with her, and had been since the moment he saw her on the empty Virginia road. He knew it now, and the impact of knowing it had shattered all the cauterizing reserves he’d built up for himself. His cigarette glowed a small fitful light in the lonely darkness as he began to pick up the pieces and put them painfully together again. There was no question of hope, no dream, no reaching for a start, no sense of loss, as there would have been if he’d reached and failed, only a profound personal hell his heart had betrayed him into, that his head had had nothing to do with. A bell ringing somewhere inside of it only gradually focused itself into present reality. He became slowly aware that it was the telephone, and when it kept on ringing he went across the room through the dark and picked it up.
“Hello . . . Mr. Finlay?” A woman’s voice was remote in his ear. “Fish, this is Polly Randolph. Remember me?”
