Fortune Is a Woman

by Winston Graham

  It seemed to be one of her feet that was stuck, or at least somewhere below the knee. Then I heard voices and shouted back.

  It was somebody out of one of the cottages, a young man with spectacles. He came slithering down through the broken hedge, stopped a minute staring, came on and saw me.

  ‘‘I say, there; are you all right?’’

  ‘‘My wife,’’ I said. ‘‘She’s hurt and I can’t get her out! Can you fetch a doctor—and an ambulance—at once?’’

  It was at that moment I caught the glint of Sarah’s eyes She said: ‘‘Hullo …”

  ‘‘Sarah … Are you …?’’

  ‘‘I’m all right, Oliver.”

  ‘‘Any—pain?’’

  ‘‘My legs feel a bit queer.”

  ‘‘Oh, Christ, darling, it was my fault: I didn’t realize, and she jumped and the car skidded and—and …”

  ‘‘Yes, I know. What happened to her?’’

  I thought the young man had gone, but he’d come round to the other side of the car and swung himself up on to the top. The door was free, and he shone a light through it down into the car upon Sarah. After a minute he said in a different voice: ‘‘It’s the dash-board—been crushed right down. But I think we can manage it. I’ll nip home for a crow-bar.”

  I said: ‘‘Get a doctor. Are you on the phone?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ he said. ‘‘But the place next door is. Don’t worry. I’ve sent my brother to do that.…”

  Chapter Thirty

  I was twenty minutes late for the meeting. They were all there waiting for me, and it was pretty clear some of them weren’t too pleased at having to wait. Reckitt had turned up, and Rawson, McDonald’s boss, and the two Abercrombies, and Charles Robinson and Spenser the F.L.A. A. man from Birmingham. Spenser was a red-faced chap of about sixty with a way of closing his eyes unexpectedly in the middle of a sentence. Reckitt had sent out for coffee and everyone was standing round drinking it and chatting. Michael came straight across to me, and asked me if I was all right. I said yes, I was all right.

  I don’t remember much about the way the thing began because other thoughts were in my head, and I was still feeling queer at times. I remember taking a seat just by one corner of a desk and seeing McDonald at the opposite corner and Spenser behind it, where I suppose Reckitt usually sat. The others had settled as they pleased, and Spenser had set the ball rolling by saying something about family squabbles being no excuse for rather solemn meetings like this; but he understood the case raised far more important issues than a scuffle in a lavatory—then there was a disturbance and Henry Dane came in. Apparently nobody expected him and there wasn’t a chair for him, but he wouldn’t have one brought and stood by the fireplace leaning against the mantelpiece and filling his pipe and scowling.

  They started talking about the brawl, and I know Charles Robinson joined in; but all the time I was thinking about last night when I had my arm round Sarah and we couldn’t get her out, and the man came back with the crow-bar and at first I wouldn’t let him use it because I was afraid of injuring Sarah’s legs more. And Sarah kept asking about Mrs. Moreton, as if she was important; and then someone came along and shouted that there was a woman dead on the road half a mile back.

  McDonald was saying: ‘‘If Branwell thinks I’ve some axe to grind or old score to pay off he’s mistaken. Perhaps it’s unusual for a—a broker to concern himself closely with investigating a possible fraud; but in the circumstances it seemed my duty to go on with it. The suspicious facts had come only to my notice. Either I did something about them—personally—or I ignored them, in which case I was surely letting down the things we stand for as a special business community, whichever branch of it we happen to be in. As for the rumours—if they got out they were not of my deliberate spreading. He surely has only himself to blame.”

  So then he began to speak about how he had felt and what he had done.

  … When the ambulance came they decided the easiest way to get Sarah out was to put the car on its four wheels again. They did it as gently as they knew how, six of them altogether; my heart and my stomach went with it as the car moved. There was a little jolt at the end. The morphia hadn’t had time to work. Then they got her door open and prised the dashboard up. As they lifted her out she said: ‘‘Our proofs gone, darling. What we wanted so much.”

  … Spenser had asked me something. ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ I said.”

  ‘‘As I mentioned when we began, Mr. Branwell, the only purpose of this meeting is to try to clear up these points as they are raised. Could you help us now by letting us have your view on them?’’

  Everybody was waiting. The cold coffee had stuck in my chest, and I felt sick again. I avoided Henry Dane’s stare. (And I’d said: ‘‘What does that matter? Oh, darling, what the hell does that matter?”)

  ‘‘My view on them.… McDonald’s got his facts right but his inferences wrong.”

  Spenser shut his eyes. ‘‘ D’you mean you don’t deny that you were on the scene of the fire that night?’’

  ‘‘No. I don’t deny it.…” I made an effort to concentrate, trying to forget last night and think of to-day, trying to think of the effect that admission was likely to have.

  Then, abruptly, I went on to tell them the rest, disjointedly, just as it came into my head.

  It was queer, saying it out baldly like that. None of my reasons for doing anything seemed quite right, although they’d seemed logical enough at the time. For the first time I realized what a mess people must get in in a court of law. Perhaps the law is wrong altogether, basing itself on the idea that people are reasonable human beings. Reason’s only a thread in the warp and woof of conduct.

  At least, feeling as I did that morning, there was no temptation to justify myself. I knew I’d made a muck of things, but I didn’t know until I told it just how bad it was. But I didn’t care any more.

  I got through it somehow but stopped short at last night. I wanted to keep Mrs. Moreton out of it. It was my behaviour they were interested in, not hers. Besides, if I started talking about the accident it somehow seemed to be demanding sympathy, and that was putting the wrong slant on it. That was why I’d told Michael he mustn’t say anything to the others.

  When I finished as far as I was going I got out a cigarette and lit it and snapped the lighter shut and stared at the glowing end. Nobody spoke. There would have to be an inquest. Suicide while the balance of her mind was disturbed.… The usual easy get-out. She’d been perfectly balanced till the end—had carefully tied Trixie in the car before opening the door.… It had been a quite deliberate choice. ‘‘ Its honour is worth something. I tried to preserve it.”

  I heard Spenser say: ‘‘ Well, you’ve certainly given us a lot to think about, Mr. Branwell. I confess your story has surprised me in some of its aspects.”

  Reckitt coughed dryly and put a finger inside his collar. ‘‘Surprising is hardly the word, is it? On your own admission—and accepting this story at its face value—you stumbled upon the fraud, were actually at the scene of it, and yet did nothing at all about it for many months. Your own firm represented us—dealt with the claim, yet you didn’t raise a finger to prevent the payment of a large sum of money in settlement. That’s a very peculiar admission, Mr. Branwell.”

  When we got to the hospital I’d gone a bit queer. Somehow it had all got tied up with my father, he’d come back and shut the door and turned on the gas, I’d found him there.… ‘‘Yes,’’ I said.

  ‘‘And then—four months later—after marrying the widow of this Tracey Moreton, and laying your hands on forty thousand pounds fraudulently come by—you ask us to believe that you intended to pay this money back, even though you’ve so far made no attempt to do so. Is that what you say?’’

  ‘‘I don’t ask you to believe it. It happens to be the truth.”

  ‘‘Well, frankly.…” Reckitt looked across at the Abercrombies. ‘‘I was doubtful whether this meeting would be justified, but …”


  Mr. Abercrombie was rather white. He said: ‘‘These—er—pictures, Branwell. Did you try to trace any of the other originals; did you tell the police or the customs about them?’’

  ‘‘No. I believe they’ve all gone out of the country.”

  ‘‘You believe so!’’ said Reckitt.

  Rawson, McDonald’s boss, fiddled with his glasses and said: ‘‘I’m still not altogether clear about this. Mr. Branwell admits that he failed in his duty to the insurance world. But there was surely a—a wider duty, as a citizen, to give evidence at an inquest, to tell the police of finding the body of this man Moreton. How does Branwell explain his failure to do that?’’

  I put the cigarette down. My hands were still not quite steady. ‘‘It may look as if there are two issues now; but there was only one then. I thought Moreton’s wife was involved in the fraud and I wasn’t ready to denounce her. That’s all there is to it.… But I’m not here this morning to excuse myself. I’m here to explain. My—failure as an ordinary person is something I’ve already acknowledged, in the proper quarter. I’m here now to talk about my failure as an insurance adjuster. I should think that’s fairly clear to you all.” I looked at McDonald, but he wasn’t looking my way. ‘‘I’ve given the matter a good bit of thought during the—before coming here this morning; and it seemed to me there was only one very obvious thing to do. So I phoned Michael Abercrombie a couple of hours ago and asked him to accept my resignation from the firm.”

  A clock outside was striking twelve. It reminded me of the hospital clock I’d heard every hour through the night. I felt as if I shouldn’t ever drive a car again. One goes on for years without ever realizing what speed means in terms of impact. If I had nightmares in the future it would be of finding myself alone on the wet grass and hearing Trixie bark and knowing Sarah was inside the broken car.…

  They were talking about me; there was a general murmur of voices; and Michael was explaining something, and Reckitt was nodding his head in agreement; it was the only possible thing to do.

  ‘‘Just a minute,’’ said Henry Dane and bent to knock out his pipe. I think it was quite accidental; but it was just like a judge’s gavel bringing the court to order. ‘‘Aren’t we going a bit fast? And being very one-sided. It’s partly Branwell’s fault for giving such a lame-duck account of himself; but even in the police courts we try to make allowances, for a bad witness. Now——’’

  ‘‘Even in a police court,’’ said Reckitt, ‘‘one does not ignore the facts.”

  ‘‘No, but one tries to get them all before passing judgment. What was that you were muttering a minute ago, Oliver? Something about having made your apologies elsewhere?’’

  ‘‘Not apologies,’’ I said. ‘‘ I made a full statement to the police.”

  ‘‘When?’’

  ‘‘About two hours ago. That was what made me late getting here.”

  ‘‘Why this morning? Why nine o’clock in the morning? Has there been some other development?’’

  I stared at him, feeling irritated with him for forcing this out of me. But perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps in any event it would all have to come out, and it was better these men should know. Anyhow I’d postponed it until they’d had an opportunity of considering the case without it.

  So I told them all about Sarah’s visit to Lowis Manor last night, and what Mrs. Moreton had said and how it fitted in with what I knew and made an understandable whole. I told them about her jumping out of the car on the way back, and the car crash that followed. I explained I’d spent the night in hospital and come straight on here.

  Afterwards there was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or so. Nobody knew quite what to say; and that was why I hadn’t wanted to tell them.

  Mr. Abercrombie said: ‘‘ But why didn’t you explain this when you came in? How is your wife?’’

  ‘‘She’s got a broken leg and concussion. They say—the house surgeon says she’ll be all right. I—shall feel surer about it in a day or two.”

  Dane said: ‘‘And Mrs, Moreton is dead?’’

  ‘‘Yes.” Trust him to see the point.

  ‘‘Did she give you any corroborative evidence of what she said?’’

  ‘‘The servant, Elliott, can confirm a good bit—if he will. She stayed with him that night of the fire.”

  ‘‘Were there any witnesses of the car accident?’’

  ‘‘A man on a bicycle saw Mrs. Moreton fall out.”

  ‘‘Thank God for that.”

  ‘‘You think of everything,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Well, it’s a good job someone thinks for you,’’ he answered vigorously. ‘‘Because you seem devoid of the ordinary instincts of self-preservation. What did the police say? Did you see Detective Sergeant Barnes?’’

  ‘‘Yes. I made the statement to him. He didn’t say a lot, of course, but he seemed fairly satisfied. He said things were looking a lot tidier now.”

  ‘‘You see, it wasn’t so difficult after all.”

  ‘‘It isn’t so difficult when you have to.”

  Spenser coughed. ‘‘ Have you had something to do with this case before to-day, Mr. Dane?’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course I have. That’s why I was advising you not to jump to conclusions. Branwell’s acted like a damned fool, but never like a rogue.”

  Mr. Abercrombie said: ‘‘D’you mean he’s consulted you on this?’’ There was a curious quickening in his voice that I liked and was grateful for.

  ‘‘Almost from the beginning.”

  ‘‘And acted on your advice?’’ asked Reckitt.

  ‘‘Certainly not. If he had he wouldn’t be in quite such a mess.”

  They waited while he lit his pipe again. He didn’t hurry. ‘‘Branwell came to me first a couple of days before the fire—about the time he called on you, McDonald—and told me all about his suspicions and I told him where to go to get advice on detecting fake pictures and furniture. He put it as a hypothetical case, of course, and we talked it over pretty thoroughly. But I’d no reason to connect what he said with Lowis Manor—either then or later. Nor had I any reason to suppose he contemplated anything so silly as housebreaking.” Dane blew out a stream of smoke and watched it break up and drift away. ‘‘After the fire … well, after the fire he didn’t tell me as much as he might have done, but during the several months that followed we had various conversations, and I gave him advice which I later saw was relative to this case. You blame him for not immediately telling the police of his discovery of the dead body and that the fire was planned. Well, so do I; but it isn’t such an open and shut issue as you seem to think. When he discovered the fire—if you accept his word for it—he did all he could. Then when the brigade came at his call, he’d to make a split-second decision whether to stay on or whether to go. He went, and after that it was too late.”

  ‘‘Too late for what?’’ said McDonald, breaking his long silence.

  ‘‘Too late to do any of the orthodox things. Because once he’d left the scene of the fire he’d no proof that he’d ever been there What sort of evidence could he produce that the fire, was deliberately planned? He could talk and ruin himself, and make a lot of trouble; but he hadn’t any sort of factual proof—at least not the sort that I have to produce to persuade an underwriter to contest a settlement.”

  I saw Charles Robinson smile.

  Spenser said: ‘‘Yes, but——’’

  ‘‘But never mind that. After some months he discovered quite suddenly that Mrs. Tracey Moreton had no hand in it. They met, and he told her what had happened, and without hesitation she agreed the money must be paid back. He came at once to see me——’’

  ‘‘Before their wedding?’’ asked Mr. Abercrombie.

  ‘‘Well, of course …”

  That’s a lie, I wanted to say; but I couldn’t without letting Dane down; and anyway it wasn’t quite a lie; he was like a man walking carelessly across stepping stones; you thought every minute he was going to fall in, bu
t he didn’t even get his feet wet. He explained about the claims on his time, the case in Liverpool, which had prevented him from giving his full attention to my problem until I came back from my honeymoon, how by then the rumour had spread, making it impossible to put the thing in hand. He made it sound as if the rumour mongers were alone to blame for Mr. Reckitt not having his £40,000 back in his pocket before now. He told of his advice to me to go to the police and my refusal until I could see my own inquiries through. He ended by saying that I and my wife had succeeded in clearing the mystery up at last, to the satisfaction of the police, and it seemed a poor reward to him that as a result one of us should be in hospital seriously injured and the other out of a job.

  When he finished, his pipe had gone out again and he began to unscrew the thread. Spenser’s cigarette had smouldered away unsmoked.

  I thought Reckitt would be the one to speak. ‘‘You’ve certainly shown us another side of the picture, Dane. Obliged to you for that, of course. It transforms Branwell’s case. All the same I’m a little surprised that a man of your wide experience should go out of his way to excuse what are after all still very grave irregularities. We may well acquit a person of dishonesty and still consider him guilty of negligence, bad judgment, and a failure to see where his first duty lies. Now——’’

  ‘‘Oh, I know that,’’ said Dane. ‘‘I told you. He acted like a fool. But that’s all. And what you don’t realize, any of you, is that Branwell is still a newcomer to this sort of job. I’ve been in the law and in insurance thirty years. Some of you here more than forty. Branwell came into it untrained less than five years ago. If I was ever in an emergency like his—which God forbids—I wouldn’t have to reason anything out; I’d know what to do by instinct. He wouldn’t. That’s the difference. What sort of a reputation has he made for himself in these few years? Ask the Abercrombies. Ask yourselves, or any of the other underwriters.” Dane stopped and made a nasty juicy noise blowing through his pipe stem. ‘‘ He’s earned a first-rate name, for integrity, guts, judgment—and if he hadn’t I wouldn’t be here talking about him. He’s the sort of man we need in the insurance world; not the sort to kick out in disgrace for one black mark. And I tell you another thing: if he went out to-day be could get a job with a claims assessor to-morrow, black mark or no black mark, and earn just as much money as the Abercrombies pay him, working for the other side. It’s a sobering thought and worth taking time to consider.”