“ How long? ” I repeated in surprise.
“ Yes, how many hours of work did you put into it? ”
I realised that he did not understand at all, and that I could never make him understand. The Inward Eye had been part of my life for nearly a year. Everything that I had done and seen and thought had gone into the book. The actual hours I had spent at my table writing had been a small part of the work.
“ There must be some way of doing it,” continued Miles frowning thoughtfully. “ Authors can’t live on air. I believe the thing to do would be to make an arrangement with a publisher to pay for your keep while you were writing the book.”
“ That certainly would be the thing to do—if you could persuade a publisher to do it.”
“ Why shouldn’t he? It would be a business arrangement of course. I would sign an agreement promising to send him the book when it was finished.”
“ It sounds good,” I agreed, trying not to laugh. “ You should try it, Miles. I shall be interested to know what the publisher says when you put your plan before him.”
“ I wish you’d stop ragging,” said Miles crossly. “ I know what it is: you think I couldn’t do it. I bet you I could write a jolly good thriller. I’ve always liked thrillers and I know the form; as a matter of fact I’ve got several ideas already.”
I looked at Miles and considered the matter seriously. I had always believed Miles could do anything if he tried and there was nothing very difficult about writing. I remembered that Miles had always liked thrillers and was a connoisseur of that type of literature.
“ I’m not taking the bet,” I told him. “ If you put your mind to it I see no reason why you shouldn’t write a good thriller, but it doesn’t matter what I think. You’d have to convince a publisher that you were a second Edgar Wallace before he would take any interest in you. That’s the truth, Miles.”
“ H’m,” said Miles putting down my book and clasping his hands behind his head. “ Yes, there’s something in that. One would have to wangle an introduction to the fellow. No good just blowing in.”
I left it at that. He would have to learn for himself; it was useless to argue with Miles.
“ Come and have lunch,” I said. “ There’s a place called The Wooden Spoon where they give you a decent meal.”
We had lunch together and talked about old times. Miles said no more about his thriller but I had a feeling he was still thinking about it. As I said good-bye to him it occurred to me to ask him to dinner on Thursday night. Miles was good value at parties and it would be more amusing for the girls if I had another man.
“ Three girls! ” exclaimed Miles. “ Good lord, you’re an absolute sultan! Yes, of course I’ll come.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Thursday was cold and wet and windy. It was unseasonable and as I buttoned my waterproof up to my neck I suddenly thought of Malcolm’s rhyme about the borrowing days.
The Austrian proprietor of The Wooden Spoon had agreed to send dinner up to my flat. I was a good customer and he had promised that everything should be done as I wished. The dinner was ordered but I was anxious to have a last word with him and tell him there would be five of us instead of four. When I had seen him I went home and arranged the flowers which I had bought at the market. This job took longer than I had expected and even when I had finished I was not pleased with the result. The flowers in Barbie’s flat always looked so beautiful.
I could not write that day—I was excited about my party—as a matter of fact I was having a good deal of trouble with my new book. I realised that Mr. Randall was right and that I ought to go away to pastures new and gather fresh material but for some reason I did not want to go away. The mere thought of leaving London was distasteful which was odd to say the least of it. I had been thrilled with the idea when Mr. Randall suggested it to me.
Two letters arrived by the afternoon post. I collected them from Mr. Coe and took them upstairs to read. One was from Mother—it was her answer to the letter I had written about Jan’s problem—and the other was from Uncle Matt. I opened Mother’s first:
The Manse
Haines
Dearest Davie,
I’am very glad you went to see Janet and her friends. It is good news that she is happy and getting on well—and a great relief to my mind for it was I who persuaded Mrs. Lorimer to let her go! This was not easy of course and I had to tell Mrs. Lorimer what happened when you were here—you remember about the ‘ conspiracy ’ to prevent you from meeting Janet? Mrs. Lorimer did not know about it and was somewhat upset when I told her. I struck while the iron was hot and said the twins must be separated, not only for Janet’s sake but also for Elsie’s. Things could not be allowed to go on like that. I just kept at it and got it fixed then and there—so you see what an interfering old busybody your mother is! But if Janet is happy it is worth all the trouble and unpleasantness. I went up to Nethercleugh yesterday after I got your letter to see how the land lay and I found them much as usual—you know what that means, Davie! Of course they all miss Janet and find there is a good deal more to do. Mr. Lorimer raised several hares while we were having tea. He asked in his usual pleasant way why this and that and the other had not been done and the reply was: “ Janet always did it.” Elsie is miserable, of course. She mopes about the house and looks pretty wretched. Mrs. Lorimer spoke to me about it, she seems worried. But my impression is that there is nothing wrong with Elsie (or at least nothing seriously wrong) she is just being naughty and “ playing up.” She will get tired of it in time. Freda ran after me when I was on my way home and said she thought Janet ought to give up her job in London and return to Nethercleugh—didn’t I agree? I said no, I did not agree. Freda was annoyed with me but I did not care. The truth is they are all selfish. I am quite sure Janet ought not to come home. Elsie must learn to stand on her own feet and if she docs not learn this now she will never learn it. Is Janet to spend her whole life playing nursemaid to Elsie? The thing is nonsense! That is what I think about it, Davie. Give Janet my love and tell her I will keep an eye on Elsie and if I think it necessary for her to come home I will write to her. Now Davie I must give you a piece of sad news. Pool old Aunt Etta died yesterday. I know you were fond of her and will be sorry, but her life was not much pleasure to her, poor soul. It must have been very dull and lonely for her living by herself and not being able to get out and about. She had a bad heart attack on Monday night and died early on Tuesday morning without recovering consciousness. Uncle Matthew rang up and told us and we are going to Edinburgh for the funeral and staying the night with him. I expect you will be writing to Uncle Matthew to tell him how sorry you are. Although he pretends to be hard-hearted I think he is genuinely upset.
I will write again soon, my dearie, I want to catch the post. Much love from us both.
Mother
This letter gave me a lot to think about. Poor old Aunt Etta! It was true that I was fond of her. She had always been very kind to me. I felt very sorry that I should never see her again. In one thing Mother was wrong (or so I thought), Aunt Etta had been quite contented with her life, had even enjoyed it in her quiet way. She had enjoyed her food and reading novels and the comforts with which she was surrounded; most of all she had enjoyed seeing people and talking to them. I was very glad I had paid her a visit when I was in Edinburgh and had spent an hour with her.
I put Mother’s letter aside and took up Uncle Matt’s; I knew now what it was about—or thought I knew—but I was somewhat surprised when I opened it and saw it was so long (Uncle Matt seldom wrote to me and, when he did, his letters were terse and business-like). Here were four sheets of paper closely written in his crabbed handwriting, which I always found difficult to decipher:
19 Ruthven Crescent
Edinburgh
Dear David,
You will have heard from your mother that Etta is dead. It was a shock to me for I thought her aches and pains were imaginary and that there was little the matter with her except nerves. I
still think she would have been healthier if she had made an effort and taken a little exercise instead of sitting in a chair all day reading novels. However there it is. We all have to die some day. As you know she annoyed me a good deal one way and another but all the same I shall miss her. It is sad to think I shall not see poor Etta again. She had no brain to speak of but she liked talking about the old days when we were all young. Now there is nobody to talk to about those times. I do not count your father for I could never talk to him for five minutes without treading on his corns. Now to business. Etta had very little money. She was life-rented in capital which provided a small yearly income but this was insufficient for her needs and I was obliged to supplement her income so that she should be comfortable and properly looked after. It was easy to do this without her knowledge because she had no head for business matters. Sometimes when she was particularly annoying I felt inclined to tell her but I never did. None of this affects you, of course. I am only telling you so that you may understand why there is so little money left. You are Etta’s residuary legatee which simply means that when her estate has been wound up and the bequests paid you will get that blasted Green Beech Cottage and about two hundred pounds. The cottage is a white elephant and always has been. It belonged to a woman called Vera Marsden who diddled Etta out of two thousand pounds—a sum which she could ill afford—and left her the cottage in lieu. Needless to say this extremely shady transaction occurred before I took over the management of Etta’s affairs. Etta should have sold the property of course, but she had some foolish sentimental ideas about it and would not take my advice. I daresay you will remember something of the matter. The cottage has been standing empty for years. I have had the roof seen to from time to time and the outside paint work has been kept in good order—but that is all. Apart from that the cottage has been neglected and probably is in a dilapidated condition. Since it now belongs to you I advise you to go and see it. You can use the two hundred pounds to do it up and then put it into the hands of a reputable firm of house agents and sell it. You will get a better price if you have it put into reasonable repair. Nobody wants to buy a ruin. Do it at once, David. The longer you leave it the worse it will get. I shall be thankful when the wretched place is off our hands; the mere thought of it makes me see red. The keys of the cottage are with a man called Grimble who is the proprietor of a garage on the main road. He is a decent chap and I made an arrangement with him to keep an eye on the place. As far as I know he has carried out his part of the bargain in a satisfactory manner. If you are short of cash I will advance you the two hundred pounds so that you can go ahead and get the cottage put in order without delay. Your parents are coming to stay with me for Etta’s funeral. I shall need to watch out and be on my best behaviour.
Your affec—ate uncle
Matthew Kirke
This letter was extremely surprising. It had never crossed my mind for a moment that Aunt Etta would leave me anything in her will. She had left me Green Beech Cottage! I had forgotten all about the place long ago, in fact I had not given it a thought for years, but now, looking back, I remembered every detail of my first visit to Aunt Etta. I remembered her sitting in her chair and smiling mischievously, “ It’s mine and I can do what I like with it,” she had said. “ Matthew can’t make me sell it. I don’t want to sell it. You don’t think I should sell it, do you, David? ” I remembered, too, how angry Uncle Matt had been because she would not take his advice about it. Now, at last, Uncle Matt was getting his own way and Green Beech Cottage was to be sold.
Uncle Matt was an extraordinary man—a most astonishing mixture. He had been ruthless in his treatment of his sister; he had raved and stormed and railed against her, declaring she was daft and that there was nothing the matter with her except greed and laziness, yet all the time he had been paying out money to keep her in luxury and never saying a word about it. And paying out money meant a good deal to Uncle Matt, for he liked money. How queer people are, I thought. He could have made Aunt Etta so happy if he had been a little kinder and more sympathetic and had gone to see her more often … and yet he was quite upset at her death. He would miss her, he said.
I put the letters in my pocket and began to get ready for the party, but I could not put them out of my mind.
The three girls arrived first, which was fortunate because I wanted to talk to Jan about Nethercleugh. I managed to get a few minutes alone with her in the sitting-room while Nell and Barbie were taking off their coats.
“ Jan,” I said. “ I’ve heard from Mother. She went up to Nethercleugh and it’s all right. She says you shouldn’t think of going home.”
“ She says that? ” asked Jan in surprise. “ I was sure she would say I ought to go home. I had a letter from Freda this morning and—and I had almost made up my mind to go. It seemed the right thing.”
“ It isn’t,” I said earnestly … and I took the letter and read out bits of it to Jan. Parts of the letter were unsuitable for Jan’s ears so I had to be careful.
“ There,” I said, as I folded the letter and put it away. “ You see what Mother says. Elsie must learn to stand on her own feet. She mustn’t depend upon you. It isn’t good for her.”
“ Yes,” said Jan thoughtfully. “ I never thought of it like that.”
“ Think of it now,” I said. “ Mother is wise—she is really—and you can trust her. If Elsie is really ill Mother will write and tell you.”
“ What’s happening? ” asked Barbie, coming out of the bedroom. “ Is there a secret conclave taking place? ”
“ Not really,” I replied. “ I’m just telling Jan not to go home.”
“ Tell her you want her to stay in London,” suggested Barbie.
“ But of course I do. She knows that, don’t you, Jan? ”
By this time Nell was ready and we sat down to have sherry and to wait for Miles. It was just like Miles to be late but on this occasion I did not mind for I wanted to talk about Green Beech Cottage. Barbie was working in a firm of interior decorators and I thought she might give me some advice. I explained the whole matter and they all listened with interest to my tale.
“ It’s exciting, isn’t it! ” exclaimed Jan. “ Fancy having a little house of your very own, David! ”
“ Yes,” I said doubtfully. “ But I shall have to sell it. Uncle Matt says I ought to do it up first.”
“ Of course you must,” nodded Barbie. “ You’ll get more for it if it’s in good repair.”
“ Barbie will help you,” said Nell. “ That’s her line.”
I looked at Barbie hopefully.
She nodded. “ Yes, David, of course I will. Now listen to me; this is what you must do,” said Barbie taking charge in her usual energetic fashion. “ You must go and see the place and decide about it. If you want to have it done up I’ll put you onto the right people. It’s no use your going to one of the big firms; they’d make you pay through the nose. Mr. Pendle is the man for you—I’ll speak to him about it—but the first thing is to go and look at the house. Go to-morrow.”
“ Yes,” I said. “ I suppose I had better.”
“ Take Jan with you, ” suggested Nell with a significant nod.
I realised what Nell meant. She thought the expedition would give Jan something to think of and would help to take her mind off her own affairs.
“ Would you come, Jan? ” I asked. “ I don’t know what it will be like, but …”
“ Yes, of course, if you want me,” said Jan. “ I couldn’t go to-morrow, it would have to be Sunday … but as a matter of fact I think you should take Barbie with you. She would be far more help.”
“ No fears! ” cried Barbie. “ You can count me out of your expedition to Green Beech Cottage. I have quite enough interior decorating all the week. You won’t find this child looking at houses on a Sunday.”
“ But you said you’d help,” Jan told her in surprise.
“ So I will—later on. All you have to do on Sunday is to go and see what the place is like.�
��
We had finished our sherry and still Miles had not come. I was beginning to be worried about the dinner, which I was keeping hot in the oven, and wondering whether we should start without Miles—when at last he arrived.
“ Sorry I’m late old boy! ” exclaimed Miles cheerfully. “ I was at a cocktail party and I couldn’t escape.”
“ It’s all right,” I said. “ But we’ll start dinner straight away if you don’t mind. I’ll just introduce you to the girls.”
I introduced Miles and went to get the soup. Jan followed me.
“ I’ll help you, David,” she said.
“ Not so,” I told her, laughing. “ This is my show. You’re all to sit down and be waited on, hand and foot.”
It was a very cheerful party. The dinner was good and everybody was in splendid form. Miles was always at his best on occasions of this sort; he showed up well and I was glad I had asked him. There was a constant flow of amusing talk and laughter and it was obvious that my guests were enjoying themselves.
As the evening wore on I noticed that Miles was particularly interested in Nell. I could see him looking at her admiringly; he listened to all she said and paid her subtle compliments. This amused me a good deal—for two reasons: firstly because Miles had said he meant to keep clear of girls and secondly because, although Nell was pretty, anybody could see she was the least attractive of the three.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The girls went home soon after ten; but, contrary to my expectations, Miles did not offer to accompany them. He came with me to see them off and then followed me back to the sitting-room.
“ I’ve started, David,” he said in significant tones.
“ Started what? ” I asked.
“ The thriller of course. I decided to write a bit of the story before I tackled a publisher so that he would see the idea. Besides, as I told you, I had thought of a first-class plot. I wrote to Mother and told her I was on to a dashed good thing but I wanted a little splosh to go on with.” He laughed and added, “ That did the trick all right.”
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