'Of course it was!' Simon said promptly, but to Lisa's ears, there was rather more than a hint of bluster in his manner. It suggested that he wasn't too sure of his ground. 'Too inbred, probably. These pedigree dogs so often are—'
'Your dog,' Tom said, choosing each word with deliberate care, 'has died for one reason and one only. Heat exhaustion. No, keep quiet and listen to me!' as Mr Cosgrave showed signs of exploding. 'The temperature today in the shade is over eighty-four degrees. Your car was not only standing in the full sunshine, the windows were shut and there was no movement of air. The poor little chap was roasted to death!'
'Rubbish—' Mr Cosgrave began, but Tom brushed him aside.
'Is it rubbish? Would you care to be shut up in similar circumstances for well over an hour? By heavens, I'd like to be able to see that you were! It's the only punishment that would fit such a crime!'
'Crime!' Simon bellowed. 'The way you speak, anyone would think I'd committed a murder!'
'If by murder you mean taking the life of another living creature, then that's just what you have done,' Tom told him sternly.
'Now look here, young man, I've had enough of your insolence!' Simon announced, breathing heavily. 'Fetch your boss!'
'My boss?' Tom repeated.
'Yes, your boss—your employer. Whatever you like to call him,' Simon said impatiently. 'I intend to report you for your insolence!'
Tom smiled faintly and shook his head.
'Sorry! No boss, no employer. It's my practice.'
Simon's eyes narrowed.
'Self-employed, eh?' he commented. 'Right! Now we know where we are! And believe me, young man, you're going to regret this day's work for the rest of your life!'
'Yes,' Tom said coolly. 'There is also a possibility that you may do the same thing. You do realize, don't you, Mr Cosgrave, that I have no choice but to report this incident to the police?'
'The police?' Simon repeated incredulously. 'But you can't do that!'
'I can. I intend to, and what's more, it's no more than I ought to do,' Tom retorted grimly.
Simon stared at him, his lips working uncontrollably.
'Go out to the car,' he ordered Mrs Cosgrave. 'I'll be out in a minute when I've settled this nonsense—'
But then, to the surprise of all the people present, Mrs Cosgrave shook her head.
'No, Simon, I'm not going to do anything of the sort,' she said flatly. She turned to Tom. 'Chicot was my dog, Mr Farrier, and though I didn't want to leave him in the car, I must admit that it wasn't because I'd realized about the heat. So really I'm to blame—'
'Will you hold your tongue, Violet!' Simon shouted. 'If you think I intend to hide behind your petticoats—'
'Now, please be quiet, Simon,' Mrs Cosgrave said firmly, and once again spoke to Tom.
'You do understand, don't you, Mr Farrier, that the blame for this rests with me, since Chicot was my dog?'
Tom hesitated.
'I rather think that the responsibility will rest with the person who took out the dog's licence,' he said at last.
'Oh dear,' Mrs Cosgrave shook her head. 'In that case, there doesn't seem to be anything—I think perhaps we'd better go home, Simon!'
And without comment, Simon Cosgrave did as he was bid.
There was a long silence after they had gone. Then Tom drew a deep breath.
'What an extraordinary thing! Do you know, Lisa, I almost got the feeling that, of the two, she is the stronger character!'
Lisa shook her head doubtfully.
'I don't know, though I admit I've wondered, even before this. But do you know what, Tom? I'm beginning to wonder if really one ever knows what other people are like.'
'Oh?' Tom looked curiously at her. 'Anyone special in mind?'
'You, for one,' Lisa said rather hurriedly. 'I've seen you annoyed lots of times, of course, and just ordinary angry. But I didn't know you could—'
'Really blow my top?' Tom suggested grimly. 'But I told you that I could. Cruelty—taking advantage of weakness, and perhaps, even more, downright thoughtlessness—they're the things that make me see red!'
'Yes, I remember you saying so,' Lisa nodded. And then: 'Tom, you really do intend to report this to the police?'
Tom walked over to the window. He stood staring out, his head thrust forward, his hands deep in his pockets.
'Are you asking me not to?'
'No,' Lisa said decisively. 'I—I very much wish you didn't regard it as necessary. But if you do, then I don't see how I can possibly ask you not to. Or why you should take any notice of me if I did.'
'Thanks,' Tom said gruffly. Then after a moment he went on: 'You see, Lisa, the important thing is that I must make sure Cosgrave never does a think like this again.'
'Yes, I see that,' Lisa acknowledged. 'But he won't, you know. Mrs Cosgrave will see to that.'
'Think so?' Tom pondered. 'You could be right. In fact, I think you probably are. But it's not a hundred per cent guarantee, is it?'
'No, it isn't. But—but you do realize that Mr Cosgrave will never forgive you if you're instrumental in getting a case brought against him, don't you?'
'Because he threatened me, you mean? But that's a risk I've got to take. And he might, of course, have said that just to save his face when he found I hadn't got a boss he could complain to about my behaviour.'
'Yes. Perhaps,' Lisa said slowly.
'But you don't think so?' Tom suggested. 'No, neither do I. He'll try to pay me out all right. But there's this to it as well—if I back down and let him get away with this, he'll make capital out of it. And from what I've learned about him, he wouldn't be too particular what means he took! Don't you see, what with Mrs Cosgrave's tendency towards thoughtless chatter and his malice, it wouldn't be difficult! The story, originating from him, would be that for all my talk about duty, I'd got my price like any other man—' and Tom rubbed his thumb and forefinger together with a significance that Lisa couldn't fail to understand.
She gave a shocked little cry.
'Oh no, Tom, surely not!' she protested. 'For one thing, how could he say anything about it without owning up that it was his fault that Chicot has died? And in any case, I can't believe he'd go to such lengths as that! Not just because you made him angry.'
Tom looked at her curiously.
'I don't think you realize why he was so angry,' he said slowly. 'Don't you see, Lisa, the real trouble is that I caught him out. And he's not the sort of man who can stand that. He's got a sort of mental picture of himself—the man who never makes a mistake. And I have an idea that all his self-confidence, all his success, depends on that image being kept intact.'
Her head on one side, Lisa thought that over. Then she nodded.
'Yes, I think that's true,' she admitted. 'And if it is—'
'I'm for it—if he can anyhow contrive it,' Tom finished grimly. 'Well, there it is. We'll just have to wait and see.'
Impulsively Lisa laid a hand on his arm.
'Oh, Tom, I'm sorry!' she said earnestly.
'But it's not your fault,' Tom reassured her, patting her hand encouragingly. 'You gave the poor little chap the one chance he might have had—'
'Yes—but I didn't mean about Chicot,' Lisa explained. 'I meant—everything.'
'Oh, my dear girl!' Tom brushed that aside with a quick movement of his hand. 'It's I who should apologize for having interfered in your private affairs! After all, no friendship, however pleasant and well established, is a reason for doing that. Besides, I've learnt lately just how infuriating it is to be gossiped about and quizzed. I wonder how many love affairs have been wrecked because of that sort of thing?' he added reflectively.
Lisa did not answer immediately. She knew to what he was referring, of course—Mrs Blewett's gossip and the part he had believed she herself had played in it. And if anything was needed to confirm her growing belief that Tom had discovered he had been mistaken in thinking that he loved her and that Celia Palmer had taken her place in his heart, this was
it. His emphasis on their friendship made that quite clear.
'Not as many as all that, I'd say, Tom,' she said seriously. 'Not, that is, if it's the real thing—' she hesitated, just to make sure that she would use the right words to explain herself. Then she went on steadily:
'If it is real, then surely honesty and trust simply must be part of it. It wouldn't—couldn't—last if that wasn't so. And I don't think that gossip or meddling could make any difference if there was trust. So I shouldn't worry too much if I were you, Tom.'
He gave her a long, introspective look, though his own face was oddly void of expression.
'I think you've got something there,' he said slowly at length.
'No,' said Mark firmly. 'I prefer not to discuss the matter.'
'But why?' Lisa protested. 'Surely you can see—'
'I can see one thing—and one thing only,' Mark interrupted, breathing heavily. 'Because of this wretched business, I've almost lost my job!'
'But—but why?' Lisa asked blankly. 'You bad nothing to do with it.'
'No, but you had,' Mark reminded her shortly. 'But for your interference, no one need have known—'
'My interference!' Lisa repeated wonderingly. 'I don't understand, Mark. All I did was to fetch Tom because I could see Chicot was in distress.'
'Exactly!' Mark retorted. 'If you hadn't done that—'
'Tom says that I gave Chicot the one slender chance there was of him surviving,' Lisa said slowly. 'If I hadn't done that, he'd have been dead by the time Mr and Mrs Cosgrave left—oh, Mark, you don't mean that's what you wish had happened?'
'What difference would it have made?' Mark demanded irritably. 'In either case, the dog died, didn't he?'
'Yes, he did,' Lisa said slowly. 'But, Mark, you surely don't mean you think it would have been better if I'd just—done nothing? Not told Tom?'
'Yes, as things turned out, that's just what I do think,' Mark retorted. 'Don't you see, Lisa, you did the dog no good—and heaven knows how much trouble it's going to cause!'
'Trouble for Mr Cosgrave, if the police bring a charge,' Lisa nodded.
'They intend to,' Mark said shortly. 'Apparently there have been several similar cases lately and they're determined to make people understand the danger. So though this isn't a really bad case—'
'Not a bad case!' Lisa repeated indignantly. 'I think it's as bad as it can be! There might be some circumstances in which one simply had to leave a dog in a car, but this time, there wasn't. Visiting a house like this where there's a big garden for a dog to roam in—no, it was absurd—'
'Rubbish!' Mark insisted. 'You can't inflict an imperfectly trained pup on people you're visiting—'
'But since they had Chicot with them, why did they have to visit us at all?' Lisa wanted to know. 'Mother and Father hadn't invited them, you know.'
Mark did know. He also knew that in addition to the reason which Tom had ascribed to Mr Cosgrave for his annoyance there had also been his lack of success of ingratiating himself with Sir Gerald Tenbury. One way and another his employer realized that he had bungled things, and though he hadn't admitted it, Mark suspected that the disastrous visit had been entirely unpremeditated. Probably the old man had seen Sir Gerald arrive at the Bellairs' house and had followed him. Really, it was his own bad judgment that was at the bottom of his desire to hit out and hurt somebody, however unreasonably. But Mark had no intention of explaining that to Lisa.
'Oh, they probably decided to call on the spur of the moment,' he said lightly. 'And no doubt stayed a little longer than they had intended. Thoughtless, yes, about the dog. But to make out that it was a deliberate lack of consideration—'
'Perhaps not deliberate,' Lisa put in. 'But he's never very considerate at other people's feelings, is he? Mrs Cosgrave's, mine, yours—'
'I have no complaint to make of the way in which he treats me,' Mark said stiffly. 'And seeing that I—and in the future, you as well—will be dependent for our bread and butter, to say nothing of a more luxurious diet, on Mr Cosgrave, it would be a good thing if you were to get over your prejudice against him as quickly as possible!'
Lisa was silent. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that her dislike of Mr Cosgrave was based on something far more profound than mere prejudice, but there was something even more important than their differing points of view which they must thrash out.
'Mark, you really meant it when you said that you almost lost your job because of me? Of me bringing Tom into it, I suppose you meant?'
'Exactly!' Mark said crisply. 'And I don't altogether blame the old man for taking that attitude. To be harangued and bullied by a man young enough to be his son, and that in front of other people, was bad enough, but that you, of all people, did nothing to persuade Farrier to hold his tongue—'
'Tom was so angry—so justifiably angry—that I don't think anyone could have persuaded him to do that,' Lisa said gravely. 'And I don't see why I, any more than anyone else, would have been successful.'
'Oh, nonsense!' Mark said irritably. 'The fellow's in love with you, isn't he?'
As if a chilly wind had suddenly blown up, Lisa shivered. What was it Tom himself had said? That Mark's wife would have to be slick and smart and entertain and charm any man that might be of use to her husband—
And here was Mark saying practically the same thing.
'You're wrong in thinking that Tom is in love with me,' she said steadily. 'He may have been—a little —at one time, but not now. And in any case, even if he had still been, one couldn't make use of such a thing in order to persuade a person to do something they thought was wrong—'
Mark shrugged impatiently.
'Oh, if that's the way you feel—'
'It is,' Lisa said steadily, and sighed. 'But you don't, do you, Mark?'
'Frankly, no,' he admitted. 'I take a practical view of life—'
'And you don't feel that I do,' Lisa said sadly. 'What are we going to do about it, Mark?'
'Do?' he repeated. 'Nothing! It's something that time will level out—'
'You mean, that one of us will change our point of view,' she asked. 'Which of us, Mark?'
'Oh—' he moved his shoulders uneasily. This was a new and rather troublesome Lisa. He hadn't realized before that she could be so self-opinionated and pertinacious. 'Well, you haven't seen very much of the world yet, have you? When you do, you'll learn, as I've done, that if you really want to get on, it doesn't pay to be too fastidious. People realize your weakness and they take advantage of it.'
'By getting on, you mean making a lot of money, don't you?' Lisa asked.
'Of course,' Mark said shortly. 'And don't tell me that you don't sometimes wish you'd got more money to spend than you actually have, because I just shan't credit it.'
'Oh, you're quite right. I would like to have more,' Lisa agreed frankly. 'But—but don't you think it might be rather nice to be content with not such an awful lot more and—and retain one's self-respect?'
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she was talking a lot of nonsense and that far from losing his self-respect, when he got the better of his opponent by using his brains, the very reverse was the case. But she looked so sweet and so desperately earnest that, even against his better judgment, his heart melted as it so often had done since their first meeting.
'My precious darling, stop worrying,' he said caressingly. 'What will happen to us is what happens to all married people—we'll each rub a few rough corners off one another so that, in time, we'll see eye to eye—'
He took her in his arms and was going to settle the argument in what he felt was the best possible way— with a kiss. But to his surprise, Lisa resisted him.
'No, please wait, Mark!' she begged earnestly. 'Of course, that does happen over some things. But not, I think, over the very important ones. And this is important. It—it's fundamental!'
Mark laughed.
'Darling, what long words you do know, to be sure!' he teased. 'Now stop being so funny and solemn
and give me a kiss!'
'No, Mark, no, please!' she said, still very earnest but with more than a suggestion of unsteadiness about her voice. 'It isn't funny—really it isn't. And you thinking it is makes it even more difficult to say what I know I must—'
She was serious! He felt a sudden sense of insecurity all the more intense because such a state of mind was completely unfamiliar to him.
'Well?'
Lisa squared her shoulders and, her head held high, met his eyes with unflinching courage.
'It's just this, Mark—we agreed to wait three months before we announced our engagement so that we'd have time to convince people that it was the real thing—'
'And you've decided that it isn't?' he interrupted bitterly. 'You, the one person I've ever met that I believed in and trusted—'
'Oh no, Mark, no! It isn't that,' she assured him earnestly.
'Then what is it?' he asked impatiently.
'Just that—it's only fair to tell you that I don't think seeing more of the world will ever make me change over —well, things like we've been talking about,' she explained earnestly. 'And—and I can see that—it might make it very difficult for you. After all, it has done already, hasn't it? So since I've already disappointed you so much, I—I want you to feel quite free to—end everything between us if you want to,' she finished with a quite unconscious touch of melodrama.
Mark stared at her speechlessly.
Not more than a few hours previously Simon Cosgrave had said exactly the same thing. Not in the same words, of course—Simon had been blunt to the point of offensive-ness—but conveying just the same warning—that Lisa wasn't the right wife for him. He had listened to his employer in sulky silence, forced in the end, to agree that he would think over what Simon had said. And he'd kept his promise, coming to the conclusion that there might be something in it, but, magnanimously, deciding that he'd give her another chance. If he could be sure that there would be no repetition of this sort of thing in the future—
And now, by making it clear that he couldn't be sure of anything of the sort, and offering him his freedom without fuss or recrimination, she'd cut the ground from under his feet.
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