The Skeleton in the Clock

'Yes.' Martin could not help srniling back. 'But not a personal enemy, if you follow me.'

'Ah. That's good. Well, what's up?'

Selecting a wicker chair by the door into the first-parlour, the newcomer dropped into it and threw one leg over its arm. He began to fill a pipe from an oilskin pouch.

There was a long silence.

'Look here, old boy,' expostulated Richard Fleet, who was fishing after a pocket-lighter. 'Yes?'

'Stop pacing up and down like a Norman baron. Get it off your chest Spit it out You're making me nervous.'

'All right' agreed Martin. 'It's about Jenny. I've been in love with Jenny for more than three years, though I've only seen her twice. I have reason to think she feels the same way about me. I haven't formally asked her to marry me, but we intend to get married. I hate to tell you this, but there it is.'

Again silence. Richard sat partly sideways, motionless, his leg over the chair-arm, pipe and lighter also held motionless, looking up at his companion. His grey eyes were without any shade of expression. Tick-tick, tick-tick went the clock in the other room, noticeable now as well as audible.

'I'm sorry to tell you this!' Martin shouted. 'But…'

Then he saw that there was a shade of expression, slowly moving in like a new blood in Richard's face, though for a second he could not interpret it. It was tinged with incredulity, but this did not predominate. Then Martin realized. The feeling was relief. Slowly young Fleet sat upright and expelled his breath.

'Thank God!' he said.

Chapter 5

The words were so startling that Martin backed away until he bumped into the iron stove in the middle of the room. Richard Fleet hastened to correct any wrong impression he might have made.

'Mind!' he said, jumping to his feet and pointing with the pipe. 'Jenny's the world's best. I'd do anything for her. I'm so fond of her that sometimes I've almost' thought this plan would work. “But —'

'But?'

'I grew-up with her,' the other retorted with extraordinary intensity: 'Jenny was always there, from five to seventeen and onwards. Let's face it: I'm not physically attracted by Jenny. Whereas you, it's plain, have gone completely overboard physically; and that's the main thing. Yes, I know!'

He held up a hand, forestalling objection. He dropped pipe and lighter into his pockets. The grey intelligent eyes regarded Martin as though they knew, or thought they knew, the whole universe.

'They tell us a lot of things about companionship and community of interests and so on. Well, old boy,' he grinned, 'let's wait until we're old enough to have to bother with such things. The glorious part of all this is that I've gone overboard too. I want to get married.'

Martin's sense of relief, he thought, completely overshadowed that of his companion.

'Congratulations! And very hearty congratulations! Who is she?”

Richard went over and carefully closed the second-parlour door.

'Susan Harwood. She lives on the other side of Brayle: the town, not the Manor.' A shadow, of worry crossed Richard's face, but his animation burst through it 'By God,' he breathed, 'this is the most magnificent… shake hands!'

They shook hands, fervently.

'Look here,' said Richard, 'what would you like?'

'Like?”

'Well,' said the other, whose first impulse on feeling pleased was to give something to somebody, 'what about my car with fifty gallons of best Black Market petrol? Or your choice from the gun-racks? Or I've got the finest book of telephone-num…no, you won't want telephone-numbers if you're going to get married. Neither will I.' He pondered. 'You know — by the way — what's your first name?'

'Martin.'

'Right! Ricky here.' Again he pondered, 'You know, if we plan this carefully, I'm damn sure we can wangle it'. ' 'Plan carefully? What have we got to plan?' 'You don't know what you're up against,' Ricky said quietly. 'No, wait! You think you do; but you don’t 'Family opposition?'

'You say that fairly contemptuously. Maybe Jenny hasn't told you everything.' Ricky brushed the palms of his hands together; then gripped them in sinewy fingers. 'I don't suppose you've ever played chess with Grandmother Brayle? I have. She ought to have been a man. She wants money, and she means to get it'

Though the sun was sinking, the many little panes of the second-parlour window were still tinged with gold. With both doors and windows closed, the room was hot and stuffy. Ricky went over to the window and stared out unseeingly.

'My mother,' he continued, 'is wonderful. But Grandmother Brayle has got mother' — he put his thumb in the palm of his left hand, and twisted it—'like that And Dr. Laurier has more influence than anybody knows. As for Jenny…' He broke off. 'Great Scott, there is Jenny!'

Martin hurried to his side.

In front of the Dragon's Rest, a slope of sun-glowing grass stretched down to the road. Across the road, beyond a short strip of grass, ran the low stone boundary-wall of Fleet House's park. Near the wall stood Jenny and Ruth Callice, apparently in casual conversation.

They made a contrast, against the trees and, somewhat towards the left, the white, square solidity of the house. Ruth wore a silk frock as though she were in London; her light-brown hair was done in some new upsweep style, with earrings. Jenny, in her white blouse and white shorts, lifted one shoulder as she spoke.

Ricky Fleet leaned his weight on the window-sill with both hands.

'You know,' he said, 'there's a row going on over there.' 'A what?'

'A row. Don't ask me how I know; can't you feel it? Besides, I've been expecting one.' 'Why?'

'I suppose,' Ricky grunted, 'I ought have been at home to greet the guests. But I start gassing, and time gets mixed up. Then Ruth rang up the Manor just before you rang me. Jenny talked to her.' He hesitated. 'Jenny wasn't any less gentle than she always is. But she sounded too — sugary. Like a woman waiting for a time and place to blow up. You know what I mean?'

Even as he spoke Jenny said a last few words, lifting her shoulder, and moved away. She glanced towards the window where Ricky and Martin were standing. Her gait faltered and grew slow, but she continued; and automatically swung the thin blue pullover at her side. When Martin saw his companion's shoulders grow rigid, he realized something else.

'What the hell,' Ricky blurted, 'am I going to tell her?'

The door opened, framing Jenny against sunlight Pouring embarrassment flooded into that room, holding all three motionless. Martin saw Ricky brace himself for an actor's role in some heroic speech of renunciation; he even saw Ricky glance at himself in a flyblown mirror to make sure the posture was right But it was Jenny who spoke.

'It's all right' she said, looking at the floor. 'I knew it was all right as soon as I saw you two shake hands.'

The embarrassment remained, but the tension had gone.

'It wouldn't have worked, you know,' growled Ricky.

'Ricky here,' Martin said, 'has been so decent about the whole thing that I don't know how to thank him.'

'Nonsense, old boy! Nonsense!'

Jenny's eyes brimmed over as she regarded her (they hoped) ex-fiance.

'You are a dear, Ricky.'

'Not a bit of it old girl! Not a bit of it!'

In another minute, Martin thought he'll convince himself he really has made a heroic sacrifice.

'Martin,' said Jenny, and hesitated. 'Will you take me out somewhere tonight?'