'Listen, Race. I'm going to have a party at the Luxembourg . I want you to come. The same people, the Farradays, Anthony Browne, Ruth, Iris, myself. I've got it all worked out.'
'What are you going to do?'
George gave a faint laugh.
'That's my secret. It would spoil it if I told anyone beforehand – even you. I want you to come with an unbiased mind and – see what happens.'
Race leant forward. His voice was suddenly sharp.
'I don't like it, George. These melodramatic ideas out of books don't work. Go to the police – there's no better body of men. They know how to deal with these problems. They're professionals. Amateur shows in crime aren't advisable.'
'That's why I want you there. You're not an amateur.'
'My dear fellow. Because I once did work for M.I.5? And anyway you propose to keep me in the dark.'
'That's necessary.'
Race shook his head.
'I'm sorry. I refuse. I don't like your plan and I won't be a party to it. Give it up, George, there's a good fellow.'
'I'm not going to give it up. I've got it all worked out.'
'Don't be so damned obstinate. I know a bit more about these shows than you do. I don't like the idea. It won't work. It may even be dangerous. Have you thought of that?'
'It will be dangerous for somebody all right.'
Race sighed.
'You don't know what you're doing. Oh, well, don't say I haven't warned you. For the last time I beg you to give up this crackbrained idea of yours.'
George Barton only shook his head.
Chapter 5
The morning of November 2nd had dawned wet and gloomy. It was so dark in the dining-room of the house in Elvaston Square that they had to have the lights on for breakfast.
Iris, contrary to her habit, had come down instead of having her coffee and toast sent up to her and sat there white and ghostlike pushing uneaten food about her plate. George rustled his Times with a nervy hand and at the other end of the table Lucilla Drake wept copiously into a handkerchief.
'I know the dear boy will do something dreadful. He's so sensitive – and he wouldn't say it was a matter of life and death if it wasn't.'
Rustling his paper, George said sharply: 'Please don't worry, Lucilla. I've said I'll see to it.'
'I know, dear George, you are always so kind. But I do feel any delay might be fatal. All these inquiries you speak of making – they will all take time.'
'No, no, we'll hurry them through.'
'He says: 'without fail by the 3rd' and tomorrow is the 3rd. I should never forgive myself if anything happened to the darling boy.'
'It won't.' George took a long drink of coffee.
'And there is still that Conversion Loan of mine –'
'Look here, Lucilla, you leave it all to me.'
'Don't worry, Aunt Lucilla,' put in Iris. 'George will be able to arrange it all. After all, this has happened before.'
'Not for a long time' ('Three months,' said George), 'not since the poor boy was deceived by those dreadful swindling friends of his on that horrid ranch.'
George wiped his moustache on his napkin, got up, patted Mrs Drake kindly on the back as he made his way out of the room.
'Now do cheer up, my dear. I'll get Ruth to cable right away.'
As he went out in the hall, Iris followed him.
'George, don't you think we ought to put off the party tonight? Aunt Lucilla is so upset. Hadn't we better stay at home with her?'
'Certainly not!' George's pink face went purple. 'Why should that damned swindling young crook upset our whole lives? It's blackmail – sheer blackmail, that's what it is. If I had my way, he shouldn't get a penny.'
'Aunt Lucilla would never agree to that.'
'Lucilla's a fool – always has been. These women who have children when they're over forty never seem to learn any sense. Spoil the brats from the cradle by giving them every damned thing they want. If young Victor had once been told to get out of his mess by himself it might have been the making of him. Now don't argue, Iris. I'll get something fixed up before tonight so that Lucilla can go to bed happy. If necessary we'll take her along with us.'
'Oh, no, she hates restaurants – and gets so sleepy, poor darling. And she dislikes the heat and the smoky air gives her asthma.'
'I know. I wasn't serious. Go and cheer her up, Iris. Tell her everything will be all right.'
He turned away and out of the front door. Iris turned slowly back towards the dining-room. The telephone rang and she went to answer it.
'Hallo – who?' Her face changed, its white hopelessness then dissolved into pleasure. 'Anthony!'
'Anthony himself. I rang you up yesterday but couldn't get you. Have you been putting in a spot of work with George?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, George was so pressing over his invitation to your party tonight. Quite unlike his usual style of 'hands off my lovely ward'! Absolutely insistent that I should come. I thought perhaps it was the result of some tactful work on your part.'
'No – no – it's nothing to do with me.'
'A change of heart all on his own?'
'Not exactly. It's –'
'Hallo – have you gone away?'
'No, I'm here.'
'You were saying something. What's the matter, darling? I can hear you sighing through the telephone. Is anything the matter?'
'No – nothing. I shall be all right tomorrow. Everything will be all right tomorrow.'
'What touching faith. Don't they say 'tomorrow never comes'?'
'Don't –'
'Iris – something is the matter?'
'No, nothing. I can't tell you. I promised, you see.'
'Tell me, my sweet.'
'No – I can't really. Anthony, will you tell me something?'
'If I can.'
'Were you – ever in love with Rosemary?'
A momentary pause and then a laugh.
'So that's it. Yes, Iris, I was a bit in love with Rosemary. She was very lovely, you know. And then one day I was talking to her and I saw you coming down the staircase – and in a minute it was all over, blown away. There was nobody but you in the world. That's the cold sober truth. Don't brood over a thing like that. Even Romeo, you know, had his Rosaline before he was bowled over for good and all by Juliet.'
'Thank you, Anthony. I'm glad.'
'See you tonight. It's your birthday, isn't it?'
'Actually not for a week – it's my birthday party though.'
