The Beckoning Lady (11 page)

“So it's done rather well, is it?”

“I think so.”

“I see. That'll be all right then.” He turned his attention to the boat house on the opposite bank. “I want to see that,” he announced. “I've heard about that.”

The building, which was made of weatherboard and tiled, had been used on so many occasions as a play-room that it had gradually acquired a very definite character, quite different from its original purpose. For one thing, a small balcony running across the front was approached by an outside staircase, which made the building look as if it possessed two storeys. Under this there was a wide door with windows on either side, and the whole façade was much like one of those utility theatre sets so much in vogue with repertory companies. Indeed, the balcony had been used in its time as a stage by performers as diverse as Tutti and Ben Burp.

Today, a newly painted inn sign, “The Half Nelson”, had been framed between the two mock windows of the upper storey, and the rail was hung with little flags.

Minnie led the way across the river and Smith followed her closely, his polished heels looking odd against the slippery granite. He made something of a to-do about helping Amanda up on the other side, but left her at once while he peered in through a window as Minnie got the door open. Then he stepped closely after her into the light dry room within. Here, the walls were made of varnished match-boarding reminiscent of a waterside hostelry, and were hung with Tonker's lifelong collection of old playbills and bar trophies. There was no furniture at all save for a bench running round the walls, and the matting over the floorboards was worn, but the effect was pleasant and even sensational, for the entire back wall apart from the window, which overlooked the meadows, was lined with shelves and protected by a shop counter, and the children, unhampered by any false notions concerning the vulgarity of display, had presented the whole of Perception's contribution to the feast, all fourteen dozen of it, unstrawed
and unshrouded on the shelves, bottles above and glasses below. It was an impressive sight, only mitigated by one small item. In the centre of the ten-foot counter top, collected by the thoughtful Westy and arranged by him in a neat row, were the four assorted corkscrews the house possessed.

Minnie laughed and collected them. “Children are such realists,” she said. “Dear oh dear, it looks a little much put out like that, but welcoming, don't you think? That's rather sweet.” She pointed to the darker end of the counter where two sticky bottles of orange cordial and one glass had been carefully preserved against a rainy day. The only other items on the board were a siphon, a used tumbler, and a screw of lead foil from the top of a bottle. Minnie's eagle glance rested on these, at first casually and then with fixed astonishment. She picked up the glass, sniffed it, and handed it to Campion.

“What's that?”

“Scotch.”

“That's what I thought.” She looked about her in bewilderment. “How extraordinary! We haven't any in the house. Where's the bottle, anyway?”

They looked under the counter and round the empty room, but apart from the dazzling display upon the shelves there was no sign of alcohol of any kind. It was a ridiculous incident, reminding Mr. Campion irresistibly of the Superintendent's fried egg. Minnie was puzzled and finally her gaze came to rest, firmly and suspiciously, on what she clearly felt to be the one dubious entity in the vicinity. The S.S.S. man, however, was unaware of her scrutiny. At the sight of the corkscrews his own black suspicions had been aroused. His eyes had moved as Minnie had gathered them up, and now he went round behind the counter and began to read the labels.

“Hibou 'forty-seven,” he said at last, taking a bottle down and turning to her in surprise. “But that ought to be excellent. Almost too good for a party. That's Veuve Genet's second cru imported by White and Brook.”

“I think it's all right,” she agreed in astonishment. “Wally and Tonker know quite a lot about that sort of thing. The children put the corkscrews there by mistake.”

It became evident that he did not believe her. He did not believe her. He did not say so, but his expression remained inquisitive. It was a slightly embarrassing exchange, so that no one was looking at him, and his next move took them all by surprise. His fingers, which had been fidgeting with the bottle moved deftly. The wine was up from its recent handling, but he eased the cork out softly and with a swift and even graceful movement whipped a glass from the shelf behind him just in time.

“Four of us,” he said, his eyes intent on the frothing neck. “Just right.”

He poured the awkward liquid with the skill of a
sommelier
, pushed the glasses towards them, and looked up. Mr. Campion's face was completely blank. Amanda's was not so discreet. And Minnie promptly collared the bottle. There was no doubt whatever about the reception of the move, and the man was forced to exert himself. A sheepish expression appeared upon his crushed face and he smiled disarmingly.

“Perhaps I should have waited to be asked,” he said, his pleasant voice charming them by sheer physical sound. “I think I ought, you know. I know I ought. But I'm so damned greedy that my hand moved instinctively. We drink to the Inland Revenue, don't we, Mrs. Cassands? Our hosts and masters.”

“Oh no we don't,” said Minnie without animosity. “The party hasn't started yet. This is on me. We drink to old friends. I always drink to old friends. Tonker says it's corny as a toast, but I think we're so frightened of a bit of corn these days that the children are being brought up on husks. Here's to you, my dears.”

Mr. Campion raised his glass to her and the party proceeded.

“A beautiful wine,” announced Sidney Simon Smith, reassured and pleased about it. “When it's chilled it will
be excellent. You are able to get ice, are you?” He eyed the zinc baths thoughtfully. “What about the smoked salmon? Do you go to Bernard for that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh well, that's perfect. You have an old house, expensive to run I'm afraid, but it's very delightful. I do congratulate you. If only you could get this playroom lit by electricity, especially outside. I've heard that before and I see how right it is. You could do that, surely, couldn't you?”

It was a request rather than a query, and Minnie, who, on half a glass of warm champagne, was becoming more eagle-eyed than ever, put her head on one side.

“You know, you're behaving as if you were thinking of asking me if you can bring someone to this party,” she remarked devastatingly. “Who is it?”

He looked as injured as if she had struck him suddenly.

“Unfair!” The unspoken protest, shrill and shocked, was almost audible. Minnie appeared to hear it distinctly.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Out with it.”

“Oh well.” He looked a little sulky, but the speech had been prepared in his mind and he gave it in its entirety. “I happen to be having some old friends for lunch that day. They are charming people, you will like them. And Lady Amanda will be particularly interested in one of them, Barry Pettington.”

Amanda was not playing. She was still polite but she was taking no part and her eyes said as much.

“He's a director of the firm of Gloagge,” the S.S.S. man persisted, sounding as if he were Santa Claus producing a prize from the sack. “Your firm will know him. They manufacture ball-bearings. And he has,” he added, throwing in a small token for Campion, “a most beautiful wife.”

“Who else?” demanded Minnie inexorably.

His eyes met hers with faint exasperation. “Tony Burt and Jack Hare may join us,” he conceded grudgingly. “I don't know yet.”

“Burke and Hare!” Minnie looked astounded and Mr. Campion decided to intervene.

“Burt, not Burke. You're thinking of the earlier model,” he murmured, and added casually as he turned to the visitor, “it's quite a comment on our civilisation, don't you think, that nearly all the new fortunes are founded on scrap?”

The S.S.S. man laughed. “That's amusing,” he said, and after a pause, “and true too. Now, Mrs. Cassands—do you like that better than Miranda Straw?—if they should be with me, will it be all right if I bring them in for a drink? They'll have their wives with them, of course, just to see my friends the Augusts. I told you I was sending them down, didn't I? They're very good, you know, and quite unobtainable for parties as a rule.”

“The Augusts are coming as friends of Tonker's,” said Minnie. “I know them, and this is the first time I've let them come back after that frightful business with little Bill Pitt. Poor child! They might have killed him in that drum. Actually he loved it, little beast, and has lived on it at school ever since, but it was very wrong of them. Yes, of course, bring who you like, but if you can't find room to sit down at dinner you
must
give way to the others, because they've been properly invited. I'm quite ruthless. I shall make you.”

“That is so kind.” He sounded completely genuine and indeed obviously was so. “Thank you. I wonder if my car has come yet? I mustn't keep it waiting.” He finished his drink and went over to the door.

Minnie followed him—“There it is,” she said. “You've got to go, have you?”

“I think I will.” He seemed slightly more ordinary and natural for the encounter, and much of his relentless force had deserted him. “Good-bye then, until the party. You are really most kind. Do try to get that electric light on. It will make such a lot of difference.” He raised a hand to the others and escaped. “I can get over here alone,” he said, waving at the river.

“Good,” said Minnie, “that's right.”

She came back into the room looking tired. “I'm sorry you got let in for that,” she remarked, eyeing them guiltily. “Or were you entertained? I was. I'd never really met him properly but I'd heard of him such a lot. I suppose he is a spiv, but I should call him a clown.”

“I thought him a shocker,” said Amanda. “I can imagine him being called anything.”

“Why a clown?” enquired Mr. Campion.

“Because clowns are children without innocence.” Minnie spoke with casual authority. “That's why they're so awful, truly awful, I mean, and why only children and people in childish mood think they're funny. I found him rather refreshing. There's nothing there to clear away first, is there? You see the worst at once. He came to see if the party was going to be good enough for him to bring someone who might be useful to him to it. If young Rupert had had the horrid sophistication to want to do such a thing, he couldn't have set about it more simply.”

“He'll then enter it on his own expense account, no doubt,” said Amanda.

“Oh no, surely not!” Minnie was horrified. “That would be dishonest.”

“My dear Minnie, whatever makes you think he isn't?” Amanda was laughing.

“I think Minnie's right.” Mr. Campion spoke slowly. “We're not talking of ethics, of course, but in a strict legal sense I really doubt if that man ever does anything dishonest.”

“Then why,” demanded Amanda peremptorily, “does he want to bring those very peculiar people to Minnie's party? The only thing I know about Burt and Hare is what everybody says about them. Alan calls them rag-and-bone men on the biggest possible scale. He says they tip the housemaids at the back door to give away the family's old clothes.”

“Good old Alan!” Campion was laughing. “I think they'd take that as a compliment. That's charitable.”

“Why should Smith want to bring them here?”

Mr. Campion put a hand on her slender shoulder bone. “I don't know, yet,” he said, “but do you know, I find the question absolutely fascinating. When I find out that I shall be even happier than I am now.”

Minnie was still thinking about the S.S.S. man. “Such a strange face,” she remarked as she gathered up the dirty glasses. “Like a kid's, but squashed. I wonder, do you think he could have been overlaid? I mean, it would account for how he got that way, mentally and everything.”

It occurred to Mr. Campion that she was probably the first and last person in the world to worry about why Sidney Simon Smith saw life entirely and solely from the angle of his own desires. Most people devoted themselves to the problem of how he was getting away with it.

“I think that must be it, you know.” She sounded satisfied. “It would have bent his face like that, and it would have got it into his head that he
must
look after himself.” Her snorting laugh escaped her. “I don't think he's so awfully clever. He told me one thing he didn't mean to. He is the client Findahome keeps writing me about. I thought so.”

They turned to look at her. “They're estate agents,” she said, “and he told me this house was 'old and expensive to run', and that's the term they use.”

“Why Minnie!” Amanda was appalled. “You're not trying to sell?”

“No, they're trying to buy. That's why I noticed it.”

Mr. Campion removed his spectacles. “Do they just write and say your house is old and expensive to run, and so sell it to us?” he enquired.

“That's what it amounts to,” Minnie was frowning. “That's why I suspected they really wanted it. When strange people come up and say what a rotten old place it is, they usually do.”

Mr. Campion remained silent as he fitted this new piece of information into the jigsaw in his mind. Minnie hesitated.

“I'm not really being as bright as all that,” she said, as if it was a confession. “I had another clue. Just before he went abroad Fanny Genappe came to say good-bye, and after he'd told me how fed up he was about his little farm and the larks, he looked round at my house and said ‘Sting 'em, Minnie. Don't say I said so but you sting 'em when the time comes.' I hadn't heard from Findahome then, but when I did I suppose it was obvious, but I didn't know who exactly was behind it. Now I see, it's that '
S-P-I-V.
”