The innocent Mrs Duff

by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

  “Well, sit down with me while I eat,” he said.

  She sat down at the end of the dining-room table.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll get a taxi later on, and we’ll all drive over to the Yacht Club for lunch. You look tired. You want to take it easy. Not do any cooking, and so on.”

  “Thank you, Jake, but I like to cook.”

  “You ought to get out in the fresh air, Reggie. The sunshine. You’re pale. See here, Reggie! Why don’t you put on a little rouge?”

  “I haven’t got any rouge, Jake. I’ve never used it.”

  You mean you’ve never been pale, like that. Well, what the hell’s the matter with you?

  He reached across the table and patted her hand.

  “I dare say we both need a little rest and change,” he said. “I’ll try not to be irritable, Reggie. I’ll try to make things pleasanter for you.”

  “Thank you, Jake,” she said, passive, utterly unresponsive. He had never seen her like this. She would have to stop being like this, before Aunt Lou came.

  “Reggie—” he began, but it was too late; the taxi had come.

  Mrs. Albany was dressed for travelling; she wore a grey suit with a shoulder cape and small black hat tilted forward in a point on her forehead; with her high-bridged nose and her heavy-lidded eyes she looked, thought Duff, rather like Sherlock Holmes. Reggie took her into the bedroom, already made neat for her reception, and presently she joined her nephew in the sitting-room.

  “No, thanks,” she said, when he offered her a cigarette. “I’ll have one of my own.”

  He lit it for her and she leaned back a little, crossing her bony knees.

  “What’s the matter with you two?” she asked, briefly.

  “Why, nothing. What makes you think—?”

  “You both look—” She paused, seeking a word. “Ghastly,” she said. “What’s that on your temple, Jacob?”

  “I slipped.”

  “Drinking?” she demanded.

  “No,” he said, resentfully. “Good Lord, Aunt Lou, you’re getting obsessed with the idea that I’m a drunkard.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Jacob. Only I do worry about your taking more than is good for you. I hope you’re not taking up this habit that seems to be growing on people, this taking a cocktail before lunch. Your Uncle Fred always said—no drink before sundown.”

  Now how am I going to manage? thought Duff. If we go to the Yacht Club to lunch, how can I get into the bar without her noticing?

  “And if you’ve quarreled with Reggie,” she went on, “it might very well be from one drink too many. It makes you irritable, Jacob. I’ve noticed that.”

  “But I haven’t quarreled with Reggie.”

  “Then what’s wrong with the poor child?” she asked. “She looks wretched.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” he said. “And I don’t see why you take it for granted it’s my fault.”

  “She has a very happy nature,” said Mrs. Albany.

  He had known that he would have to explain Reggie’s queerness; he ought to have had something prepared.

  “Suppose we take a little walk?” he suggested.

  “I’d like that,” said Mrs. Albany. “But get a hat, Jacob. The sun’s quite strong now.”

  “I very seldom wear a hat down here.”

  “Well, you ought to,” said Mrs. Albany. “You’re a heavy man, and full-blooded, and you shouldn’t go out in the sun without a hat.”

  He went to his room to get a hat, and Reggie was there, making the bed. He could not unlock the closet while she was here.

  “Reggie,” he said, “would you mind looking in the dining-room for my wallet? I think I must have dropped it.”

  She went without a word, and he unlocked the closet and got a hat. He was relocking the door when she returned.

  “I didn’t see it, Jake,” she said.

  “Never mind. It can’t be far. I’m just going to take a walk with Aunt Lou. You’ll join us in a few moments, won’t you, Reggie? We’ll be on the upper road.”

  “All right, Jake,” she said.

  “I wish you’d smile, Reggie,” he said, anxiously. “It—it upsets me to see you like this.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Only I can’t.”

  Better not ask her any questions now. He found Mrs. Albany in the sitting-room, with her hat on.

  “We’ll walk along by the sea,” she said.

  “Oh, no!” said Duff “The upper road is much better. Trees, and so on.”

  “I’d rather walk by the sea,” said Mrs. Albany.

  All right! All right! he thought, in a rage. Walk along by the sea, then, and you’ll be the one to find that old maniac. You asked for it. Then I’ll say—Good God! Why, that’s the old fellow who came bothering me last night! Drunk, or crazy. As a matter of fact, that’s how I got this welt on the forehead. He hit at me with the riding-crop he was carrying.

  Where is that crop? Still lying in the sand outside the house? I forgot it. That’s a definite clue.

  Here, here! Take it easy. Clue to what? There’s been no crime committed, and anyhow, I never intended to deny that the fellow had come to the house. If the subject ever came up. There’s nothing to worry about, absolutely nothing. Only I’ve got to have a drink before lunch. After all I went through last night.

  “Now tell me,” said Mrs. Albany.

  “Tell you what?” he asked, startled.

  “Tell me what’s wrong with Reggie.”

  He lit a cigarette, and his mind began to work on that; it had to.

  “You won’t like it, Aunt Lou.”

  “Let’s hear it, Jacob.”

  “Very well. I fired that fellow Nolan, and she’s been like this ever since.”

  “Nonsense, Jacob!”

  “I knew you’d say that,”

  “Jacob,” she said, after a moment, “I dare say you’ve made yourself believe that. But it’s not true. It’s simply an excuse for your own unfaithfulness to Reggie.”

  “I’ve never been unfaithful to Reggie,” he said, curtly.

  “The worst sort of unfaithfulness there is,” said Mrs. Albany, “is to get tired of people, as you do. You’re fickle, Jacob. Where are the friends you had in prep school and in college?”

  “I used to see them, when we lived in New York.”

  “You used to go to your clubs,” she said, “and you’d talk to anyone who happened to be there. But you didn’t care who it was. No. You haven’t kept up any faithful friendships, Jacob.”

  “You can’t say I’ve been fickle toward you,” he said.

  She put her hand through his arm.

  “No, you haven’t,” she said. “You haven’t, Jacob. But I’m getting old. I shan’t be here—”

  “Don’t talk like that!” he cried.

  “There’s no use blinking facts,” she said. “There’s—”

  He did not hear what else she said, for he had caught sight of one of his red leather slippers lying in the sand, not red any more, but black and sodden with water. Where the slipper had come, the old maniac would also come, he thought, borne by the same currents. He looked along the beach, but as far as he could see there was nothing like—that. But it might be floating.

  “Let’s sit down and wait for Reggie,” he said.

  They sat down side by side on a great log half-buried in the sand. If we go to the Yacht Club, he thought, I don’t see how the hell I can get a drink. I can’t get away from them…

  “There she is!” said Mrs. Albany.

  In dark-blue slacks, she looked taller; the light wind blew her hair back from her pale face; she came on steadily, inexorable, and, watching her, he felt a stir of fear. What did he know about that girl, anyhow—about her thoughts, her feelings?

  He saw her stop and look down at something in the sand. He knew what it was. It was his slipper.

  Chapter 11

  “I’ll make Scotch scones for tea,” said Mrs. Albany. “I make t
hem with soda.”

  “Oh, I’d like to watch you!” said Reggie.

  “Have I got time for a snooze?” asked Duff. “Fifteen minutes? The sea air always makes me sleepy.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Albany.

  He locked the door very quietly, and got a bottle out of the bag. But he had an angry suspicion that they both knew what he was doing. Probably they were going to talk about him, in low, grave voices, making plans for his welfare. He had had a horrible day, boring beyond endurance. Mrs. Albany and Reggie had preferred home cooking to the Yacht Club; they had got a taxi to take them into the village, and Mrs. Albany had asked him to come, too. To help. They had come back with huge bags; they had talked about prices, about ration-points.

  Mrs. Albany had lived in hotels since her husband’s death, over ten years ago, and during his lifetime they had spent most of their time traveling. But she believed herself to be an experienced and excellent housekeeper and cook. I could get up a nice little meal anywhere, she liked to say. In a ship’s galley—on the veldt—in a jungle.

  I don’t believe she ever did anything of the sort. Duff thought, for the first time with irritation. Uncle Fred’s expeditions were always done in style. But if she likes to think so…

  He swallowed his drink quickly, put the bottle back into the bag, unlocked his door, and lay down on the bed. They say it’s a bad thing to drink so quickly, he thought. Well, I wouldn’t, if I could help it. If I could have had a couple of cocktails this afternoon, in a decent, civilized way, without being called a drunkard…

  He was not in the least sleepy; he lay on the bed with his eyes closed, and examined the situation. That slipper… he thought.

  Reggie couldn’t possibly know it was mine. Nobody could identify it, in that condition. Unless she came snooping in here, to see if my slippers are missing. And that wouldn’t do her any good, either, because the closet’s locked.

  When they find that old maniac… he thought. I wish to God they would find him, and get it over with. Makes you nervous, waiting like this. Coming out here was a mistake, in every way. I can’t stand being shut up here with Reggie.

  He frowned, trying to get it clear in his mind why he had come here. It was on account of Nolan, he thought. Yes … I got those agency people to keep an eye on Nolan. That old maniac said he knew why I’d fired Nolan. That means that Nolan’s already started to talk. All right! Let him talk. I’m getting sick of all this. What was it he was going to talk about? Oh, yes. That preposterous story about my trying to frame Reggie.

  Anger made his face burn, gave him an odd and very unpleasant feeling of fullness in his head. It’s disgusting, to be involved in a lot of petty chicanery of this sort, he thought. Not like me. All these details… My slippers, and those wet clothes in the closet… I’ll pack them in the big bag and take them home. But then what’ll I do with them? Good God! I have to behave like a criminal, plotting and planning—simply because I can’t trust my own wife.

  The riding-crop. I’ll have to get that, after dark. There’s no end to this thing.

  “Jacob!” called Mrs. Albany. “Five minutes till tea!”

  He got up at once and washed in cold water, but his face was still darkly flushed; he still had that feeling of pressure in his head; he loathed the thought of sitting there and drinking tea, and talking. If I could be let alone, he thought, I’d quit drinking. It’s affecting my health.

  He accepted one of Mrs. Albany’s scones, and when he began to eat it, he was surprised to find it like a stone.

  “Very nice. Aunt Lou,” he said.

  “No,” she said, with a sigh. “They didn’t turn out right.”

  A silence came down upon them. He resented that. He was not much of a talker himself, and all his life he had taken it for granted that women would keep a conversation going. It was their business to do so; they never sat like Reggie, not even making an effort.

  “My taxi will be here in half an hour,” said Mrs. Albany.

  “I wish you were going to stay longer,” said Duff.

  But still Reggie said nothing. What’s the matter with her? Duff thought. I tried to be friendly and nice with her this morning. I told her I was sorry if I’d been irritable. But there she sits…

  The telephone rang, and Reggie went to answer it, an old-fashioned wall telephone in the hall.

  “It’s for you, Jake,” she said.

  “Who is it?”

  “He just said it was personal.”

  “Mr. Duff?” said a man’s voice. “McGinnis speaking. Your party hasn’t made any move. Still in the house, and still seems to be drinking. But there’s one thing might be of interest. The party that rents the house where your party is seems to have disappeared.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “He’s got one of those big long Russian names, but he don’t use it. Paul, he calls himself, Mr. Paul. Now, what occurred to me is, it might be of interest to find out is there any tie-up between Nolan living there in that house and this here Mr. Paul being missing. I could start—”

  “No,” said Duff. “Just drop it.”

  “You mean just keep an eye on Nolan?”

  “Not that, either. Just drop the whole thing. You’ll hear from me tomorrow. Don’t do anything more.”

  “Well…” said McGinnis. “Okay!”

  Duff hung up the receiver and went back to the sitting-room.

  “Business thing,” he said. “I’ll have to go back to New York tomorrow.”

  The taxi came for Mrs. Albany, and Duff helped her into it; then he strolled off along the beach. He might find that slipper and bury it; he might even come across the old maniac. But his chief object was to keep away from that house and from Reggie.

  We’ll be there all alone now, he thought, in dismay. It was as if that had never happened before, and he did not know how to deal with it. The sun was low; after a while it would be dark, and they would be shut up together in there. By heaven, I feel like simply walking away and never coming back, he thought. My lawyer could arrange for her to get an adequate income. That’s probably all she wants, anyhow; all she married me for. She hasn’t the sense to care for social position, or anything of that sort. Just money. Very well; she can have money.

  If I could only get rid of her, he thought, I’d move back to New York, get away from this damn suburban life. Then if I wanted a cocktail before my dinner, I’d have one, without all this locking doors and hiding bottles. It’s degrading. And it makes me take more drinks than I normally would.

  He reached the log where he had sat with Mrs. Albany, without having seen the slipper, or anything else to worry him. He sat down there, looking out over the pallid water, with a great sense of loss in his heart. I used to be happy, he thought. But now I never am. I used to feel well and happy. Used to like to go fishing, used to enjoy swimming. But now I don’t enjoy anything. Not with Reggie around.

  He was physically tired; it was a wretched effort to get up, to plod through the sand, back to the house he hated and the woman he dreaded. It was dusk now, and there was only one light in the house, in the kitchen. He went round the side and looked in at the window, saw Reggie at the stove, an apron around her waist. She had a submissive and humble look that disgusted him. You’d never have caught Helen alone in a kitchen with an apron on, he thought.

  He watched her go into the dining-room and turn on the light there; she was beginning to set the table. We’ll be eating there alone, he thought. Nothing to say to each other. And all evening—and tomorrow. And after tomorrow, how long?

  I want to go home! he cried to himself. He had a vision of Miss Castle pouring tea, so beautifully easy to talk to, composed, cheerful, adult. A real woman, he thought. I want to go home.

  Even with Nolan just outside his gate? It came into his mind that Nolan must almost surely have known that the old man was coming out here; perhaps Nolan had sent him. I shouldn’t have called off the agency, he thought, in a panic. Now, if Nolan starts to come out here, I shan’t k
now anything about it. He may be on his way here now. He might—I don’t know what he might do. He might accuse me of killing that fellow.

  And I did kill him, he thought, in great wonder. Of course, it was entirely an accident, but I did kill him.

  He straightened his shoulders. And all through the whole thing, I never turned a hair, he thought. This fellow suddenly appearing in the middle of the night, threatening me, attacking me—and I was perfectly cool. I made up my mind what was the best thing to do, to avoid a lot of gossip and trouble, and I did it. Entirely alone.

  When the emergency arose, I met it. I don’t see why I should be afraid of Nolan.

  He stood in the twilight, thinking. You must face things, Jacob… Why not face Nolan, instead of running away from him? All right, he thought. If Nolan comes tonight, I will face him, just as I did that Paul.

  Very suddenly, he remembered the riding-crop, and he went to the front of the house and found it lying in the sand. He picked it up, stuck it through his waistband and buttoned his coat over it. I shouldn’t mind using it on Nolan, if he tries to make trouble, he thought. That’s the way to handle a fellow like that. A discharged servant. A blackmailer.

  As he opened the door, Reggie called out to him.

  “Dinner’s ready, Jake.”

  “Ten minutes,” he said. “I want to wash up.”

  He locked his door, he unlocked the closet and got out the bag and put the riding-crop in there. Good God! he thought, taking out a bottle, what a way to live! Skulking around, keeping everything under lock and key…

  It was Reggie’s fault, all of it. He had to take his drink far too quickly, dreading a knock at the door. He had to lock up the bag again, unlock his door; no end to all this locking and unlocking. He went into the dining-room and Reggie came in from the kitchen.

  What’s the matter with her? he thought. Why doesn’t she smile?

  “I hope you’ll like this,” she said. “I couldn’t get anything but some breast of lamb, so I made a little sort of stew.”

  “Very nice,” he said. “The trouble is, I haven’t got my appetite back yet. The tonic’s supposed to look after that but it hasn’t done much good so far.”