“Remember?” He smiled. “I’m the one paying the bills now.”
She beamed at him, and hugged him, but then quickly pouted and said, “No, Clark. It isn’t fair. Whatever would I do with all the money I have except use it? You do what you wish about taking care of things, but I think I should be allowed to spend whatever I please.”
“I’d rather do the paying.”
She put a finger to his lips. “Now, you hush. I’ll pay for my own things. It’s the only fair way.”
“Well — Even so, I don’t think it’s smart to stay here in Reno. Today might be all right, being Sunday, but the reporters will be sure to locate us by tomorrow. I don’t like publicity.”
She was again beaming at him. “Whatever you say, darling. Where shall we go?”
“Well, right now, why don’t we hop back to San Francisco so you can pick up some of your things? Then we can take off for the north.”
“North?”
“Canada. No itinerary, no schedule, but suppose we fly up and have a look at Victoria. We can decide where else to go after that.”
“You darling!” she cried. “I’ve never been to Victoria. Oh, it’s simply a splendid idea. Beautiful country, too. I’ll take along a Kalart and a Graphic and just get scads of pictures. How wonderful of you to think of Canada!”
They continued on to the airport, had the plane serviced, and took off over the mountains through the Donner slot. There was one touchy moment when clouds closed in and Clark had to go up through them on instruments. They came out on top, lost the clouds on the west slopes, and sailed serenely over the broad Sacramento Valley. San Francisco was closed in under heavy fog, but Oakland was clear, so they landed there. Clark wrote and mailed a brief letter to Joey, enclosing the keys to his car at the Monterey airport and the keys to Faye’s car parked in front of the house. They took a taxi across the bay bridge and arrived at Faye’s home at dusk. As they entered the house Clark was again wondering how he could get his hands on that particular piece of property.
The butler shook hands with him and the rest of the servants came into the hallway with their congratulations. Clark noticed that, without exception, they had difficulty hiding simpering smiles. The butler informed Faye that the telephone had been ringing constantly since early morning and also handed her a stack of telegrams, all of them messages of surprise and barbed congratulations.
Clark told the butler, “We aren’t here. Understand? Anyone who calls, tell them Mrs. Holt hasn’t returned and you don’t know when she’ll be back.”
“Yes, sir. And your plans, sir? Just for the information of the staff, of course.”
Faye said airily, “Oh, we’ll be spending the night.”
Clark was about to nod in agreement, then remembered his experience of the night before. It would be worse in Faye’s home. There he would really feel as if he had stepped into Hibbard’s shoes. Perspiration broke out on his upper lip at the idea of occupying the same bed Hibbard had slept in.
“No,” he said. “Nothing doing.”
“But darling — ”
He waved the butler and the rest of the servants away, then turned to Faye, placing his hands on her arms. “Look, Faye. I can’t ever spend a night in this house. This is your past. I want no part of your past, not even for a night. You and I are starting an altogether new life together. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Well, of course, it’s sweet of you — ”
“O.K. So pack up some things to last a week or so and — let’s see — we’ll hop up to Sacramento for the night. We can take off from there for the north tomorrow, or whenever we please. How would that be?”
She proceeded to pack “a few old rags” that filled four suitcases. Along with them went three fur coats to be carried and three heavy camera cases.
She had a new idea as they were about to leave the house. She had Clark follow her into the barroom, where she filled a special leather carrying case with a dozen bottles of bourbon and Scotch, explaining brightly, “I don’t know how things are in Canada.”
“Cripes,” he exploded, “we don’t have to pack that along. North America is practically flooded with booze wherever you go.”
“Now, darling, you can’t be so sure of Canada. You never know about foreign countries. Sometimes they have queer regulations.”
Clark looked down at the twelve bottles and asked wryly, “Are you sure you have enough?”
She studied the bottles for a moment, then nodded and smiled. “I think so. Anyway, the case won’t carry any more. Shall we go?”
They had dinner and spent the night in a large suite of Sacramento’s Hotel Senator opposite the state capitol grounds. They dined late and Faye had no desire to investigate Sacramento’s night life. Besides, she had her bottles and a bellboy had brought up sufficient ice, glasses, and charged water. Everything looked perfectly comfy to her and she thought it would be a peachy idea to stay in their rooms.
Clark changed to pajamas and robe, turned down the lights of the sitting room to one dim stand lamp, and proceeded to mix highballs. Faye came in from the bedroom a few moments later wearing only mules and a sheer robe of pale chartreuse draped over her shoulders. Clark gave her a puzzled frown. While she was extremely affectionate, he knew she was not especially passionate. So why the display? he wondered. He soon had the answer.
Faye nestled into his arms on the couch and alternately kissed him and worked on a succession of highballs. She seemed in no rush to go to bed and was intent only on chattering away about anything that came into her mind and her drinking. It was not long before she was drunk. Then she stretched out on her back over his lap, put her hands behind his neck, and pulled his head down.
Clark frowned again, and then he understood. The whole performance was automatic habit. He could see Hibbard in exactly his position, probably alcoholically impotent, but fascinated by Faye, his only remaining pleasure having her on his lap to caress her. Or beyond that? he wondered, and again he went cold, his physical senses dulled.
He disturbed her when he reached over to the table for the bottle and a glass and she sleepily mumbled something. She’s plastered, he thought. She thinks I’m Hibbard. He poured whisky into the glass and drank it down neat, staring at Faye. He poured another drink and finished that, but it took a third before he was able to get Hibbard out of his mind and concentrate on Faye.
That night he lay awake and worried about the long succession of nights to come. Would they all be the same? Would he have to load himself with alcohol, too, whenever it was necessary to make love to Faye? Nothing doing, he thought. I’ll have to think of something better than that. But for the moment there seemed to be no other solution.
They took off early the next morning, had a late lunch at Portland, flew on to the International Airport at Seattle, where they had to telephone British Columbia for flight clearance, then took off over Puget Sound and ran into rain. Clark scratched his chin and worried about the water under them and relaxed only when Victoria came into sight and the smoky blue mass of Vancouver Island slid under the left wing. He landed in the rain at the neat airfield far out the narrow neck of a long peninsula. The tower operator sent him across the field to the administration building, where two customs inspectors waved him to a halt.
Faye opened the single door of the plane on her side, frowned at the rain, then reached to the rear seat for a beaver coat. When Clark asked her why the beaver, she looked surprised and replied, “It’s better for rain. After all, the little animals live in the water most of the time, don’t they?” She put on the coat, stepped out to the wing and down to the ground, and ran into the office.
Clark had to carry in all the baggage with no coat to protect him from the rain. His spirits were soon as damp as his clothes. He expected a big row with the inspectors and was prepared to argue about everything, but the inspectors opened only the case of liquor. They stamped each bottle with the Canadian customs seal, replaced them in the case, and pleasantly told Clark that that
was all. They were cleared. Clark was so amazed at the ease of going through customs that his spirits rose and he forgot his damp clothes.
They reached the Empress Hotel after a long taxi ride into town and were fortunate to secure a room. Faye wanted a suite, but the clerk explained patiently that they were more than lucky to get any sort of room without reservations. It was an excellent room, tastefully furnished and decorated, but Clark’s spirits were again low. There was no place to get away from Faye.
She was not especially happy with Victoria. The rain occasionally slowed down to a fine drizzle, but it never cleared during their stay. What bothered her even more, however, was the fact that, except for a few beer halls outside of town, there were no bars or cocktail rooms or even liquor stores in Victoria. Every time she needed a drink she had to return to their hotel room, which made a tedious thing of such a pleasant pastime. After four days she had had enough of it.
They pulled out of the airport in a heavy rain and were never able to get more than five hundred feet off the waters of the Strait of Georgia, but Clark flew on the beam and had no difficulty getting into the large field at Vancouver. Their luck held and they got a room at the Vancouver Hotel. Faye’s sight-seeing consisted of going from store to store and comparing prices with those in the States, which were about the same. Always, too, she argued with the clerks about the Canadian dollar being worth two cents more than her own, an appalling fact she could not quite accept. Any fool knew that the whole world was after the American dollar. The Canadians, she finally decided, were in a conspiracy to take American tourists for a ride. She bought cagily and sparingly.
Clark was becoming tired of the honeymoon and weary of Faye’s constant presence. The only time he could get away from her was in the mornings, when she slept late. Otherwise she never allowed him out of her sight. He was fed up with the hour after hour of prowling through stores and shops, but if he refused to go with her, then she remained with him for whatever he wanted to do, so he could not get away from her. It was also raining most of the time in Vancouver and that, too, kept them together. Faye chattered incessantly and Clark’s teeth were soon on edge. At home, he knew, it would be different. There was his golfing and there was the new business enterprise. He would probably see Faye only in the evenings. He made up his mind to break up the honeymoon and get home as soon as possible.
That was achieved in Portland, where Clark’s nerves finally gave way. He had a rough time getting out of Vancouver and had radio trouble at Seattle, the tower having to bring him in by light gun. He was then waved to a parking area at the far end of the huge administration building, seemingly a quarter of a mile away from the customs offices. He thought he was expected to bring all the plane’s luggage to the customs offices and had it all deposited on the counter before he discovered that it had not been necessary. He then had difficulty with the customs inspector, who did his best to be helpful, but Faye had made a mess of her sales slips on the Canadian purchases. It was hours before they were finally all unraveled and cleared. He made four trips lugging all the baggage back to the plane, missed Faye, and went on a hunt for her. He found her, of course, in the upstairs barroom of the building, loading on double Gibsons. He was so angry when they took off that he flipped the wheel switch a bit too soon and almost plowed into the ground. Only the lightning-fast reactions of long years of flying saved them from a crash and got them safely into the air. He was swearing steadily under his breath as they cleared the field.
It was raining hard, with a low ceiling, and it was getting late, so Clark landed at Portland and again narrowly skirted disaster. The radio was still giving him trouble and he could barely make out the Portland tower operator’s voice in the cabin loud-speaker. Faye was talking away about something or other and he told her to be quiet as they turned onto the downwind leg of the field, but she kept right on talking. He thought he heard the operator giving him clearance to land, but it was another Bonanza coming in on a slightly lower level. Clark failed to see the other plane in the rain until it suddenly loomed up directly under his nose. He snapped back on the wheel, jammed the throttle open, and missed the other ship by a narrow few feet. He had to go around again before getting into the field. Faye had seen nothing and was still talking.
They took a cab into town and checked in at a hotel. Three bellboys carried up all the baggage and deposited it in the sitting room of the suite. Clark tipped them liberally and hurried them out the door. He then turned on Faye, his nerves raw and his emotions boiling.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her violently, and shouted, “When I tell you to keep your mouth shut in a plane, I mean it. You damn near got us killed at the field. You know that? Do you have to keep that stupid mouth of yours flapping all the time?”
Faye was so amazed that she simply stared at him wide-eyed and mumbled, “Why, darling — precious — lover — ”
Clark looked into her bovine eyes and his nerves snapped. His right arm swung in a wide arc and he slapped her viciously across the side of the face. She spun half around, staggered, and fell over a chair, smashing it to the floor. She stared up at him, not really hurt, but so overwhelmed by his attack that she could not utter a word. There was no reproach in her eyes, or even anger. Her expression was simply that of a cow with its neck caught in a barbed-wire fence.
She stirred finally, rubbed the side of her face, and whimpered, “You struck me, Clark.”
“You’re goddamn right I did, and I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up when I tell you to.”
She got to her knees, then lifted her head to blink at him. “Was I talking too much, darling?”
Clark started to laugh and was soon roaring. He turned away from her, opened the liquor case for the last bottle, and took a small straight shot in a water glass. Faye had her arms about his shoulders and was rubbing a cheek against his, smiling at him and trying to get his attention.
He said, “I’m afraid my nerves are getting bad, Faye. We’re going home tomorrow.”
She hugged him tightly and nodded. “Anything you say, precious.”
“I have business to attend to. We’ll go to my house.”
“Of course, darling.” She frowned, lost in thought for a moment, then said, “Can we put an extra heater in that back room? I don’t like cold bedrooms.”
Chapter Eleven
THE MORNING BROUGHT SUNSHINE and clear skies. The plane bounced whenever they cut across points of land, but most of the time they were in smooth air over the water and Clark was able to relax. He sat back and, for the first time, was able to examine his situation from every angle. That Faye was deeply in love with him was obvious. It was also apparent that she would virtually do anything he wanted of her without question. I’ve never had it so good, he thought. It’s a perfect setup. But he knew he would have to get his program of plunder into operation as quickly as possible. There was no time better than the present.
As they crossed and slanted below Coos Bay, he turned to Faye and asked, “By the way, who handles your securities and investments?”
“Why, my attorneys, of course, Colman and Smyth. Mr. Smyth is dead, but Mr. Colman is a darling.”
“Maybe he’d be a good man for me to use.”
“Oh, he’s just wonderful. You’d love him.”
“On second thought, though, I can’t. I’ll be operating strictly around the Peninsula and he’s too far away. I’d better stick to my local man.”
“I guess so.”
“I’m having a little trouble, you know.”
She leaned toward him with an intensely interested expression. “No, I didn’t know.”
“That’s one reason I’m anxious to get home. You see, practically all of my capital is down in Brazil. About a month ago I decided to pull out and invest everything up here. No trouble there, of course, as the bankers down there were more than willing to buy me out.” He said smugly, “At a nice, fat profit, too.”
“I’m glad.”
“But you can im
agine the time it takes to consummate a deal running into the millions, especially when all transactions have to be carried on at such long range. Papers have to be signed and sent back and forth and that sort of thing.”
She asked logically, “Why don’t you fly down there and get it done faster?”
“That’s what I’d like to do, but there are certain reasons for staying away. Brazilian bankers are funny people to do business with. For one thing, you can’t rush them, and for another, if I showed up they’d assume I was there to put on pressure and that would knock down the price. Besides, they always prefer doing business through intermediaries so that more people get a piece of the pie.”
She nodded wisely, as if well acquainted with such facts. “I can see how that would be.”
“So I have to stay away and simply let them take their time. Damned annoying, though.”
“Why? You must have some capital here.”
He said glibly, “Oh, sure. Plenty, really. But not enough for the projects I’ve started.”
“What projects?”
“You know. I told you before. Remember? I’ve taken quite a few options on land and I think I’ll build some subdivisions. I can also get hold of the General Fremont Hotel in Monterey for a terrific bargain. Don’t mention that to anyone, by the way.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
He squeezed her knee and smiled at her, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Say, Faye, why don’t you go in with me on some of this stuff?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean to invest along with me. We could sort of be partners. No reason why I should make it all, anyway.”
She frowned and was lost in thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know, Clark. I’m not a businesswoman.”
“You don’t have to be.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t want you fooling around in the business.”
“A woman’s place is in the home.”
“You’re absolutely right. That’s the way I like it, too. But I imagine you probably have quite a bit of capital that isn’t working for you.”
Up a Winding Stair Page 14