We had a grand time fixing that house up. It took us a week to get straight, and we did all the work ourselves, even to fixing the carpets. When we got through, we were tickled to death with it.
Getting Mardi to the sea was a good thing. In a week or so it began to make a big difference to her. She lost the drawn, tense look that had begun to worry me, and she tanned mighty quick in the sunshine and sea air. She was happy and so was I. I reckon I never felt happier.
We got up every morning and had a bathe in the sea. It was grand swimming in that deep blue water, with no one to watch us— just the two of us, in the rolling swell of the sea. Mardi wore a white swim-suit that made her figure look better than it was, and that's saying something. She never bothered about wearing a cap, and we played around with each other without a care in the world.
Mardi said to me, a couple of weeks after we had settled down, “Nick, you must start working.” I'd just come out of the sea, and was lying down on the sand, too lazy to dry myself, and letting the hot sunshine do it for me.
“That's okay with me,” I said. “I'll look around and see what I can find.”
Mardi knelt over me, her knees and thighs buried in the soft sand and her hands crossed in her lap.
“Nick,” she said, “I've been thinking. Why don't you write a book?”
I blinked up at her. “Write a book?” I said. “Why, hell— I couldn't write a book.”
She shook her head. “You've never tried,” she said, which was true. “Look how some novels sell. Why don't you try, and see what happens?”
“Yeah, but look how some flop. I guess novel-writing ain't so hot.”
She said, “Why don't you write a novel about a newspaper man? Don't you think you could do that?”
There was an idea there. I sat up and thought about it. Ackie had enough background to fill three books, and I had had a few experiences. Mardi could see that I was looking at the idea favourably, and she began to get excited. “Oh, Nick, wouldn't it be fun if you could. You wouldn't have to leave me then, would you? I could get your meals and sit around darning your socks, and you could be working——”
I grinned at her. “Don't sound much fun for you,” I said, but she scrambled to her feet.
“You stay and think about it, Nick,” she said. “I'll go back to the house and get the breakfast on. I'll call you.”
Well, I thought about it, and the more I thought the more I liked the idea. Before she called me, I was itching to make a start. I went back to the house, bolted my breakfast and got down to it. It took me all the morning to work out the general idea of the book, and when I was through it seemed pretty good to me.
I took it along to Mardi, who was in the kitchen, and explained the synopsis to her. She leant against the kitchen table, her eyes wide and bright with excitement, and was as enthusiastic about it as I was.
“Okay, honey,” I said, when I had finished. “The next move is to get a typewriter, and I'll make a start.”
It took me two months to get the book done, and if it hadn't been for Mardi it would never have been written. I got stuck half-way through and lost patience with it, but Mardi kept at me until I just had to go on. She was so excited that I hadn't the heart to fold up. When it was finished, and I read it through, I knew I had something. It wasn't going to be a best seller or anything like that, but it was good enough.
Mardi said, “This is only the beginning; you're going to write more and more and you will very soon be famous.”
I grinned at her. “Don't pin too much on this. Maybe it'll come back with the usual rejection slip.”
Mardi had faith. It didn't come back, it stuck. A couple of months after sending it off, I had a letter from the publishers in New York I had mailed it to, saying that they liked it and would I come on over and meet them.
I didn't expect to hear so soon, and we were right in the middle of painting the outside of the house. Mardi insisted on my going, and she stayed behind to finish the work. I knew she'd be all right on her own. We'd been clear of the trial and things had settled down. Spencer and his gang had all caught pretty stiff raps, and although, at the time, Mardi was pretty het up, she'd forgotten about the business by now.
So I took the train west and left her. The publishers were mighty nice to me, offered me a very fair advance, and a contract for two more books. I wasn't going to waste time hanging around New York. Once I got their contract signed, I grabbed a taxi and made for Central Station. I found I'd got a couple of hours before I could make connections to Santa Monica, so I turned into the refreshment bar for a drink, before deciding where lid go to pass the time. Standing at the bar was Colonel Kennedy.
He said, “Well, this is a surprise.”
I took his hand. “You're right,” I said. “Colonel, this is a fine time to meet you. I've got a lot to thank you for.”
We ordered more drinks and made ourselves comfortable. “What have you been doing all this time?” he asked, once we were settled.
“I'm living at Santa Monica now with my wife,” I said. “You know, I've never thanked you enough for letting me have your lodge for a honeymoon.”
He grinned. “That's all right, Nick,” he said. “I'm glad I had it to lend you. Why live so far away? I guess I'd like to meet that wife of yours.”
- “Well, what are you doing? Why not come on over for a week or so? We'd be glad to have you with us.”
He shook his head regretfully. “I can't, I'm afraid. I've got commitments right now.”
I smiled. “They're still falling for you, Colonel?” I said.
He nodded. “I guess I haven't much to worry about,” he said.
