“Come and have tea with me,” she said.
He thought she must have heard Corinna’s invitation.
He said, “Thank you-I’m afraid I can’t.” And then, “This is a friend of Peter’s-Miss Lee. Miss Lee-” He hesitated for a moment. Fay’s shoulder was a barrier. “Miss Fay Everitt.”
And then he had a doubt. Fay called herself Miss Everitt. She had never called herself Mrs. Lymington. But all the same-
If she acknowledged his introduction at all, it was with the very slightest movement of her head. She neither turned towards Corinna Lee nor looked at her. She looked at Car, and standing on the bottom step, opened her scarlet bag and extracted from it mirror and lipstick.
“Come and have tea with me, Car.”
“I’m afraid I’m engaged.”
She transferred her attention to the mirror, ran the lipstick over the painted curves of her mouth, and then very deliberately looked him up and down. Without a spoken word Car understood just how shabby he looked, and how impossible as an escort except by the indulgence of old friendship. Mirror and lipstick went back into the bag. Fay passed carelessly out. The tapping of her heels died away.
“Well!” said Miss Corinna Lee.
Car did not know what to say. Fay wanted shaking. If this pretty creature was a friend of Peter’s, things were going to be awkward. If they were great friends, she probably knew about Peter’s marriage. Perhaps he ought to have introduced Fay as Mrs. Lymington. He had never been able to see why there should be any secrecy. Well, it wasn’t his business.
By the time he reached this conclusion he was walking down the street with Miss Lee, and she was telling him how polite English railway porters were (was there a spice of malice here?) and how surprised she was to see London bathed in sunshine and with a blue sky overhead.
“I thought there would be a fog. Now you’re not going to tell me that London fogs are a myth?”
“We have them.”
“Now that’s a great relief! Will there be one tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
“You hope not. But I want to see a fog!”
Car laughed at her.
“Do you get everything you want?”
She looked as if she did. There was something of the unspoilt darling child about her. She looked as if she had sunshine and love always. Perhaps she wanted a fog for a change.
“Most of the time,” she said, and cocked her chin at him. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
She went on as if he had not spoken.
“Because of Peter-and because of your name.”
“ Fairfax?”
She shook her head.
“I’d have liked it to be the Fairfax part of your name, because that’s romantic and historical, but I can’t tell a lie any more than Washington could. It would be a pity if I hurt myself trying to-wouldn’t it?”
“Rather!”
She looked at him with just a shade of anxiety in the round gray eyes.
“I guess I sound real crazy. But I’m not-I’m trying to break it to you that I’m a cousin.”
“It would have to be broken very gently.”
“I’m being as gentle as I can. You won’t fall right down in a faint, will you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
She stopped at a street corner and looked up at him.
“Well then, your name’s Carthew, and it was your mother’s name-wasn’t it?”
Car nodded.
“And she came from a place called Linwood?”
“She did.”
“And so did my grandmother,” said Corinna. Her eyes, her face, her voice all held a sort of quivering blend of earnestness and mischief.
“How topping!” said Car.
“I’m glad Peter didn’t tell you. I told him he wasn’t to.”
“Perhaps that’s why he didn’t write,” said Car.
They shook hands earnestly. Her hand was very small and soft. For the moment mischief was subdued. It was evidently an occasion-and an occasion ought to be celebrated. With a horrid sick feeling Car remembered that he couldn’t ask her to celebrate it. Fay’s look came back. His hand felt cold as it let go of Corinna’s gray glove.
“What’s the matter?” said Corinna.
“Nothing.” Why on earth had he let her carry him off like this?
“Didn’t I break it gently enough?”
“You broke it beautifully.”
“Then come along.”
“I-”
“What is it? Don’t you like me for a cousin?” The gray eyes were still mischievous, but the mischief was very faintly clouded over-mist over sparkling water.
Car felt himself getting hot.
“It isn’t that. I-I’m not dressed for a tea-party.”
“Carthew Fairfax-if you don’t come and have tea with me, I shall burst out crying, right here. Did you think I was asking a suit of clothes to tea? Because if you did, you’ve got to think again. Now, have I got to cry?”
Car’s embarrassment left him. Gray kittens have no conventions. They do not look at the seams of your coat or the bulges in your boots.
Corinna produced a handkerchief four inches square and wrinkled her nose in a preparatory sniff.
“Thank you very much for inviting me,” said Car.
XII
Half an hour later they were talking as if they had known each other always. Miss Lee was staying at the Luxe, and they had a tête-à-tête tea in her own sitting-room, with her own cushions making bright, delightful spots of color, and a large photograph of Poppa in the middle of the mantelpiece, and a small snapshot of Peter on either side of it.
He had learned that Poppa was the head of the Lee-Mackintosh Corporation, and that he thought a heap of Peter. He thought Peter was a real fine boy, and he didn’t mind his being English-at least, not much. Car gathered that continuous pressure was being brought to bear upon Poppa to think even more highly of Peter. He also gathered that Poppa had perfectly effete ideas about daughters traveling alone, and that Corinna was therefore saddled with a chaperone in the shape of Cousin Abby Palliser. She seemed quite capable of managing her however. Cousin Abby, having a passion for historical monuments, could always be sent to see St. Paul ’s, or Westminster Abbey, or the Houses of Parliament if Corinna wanted to get rid of her. This afternoon she was doing Westminster Abbey, and as she was an extremely conscientious sightseer, it would certainly take her several hours.
“And now,” said Corinna-“now I’m going to ask you questions.”
“All right.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not a bit.”
She was sitting behind the tea-table with her elbow on her knee and her little round chin in her hand.
“Sure?” she said.
Car wondered. He laughed and said,
“What are you going to ask?”
“Wait and see.” She waited herself for a moment, and then said, “Peter’s told me a lot, and I’ve guessed some of the things he didn’t tell me. If I’ve guessed wrong, you can put me wise. You know, Peter thinks the world of you, but he’s considerably worried, because he doesn’t think you’re getting a fair show. Now if my grandmother was a Carthew, I suppose that lets me in so I can talk about the Carthews without offending you. And if that’s so, well, the first thing I want to ask is why your Uncle John Carthew didn’t rally round when things went wrong.”
“He helped my mother,” said Car.
“But not you.”
“No-not me.”
“Why?”
“Well, I don’t know why he should.”
“Didn’t he offer to help you at all?”
“Yes-on conditions.”
“And you couldn’t take them?”
“No.”
She didn’t ask what they were-that was a relief; she just sat and looked at him with perfectly round innocent eyes under a fluff of dark hair. The little gray hat lay on th
e floor beside her chair. Her hair was darker than he had expected. Its brown was the soft velvet brown of a bulrush. It increased her resemblance to a kitten, for it had the light, soft look of fur. It was very thick, and yet very light.
After a bit she said, “The job Peter got was offered to you first.”
Car flushed up to the roots of his hair and objurgated Peter in his heart.
“Oh well, it was for either of us. It-it wouldn’t have suited me to leave England then.”
She nodded.
“You let Peter have it. How many jobs have you had since Peter went out?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Have you got a job now?”
“Not just at the moment.”
A look came over her face like a shadow passing quickly.
“You think I’m very inquisitive. I’m not. I’ve got to ask you something more, and I’m scared you’ll be angry with me.”
She didn’t look in the least scared; she looked as friendly as the friendliest importunate creature that does not know what it is to get no for an answer.
“I’ve got to ask you a very impertinent thing. If you’ve had a lot of jobs, what’s the reason you haven’t kept any of them?”
Just for a moment Car was angry.
“My own incompetence, I suppose,” he said.
“Well!” said Corinna. Her sparkling look accused him of mock humility. She sat up, dimpling. “Do you want me to believe that?”
“I’m afraid it’s true.”
She went suddenly as grave as a judge.
“Carthew Fairfax-you’ve got to tell me the truth. Was it your opinion that you were being incompetent before you got fired from those jobs?”
After a moment he met her look squarely.
“No, I thought I was doing pretty well.”
“There hadn’t been any complaints?”
“No.”
“They just fired you all of a sudden?”
“Yes.”
“Every time?”
He thought for a moment. Beecher -he’d been getting along like a house on fire with old Beecher -and then, “I’m sorry, Mr. Fairfax, but we’re cutting down the staff.” Prothero-yes, that was sudden enough. Craddock-you couldn’t count Craddock, who was just pure beast. But Gray-Gray had been full of a decent embarrassment.
“Why did you ask me that?”
“I’m going to ask you something else,” said Corinna. “I’m going to ask you whether you’ve got an enemy. No, I’m not-I’m going to ask you who your enemy is. I don’t need to ask whether you’ve got one.” A little hot color stood in her cheeks. Her eyes met his squarely.
Car leaned back smiling.
“I’m afraid I’m my own enemy, Miss Lee.”
She clapped her hands together sharply.
“You don’t like me for a cousin!”
“Why-”
“Didn’t I call you Carthew right away? If it isn’t the worst slap in the face I’ve ever had, to be called Miss Lee as if I was my own chaperone and at least as old as Cousin Abby!”
Car laughed, as one laughs at a child.
“My mistake! Let’s begin all over again. I’m Car, and you’re Corinna.”
“And we’re talking business,” said Miss Lee reprovingly.
“Are we?”
“I am.” She put her head a little on one side, let her lashes fall just a shade, and asked,
“Who was that girl on the stairs?”
“Fay Everitt?”
“Fay Something-I didn’t get her whole name. Who is she?”
Car experienced an extreme embarrassment. What was Peter playing at? Had he told this child he was married? He seemed to have told her a good many intimate things, but he didn’t seem to have told her that; and it wasn’t like Peter-it wasn’t in the least like Peter. If Peter hadn’t said he was married to Fay, it was going to be uncommonly awkward for any one else to say it. He wondered if it was Fay who was insisting on this rotten secrecy. He looked very nearly as embarrassed as he felt when he said,
“Didn’t Peter mention her?”
“No. Is she a friend of Peter’s?”
“Yes-she was.”
“You mean they’ve quarreled?”
“Oh no.”
“Is she a friend of yours?”
Car wondered. He wasn’t sure, but he supposed that Fay would have claimed him as a friend.
He compromised with, “I’ve known her for some time,” and to his horror felt the color rise in his face.
“‘M-m-m-” said Corinna. “She didn’t act in a very genial way-did she?”
“Not very.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Car.
She waved Fay Everitt away.
“Do you know what I’m doing to-morrow?”
“Something pleasant, I hope.”
“I hope so too. I’m going to Linwood to see my grandmother’s nephew, John Carthew. Will it be pleasant?”
“If he likes you. He’s charming to people he likes.”
“And he doesn’t like you?”
“He likes people as long as they do everything he wants them to. If they want to do something else, there’s trouble.”
“And you wanted to do something else?”
“I like my own way too,” said Car.
XIII
Car Fairfax ’s Diary:
September 18th, Wednesday-I’m blowed if I can understand what’s happening. I’m going to keep on writing everything down. I don’t like the feel of things. Yesterday morning I got a letter from Z.10 Smith-he signed it like that-and it was an apology for not having kept the appointment he had made with me over the telephone. He said he’d been delayed by an accident to his car and didn’t get to Churt Row till nearly eleven, and he finished up by asking me to be at the same place at the same time that evening. I can’t copy the letter or attach it, because it has disappeared. My letters seem to be getting a habit of disappearing. That’s one of the things I don’t like. I’m prepared to swear I left it inside my blotter when I went out, and when I came back it was gone. I didn’t get back till pretty late-that is, I didn’t get up to my room till pretty late-because I met an American cousin on the doorstep, and went off and had tea with her at the Luxe. That looks funny written down; but after the first ten minutes or so it didn’t feel funny. She’s a ripping kid, as friendly as they’re made. Her name’s Corinna Lee. She’s going down to Linwood to-day. I wonder if she’ll see Isobel. I didn’t say anything about Isobel, because I was afraid of giving myself away. Corinna is as sharp as a needle.
Well, at half-past nine I started to walk down to Putney. I found Churt Row without asking this time. I hadn’t heard the clock strike, so I didn’t know whether I was early or not-I thought I must be. There wasn’t any car in sight. I walked as far as Olding Crescent and stood at the corner looking down the road. I hadn’t been there more than half a minute before some one came out of the shadow of the long brick wall which I had noticed the other day. He didn’t come very far across the road. He stood there and said, “Mr. Fairfax?” and as soon as I moved to meet him he went back into the shadow again. I followed him into what was practically pitch dark, because the branches of big trees growing inside the garden came down over the wall nearly the whole way along it. The wall must have run three or four hundred yards, and the nearest lamp-post was a good way off on the other side of the road. I stood still when I got in under the trees. I thought it was up to him to begin.
He said “Mr. Fairfax?” again, and I said, “Mr. Smith?”
“Z.,” he said; and when I didn’t say anything, he went on in a dry, impatient whisper: “What’s the number? If you’re Fairfax, you know the number.”
So then I said, “Z.10.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
“I was vexed to miss you last night. I suppose you gave me up?”
I didn’t answer that. He either knew what had happened last night, or he didn’t. If he didn’t, I wasn’t going
to tell him. I waited a bit, and he made an impatient sound, and went on:
“Well, Mr. Fairfax, you’re here now, so I take it you’re interested in the possibility of earning five hundred pounds?”
I thought I might agree to that, so I did, and I wondered what he was going to ask me to do. I hoped it wasn’t going to be forgery. I felt somehow as if I should like a change.
“Five hundred pounds is a large sum of money,” he began.
“There are larger sums.”
“They’re not so easily come by.”
“Is this one easily come by?”
“Very much to the point, Mr. Fairfax-very much to the point.” He took me by the arm and began to walk me down the road away from the corner. “The matter, as you most certainly will have guessed, is of a very confidential nature. Now I put it to you-does one hand over a large sum of money and a confidential mission without making sure that one’s choice is a wise one-wise and-er-safe?”
He had very hard and bony fingers, and a singularly inexpressive voice. He seemed scarcely to touch my arm, and yet his touch cramped me. He was a little man with a fidgety manner and a way of putting up his hand-to adjust his glasses, I thought. There was a flavor of formality about his way of speech. I felt quite sure that I had never talked with him before, except perhaps on the telephone yesterday morning. He went on speaking, and when we came to the end of the long brick wall, he turned and walked me back again.
“The matter being of such a very confidential nature, you will not think it unreasonable if there is some little delay about entrusting it to you. To be quite frank, my principal would like an opportunity of testing your capabilities.”
“In what way?” I asked.
He did not answer me directly.
“My principal proposes that you should be paid a retaining fee until such time as it may appear advisable to call upon you for the service which will earn the offered five hundred pounds.”
I repeated the words “a retaining fee” with a question in my voice.
“A sum of ten pounds down, and a salary of three pounds a week.”
I stood stock still in amazement and heard the crackle of a bank note not six inches from my right elbow. Ten pounds… It sounded like the sort of dream you have when you’ve gone short of water and you think you hear a running stream. That happened to me once in Africa. It was a dream, and I woke up and there wasn’t any water. The crackle of that note sounded awfully real.
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