“Do you really think she’ll swallow that?”
“Why not? She’s a sensible girl. I’m sure she hates scenes.”
“And how will you get back?”
“I’ll bring both boats back here after dark. I’ll leave her sailboat right here on the beach. That will make the whole thing even more convincing. She fell overboard and the boat got away from her and drifted in here to shore. In the morning I’ll take the skiff back to the boat livery and tell them it was late when I got back and that I tied it up for the night at the fishing pier. That way nobody can ever find a connection between us.”
“It’s too risky. It depends too much on luck.”
“Have you got a better idea?” he asked flatly. “And just remember that we don’t have much time to fool around. She’s leaving next week. After that it’s all over. But if you want to forget the whole thing it’s all right with me. It’s not exactly my idea of a honeymoon, you know.”
“It’s just that you’re rushing me. You’ve gotten so damned bloodthirsty all of a sudden.”
He stood up and said, “Let’s get this straight, Clare. The whole thing was your idea, not mine. I have nothing against the girl.” He tossed the envelope down on the sand beside her and said, “There’s your thousand bucks. Now let’s just forget we ever met.”
He had taken half a dozen steps before he heard her voice calling after him, “Gus. Wait.”
“What is it?”
She handed him the envelope.
“What does that mean?” Robinson asked. “That you want to go ahead with it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll see you here tomorrow night at the same time.” His voice was like stone. She could barely make him out in the darkness but he looked enormous. Somehow their roles had been reversed. It was he, now, who was dominating the situation. For the first time she felt a nip of fear. Given a good enough reason he would not mind killing her too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The skiff was twelve feet long and painted blue and white. Hung on the transom was an eighteen-horse Evinrude. The bugger should move, Robinson thought.
Up forward, covered by the tarp, were the supplies he had bought the day before. Beside him was an extra five-gallon can of gas. As he crossed the lagoon under half throttle he gazed up at the sky. Cloudless. As close to a dead calm as you ever got in these waters. There would be a little wind when the sun was well up but not much. A perfect day for piracy, kidnapping, murder, and playing games with an ageing nymphomaniac. Augustus, I salute you. The gods of crime seem to be looking for you with favor this day.
He stayed on the range going down the channel and when he had crossed the sandbar the open sea was before him. Except for a big sports fisherman trolling for marlin some miles to the westward, he was alone on the ocean. He kept his eye on the boat until he saw that it was heading south toward Gun Cay. That was fine. In twenty minutes it would be out of sight.
Robinson ran out until he was well offshore, then cut the motor and got out his rented tackle and pretended to fish. That was part of the act too; there was no use in having anybody wonder just what the hell he was doing out there. Two hours passed slowly and by that time the breeze had freshened to a gentle three or four knots. At nine o’clock, coming steadily on the outgoing tide, he made out the tip of a sail moving above the fringe of vegetation that outlined the southern tip of the island. When it had cleared the point it swung north and he had a clear view of it and he could see that it was Gwen’s Lightning. Although it was still a long way off he could see her sitting alone in the stern sheets. A nice child. Comes to her assignations alone and on time as ordered. If Clare is watching she must be very happy.
Gwen tacked across the channel into deeper water and when she was past the bar she came neatly about and headed north on a broad reach. It was a good point of sailing and would take her parallel to the beach and not much more than a quarter of a mile to seaward. In an hour or so she would be approaching the northern tip of the island which was low and swampy and hidden by a fringe of pine. Because of the low ground and the mosquitoes there was no habitation on the northern tip and he had already decided to meet her there.
From where he sat in the slowly drifting boat he had a good view of Clare’s house. He watched it carefully. At first there was no sign of life, but then he saw a splinter of light from the terrace. When it came again he grinned wolfishly. The sun was being reflected from a lens. Somebody at the house was using binoculars. Clare was right on the ball.
He let Gwen get well up to the north before he cranked up his motor and moved off on a course that would intercept her. He tried to make it look casual, moving slowly, leaving a trolling line over the stem. Gwen saw him coming when he was still some distance off and waved happily at him. Since he was now hidden by the fringe of trees from anybody watching on shore he could afford to wave back. Ten minutes later he was alongside, eyes sparkling with excitement.
As she took the line from the skiff she said, “This is all darned mysterious, Gus.”
“Don’t you like mysteries?”
“I love them, but where are we going?”
“Wait and see.”
He took the helm and let the sails fill away. Even with the skiff trailing behind the Lightning moved smoothly.
“You might trim that jib sheet a bit,” he said.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
His course was straight out to sea. Spanish Cay dropped away behind them until only the tip of the radio tower was visible.
Gwen’s face wore a puzzled frown when she turned to him at last and said, “Gus. Where are we going?”
“Honey, I have bad news for you. It seems you’re not going to win that race after all. In fact, you won’t even be in it.”
The day seemed endless to Clare. When the girl brought her tray out to the terrace Clare did not even bother to lower the binoculars. “Just leave it there,” she snapped.
The girl put the tray on the table and stuck out her tongue at Clare. She did not like Mrs. Loomis and now the day was starting badly. Mrs. Loomis was obviously in a foul mood. When her boss, Mr. Carpenter, had gone off skiing and told her he was lending the house to his friend Mrs. Loomis, Lisa had welcomed the change. Mr. Carpenter was a bachelor and threw a lot of wild parties and usually had the place in an awful mess. It would be nice to work for a lady for a change.
At first Mrs. Loomis had seemed very kind and charming but that had soon changed. Now she was nervous as a wet cat. It probably had something to do with that boy Dino. They said he was a painter but Lisa had seen his type before and they didn’t make their living painting. A couple of times she had seen Mrs. Loomis giving him money. And the way that bedroom looked in the morning you could tell they hadn’t been holding any art classes in there. And it wasn’t only the bedroom. Like when she had come in a few days ago and found sand and water all over the kitchen floor. And that floor had been neat as a pin when she left it the night before. You could see that somebody had tried to clean up the mess but they hadn’t done much of a job. Running around the beach at night. Probably without any clothes on. Something funny going on all right.
There had probably been a lot of funny things in Mrs. Loomis’ life. Like the story that her husband had killed himself. Shot himself through the head. Man doesn’t shoot himself unless his wife gives him good reason.
Mrs. Loomis was still looking through the binoculars. Without lowering them she snapped, “Well what are you hanging around for? Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yes’m.”
“Then get on with it.”
Before leaving the terrace she tried to see what it was out there that had Mrs. Loomis so interested. Standing in the doorway and looking past Mrs. Loomis’ shoulder she searched carefully over the broad expanse of ocean but all she could see was the far-off white rectangle of a little sailboat.
When the boat was out of sight Clare put down the glasses and had her coffee. The coffee had gone cold and bitter. She lit a
cigarette and smoked half, then threw the rest away and immediately lit another. Despite the brilliant sunlight on the terrace she felt cold. Freezing. Her hands were damp with nervous perspiration. She wanted to scream. To throw something. To strike out. She would like to go in right now and smack that silly Lisa in the face. Or she would like to be in bed with Dino. Damn Dino anyway. Why wasn’t he here when she needed him? Didn’t he know she was doing all this for him? No, how could he? And it was better that he was not here. She had to get a grip on herself. It wouldn’t do, if questions were asked, for people to remember that she had been close to the screaming meemies this day.
She left the terrace and went through the bedroom to the bath and got out the plastic bottle of little pink pills and popped one into her mouth. It would take twenty minutes to half an hour for the pill to take effect. In the meantime she must keep calm. Stop pacing. That black slut is watching. She hates you and she would like nothing better than to get you into trouble. Lie down on the bed. Put a damp towel over your forehead. Close your eyes.
For no good reason at all she began to think about Harry Loomis. She had not really thought much about Harry in a long time. Not really since his death. And certainly she had never grieved over him, although she had managed to work up a few tears at the funeral. What a filthy, gray, rainy day that had been. It had been raining all that week in London with Harry unshaven and sitting in his dressing gown hunched over a gas fire in that wretched hotel. For a solid week he had refused to leave the room. He wouldn’t go anywhere or see anyone. He had just sat there, a damp, flabby little man come to the end of his rope.
How quickly he went downhill. With the loss of the Wilhelm property Harry’s world just fell apart. Money was the key to Harry’s personality and when he lost his money he lost all his guts at the same time.
But she could still remember how he had looked that first time she saw him on board the liner. A square-shouldered, cocky little fellow full of confidence and all decked out in a double-breasted blue yachting blazer and cream-colored pants and white shoes. She could remember watching him and thinking how after she married him she would have to teach him about clothes. The only people who still wore white shoes and yachting blazers on board a transatlantic liner were hardware merchants from Massillon, Ohio, who had been reading the whiskey ads in the New Yorker.
Harry Loomis was her target and she proceeded to hunt him down with all the skill acquired by long practice at the game. It had been pitifully easy. She had tipped the diningroom steward twenty-five dollars to seat her next to Mr. Loomis and that night she had worn one of her lowest cut gowns. Poor Harry never had a chance. When he thought no one was looking his eyes remained fastened on her bosom. She had let him soak all that in before she said, “I’ll tell you a little secret, Mr. Loomis. I bribed the steward to put me at your table. In fact, the only reason I’m on this ship at all is because of you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple. There was an article about you last month in Fortune. I read it and liked what I read. It described you as one of the most imaginative, daring and successful of our younger businessmen. I made up my mind then to meet you and when I heard that you were sailing for Europe I booked passage on the same ship. So there it is. Do I shock you?” She had decided that a direct approach with Loomis would be the best bet. He would be overwhelmingly flattered.
“But I still don’t understand. Why were you so anxious to meet me?”
“Because I intend to marry you.” She drew a deep breath and let his eyes linger on her half revealed breasts. She was not wearing a brassiere and she knew that if she leaned over a little more he could see almost to her nipples. His face was flushed and he seemed to be having a little difficulty with his breathing. That was perhaps the last time she ever told him the whole truth about anything.
The second night out she slept with him and it was a revelation to the pudgy little man, who had certainly never known anything like that in Massillon or even at the conventions in Pittsburgh or Los Angeles. He was enchanted by her intimate knowledge of international society. He counted himself the luckiest man on the ship, and for those few days he may well have been. By the time they reached Southampton he was mad to marry her. But she cleverly put him off for a week with a carefully calculated program designed to make him sweat. And sweat he did while he showered her with gifts from the best shops in London. At the end of the week she gave in and married him.
Two weeks later, at the Negresco in Cannes, with Harry still floating on a sea of sex and champagne, she introduced him to her old and good friend Max Wilhelm.
What Harry Loomis was to Massillon, Ohio, Wilhelm was to the world. International finance. Cartels. Holdings in the Congo and West Germany and the Argentine. Nickel. Cattle. Copper. Oil. Land. Nothing was too big for Wilhelm. What was he interested in just now? Why he was playing around with a little project in the British West Indies. He had bought an island in the Bahamas. That was certainly the coming area for people in the know. Florida was dead now. The Bahamas had everything. In the age of jet planes you were only a few hours from New York, and look at the advantages. No taxes. Cheap help. Free port. It was one of the last places left for a gentleman, where the mobs traveling on the installment plan had not yet taken over. The hotel would be the center of it, but there would be a big development of private homes as well. And a marina for yachtsmen with a deep-water channel all the way. The secret was exclusivity. You had to keep it restricted to the very best people—the Vanderbilts, the Woolworths, Lord and Lady Docker. How could it miss?
No, we don’t need your money, old man. Money is no consideration at all. Our corporate structure is quite complete. Sir William Braden is chairman of the board. You don’t know Sir William? Pity. Well perhaps as a favor to me and because your charming lady seems so anxious about it we might let you in for a small amount. Say a million or so. In the meantime I’ll leave the prospectus with you. By all means take your time. I’ll try to prevail upon Sir William to hold off for a week while you think it over.
Two very big things happened to Harry that week. The first was that he gave Max Wilhelm a check for one million dollars entitling him to shares in the Wilhelmville development. The second big thing happened when he came back unexpectedly from a round of golf and found his beautiful new wife in bed with a man.
It had occurred to him, while he was on the course, that there were certain very valuable contributions he could make regarding the installation of plumbing in the new hotel. So enthused had he become that he could not wait to finish the round. Instead he had hurried up to Wilhelm’s room to discuss his ideas. He had knocked but there was no answer. Acting on one of those small inexplicable impulses that alter the courses of all our lives, he had tried the door. It had swung open and, thinking Wilhelm might be in the shower, he had stepped into the suite. The bedroom door was open and he could see straight through, and what he saw struck him like an explosion. A woman, fair-haired and nude, was sitting upright in the middle of the bed with her back to him and beneath her he could see the long hairy legs and broad chest of Max Wilhelm. There was a mirror behind the headboard and in it he could clearly see his wife’s face. At that moment Clare raised her head and her eyes met his. She screamed…
The pink pill was taking effect now. She was no longer so nervous. Strange that she should remember all this about Harry now when she hadn’t thought about it for so long.…
After she had screamed Harry had rushed out of the room. She had tried to find him but he had left the hotel. And an hour later Max Wilhelm had checked out without a word to her.
Three days later Harry came back. He was red-eyed and unshaven and his clothes were stained with vomit and spilled liquor. She had half expected him to beat her but instead he had wept. She had felt nothing for him then but hatred and contempt.
When Harry had sobered up he tried desperately to stop the check he had given Wilhelm but it had already cleared the bank. A month later the Wi
lhelmville bubble burst. Several prominent people were caught in the scandal, among them Sir William Braden who had apparently been used as a front by Wilhelm. Wilhelm himself was said to be somewhere in British Columbia. Others said he had fled to Rio to escape extradition.
Four months later, in that small room in London with the never-ending rain streaking the window, Harry Loomis—erstwhile king of a small plumbing empire and a man whose profile had once appeared in Fortune magazine—blew his brains out. Investigation showed that there was not much left of his once tidy fortune. His widow was able to recover only thirty or forty thousand dollars from the wreckage of his affairs.
Clare slept fitfully. When she awoke and looked at her watch she saw that two hours had passed. Was it over? Was Gwen dead, sinking down through the green water? Clare felt no pity for her, any more than she had ever felt pity for Harry Loomis. What she preferred to think of was Dino. Dino would never leave her now. Money was the chain with which she would hold him. She would buy him what he wanted but never too much at one time. And never enough cash so that he felt independent. Oh, she knew how to handle him all right. And with Dino by her side she could preserve the illusion of youth. In a year or two she would go to the best plastic surgeon, that man in London who hid the scars behind the hair line. And later, when her breasts began to sag too much, she would have an operation to restore their shape. With massage and watching her diet and not drinking too much and the proper amount of sex she could keep going for a long time.
The day dragged on. The house was very still. Lisa stayed in the kitchen, out of Clare’s way. Every few minutes Clare would pick up the binoculars and sweep the horizon, but no sail showed. At last, when it was too dark to see anything any more, she put the binoculars away.
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