With the exception of George Hemingway, the men were also true to type. They wore white trousers, a handkerchief of various hues round their necks and, of course, the inevitable doe-skin shoes.
My eyes swept over the group and came to rest on George. He immediately attracted my attention, and I wondered who he was. His personality was so strong that he made the others seem mere paintings on the wall. He was tall, with big powerful shoulders, tapering away to a small waist and very long legs. You could see at a glance how much he enjoyed the good things in life, and his enormous vitality for absorbing them.
I noticed that he paid for all the drinks out of a well-worn wallet. It amused me to watch these people and to see the clever way the women out-manoeuvred one another to be the centre of attraction.
After a while they all got through with their drinks and decided to go out for a bathe. George told them to go on as he’d left his costume in his room. He stood with a big, humorous grin on his bronzed face watching them troop out, and then turned to the elevator. As he turned he caught my eye, and realizing that I had been watching him for sometime he came over.
“I’m Hemingway,” he said. “Are you all by yourself?”
I explained that it was of my own choosing, and went on to tell him about the deep-sea fishing. His eyes lit up at the mention of marlin. “What sort of sport have you had?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I find it mighty slow,” I said ruefully. “I haven’t seen anything that looks like a big fish since I’ve been here.”
Hemingway looked rather guiltily out of the big window at the group running down to the bathing-pool. “Listen, buddy,” he said, “how about you and me having a go tomorrow morning early? Believe it or not, there’s no one interested in fishing in my party, and I’ve been itching to get my hands on a rod. What do you say?”
I readily agreed. By now I had seen the error in not having a companion on this trip. I had imagined that I should have been so busy fishing that another person would have only been in the way.
Well, to cut a long story short, we had a day’s fishing which will remain long in my memory. George seemed to know where to find the fish, and Joppy, who came with us, was almost as excited as I.
During that day, cruising in the dark blue waters of the Mexican Bay, we formed a friendship which was altogether remarkable, because neither of us had anything in common. My real interest was in my work. I was unmarried, and had little or no use for a gay life. I was fortunate in having a number of good friends, most of them connected with my business, and as a hobby I wrote light novels which had a moderate success.
On the other hand, George lived recklessly, drank heavily, and, in his own words, ‘chased dames’. His absorbing passion was speed. He owned a number of cars, but his favourite was a big racing Bugatti, which he would drive, whenever he could, at an almost fantastic speed.
I often wondered why it was that he so obviously liked me and sought my company. During the three weeks I remained at Key West he was my constant companion. The little regiment of lovelies who followed him around regarded me with suspicion. I could quite understand my unpopularity. In my company, George seemed to find them boring, and that meant they had to look elsewhere for someone to buy them their drinks and the hundreds of other little luxuries they could not afford for themselves.
On the last night of my stay at the ‘Plaza’ I remember George coming into my room and sitting on my bed. I was just putting a finishing touch to my toilet, and I recollect having difficulty in fixing my tie to my satisfaction.
George sat there watching me. Then he said: “I’m going to miss you a hell of a lot. I wish you were staying.”
“Yes, I’m sorry to go. I’ve had a grand time. Maybe we’ll see something of each other later on.”
George said seriously: “When I come to New York I’d like to see a lot more of you.”
I was pleased that he felt that way, and we exchanged cards. I hoped I would see him soon, as I found his company very exhilarating.
Well, you know how it is. I got back to New York and was immediately caught up in arrears of business. For several weeks I forgot all about him. Then one morning I saw his photograph in the Times and an account of a motor-race he had taken part in. The racing correspondent considered that he was going to be a leading star in the racing world. I was surprised that he had entered this field, but I sent him a note of congratulation, as I thought it would please him. Whether he received the note or not I don’t know, but I didn’t have any reply. I had to go to Washington for a couple of months as we were operating a new branch there, so any hope of meeting George in New York had to be postponed.
His rise to fame in the speed world was remarkable. Soon no motor-race was considered anything at all unless he was a competitor. In fact, he began to win so consistently that his name rapidly became a household word. He apparently had no nerves. It was not that he was more skilful than the other drivers, but that he attained a maximum speed and kept to it. Cornering rough roads and dangerous hills meant nothing to him. He sent the machine he was driving forward like a bullet, and by some miracle finished in one piece. So great was the enthusiasm and talk about his daring that one Saturday afternoon I made an effort and attended one of the races in which he was competing.
I shall never forget that afternoon. And when his car hurtled past the flag a good quarter of a mile ahead of the next man, I found that my legs were almost too weak to support me to the Club bar, and that my shirt was sticking to my back in a most unpleasant manner as I sweated with fear for him and morbid excitement.
I knew it was quite hopeless to get near George until the admiring crowd had moved away, so I fortified myself in the meantime with some very excellent bourbon.
About half an hour after the race George came into the bar, followed by a large crowd of people. One glance was sufficient to tell me that his company was the usual hard-drinking, empty-headed lot. As I hadn’t seen him for over six months, I regarded him with interest. I thought he looked a lot thinner and a lot older. I was rather astonished to see that he was drinking ginger ale, whilst the crowd was belting neat Scotch.
I hesitated to approach him, surrounded by so many obviously ardent admirers; and while I was making up my mind what to do, he happened to glance up and see me. For a moment he looked puzzled, then his face lit up, and with an abrupt excuse he left his party and hurried over to me.
He shook my hand almost feverishly. “This is marvellous,” he said; “for God’s sake where have you been all this time?”
I told him about my business engagements, but I could see he was only giving me half his attention. In fact, he broke in to say: “I must talk to you. I’ve got to get rid of this crowd first. Will you meet me outside and have dinner with me?”
I readily agreed, and he returned to his party, who had been watching us with curious attention, no doubt wondering who I was.
He didn’t keep me waiting long. It was really quite astonishing how quickly he got rid of so many people, but in less than fifteen minutes he joined me outside the Club. Grabbing my arm, he hurried me across the road to where his Bugatti was standing.
“Still got the old bus, I see,” I said, climbing in rather gingerly.
“Yes, she’s been overhauled from time to time, but I wouldn’t part with her.” He settled himself in the driving-seat. “It’s grand to see you again. Where shall we go? How about Max’s? They give you a good dinner there.”
“Sure, any place. Only take it easy,” I pleaded. “I’m not used to high speeds.”
George laughed and engaged the gears. He drove at quite a reasonable speed. He wanted to know the fullest details about my trip to Washington, and so insistent was he that I suspected he was anxious not to talk about himself until we had settled down from our sudden meeting.
We got a quiet table at Max’s, which was not overcrowded, and ordered a light meal. I asked him what he would drink, but he shook his head. “I’ve given it up,” he said. “It wanted a lot
of doing, but in my game it just doesn’t pay.”
I ordered a bottle of light wine for myself. “You certainly have jumped into fame, George,” I said. “What on earth made you take up racing so seriously?”
He looked at me in an odd way. “Why shouldn’t I? You know how keen I am on speed.”
“I know, but I didn’t think you were as keen as all that. After all, if you do want a burst of speed now and then you have the Bugatti. Frankly, I think you are taking the most damnable risks. You scared the life out of me this afternoon.”
George nodded. “You’re a wise old guy. There is a reason, and a very good reason too.”
“It must be,” I said. “I’ve never seen, nor do I hope ever to see again, such mad driving in all my life. Do you honestly mean to tell me that you have been doing this for the last six months?”
“It is very difficult for me. I’ve got nothing on these professionals in the way of tricks—and, believe me, there are plenty of tricks in this game. In order to win I just keep going as fast as I can and that’s my one ace.”
I couldn’t understand this at all. “Surely it isn’t so important to win as all that,” I said, frowning. “I mean, you don’t strike me as a person who must win at everything, and it is not as if you can’t afford to lose sometimes.”
The waiter interrupted us just then with our first course, and for a few minutes there was silence. Then George said, “You see, Myra expects me to win.”
I said, “Oh,” rather blankly, and then: “I’m sorry, George, but I’m rather out of touch. Who is Myra?”
George said with an effort: “Myra is the girl I’m going to marry.”
Automatically I murmured my congratulations, but I was extremely puzzled, as he didn’t seem at all happy. In fact, my congratulations fell rather flat.
There was rather a long, strained silence after that, then I said, “Well, tell me all about it.”
George sat back with a little shrug. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t want to bother you with details. You see, Myra likes celebrities. At first she wouldn’t look at me. Then some of the crowd began to talk about my driving and she took a little interest. I sort of took up the racing to please her, and now we are going to get married.”
All the time he was talking he avoided looking at me, and I thought it was a most extraordinary story. “But surely, George, she must realize what risks you are taking. I mean, she wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
I found that I was floundering, and stopped talking, annoyed at myself. I am old-fashioned enough to believe that marriage should be founded on a quarter of love and three-quarters companionship. It seemed too much like a Hollywood wedding to please me.
George shook his head. “Why, I guess she’s got a lot of confidence in my driving.”
I said, rather dryly, “I see.”
“No, you don’t,” George said miserably. “You think it is most odd, and so it is. What is more, this racket is getting too much for me. I can’t keep it up much longer.”
As he spoke his face relaxed, and I saw a horror in his eyes that startled me. It is not often that one sees naked fear in a man’s face, but I saw it that night and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.
“I don’t think there is a man alive who could,” I said. “Why don’t you drop it right away? After all, you have enough fame now. You’ve done quite enough.”
“No, I can’t do that. I can’t expect you to understand. I’ve got to go until I’m married—then perhaps—”
I said: “Let’s go to the bar and have a brandy. It’ll do you good.”
“I daren’t touch it,” George said. “If I once start again, I’m sunk.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair. “My God! I had a close shave once. It was when Myra came to see me race for the first time. I wanted to put on a good show, but I felt edgy and nervous. So I hit the bottle. That cured me. I took a bend at over a hundred miles an hour. Everyone thought it was marvellous driving, and Myra got a tremendous kick out of it, but I knew how close I had been to a smash-up. I found I was losing my sense of judgment, so I gave up the booze. I tell you, sometimes I get pretty scared.”
I began to get seriously worried. It was quite obvious to me that he was making a tremendous effort to seem casual, but every now and then I would get a glimpse of an expression in his eyes that told me he was in a very bad shape. There was no doubt that he was terrified, almost as pathetically as a child awakening from some evil nightmare.
I asked him when he was getting married.
“Early next month. I have two more races, and then I’m going to Key West for my honeymoon. That’s really what I want to speak to you about. I want you to come along for some fishing.”
I stared at him. “My dear fellow. Not on your honeymoon. Why, damn it—”
He laughed. “For God’s sake don’t be so old-fashioned. Of course you can. Myra likes plenty of company. Quite a lot of the crowd will be there.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry, George, it’s quite impossible. I’ve got my work to think about, and I’m just finishing a novel. No, I’m sorry.”
When I said that, I realized that there was a lot more behind this peculiar wedding than George had told me. He suddenly seemed to lose control of himself, and I thought he was going to break down. He seized my arm in a grip that made me wince. “Don’t let me down,” he said, “I’ve been relying on you. I don’t think I could stand it if you weren’t there.”
I said, rather sharply, “What the devil is this business?”
He shook his head. “Don’t ask me. You’ll know in time. Don’t say you won’t come. You must come.”
I finally gave him my promise. Almost immediately he braced up and seemed anxious to get away. “I’m sorry about all this,” he said, signalling to the waiter, “but I am frightfully nervy after a race. A good night’s sleep will put me right, I expect. I can’t say how glad I am that you’re coming. It’ll be like old times, won’t it?”
He drove me back to my apartment, but refused to come in. “I’ll write and give you the details as soon as I get everything fixed up. Myra will be tickled when she hears you are an author. She gets a big kick out of that sort of thing.”
I looked at him sharply because I was almost certain that there had been a sneer in his voice, but I could detect nothing from his expression. We shook hands and parted. I went up to my apartment in a very thoughtful mood. It had been an evening full of strange and uncomfortable incidents.
The following day I obtained a clue to the whole thing. It came about in the course of a casual conversation with Drayton, my senior director. He and I had just finished an excellent lunch, and I was on the point of leaving to buy a harness for the fishing trip with George.
Drayton asked me where I was going to fish. I told him how I had met George, and I could see an immediate interest at the mention of his name.
“Hemingway? He’s the fellow in oil, isn’t he?”
“I really don’t know. I have never asked. This Hemingway is the motor-racing fellow.”
“Yes. I didn’t know you knew him. Between you and me, I’m afraid he’s going to run into a packet of trouble before long.”
Sensing that I was on the very clue that might explain all this business I sat down again. “What sort of trouble?”
Drayton lowered his voice. “I understand that the particular oil-fields he’s invested in have dried up without warning. His firm are facing one of the biggest crashes in the history of Wall Street. No one knows about it yet. Engineers are out there making a report. It has never happened before. Everyone thought oil had been struck in a big way. It lasted until all the necessary machinery was set up and then—finish. It is incredible.”
I stared at him. “He’s getting married next month,” I said. “Poor devil. I suppose he’s aware what has happened?”
Drayton coughed. “His future wife is Myra Luckton. She is an heiress in her own right to over six million dollars. I should imagine th
e marriage comes at a very opportune moment.”
Well, there it was. The cat was out of the bag, and I didn’t have to wonder any more. I knew. It was now perfectly obvious that George was marrying this girl in order to save his financial position, and he fell very considerably in my estimation. I didn’t say anything to Drayton, but went out to make my purchases. Now that I had seen the beginning of this thing I was determined to see the finish.
Time passed fairly quickly, as I was working hard to finish the book before going to Key West. I noticed that George had been in another race. This time the newspapers carried two-inch type about his sensational escape from death. It appears that he rounded a corner with the utmost recklessness, and got into a skid while travelling well over a hundred miles an hour. The car overturned several times, throwing him clear. He escaped unhurt, but the car was utterly destroyed by fire.
Reading the description made me think of the day I saw him race, and I tossed the paper away with a grimace of disgust. I could see the look of terror in his face and wondered doubtfully how his nerves were reacting to this last escape.
A week after this I received a note from George asking me down to Key West on the following Saturday. He said in his letter that he would not ask me to the wedding as he knew I should be bored with the hundreds of people who were turning up.
They are not your fun [he wrote], nor are they mine, but Myra wants them to come. It will be better at Key West. I received a bad shaking the other day when my bus overturned. I feel now that that was my last race. Myra doesn’t know yet.
His handwriting revealed that he was in a very bad state of nerves, and the allusion to his last race struck me as significant. I hoped the change by the Mexican Bay would do him good, but I must confess the trip had lost a lot of its savour for me now that I knew why he was marrying the girl.
However, Saturday came round after a busy week clearing up and, to save time, I did the journey by air.
I went immediately to the very beautiful house near the beach that George had rented. As my car swung into the short circular drive I was conscious of a considerable amount of noise and laughter drifting through the large open windows. It seemed that George and noise were inevitably linked together.
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