'If he had, I didn't see it. When he finished asking me questions, he told me to be on my way. That was when I decided to buy a detective of my own.'
There was a touch of arrogance in the phrase, reminding me that he was in the habit of buying things and people. But the boy was a little different from some other rich people I'd known. He heard himself, and apologized: 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded.'
'It's all right, as long as you realize that all you can do is rent me. What kind of a girl is Ginny?'
The question silenced him for a minute. The ring was still on the table, and his brown eyes focused on it until they crossed. I could hear the clatter of pans and conversation from the snack bar, interspersed with the sweeter notes of the finches.
'She's a beautiful girl,' he said with a dreamy cross-eyed expression, 'and really quite innocent. Undeveloped for her age, in spite of her brains. She can't possibly realize what she's getting into. I tried to show her the pitfalls, marrying a man with no real information about his background. But she wouldn't listen. She said she intended to marry him no matter what I said.'
'Did she say why?'
'He reminds her of her father, that was one thing.'
'Is Martel an older man?'
'I don't know how old he is. He must be thirty at least, maybe older than that.'
'Is money one of the attractions?'
'It can't be. She could have married me, in fact we were due to be married next month. And I'm not poor.'
He added, with the caution of old money: 'We're not the Rockefellers, but we're not poor.'
'Good. I charge a hundred dollars a day and expenses.'
'Isn't that quite a lot?'
'I don't think so. Actually it's just enough to get by on. I don't work all the time, and I have to maintain an office.'
'I see.'
'I'll take three hundred dollars advance from you.'
I knew from experience that very rich people were the hardest to collect from after the event.
He shied at the amount, but he didn't object. 'I'll write you a check,' he said, reaching into his inside breast pocket.
'First, tell me just what you expect in return for your money.'
'I want you to find out who Martel is and where he came from and where his money came from. And why he came here to Montevista in the first place. Once I know something about him, I'm sure I can make Ginny see reason.'
'And marry you?'
'And not marry him. That's all I hope to accomplish. I don't suppose she'll ever marry me.'
But he carefully put the engagement ring away in the watch pocket of his trousers. Then he wrote me a check for three hundred dollars drawn on the Pacific Point National Bank.
I got out my little black book. 'What's Ginny's full name?'
'Virginia Fablon. She lives with her mother, Marietta. Mrs. Roy Fablon. Their house is next door to ours on Laurel Drive.'
He gave me both addresses.
'Would Mrs. Fablon be willing to talk to me?'
'I don't know why not. She's Ginny's mother, she's interested in her welfare.'
'How does Mrs. Fablon feel about Martel?'
'I haven't discussed him with her. I think she's taken in, like everyone else.'
'What about Ginny's father?'
'He isn't around any more.'
'What does that mean, Peter?'
The question bothered him. He fidgeted and said without meeting my eyes: 'Mr. Fablon died.'
'Recently?'
'Six or seven years ago. Ginny still hasn't got over it. She was crazy about her father.'
'You knew her then?'
'All my life. I've been in love with her since I was eleven.'
'How long is that?'
'Thirteen years. I realize it's an unlucky number,' he added, as if he was collecting signs of bad luck.
'How old is Ginny?'
'Twenty-four. We're the same age. But she looks younger and I look older.'
I asked him some questions about the other man. Francis Martel had driven his own black Bentley into Montevista about two months ago, on a rainy day in March, and moved into the Bagshaw house, which he leased furnished from General Bagshaw's widow. Old Mrs. Bagshaw had apparently got him into the Tennis Club. Martel seldom appeared there and when he did appear he hid himself in his second-floor cabana. The hell of it was that Ginny had taken to hiding there with him, too.
'She even dropped out of school,' Peter said, 'so she could be with him all the time.'
'What school was she going to?'
'Montevista State. She was majoring in French. Virginia has always been crazy about French language and literature. But she dropped it, just like that.'
He tried to snap his fingers: they made a sad squeaking sound.
'Maybe she wanted more of the real thing.'
'You mean because he claims to be a Frenchman?'
'How do you know he isn't?'
'I know a phony when I see one,' Peter said.
'But Ginny doesn't?'
'He has her hypnotized. It isn't a normal healthy relationship. It's all mixed up with her father and the fact that he was part French. She flung herself into this whole French business the same year that he died, and now its coming to a head.'
'I don't quite follow.'
'I know, I don't express myself too well. But I'm worried sick about her. I've been eating so much I've given up weighing myself. I must weigh over two hundred.'
He palpated his stomach, cautiously.
'Roadwork would help.'
He looked at me in a puzzled way. 'I beg your pardon?'
'Get out on the beach and run.'
'I couldn't, I'm much too depressed.'
He sucked up the last of his malted, making a noise like a death-rattle. 'You'll get to work on this right away, won't you, Mr. Archer?'
2
MONTEVISTA is a residential community adjacent to and symbiotic with the harbor city of Pacific Point. It has only one small shopping center, which calls itself the Village Square. Among its mock-rustic shops the Montevistans play at being simple villagers the way the courtiers of Versailles pretended to be peasants.
I cashed Peter's check at the Village branch of the Pacific Point National Bank. The transaction had to be Okayed by the manager, a sharp-eyed young man in a conservative gray suit whose name was McMinn. He volunteered that he knew the Jamieson family very well; in fact the older Peter Jamieson was on the bank's board of directors.
McMinn seemed to take a dim but lofty pleasure in mentioning this, as if money conferred spiritual grace, which could be shared by talking about people who had it. I enhanced his pleasure by asking him how to get to the Bagshaw house.
'It's away back in the foothills. You'll need a map.'
