by Nevil Shute
“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “How do you come in on this, Miss Teasdale?”
“I got to kind of like the little man,” she said frankly. “Seems like he’s getting a raw deal. I said that I’d come right back myself and tell you just what happened. At first I couldn’t get a passage—they said all the planes were full up, but I got a call long distance to New York—four hours it took to come through, would you believe it!—and I spoke to Solly Goldmann and I said, ‘Solly, this is Monica, I’ve just got to get a seat on that Trans World Airline plane this evening back to London. I’ve just got to, Solly. Don’t you ask me why, I’ll tell you when I see you on the lot, but just you go right round and see the President for me and say that Monica’s set down at Gander by the British and she’s just got to get back to London on that plane tonight.’ That’s what I said. Well, then I stuck around with Mr. Honey, and sure enough when that plane landed around nine o’clock they had a seat for me, and here I am.”
“Did anybody else come back with you from Gander?” I inquired. “Any of the crew?”
She shook her head. “They’re all sitting around grieving about their airplane, and trying to think of ways of getting it up on its wheels again. They say it weighs seventy tons, and that’s a mean load to handle at a place like Gander, seemingly, where all the tools they’ve got is one jack from the tool-box of a Ford. I expect they’ll be there some time with it.”
I asked her, “Would you tell me exactly what did happen, Miss Teasdale? I’d like to know it all, right from the start.”
“Surely,” she said. “I only came into the story half-way through, but we were barely clear of Ireland, only an hour or so out, when Mr. Honey first discovered that that airplane had flown twice the hours it should have done.” She settled down to tell me the whole tale. Honey had briefed her well; she had a little paper of notes in her handbag and she had a letter for me, half a dozen lines scrawled in his vile handwriting, telling me I could depend upon her story, and asking me to cable him instructions whether to go on by land or to come back. In half an hour I had the picture very clearly in my mind of what had happened.
“It’s been most kind of you to come back here and tell us all this,” I said at last. “It’s really very helpful.”
She said, “Well, it seemed kind of wrong to go on to the Coast and leave it so.” She glanced at me. “I like your Mr. Honey,” she said quietly. “I think he’s a nice person.”
“It’s good of you to say so,” I replied. “I’m afraid he’s interrupted your journey, though.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Guess I’d rather be sitting in this office than lying dead some place, even if I am back in England when I meant to be over on the Coast today.”
“You think that there was danger in going on?” I asked curiously. “Honey convinced you, did he?”
“I don’t know anything about these things,” she said. “Out there at Gander they’re all saying that he’s nuts. Well, I don’t think that—and I’ve met some crackpots in my time, believe me. I’m just as glad I didn’t have to fly on in that airplane, after hearing what he said.” She paused, and then she said, “I reckon Captain Samuelson, the pilot of the plane, he was kind of relieved, too, when it sat down on its belly, though he was as mad as hell.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Miss Teasdale,” I said, “would you mind waiting here a minute, while I go and see my chief—the Director of this Establishment? I think he might like to meet you.”
“Sure,” she said. “Go right ahead.”
I went down to the Director; fortunately he was free. “About this Honey business, sir,” I said rather desperately. “I’ve got a film star here who knows a lot about it. Miss Monica Teasdale.” I had a feeling that my blazing row was getting altogether out of control.
He looked at me, smiling. “Do you want me to see her, Scott?”
“I think you ought to,” I said. “She travelled over with Honey and knows all about what happened on the crossing and at Gander. She came back specially to tell us all about it, and so far as I can make out she’s the only witness who has come back to this country.”
“Are you going to put this lady from Hollywood up against Sir David Moon and E. P. Prendergast?” he asked. But he was grinning, and I knew that he was pulling my leg.
“I think you ought to see her,” I said stubbornly. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever get another chance of moving in such high society.”
“By all means bring her down,” he said. “I’ve never met a film star in the flesh.”
She came into his office with a radiant smile and hand a little bit outstretched, a perfect gesture from a very lovely woman. “Say,” she said, “it’s just terribly nice of you to see me, and I’ll try not to waste any of your time. I just wanted to tell you what a marvellous front your Mr. Honey put up out at Gander, and how grateful to him I feel as a passenger.”
She launched into the story, as she had with me, and talked for about ten minutes. At the end of that the Director thanked her, talked to her about a few casual matters, asked if she would like to see the less secret parts of the Establishment, and asked me to show her round. I took her out on to the tarmac where the aeroplanes were parked awaiting test, and walked her round a little, and introduced her to Flight-Lieutenant Wintringham, who was properly impressed. And while we were chatting in among the aircraft, he inquired, “How’s Elspeth this morning?”
“Better,” I said. “She’s got a headache and she was sick again during the night—Shirley was up with her a good bit. But she’s going on all right.”
“Honey know anything about it yet?”
“No,” I said. “He’s got enough on his plate out at Gander without bothering him with that.” It was common knowledge by that time what had happened.
He laughed boyishly. “I would like to have seen him do it.”
“Miss Teasdale did,” I said. “She saw the whole thing happen.”
He turned to her. “You did?” But she was already speaking to me.
“Who is this Elspeth anyway?” she asked. “Not Mr. Honey’s little girl?”
“That’s right,” I replied. “She fell downstairs the night he went away, the night that you flew over to Gander, Sunday night. She’s been rather bad.”
She stared at me. “How did that happen? Mr. Honey told me that he’d got the hired woman to come and stay in the house.”
“She didn’t turn up,” I explained. “Elspeth was alone in the house. She thought she heard a burglar in the middle of the night and got up to see, and fell downstairs and knocked her head. She was unconscious for over twelve hours; my wife found her about eleven o’clock on Monday morning, lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs. But she’s getting on all right now.”
She stared at me in horror. “The poor child! Where is she now?”
“As a matter of fact, she’s lying in my bed,” I said ruefully. “My wife’s looking after her. I slept round at Honey’s house last night, and I suppose I’ll do the same tonight.”
She said slowly, “I’m just terribly sorry to hear this, Dr. Scott. I know how anxious Mr. Honey’s going to be when he gets to hear of it—he just thinks the world of his little girl. Is there anything that I can do?”
I smiled. “It’s quite all right, thanks. We shan’t tell him about it till he gets back here, I don’t think. She’s getting on quite well, and it would only upset him.”
She said, “Your Mr. Honey was mighty nice to me, Doctor. Isn’t there any little thing that I can do at all?”
I thought for a minute, wondering how far this actress was sincere or putting on an act. It would thrill Shirley to meet her, in any case. “What are you doing for the rest of today, Miss Teasdale?” I inquired.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m completely free.”
“There is just one thing you could do,” I said. “My wife’s tired out; she got practically no sleep last night, sitting up with Elspeth. If you could go and sit with Elspeth while Shirley takes
a nap on the sofa, it really would be very kind indeed.”
She said, “Why, certainly.” She was more Miss Myra Tuppen than Miss Monica Teasdale at that moment; far from the honky-tonk, the simple past was opening before her. “I’d be real glad to do that. Tell me, where do I go? And will you call your wife and tell her that I’ll come right over?”
We went back to the offices and I rang up Shirley and told her simply that a friend of Honey’s, a Miss Teasdale, was coming over to sit with Elspeth while Shirley got some sleep. I didn’t feel equal to explaining to my tired wife upon the telephone that I was sending her a movie queen. Then we went down and she got into her enormous car, and I told the chauffeur where to find my little flat, and Wintringham and I were left as they moved off.
“The old devil!” he said with a note of admiration in his voice. “Fancy Honey collecting a Popsie like that!”
It did seem rather curious when you came to think of it.
I went up to my office, but Miss Learoyd said the Director wanted me, and I went down again. He said, “What have you done with our distinguished visitor, Scott?”
“I’ve sent her off to sit with Elspeth Honey while my wife gets some sleep,” I said. “She seemed to want to help, so I took her at her word.”
He raised his eyebrows, “And she went?”
I grinned. “She did. Just like an ordinary woman.”
“Really …” He asked me about Elspeth, and I told him. And then he said, “You know, the thing that interested me most in Miss Teasdale’s story was the reaction of the pilot, Samuelson. He didn’t seem to be sorry that it was impossible to fly that aircraft any farther.”
“I know,” I said. “I think that wants looking into. He couldn’t have diagnosed anything wrong with the machine, though, from his own experience. I wonder if old Honey shook his confidence a bit?”
“Maybe,” he said. “About Honey, Scott. I’ve been talking to the Air Ministry. There’s an old Lincoln from the Navigation School due to fly from Winnipeg back here one day this week, and they’re instructing it to land at Gander and pick Honey up. I’ve got a draft signal here from us to him that I’d like you to look at.”
We got that off, and I went back to my office to deal with my overflowing IN basket.
Shirley, wearily cooking up a cup of arrowroot for Elspeth to see if she could keep that down, heard a ring at the door and thought it was the butcher; she was so tired she had already forgotten all about Miss Teasdale. She went with her overall on and a wisp of hair hanging down across her eyes and an enamel tray in her hand to receive the joint, and there was a most lovely and most beautifully turned out woman standing at the head of the dark staircase that led up to our flat. Her face was vaguely familiar and her voice soft and husky and slightly Middle West.
She said, “Say, it’s Mrs. Scott, is it?”
Shirley said, “Oh … of course. My husband rang me up.” She fumbled with the tray in her hands. “I’m so sorry—I thought it was someone else. Please, do come in.”
Miss Teasdale said, “I was visiting with Dr. Scott this morning, and he told me what a time you’re having with Mr. Honey’s little girl, and he suggested I could come and sit with her a while so you could get some sleep. I’d be glad to do that, if it suits you, Mrs. Scott. I’m free all day.”
Shirley said mechanically, “Oh, you don’t need to bother—really.” She hesitated. “Would you come in?”
Miss Teasdale took hold firmly as they went into the sitting-room. “My dear, you’re looking real tired,” she said. “I’m a kind of friend of Mr. Honey. I’m quite free to stay here up till ten o’clock tonight, or all night if it suits. Just show me where things are and where the little girl is, and then you get off to bed and get some sleep.”
Shirley stared at her. “Aren’t … don’t I know you?”
“Sure you know me, if you ever go to pictures,” said the actress. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t look after a sick child, same as anybody else.”
“Monica Teasdale?”
“That’s right.”
“But—do you know Mr. Honey?”
“Surely. Now you just——” She stopped and glanced out of the window at the Daimler. “Just one thing first of all, my dear,” she said quietly. “We don’t want any trouble here with Press or fans or anything. I don’t think anybody noticed when I came in. Do you mind—would you go down and tell the chauffeur he’s to go right back because I’m staying here a while? Say I’ll call them at the office later in the day.”
Shirley went down to the car in a state of tired bemusement; the chauffeur touched his cap to her, and the great car moved off. When she got back to the flat Miss Teasdale was not in the sitting-room; Shirley went down the passage to the bedroom and there she was, standing in the doorway, leaning reflectively against the jamb, looking in at Elspeth, who was sleeping in our double bed, with a basin at her side.
She turned at Shirley’s step. “She’s just the image of her father,” she said quietly.
Shirley stopped by her; together they stood looking at the sleeping child. “She is and she isn’t,” she said. “She’s got his features, but she’s awfully well proportioned. Look at her hands. I think she may be beautiful when she gets older.”
The actress said quietly, “That could be.” And then she said, “Did you know her mother?”
Shirley shook her head. “I only met Mr. Honey a few days ago.” She drew away from the door. “Don’t let’s wake her.”
They moved back to the sitting-room. “Say, is that the only bed you’ve got?” the actress asked.
Shirley nodded. “It’s only a small flat,” she said. “We’ve not been married very long.”
“Kind of difficult for nursing a sick child, isn’t it?”
“It’s a bit hard on Dennis—my husband. He had to go and sleep in Mr. Honey’s house last night.”
“Where did you sleep then?”
Shirley laughed. “I didn’t sleep much, anyway. I lay down on the sofa for a bit.”
“Well, you lie right down on that sofa again and get some sleep. I’ll sit in the bedroom to be near her if she wakes.” She was tired herself after two nights sitting up in an aircraft, but she did not want to sleep. She could rest sufficiently by sitting quiet by the sleeping child.
Shirley said, “It’s awfully kind of you—I would like to lie down a bit. Let me get some lunch first.” They went together to the kitchen; the actress watched, a little helplessly, while Shirley got out the cold meat and salad and put on a kettle. And then she said, “Would you like for me to take her up to Claridge’s? We’ve got a suite there permanently reserved where she could have a bedroom and a private nurse and everything …”
Shirley said quickly, “Oh thank you, but that wouldn’t do. She’d be worried to death—she wants to get back into her father’s house. She’s worrying that all their things will get stolen. It wouldn’t do to move her up to London—honestly it wouldn’t.”
“Okay,” said the older woman. “It was just an idea.” She watched Shirley for a minute, and then said, “What were you doing before you got yourself married?”
“I was a tracer.”
“In a drafting office?”
Shirley nodded. “That’s where I met Dennis.”
There was a long pause. “I was a stenographer,” the older woman said. “But that was quite a while ago.” She stood in thought, her mind full of memories of Eddie Stillson, the lame ledger clerk.
Shirley stared at her. “Really? I thought you were always in films.”
“You don’t get born that way,” Miss Teasdale said. “How old are you?”
Shirley said, “Twenty-four.”
“Well, I’ve been in pictures all your life, and maybe a bit longer. But I was a stenographer one time, in an insurance office.”
Shirley said curiously, “How did you come to meet Mr. Honey, Miss Teasdale?”
“It was this way.” They sat down to lunch at the dining-table in the little kitchen
; as she heard all about it Shirley studied her visitor. She had never before sat and talked with any American; she was overwhelmed by the sophisticated, carefully tended beauty of the actress and confused by the real kindliness of the woman that lay under the sophistication. Above all, she was tired, too tired to take much in.
Miss Teasdale said, “Now, you go right into that sitting-room and lie down with a rug over you, and let me see you make yourself real comfortable and warm.”
Shirley said, “I’ll just wash these things up first.”
“Wash—oh, the dishes. No, you leave those where they are. I’ll see to them.”
It was too incongruous; the woman was not dressed for housework, her nails too carefully manicured for washing dishes, her costume too good. Shirley said, “No—really, it won’t take me a minute.”
“You do what I say.” Shirley was too tired to argue any more; she took off her overall and gave it to the actress, showed her the rusty tin that contained soda. “This double saucepan’s got arrowroot in it,” she said. “Keep it warm and give Elspeth a cup if she wakes up. The sugar’s here. She’d better not have anything else, and if she’s sick, just empty the bowl down the lavatory and wash it out, you know. Dr. Martin may look in this afternoon. It’s awfully kind of you.”
She went into the sitting-room and let down the end of the sofa; under the disciplinary eye of the older woman she lay down and pulled a rug over her. In ten minutes she was fast asleep.
Back in the kitchen, Monica Teasdale started gingerly upon the washing up. She had not done that in years because her negro house servants were genuinely fond of her, and had seldom let her down, but long ago Myra Tuppen had done it after every meal as a matter of course. The greasy feel of hot wet plates stirred memories in her. Old tunes came creeping back into her mind as she stood there at the sink, the dance tunes of her early youth, Redwing, That Mysterious Rag.… She stood there with these old tunes running through her head, washing the dishes mechanically, a middle-aged woman who had crept back into the past, when everything was bright and promising and new …
