Before the Fact (22 page)

When they were clear of London Lina said to him:

“Yes, my lad, you were right. If Joyce had been there you wouldn’t have had such an easy job of it. It was just your luck that you came on the very day she had that telegram.”

“Luck?” Johnnie grinned at her with ingenuous triumph. “I sent that telegram.”

Not until she had been back at home for more than three months did Lina discover that Johnnie was a murderer.

They had been three very excellent months.

Johnnie had been charming to her, completely devoted. Lina, very suspicious at first and fighting instinctively against his charm, had become convinced. Johnnie did love her. He could not possibly have pretended like that. When at last she allowed herself to believe it, Lina thought she was happier than she had ever been before.

She had made it up with Janet, in an emotional scene when Janet, the unemotional, wept against Lina’s cheek and implored her forgiveness. But Lina did not see nearly so much of her as before. It was almost impossible now to get Janet to the house at all. She was positively terrified of encountering Johnnie.

The Newshams Lina had cut clean out. Luckily they lived nearly five miles away, so there was little difficulty there.

Everyone in Upcottery had been delighted to see her back, but Lina felt that their welcome was tinged with bewilderment. No one ever said so, but it was plain that everybody had thought her quite mad to part from Johnnie, even temporarily. Lina talked brightly about her holiday in London, but she knew that it had been more than rumoured round the neighbourhood that she and Johnnie had parted for good.

To Ronald Lina had written the very first evening, from Bournemouth, where they stayed a few days while Dellfield was being opened up again and new servants engaged. She had written as nicely as she could, and without saying anything that she knew would make Ronald’s despair worse. She did not tell him that she loved Johnnie and not himself; she let it be inferred that her return was due to duty only. She did tell him plainly that if this last experiment failed, she would become his if he still wanted her. She let it be gathered that in her opinion it probably would fail. It never occurred to her that, given the choice between cake and bun, she was seizing the cake and telling the bun to stay fresh just in case.

Reading the letter through, she found it cold comfort for Ronald. Ronald had been very, very good to her. And he wanted her so badly.

Her emotion boiled up, and she added a postscript. Whatever happened, whether she stayed with Johnnie or not, she would go away with Ronald for a week during the summer, if he would like that. Lina, hating to be dishonest, felt she owed him at least that.

The question of morality troubled her very little. Johnnie, she thought, deserved payment of this debt no less than Ronald did. Besides, love Johnnie as she might, Lina still felt that she could never wholly forgive him until she had got her own back on him. Why should he have had all that amusement, and she no experiences of her own at all? Let her have those, and they could begin again fair. Not for a moment did she look on it as tarring herself with the same brush.

Influenced by this new outlook, she took a good deal more freedom for herself. Those two months at Joyce’s had unsettled her. She found now that she was no longer content to let Dellfield, Johnnie, and Janet form the boundaries of her life. She went up more than once to London alone, staying at a hotel ( Johnnie neither objecting nor questioning), and of course dined with Ronald.

They discussed the situation very earnestly, and when she was with him Lina still found herself very much attracted to Ronald. It was comforting, too, to feel that she had him to fall back on if ever Johnnie did let her down again.

For Ronald, in the end, had become resigned into sense, as Lina considered sense.

He took it hardly at first, as was only natural, and poured out a torrent of protests and appeals to Upcottery, threatening to come down there and carry Lina off from under Johnnie’s nose if she persisted in this insane altruism. Lina had managed to stop that, but Ronald had remained difficult for some time. In the end, however, he did become resigned, gave the experiment six months, and supposed he could wait that time extra; especially if Lina would go away with him during it. He wrote to her every day for the first month, and then two or three times a week.

Lina told Johnnie she was going away for a fortnight in July.

She fully intended to spend a week of this fortnight with Ronald. They talked it over and talked it over, dates were arranged, a room almost booked. Yet somehow or other it came about that Lina took Janet with her for that fortnight, to Corsica. She was not quite clear herself how it happened: just that, when it came to the point, she went to Corsica with Janet.

Ronald was naturally most disappointed, but Lina told him that it had not proved quite convenient after all. They would have their week together later on. No, no, of course they would. It could not be arranged just at present, since she had only just come back after a fortnight’s absence, but they would have their week later on.

Except for Ronald, and Johnnie’s reduced allowance, Lina might never have been away at all.

Johnnie never asked her for extra money now.

Johnnie, it turned out, had plans of his own.

He had been unable to find the job for which Lina had stipulated, but Lina had to admit that that had not been for want of trying. Johnnie had pulled every string he knew; but it was the summer of 1932, when England at last had to atone for the third-rate minds that had been governing her since the war by facing the fact that not even a nation can go on consistently living above its income to keep a political party in office; and jobs were impossible to obtain. So Johnnie came out with plans of his own.

He had got into touch with Beaky Thwaite to finance them, he told Lina exultantly; Beaky had agreed, and they were going to clean up a fortune between them. Johnnie’s eyes sparkled as he expatiated on the fortune they were going to clean up.

Lina thought the plan sound, but she did not think there was a fortune in it.

Briefly, Johnnie had been struck by the fact that in a world of tumbling prices, the most catastrophic of all were those for a commodity which above anything else should have remained unaffected. The commodity was property and land.

“It’s like this, monkeyface,” he explained excitedly. “When the pound goes down, you see, it goes down. It isn’t worth so much. A hundred pounds in notes, or a hundred in stocks and shares, aren’t worth the old hundred ever again; they’re only worth about seventy. You see that, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” said Lina, who didn’t.

“That’s because money isn’t money at all, really. I mean, it isn’t
wealth.
It’s only what you change for wealth. Wealth is based on something solid, that you can buy or sell. And, hang it all,” said Johnnie triumphantly, “there isn’t anything more solid than land, is there? I mean, you see that?”

“Oh, yes,” said Lina, who did see that.

“And what’s more, as soon as the pound is stabilized at a lower value, the very first thing that’s bound to find its real value (I mean, become worth more of these not-so-valuable pounds) is land – sooner than diamonds or anything. Isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“But, darling, I’m telling you it is. So as soon as the pound went down, you’d have expected anyone with any spare cash to plunk it all into land, because that’s certain to recover quicker than anything. But nobody did. I can’t think why, but they didn’t. Nobody wants land. You can’t sell land at all to-day. And the consequence is that land’s gone down more than anything else. It’s worth actually less of these old, not-so-valuable pounds as it was a year ago. Well, the thing’s obvious. Buy land – and you’ll double your money in a year. Do you see now?”

“Yes, darling. But will you double your money in a year?”

“Sweetheart, I keep telling you you will. Do try to understand. Land’s the goods. Land and bricks and mortar. You
can’t
lose: you must gain. Look at the back page of
The Times
any day now. They’re simply
giving
country houses away. You can buy a house that would have cost ten thousand three years ago, for four now. And less. Why everyone doesn’t snap them up, I can’t think.”

“Will they double in a year too?” asked Lina intelligently.

“Well, I don’t know about that. Not so certain as land,” Johnnie said sapiently. “Anyhow, we’re not going to risk them. We’re going out for building-sites.”

“Building-sites?”

“Yes. I know a fine site in Bournemouth that they were asking twelve thousand for a year ago. Right in the centre of the town; simply asking for a block of shops; couldn’t be safer. We’re getting it for seven. And we’ll sell this time next year for fifteen!”

“That sounds very good.”

“Darling, do be a little more enthusiastic. I don’t think you understand even now. Look here – we buy the site for seven; it’s worth, say, eleven; along comes the trade recovery next year, everyone screaming for more shops, more business, more everything, people beginning to build everywhere, and – we’ve got the best site in Bournemouth! Now do you see?”

“Yes, I think it looks a very good idea. But will the trade recovery come along next year?”

Johnnie threw his hands in the air and began all over again.

“How much money is Mr. Thwaite putting up?” Lina asked, when Johnnie had proved his case once more and she had approved it.

“Twelve thousand. And twelve thousand will make twelve thousand, so that’s six thousand apiece. How’s that?”

“Very good, darling. I hope it comes off.”

“Of course it’ll come off. And there’ll be a few more pickings than that,” Johnnie added, with a grin.

“Will there?”

“Yes, it’s like this. Old Beaky got tipped the wink that the pound was going to crash and what to do about it, so he sold out twelve thousand pounds worth of shares, sent the money over to New York, and had it turned into dollars. On the sly, of course. Nobody knows a thing about it except himself and me. It’s in a bank over there. One of us is going over there to get it, and bring it back in cash and bearer securities, so that it can’t be traced.”

“Why mustn’t it be traced?”

“Oh, better not,” said Johnnie vaguely. “As a matter of fact, Beaky’s windy. Thinks he might get into trouble over having sent the money out of the country and all that. Anyhow, the joke is that old Beaky did what he was told, but he hasn’t the vaguest idea why he was told. Beaky always was a bit batty, but he’s got so much money it doesn’t matter. He hasn’t realized at all that his twelve thousand in dollars will be worth over fifteen thousand when it’s turned back into pounds again, owing to the exchange having gone up in the meantime. He thinks he’s still got only twelve. And,” exulted Johnnie, “he’s going to give me a cheque for the whole boiling in dollars,
and
I’m going over to New York to collect it,
and
he only expects twelve thousand pounds out of it, and I’ll get you a new hat when I come back, you funny little monkeyface.”

“Wait a minute,” Lina worried. “I don’t understand. You’re going to bring back fifteen thousand, and only give Mr. Thwaite twelve? You don’t mean that, surely?”

“Commission,” said Johnnie glibly. “Always done. You don’t understand these things, darling.”

Lina could only laugh. Johnnie was so transparent.

“I understand that you’re intending to cheat Mr. Thwaite out of three thousand pounds, Johnnie, and you mustn’t do anything of the sort. You’ll give him his full fifteen thousand. After all, you say you’re each going to make six out of it.”

“All right, monkeyface,” Johnnie said, in a resigned voice. “I suppose, if you say so. I was an idiot to tell you.”

“You’d have been a bigger idiot if you’d done it and he’d found out. Is that a promise, Johnnie?”

“It is, you little Puritan,” Johnnie smiled. “Lucky for us you’re not in business, isn’t it?”

“Very well,” said Lina. “It’s a promise. And I shall ask Mr. Thwaite myself if you gave him the whole fifteen thousand.”

Johnnie’s face fell so suddenly and so completely that Lina laughed again.

Johnnie was exceedingly transparent.

Lina took Johnnie’s tendencies quite for granted now.

So Johnnie went to New York.

And Lina, having quite decided to give Ronald a week of Johnnie’s fortnight’s absence, altered her mind at the last minute and decided instead that this would really be too unfair to Johnnie.

She was sorry for Ronald, who was very disappointed.

It was in September that Lina found the notebook.

Johnnie had been back from America about three weeks. He had not been at home very much, owing to the requirements of his new business. The owners of the building site in Bournemouth were being difficult, scenting Johnnie’s keenness to buy, and had raised their price, necessitating a procession of telegrams and conferences. Johnnie was touring about a lot too, with Beaky Thwaite, looking for other promising sites. He assured Lina, with as much enthusiasm as ever, that everything was marvellous, but these things took time.

One morning, having seen Johnnie off to Bournemouth once more, Lina decided with reluctance that she really must look out the things for the jumble sale. She had promised the vicar some old clothes of her own and Johnnie’s, but had put off from day to day the task of sorting them out. Before her resolution, induced by a pleading postcard that morning from the vicar, could ebb, she went upstairs as soon as she had finished her morning talk with the cook.

There were a couple of hats, some well darned stockings, two or three pairs of old shoes of her own, and a frock or two, which she made into a pile in the middle of the bedroom floor, and then went through her drawers for oddments of ribbons and underclothes and ornaments to add to them. It was surprising, when once she had made up her mind to part with things, how much she found she could spare. It always was.

Then she went into Johnnie’s dressing room.