Mad About the Boy?

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  Isabelle smiled. ‘Everyone knows you as a racer.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose they do.’ His smile faded. ‘What happened to Tim has taken the shine off that a bit. Tim was a brilliant driver, you know. When I think of him really stuck for money – desperately stuck – I can’t believe I didn’t know. I should have known something was wrong.’

  She covered his hand with hers. ‘You did try to find out, Malcolm.’

  ‘I should have tried harder. That Stanton chap knew all about it. And now Tim’s dead. I . . . I was really turned over by it, Isabelle. He was alive this time yesterday. My God, I wish I’d known. I could have stopped it somehow.’ His eyes clouded and Isabelle knew he was no longer thinking of her. ‘I said it’d never happen again,’ he muttered, more to himself than her.

  ‘Happen again?’ she asked gently. ‘What do you mean?’

  He recalled himself with a start. ‘Nothing.’ He spoke quickly then hesitated, looking at her. ‘At least . . . You want to know, don’t you? I’ve never told anyone before but I’d like to tell you.’

  He sat up and brushed some grass off his sleeve. Taking out his cigarette case he offered her one and for a few moments he smoked thoughtfully. ‘In some ways it’s a very commonplace story. That’s probably the worst thing about it. There was a man in my squadron, a James Chilton. Anyway, we hit it off but we lost touch when he got invalided home. I meant to look him up but never got round to it. It was the winter after the war – it was a beastly cold winter if you recall – when I came across him. He was absolutely broke. I mean really broke. You’ve seen the poor devils sleeping on the Embankment, haven’t you? Jimmy Chilton was there. Jimmy Chilton MC.’

  Isabelle drew her breath in, her eyes fixed on his face.

  His mouth trembled for a moment, then he continued. ‘I gave him some money, all I had on me, but it wasn’t much. God knows why I didn’t do more. All I can think of was that I was so shocked I couldn’t think straight. I gave him my address and told him to look me up. He never came. After a few days I went to find him, determined to see he had a job and a proper place to sleep and so on, but I was too late. It was the police who found him in the end.’ His voice was so quiet Isabelle had to strain to catch the words. ‘He’d been admitted to hospital suffering from pneumonia and he died. I should have helped him.’

  ‘You tried, Malcolm,’ she said. ‘You did try.’

  He looked at her with haunted eyes. ‘Yes. And I could have tried a damn sight harder. Just as I could have got through Tim’s assurances that everything was all right when I knew damn well it wasn’t.’

  ‘But you can’t blame yourself, Malcolm,’ she said earnestly. ‘You simply can’t. I don’t know about your friend, this James Chilton, but it was Tim’s own fault he was stuck for money, you know. He had enough to live on.’

  Smith-Fennimore gave a pensive smile. ‘But not enough to race on. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Your pal Arthur Stanton pointed that out and he’s right, damn him. Money! I spend my life moving money about. Funnily enough, I love it. You’d expect Tim to have remembered that, wouldn’t you? There was no need for him to go to Stanton.’

  Isabelle thought Stanton was a subject they’d better not explore. ‘Do you really enjoy the bank?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose. ‘It sounds a bit dull.’

  Smith-Fennimore laughed. ‘Not the way I do it. Money means influence, you know. I like having the influence to back schemes I think are worthwhile such as bridges, roads, new factories. It’s mainly abroad, worse luck. I wish there was more I could do in this country and help the poor devils with no work, but there isn’t. It’s all got to make a profit, of course, but it’s worth doing.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, I can afford the things I really like.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, motor racing, obviously. Parties. I like parties. Flying, too. I’d love to have a crack at flying over the Himalayas. I did wonder, if Haldean takes me up on my idea of sharing a hangar, whether he’d consider being my co-pilot for the Himalayan flight. I’ve been looking for someone for a while.’

  Isabelle laughed. ‘I don’t think you have to wonder for very long. He’d jump at the chance. I’m glad you get on with Jack. He means an awful lot to me.’

  ‘How much?’ There was a chill note of worry behind the question.

  Isabelle shot him a reassuring glance. ‘Nothing, in the way you mean. I’ve known him all my life. I don’t think you fall for people you know as well as that, do you? He’s always been happy with us. At home, if you understand what I mean.’

  ‘At home.’ The phrase seemed to strike him with unusual force. He took her hand again. ‘D’you know, of all the women I’ve ever had anything to do with, there’s never been one I wanted to share a home with before?’ He looked at her with great tenderness. ‘Isabelle, I want a home.’

  She pressed his hand to her cheek. ‘Yes. Malcolm . . .’ Something he had just said bothered her slightly. She could never imagine Arthur, for instance, saying anything of the sort. ‘Have there been many other women? I mean,’ she added hurriedly as a slight frown crossed his face, ‘it sounds as if there have been.’

  He looked rather hunted. ‘Why do women always want to know the full ghastly details of Bluebeard’s chamber?’ He sat up and gathered her into his arms again. ‘My dear girl, I’m a grown man. It’d be odd if there hadn’t been “others”.’ He held her tightly once more and kissed her slowly. ‘But none of them mattered,’ he whispered. ‘None of them. There’s never been anyone like you. Emeralds,’ he added after a pause.

  ‘Emeralds?’ asked Isabelle, puzzled.

  He grinned. ‘For your engagement ring, of course. Emeralds, to go with your eyes. You know, you’ve got beautiful eyes. In fact . . .’

  Isabelle shut her eyes as he kissed her again.

  ‘I think,’ he said eventually, ‘we’d better be getting back.’ He stood up and reached down a hand to her with a very happy smile. ‘I suppose I should have a word with your father.’

  She smiled back. ‘I suppose you should.’

  He helped her into the car. ‘Is there anything wrong? You look very serious all of a sudden.’

  She sighed. ‘Arthur.’

  ‘Never mind him,’ he said impatiently, climbing into the car.

  ‘But I do mind him, Malcolm,’ she said. ‘I like him. Jack thinks the world of him and I . . . well, I like him. He could be a really good friend but it’s difficult. He asked me to marry him last night.’

  ‘Did he, by Jove.’ He sat thoughtfully for a few moments. ‘I didn’t realize that. How did he take it when you refused?’

  Isabelle raised her hands and let them drop helplessly. ‘I could tell he was hurt. All I can hope is that he’ll get over it.’

  He started the engine. ‘I don’t know if I would,’ he murmured.

  They drove back and, as they approached the house, Isabelle caught sight of Stanton walking up the front steps. ‘Drop me here, Malcolm. I’ll see you later. If you do want to speak to Dad, he’s usually in the library with the newspaper at this time of day.’

  She got out of the car but, before she went, Smith-Fennimore caught hold of her hand and kissed it. ‘Remember I love you,’ he said with curious earnestness.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I love you, too.’

  She caught up with Stanton in the hall. He looked so happy at the sight of her that she felt suddenly mean, as if she were planning to kick a trusting dog. This was going to be harder than she thought.

  ‘Arthur,’ she said, and her voice wasn’t quite level, ‘can we go somewhere quieter? I’ve got something to tell you. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll like it very much.’

  His smile faded. Without a word he opened the door of the dining room and stood aside for her to enter.

  She shut the door and stood with her back to it. ‘I wanted to tell you before you heard it from anyone else. I owe you that much.’ She twisted the belt of her dress round her fingers. ‘It’s Malcolm and me,’ she
said in a rush, wanting to get it over with. ‘We’re engaged.’

  For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, then he drew a long, jagged breath. ‘Engaged?’ he repeated dully.

  She nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur.’

  ‘Sorry!’ He turned and, walking to the table, gripped the back of a chair. ‘Why him?’ he said sharply.

  ‘Why not?’ she said brusquely, annoyed by his tone. ‘It’s not everyone who has to wait for months to find out they care for someone.’ That was unkind and she immediately regretted saying it.

  He was staring at her with an intense, fixed expression. ‘I loved you the first moment I saw you,’ he said softly. ‘It was at the Stuckleys’ ball. You came with Jack. You were the loveliest girl I’d ever seen. Perhaps I can explain what you meant to me.’

  She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Is there any point?’ She met his eyes and suddenly knew – knew beyond argument – how deep his feelings were and how badly he was hurt. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur,’ she repeated in a softer voice. ‘I wish things could have been different.’

  There was a long silence. He swallowed and tried to manage a smile. ‘I hope you’ll be happy I mean it. I really hope you’ll be happy.’

  Impulsively she moved towards him, but he shook his head and went to stand with his back to her by the window. She nearly called his name, but thought better of it. She opened the door quietly, but, before she left, looked once more at his tense figure, standing ramrod straight. Something wrenched inside.

  Smith-Fennimore was in the hall. ‘I’ve told your father. He’s delighted,’ he began and then stopped, looking at Isabelle’s face. ‘What’s the matter?’

  She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose. ‘It’s Arthur,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘I feel so mean, Malcolm. I don’t know what to do about him.’

  He took her arm firmly. ‘There’s nothing you can do. He’ll just have to live with it. Did he take it hard?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s his own fault. He took so long about things. If he hadn’t, then it might have been very different.’

  Smith-Fennimore’s eyebrows crawled upwards. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well you met me, then. Would you really have married him? He seems so . . . well, ineffective.’

  Isabelle blew her nose once more and put her handkerchief away. ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ She slipped her hand through his arm and gave him a consciously bright look. ‘Come on. We’ve got plenty of other people to tell.’

  It was over breakfast the next morning that the visit to London was arranged. Lord Lyvenden had departed on the early train in search of a secretary but he was merely the first of many. Haldean was meeting his godfather for lunch, Isabelle had a fitting for a dress and wanted to do some shopping, and Bubble and Squeak decided they’d like to come as well. Alfred Charnock, who came in on the tail end of the conversation, coolly invited himself along. He too, it seemed, wanted to go to London. Without actually asking him, Isabelle decided that Malcolm could drive her up to London and Jack could take everyone else. Malcolm, she said, had told her last night that he could do with going up to Town.

  Haldean parked his car at the front of the house and ran lightly up the steps into the hall. ‘Bubble, Squeak, the car’s ready . . .’

  He broke off. At the bottom of the staircase, Isabelle and Smith-Fennimore were discussing something in low voices.

  Isabelle looked cross. ‘But why won’t you take me, Malcolm?’ she said, her voice rising. ‘As we’re both going to Town it seems silly not to go together.’

  ‘Because I’ve got some private business that I don’t want you to know about yet. You’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘But all I want you to do is to drop me at the dressmaker’s. I’ve got a fitting that’s going to take ages, so you’ll be free the rest of the time. We can meet at the Savoy Grill for supper and come back together.’ She saw the indecisiveness in his face and said, ‘If you really don’t want to take me, I can go with Jack.’ There was a tread on the stairs above her and she glanced up. ‘And Arthur, of course,’ she added, slyly, as Stanton and Sir Philip came down the stairs towards them.

  Smith-Fennimore frowned. ‘I’ll take you, if you’re so set on it,’ he said quickly. ‘But I really can’t get roped into carrying parcels whilst you go shopping, Isabelle.’

  ‘You won’t,’ she said, glad to have got her own way. ‘If you’ll get the car, I’ll meet you by the front door.’ She turned to her father as Smith-Fennimore left. ‘What is it, Dad?’

  Sir Philip tapped the newspaper under his arm. He looked worried. ‘I don’t know if I’m very happy about you going to London, Isabelle. It was different when I thought you’d be with Smith-Fennimore all day. There’s been more trouble with these wretched Communists and apparently there’s some sort of march planned for today. Are you sure you can’t stay with the girls, Jack?’

  Haldean shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but, as I said, I’m meeting my godfather for lunch.’ He looked at Stanton. ‘Do you fancy a run up to Town, Arthur? You’re welcome to join us.’

  Stanton pulled a face. ‘No thanks, Jack. I thought I might go and see if there was anything worth catching in the lower pool. Either that or a walk. I feel a bit aimless.’

  ‘Just as you like.’ Arthur seemed positively washed out and Haldean hoped a quiet day would do him some good. He turned back to his uncle. ‘I’m sure Isabelle will be fine, sir. She’s going to meet Bubble and Squeak in Regent Street after she’s been for her fitting and they’ll be together for the rest of the day.’

  A horn sounded from the front of the house. Isabelle kissed her father quickly. ‘That’ll be Malcolm. Don’t worry, Dad. We’ll stick to the West End. See you all in Town.’ She ran out to the waiting car.

  ‘Are we going to London this morning or this afternoon?’ asked Alfred Charnock.

  Haldean wasn’t going to be drawn. ‘Just as soon as you’re ready, Mr Charnock.’ He turned to Bubble and Squeak. ‘Shall we go?’

  Archie Wilde KC settled back amongst the solidly Victorian comforts of the Garrick Club. ‘What d’you fancy next, Jack? You’re pretty safe here if you stick to what they know how to do. Steak and kidney pudding? They can’t go far wrong with that.’ He picked up his soup spoon. ‘How’s things at Hesperus? It’s a pity I couldn’t get down for the ball. It was a nasty business about that young feller shooting himself.’ Something in Haldean’s expression made him pause. ‘He did shoot himself, didn’t he?’

  ‘It’s certainly meant to look that way,’ agreed Haldean quietly. ‘I know you’ll keep this to yourself, sir, but I’m not at all happy that’s what happened.’

  Archie Wilde looked at him sharply. ‘Murder? At Hesperus?’

  Haldean nodded. ‘I tried to contact Ashley – you remember I told you about Superintendent Ashley? – but he’s been away. He’s back tomorrow, thank goodness. I haven’t got anything I’d like to go to the police with officially, but Ashley will listen to me. Until then . . .’ He reached for a bread roll. ‘Until then I think it’d better remain as suicide.’

  Archie Wilde drew his breath in. ‘Be careful who you speak to,’ he said quietly. ‘This isn’t a game, Jack. I know you can look after yourself, but if you’re right it’d be far too easy for you to come off worse.’ He glanced round the dining room. ‘There are too many people here for this sort of conversation. You can tell me all about it when we get back to my rooms. Until then –’ his voice rose to its normal pitch – ‘you can fill me in on the rest of the news. Is Alice’s brother still making a nuisance of himself?’

  ‘Mr Charnock, you mean? Yes, he’s still there.’

  ‘Dreadful feller,’ grunted Archie Wilde, between spoonfuls of Brown Windsor soup. ‘I can’t think why Philip puts up with him.’

  ‘I think he more or less has to, doesn’t he? Didn’t he come a cropper in the City earlier in the year? I gather, without it having actually been spelt out, that he’s at Hesperus because he’s on his be
am ends.’

  Wilde grunted. ‘That’s as maybe, but he was chucking money about at the Derby and at that gaming club, the Ultima Thule. They play very high there. Too high for my pocket. You steer clear of him, Jack. I wouldn’t say as much to Alice, but he’s not a nice man. He was in the Ukraine in the war. I don’t say he wasn’t useful, but I couldn’t stomach how he got his results. He’s a ruthless beggar and arrogant as the devil. Still, it’s not my problem.’ He buttered a bread roll. ‘Has anyone else proposed to Isabelle?’

  ‘She’s got engaged,’ said Haldean with a grin.

  ‘Good Lord.’ He stopped with the roll in his hand. ‘Who to? That boy of Jane Moorcroft’s? That’s been on the cards for some time. What’s he called now? He got the DSO. Nice lad. Stanton. Arthur Stanton.’

  Haldean shook his head. ‘No, ‘fraid not. That didn’t come off. No, it’s Smith-Fennimore, the racing driver.’

  ‘Him, eh?’

  ‘I didn’t know you knew him,’ said Haldean.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Archie Wilde, finishing the last of his soup. ‘I don’t know him well, but I know him. Mind you, I don’t mix with the speed crowd. I can never see the damn point of tearing round a race track. After all, however fast you go, you only end up where you started from. That bank of his seems pretty sound, though. All I know about his private life is that he has a very expensive mistress who I’ve seen him out and about with. She says she’s a connection of the Romanovs. Aren’t they all!’ He laughed. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t look so shocked, boy.’

  ‘I’m not shocked,’ said Haldean, piqued. ‘It’s just that . . . well, you know. It’d be rotten for Belle if he’s got someone else. Still, I daresay he’ll give her up if he’s going to get married.’

  ‘If he’s got any sense he will.’ Wilde turned in his seat to summon the waiter. ‘Did you want boiled potatoes with your pudding, Jack? If it worries you, you’d better tackle him about it. It’s not something I’d like to ask Philip to do, but you should be able to manage. It’s a pity Gregory’s not around as it’s more a brother’s job, but you’re close enough.’