What's Better Than Money

‘Did you get that during the war, Mr. Hal iday?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’d like a shot of it. Would you turn your face a lit le to the left?’

‘I don’t want it advertised,’ I said, curtly. ‘If it’s all right with you two, I have to get on with my job.’

I saw Creedy looking at me, frowning, but I didn’t care.

The two guys exchanged glances, then the camera man strolled to the door. The other one said, ‘You were at Holland City’s Plastic Hospital, weren’t you, Mr. Hal iday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Had a tough time?’

‘So did the others.’

He grinned sympathetically.

‘I hear you play the piano. Is that right?’

‘When I have the time.’

I had forgotten about the camera man and had taken my hand off my scar. The flash told me he hadn’t forgotten me. He moved out of the office, and the other fellow shook hands, said he had all he wanted and then he and Creedy went away.

That spoilt my day’s work. I kept thinking of the photographs that would appear in Life. I kept wondering who of those I had known in Los Angeles would recognise Jeff Halliday as Jeff Gordon and wonder.

I managed to shake off my mood of depression by the time Jack and I got home.

Sarita was excited. She had talked to Mr. Terrell who had told her he was leaving in two months’

time, and if we wanted the cottage we could have it.

Sarita had arranged for us to go out there after dinner and inspect it.

During dinner, Jack talked to her about how he wanted his penthouse furnished and Sarita promised to get it organised for him.

The three of us drove out to Simeon’s Hil . As soon as I saw the cot age, perched on the hil with a big garden and a view over the river, I fell for it.

But at the back of my mind now was a growing fear so I didn’t enthuse al that much about it.

Inside, it was as perfect as Sarita had claimed it to be. It was exactly what we wanted: three bedrooms, a big lounge, a study, a kitchen with every push button device you could think of, and a built-in bar on the patio as well as a big brick oven for barbecues.

The price was thirty thousand and it was cheap.

‘Boy!’ Jack exclaimed. ‘This is the place for you two! It’s as perfect as you could find anywhere.’

He was right, but something warned me to be cautious. I asked if Mr. Terrell would let me think it over. He said he would give me a week to make up my mind.

When Jack had left us and we were getting ready for bed, Sarita asked me if I didn’t like the cot age.

‘It’s fine, but I don’t want to rush into it. Suppose you go to Harcourt and see if he has anything like it on the market. We may as well take a look before closing with Terrell’s place. We have a week.’

The next two days passed fast enough. I was working to capacity and Sarita was house hunting. She didn’t find anything, and I could see she was a lit le impatient with me for wanting her to look. She was so sold on Terrell’s place she just couldn’t believe there could be anything to beat it.

She brought home a copy of Life. There was a biggish picture of me, sitting at my desk with the drooping eyelid and the scar very much in evidence.

The caption ran as follows:

‘ War Veteran Jeff Halliday plans to build his own house after building Holland City’s six million dollar bridge. A good amateur pianist, he plays Chopin’s Nocturnes as a relaxation after a sixteen hour stint at his desk. ’

That caption really bothered me. It was a complete giveaway if anyone who knew me as Jeff Gordon saw it, together with the photograph.

The following night was the banquet. It was an ordeal for me, but I got through it without disgracing myself.

Mathison said a lot of nice things about Jack and myself. He said the city had every confidence in us.

He had watched us come up in the world, and he was sure we were going far, and that we would make a splendid bridge, and a lot more of that kind of guff.

I looked across at Sarita while Mathison was sounding off. She was dewy eyed and very proud. We smiled at each other. It was one of the highlights of my life.

Sunday was the television date.

Sarita didn’t come to the studio. She said she preferred to watch me on our set at home.

It went off all right. Creedy’s idea of having a scale model of the bridge was a good one. It al owed both Jack and myself to explain just how we were going to handle the job, and it proved to the taxpayers that a job of this size couldn’t be built without spending a great deal of money.

During the interview, Creedy said, ‘It’s no secret that you two are getting a hundred and twenty thousand dollar fee for this job. What are you going to do with the money?’

Jack said, ‘After I’ve given most of it to the tax col ector, I’m buying a car.’

Creedy looked at me.

‘You, I understand, Mr. Hal iday, are planning a new home.’

‘That’s right,’ I said.

‘Are you building it yourself?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘He has enough to do handling the bridge without thinking of building a house,’ Jack broke in, and the interview broke up in general laughter.

As soon as the camera swung away from us, Creedy opened a bottle of champagne and we had drinks. I was itching to get home to Sarita, but I couldn’t break away too soon.

‘Wel , boys, I guess the bridge is launched,’ Creedy said. ‘Now, go ahead and build it.’

We shook hands with him.

One of the technicians came over.

‘You’re wanted on the telephone, Mr. Hal iday.’

‘I bet that’s his wife, cal ing to tel him how handsome he looked,’ Jack said. ‘I’l meet you downstairs.’

He and Creedy walked out of the studio.

For a moment I hesitated, then aware that the technician was looking curiously at me, I went to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

I had an instinctive feeling who was calling. I was right.

‘Hel o,’ Rima said. ‘I’ve been watching your lit le performance. Congratulations.’

I felt cold sweat start out on my forehead.

People were buzzing around me. I had to be careful what I said.

‘Thanks.’

‘So you’re a rich man now.’

‘I can’t talk now.’

‘I didn’t expect you to. I’l meet you in the lobby of the Cal oway Hotel at ten o’clock. You had better be there.’

I heard her break the connection, and slowly I replaced the receiver.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped my sweating face. I knew I was as pale as death and I was shaking.

‘Anything wrong, Mr. Halliday?’

‘No. It’s al right.’

‘Maybe the heat from the lamps. You look pret y bad.’

‘I’ll get out into the open air. I’l be okay.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No… no thanks. I’l be al right. It was just the heat.’