Dorothy Eden (60 page)

“Nuts!” said Gussie. He began to stick the point of the pencil through the paper. Then he boasted, “Some day I’ll write a cheque for a fousand pounds. A fousand pounds.”

“Well, let’s practise now,” Antonia suggested reasonably. She wrote in large letters ‘Pay to Antonia Webb the sum of One thousand pounds’. How funny it would be to have a sum of money on which to draw cheques. But it was really more fun having none, and always working hard for something, a new dress or a set of golf clubs or a holiday, savouring one’s prize to the utmost, like someone with an appetite whetted by abstinence. The flavour of life came from anticipation, not realisation.

“I know something you don’t know,” said Gussie, laboriously making a large A.

“What’s that?”

“Something no one else knows.”

“Yes?” Antonia betrayed no interest. The child was contrary enough to close his tight mouth and say nothing more if she appeared too eager to know what it was that cried in the night or who put seaweed on the stairs.

“Will Miss Matthews think it was me who wrote with the lipstick?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I don’t care. I hate her.”

“That’s not the way to write an A. Look, like this. What were you going to tell me that you knew?”

“Something she gave me. I’ve hidden it.”

“Gussie!” That was Bella’s voice sharply from the doorway. “Attend to your work and don’t talk. Don’t listen to him, Miss. He makes things up.”

Gussie put his tongue out at his mother. Then he closed his narrow unchildish mouth and not another sound came from it. The curious thing, Antonia noticed, was that his awkward babyish handwriting bore little resemblance to that on the wall in Iris’s room. He could perhaps have had the cunning to disguise it. She didn’t think such an illiterate child would have that ability.

That evening Iris telephoned from the Hermitage at Mount Cook where she and Simon were spending their brief honeymoon. The telephone bell sent Antonia’s heart fluttering now. Each time she lifted the receiver she expected to hear the voice of the unknown man who mysteriously knew much more about them than they did about him. (She still refused to believe Iris’s explanation that he was merely someone looking for accommodation.)

When she lifted the receiver, however, it was Iris’s voice that came lilting over the wire.

“Hullo, Tonia. How are you now?” Her voice was full of sympathy and concern.

“I’m perfectly all right, thank you,” Antonia answered in some surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve just had to ring Dougal Conroy about a business matter and he told me about last night. Darling, I’m so concerned. Really, you mustn’t stay alone any longer.”

So Iris was back on the sleep-walking or the amnesia theory.

“There’s no need whatever to be concerned about me,” Antonia said rather coldly. It was no use trying to explain anything to Iris. She wouldn’t believe anything, not even the ringing of the telephone. She would say, “Poor Antonia. She must see a doctor about her nerves.” Was she being genuinely kind or deliberately blind?

“Please darling,” she went on. “Stay with the Conroys at night. Henrietta tells me she is urging you to. Simon and I are coming back on Tuesday.”

“Are you having a nice time?” Antonia asked politely.

“Oh, perfectly wonderful! I admit I don’t care for the mountains, they make me feel so
small!
But we’ve met some lovely people. That’s why I’m ringing you—we’re bringing some people back with us. They want to be in Christchurch for the flower festival next week-end, and they just can’t get accommodation. So with the big house what could I do? I wonder, darling, if you could arrange to have two rooms ready. A double one and a single one. I didn’t mean to have anyone until the alterations were done, but these people beg to come. They’re a Mr. and Mrs. Halstead and a Doctor Bealey. You’ll like Doctor Bealey. He’s so dark and distinguished. They say they won’t mind roughing it. Two of the best rooms in the empty wing, darling. But don’t run about on your bad ankle. Do everything by telephone. And
do
be diplomatic with Bella. She’s a gem if you treat her right. Henrietta says she’ll send Ethel up to help. And Henrietta will help you about where to order provisions. And drinks, darling. Could you remember to have some brandy and gin and bitters, and whisky, too, if you can get it. I’m arranging for the builders to start next week, too. But I’ll do that when I get back. It’s going to
be fun!”

There was an excited breathlessness about all this that left Antonia a little out of breath herself. Iris sounded as if she were suffering from some powerful excitement. Surely being married to quiet old Simon wasn’t having this effect on her.

“I’ll do my best,” she promised. It would be reassuring having other people in the house, to fill the rooms with their chatter and to check on any mysterious noises or events.

“I knew you would,” Iris said gratefully in her high excited voice. “It’s wonderful to have you there. But are you
sure
you’re all right after that fall? That nasty bump on your head, too.”

“My head’s perfectly all right.”

“Thank goodness for that.
Do
be careful.
Do
promise to stay with the Conroys until we get back. Oh, here’s Simon wanting to talk to you.”

The next moment Simon’s slow voice sounded in her ear.

“Hullo, Antonia. Sorry you had that accident. How are the birds?”

“Very well, Simon.”

“Johnnie?”

“Oh, he’ll surprise you. He’s learnt a new sentence.”

“No!”
Simon’s voice was full of surprised delight. “What is it?”

“Have a quick one.”

“No! The little rascal! Well, I say!” Simon was chuckling with pleasure. “The moment my back’s turned. I say, Iris, Johnnie is saying, ‘Have a quick one.’ Sorry, Antonia, I was telling Iris. She says that we ought to be taking Johnnie’s advice right now.”

“Are you happy, Simon?” Antonia asked lightly.

“Happy! I just can’t believe it.” Simon’s voice sounded bewildered. “Truly, I just can’t believe it.”

The funny thing, Antonia reflected as she hung the receiver up, was that she felt Simon’s happiness was not quite genuine. He was dazzled, he was in transports, but he was bewildered, too. Iris’s quick sophisticated mind was always going to perplex him and leave him behind. She was not going to be an easy wife. Already he was turning to his birds for rest and peace.

A
T THE OFFICE ON
Monday morning Miss Fox, as usual, intercepted Dougal.

“Good morning, Mr. Conroy,” she said with her everlasting brightness.

“Good morning, Miss Fox,” Dougal had alternated all the weekend between affability and dejection, both inexplicable. He hadn’t gone fishing after all, but he might as well have got away, for Antonia had stubbornly refused to leave the Hilltop, except during the daytime when she had long consultations with Henrietta on the preparations to be made for the expected guests. He had been pushed aside as being of little value in this kind of crisis, and he had moodily watched Ethel bustling about getting ready to go up to the Hilltop, and giggling immoderately as Henrietta called instructions.

Henrietta had never been so much in her element. At one moment she was predicting Antonia’s death by murder or manslaughter, and the next she was saying that she had known all along that Iris would never spend one week at the Hilltop without filling the place with people. She would want plenty of gaiety. She would be leading a wild life up there. Simon as a husband was only a blind. She shouted gossip in her penetrating voice and turned her wholly charming smile on everyone. She was enjoying herself tremendously. Drama had come into her life at last, if only vicariously.

But Dougal had been glad when the weekend was over. He found Antonia’s presence a curious irritation and her absence a great anxiety. It was a relief to get back to Miss Fox’s bright impersonal stare.

“Anything special in the mail, Miss Fox?”

“Just this letter from Mr. Mildmay confirming Mrs. Mildmay’s telephone request for another advance.”

“Yes, that will be right,” Dougal said.

“That will be two thousand pounds they’ve had now,” Miss Fox pointed out.

“I know. It’s perfectly all right. We’ll arrange for probate to be produced to the bank and then we can draw on the estate account.”

“Why are they in such a hurry for another five hundred pounds?” Miss Fox inquired.

“The first advance was made to enable them to buy the Hilltop, as you know, and now they want to start on the alterations sooner than they had intended doing. That’s all. Is anything wrong?”

“No. Except that most builders don’t require to be paid in advance.”

That thought had occurred to Dougal, too. But that was Simon’s business. He might not have cared to admit that Iris was already fleecing him, or he might not have known. He might have thought the money genuinely was required for the builders. For that matter, probably it was. Five hundred pounds was too much to require for a private reason. Anyway, so long as the matter was legally in order it was no business of either his or Miss Fox’s.

“Have a cheque ready for them tomorrow,” Dougal said briskly, ignoring Miss Fox’s comment. “Is there anything else?”

“The Coldharbour transfer is ready to be settled. Miss Perkins wants to add a codicil to her will. Mr. Dunlop wants you to ring him about that City Council lease. By the way, there was something else about the Mildmays.”

Dougal couldn’t help looking up sharply. The Mildmays were absorbing too much of his time and interest.

“Yes?”

“Well, you know after we got that letter last week we thought we’d check on the
Canton’s
passenger list.”

“Yes.”

“I did that at the shipping office, but there was no Iris Matthews on the passenger list for that particular trip.”

“You mean the trip Laura Mildmay was on?”

“Yes, that one.”

Dougal looked at Miss Fox. He could see that she was bursting to tell him something else, that she had carefully repressed the desire ever since he had come into the office.

“Well?” he said.

“There were two elderly people on that trip who live in Christchurch. I recognised their names. I took the liberty of ringing them up.”

Dougal narrowed his eyes.

“Was that discreet?”

Miss Fox looked pained.

“I don’t know.
I
tried to be. I said I was trying to trace a friend who I thought had come out on the
Canton.
I described her.”

“And did they recognise her?” Dougal couldn’t help but be interested. He felt that Miss Fox was as prying as his mother, but somehow that her curiosity was justified.

“Not as a passenger,” Miss Fox answered primly. Her eyes glinted behind her thick glasses. “They said that the only person who answered to that description was one of the stewardesses. But of course it was most unlikely that my friend would have been a stewardess.”

“Did the name correspond?” Dougal asked sharply.

“No, it didn’t. This stewardess was a Mrs. Cox. But that doesn’t necessarily mean a thing. She could have used another name if she didn’t want her friends to know what she was doing.”

Who were Iris’s friends? Unfortunately, whoever they were they were not in New Zealand. Iris was clever and quick and sophisticated, but she could also be a good actress. Had she graduated from a servant or had she come upon bad times? Either was possible. If she were a servant she might have looked on Simon’s ten thousand pounds as a fortune and married him for it. On the whole, that seemed the most likely explanation. One way or another it didn’t seem very important except as far as Simon was concerned, and he was old enough to look after himself.

Dougal went into his office and sat down.

“All right, Miss Fox. Bring your book in and we’ll draft that lease.”

Miss Fox looked disappointed. She had enjoyed her small sleuthing job, obviously. Equally obviously, she was not enamoured of the new Mrs. Mildmay.

“That information about Mrs. Mildmay can be pigeonholed,” he said. “We may need to check on it further sometime. But I shouldn’t think so.”

“Yes, Mr. Conroy.” Miss Fox dismissed the subject as he had wanted her to. She produced her shorthand book and settled herself neatly. “Did you have good fishing this weekend, Mr. Conroy?”

“I didn’t go upcountry this weekend.”

“Oh, what a pity!”

She was inquisitive again, peering at him beneath her glasses. The devil take these women! Couldn’t he have any privacy? Were they going to ferret out his uneasy unwilling interest in a red-headed girl this early? It was bad enough having it keep him awake himself. But it was his own problem and it would remain so.

L
ATE ON TUESDAY AFTERNOON IRIS
and Simon arrived home. Iris came in carrying a large wicker basket. She set it down carefully on a chair in the hall and went to kiss Antonia. Her skin was wind-burnt, her nose peeling. Against the unaccustomed colour in her skin her eyes were like green water.

“Darling, you’re still all right,” she cried. “Thank God for that. No more falls? No more frights?” Her eyes were anxious and concerned.

“None at all,” said Antonia lightly.

“And your ankle?”

“It’s all right as long as I don’t walk on it too much. Where’s Simon? What’s in the basket?”

“Simon’s struggling with the luggage. He’s so slow! What’s in the basket? Ah, but you wait and see. Shut all the doors, will you, please.”

Antonia obeyed in some perplexity. Iris lifted the lid of the basket, and out stepped a magnificent white Persian cat. With great composure it strolled round the hall, investigating its whereabouts.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Iris whispered. “One of the guides at the Hermitage gave him to me, or rather I practically cajoled him away. I paid for him, of course. Probably far more than Ptolemy is worth. The guide’s wife had died and there was no one to look after Ptolemy when he was away on expeditions. Simon, I might tell you, wasn’t very keen, but after all he has his birds.”

At that moment the front door opened and Simon, carrying the bags, came in. Almost in the same instant Ptolemy saw the bird cage and made a powerful spring, coming up against the wire with a clatter that sent all the birds fluttering and screeching.