The Green Flash

by Winston Graham

  ‘What’s the ante?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ve been playing ten pounds a hundred,’ said Roger.

  ‘Suits me.’

  We kicked off. I soon got our opponents on beam: honest decent players, less good than Roger, and quite happy to lose a bit if they had to in these exotic surroundings, just for the satisfaction of being here. The first three hands were very so-so. They made two no trumps and then were two down twice on the trot. On the fourth hand I picked up nine hearts with four honours, a bare king of clubs, a singleton diamond and two small spades. It’s always been a habit of mine to open high on unbalanced hands, so I bid four hearts. Cliff on my left chewed the skin round his forefinger and then said four spades. Roger said five hearts and Ben five spades. I went six hearts and Cliff went six spades. I went seven hearts and Ben doubled.

  I had a feeling in my nuts it might all depend on the lead. And it did. Cliff led the ace of spades. He probably thought he might find a nasty little singleton in both our hands, but in fact Roger had none and I had two. Roger put down a doubleton queen of hearts, seven diamonds to the knave, and four clubs to the ace. Of course if Cliff had led his bare king of diamonds – as a top player probably would – I was sunk before the ship was launched. As it was, I took the ace of spades with a trump in dummy, led up to the bare king of clubs in my own hand, and then led my second spade, trumping with the queen in dummy. Then I led dummy’s ace of clubs and discarded my one losing diamond. After that it was all trumps.

  ‘Nice,’ said Roger, jotting down the figures. ‘ You don’t seem too rusty to me. Of course, I gave you a good hand.’

  It was a fair score. 1360 points in all. Or £140 if you looked at it that way.

  Another couple of dull hands, both played by them. They got three spades, and were one down on a four-diamond trip. Then Roger opened with a two-club call. I had nothing, and put him up three times. He ended up in five diamonds and was four down, doubled and vulnerable. That evened things out a bit. Eleven hundred to them. Roger was just a trifle irritable. Going down gracefully was not one of his strong points.

  ‘I had twenty-four points,’ he kept saying. ‘I don’t know what got into you, partner. Three to the queen of diamonds! A couple of knaves!’

  ‘I was pushing them,’ I said. ‘I thought they’d go one more.’

  After that they won an easy three-no-trump call and an even easier four spades, on which, if they had played it properly, they could have made a small slam. So they were well up on the rubber after all.

  ‘One more?’ said Ben. ‘ Just to see how the cookie crumbles?’

  ‘I can’t resist you,’ I said.

  The second rubber was sensational. Roger was three down on the first hand and five down on the second, both undoubled. Cliff, who had massive diamonds in the second hand (Roger’s was a diamond call), said he hadn’t doubled because he was afraid we’d switch suits. I explained mildly that they probably had a game call in hearts each time, and a mere four hundred points was a cheap way out. But even with the best of us it’s a skinny business being five down when you’re playing the hand, especially when your partner has put you up twice; and by now his systolic pressure was too high for safety.

  The next hand as second bidder he opened one no trump and all passed. We got four.

  Ben said: ‘Missed the boat there, I’ll say.’

  Roger said nothing, but slapped the cards down. I whistled under my breath. He didn’t look at me.

  It was Roger’s deal. He bid one heart, and Ben passed. I had a good hand with a count of 15, five diamonds to the ace queen, but only a singleton heart, so I went two diamonds. Bid high, bid low, bid softly and slow. Cliff passed. Roger said three diamonds so I went six.

  Cliff led the knave of clubs and Roger put down five hearts to the ace king, four diamonds to the king, a doubleton queen of clubs and two small spades. It didn’t look as if I had a hope, but you never know in bridge. I covered the jack with dummy’s queen, Ben put up the king and I took it with the ace. That left Cliff with the master ten – if he ever got in. I led my singleton heart and took it with the ace, then instead of playing the king and trying to discard one of my two losing clubs I led back a small heart and trumped it in my own hand and led a small trump. There was the knave out against me but Cliff didn’t put it up, so I finessed the nine. It took the trick. I led another small heart and trumped in my own hand again. Only then did I lead trumps for the second time, up to the king in dummy. They broke even. So I was able to play the king of hearts from dummy, followed by the six, which was the only heart left, and discard my two losing clubs. I lost the final trick to the spade king.

  ‘Well, honest to God!’ said Ben, looking at his partner. ‘Lucky we didn’t double!’

  ‘That was brilliant!’ said Cliff. ‘ I have to admit it. Didn’t think you had a prayer.’

  ‘Luck of the devil,’ said Roger. He didn’t bother to say: ‘ Thank you, partner.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘the tide goes out and the tide comes in.’

  They bid and made four hearts on the next hand, which meant we were both vulnerable. On the following one I picked up seven clubs but only had a count of ten. I went one club. Cliff doubled. That meant either he had a void or else all the rest of the clubs. Roger went two clubs. That meant either he had all the rest of the clubs or else a void. Ben doubled, not to be outdone. I said no bid. So did Cliff. Roger went three hearts, which meant he hadn’t any clubs after all, and probably a strong two-suiter. Ben went three spades. I went six hearts. Ben doubled. Roger was four down.

  ‘My God!’ he exploded. ‘Really, you – you stupid … You need your head examined! What the hell did you have in your hand to put me up at all? Dear Jesus, you should never have opened in the first place! You’re crazy!’

  ‘The cookie went sour on us then,’ I said.

  In the next hand they bid and made a small slam and took the rubber. Roger and I were in debt for £320 each.

  ‘I hope you’ll take my cheque,’ I said to Ben. ‘I don’t carry small change.’

  ‘My dear David,’ said Ben, beaming. ‘No problem at all. Eh, Cliff? It’s been a privilege playing against you two gentlemen. We’ve really enjoyed it. Sure have.’

  Roger took out his own chequebook and scribbled a cheque. His hands were quite steady but I could see that the lid of the kettle was ready to blow off. I’d never seen him so upset before.

  Cliff said: ‘We’re flying to Rome tomorrow, else I’d suggest a return. Very good of you both putting up with us. Any time either of you are in Philadelphia, just give me a ring. I’ll fix a game on the spot Clifford C Horniman. Here’s my card. That’s my home number. If I’m not in, Mrs Horniman will know where I am.’

  ‘Does she now?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m in the States quite a bit,’ I said. ‘We’ll keep your invitation in mind. Eh, Roger?’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Roger, smoothing back his smooth chestnut hair.

  ‘I must fly,’ I said, getting up. ‘Thanks for the game, all of you. Thanks, partner. We’ll do better next time.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Roger.

  Chapter Twelve

  I

  I left the club and over-tipped the doorman for keeping an eye on my car. It squatted there glossy and elegant in its British racing green. As I got in I took a careful squint at the front tyres. The engine growled into life. Two girls walking past observed it and me with interest. Come for a joyride, I’d say; it’s not far to Oxford – see if we can be there in half an hour. They’d giggle and hesitate, wondering if I was a sex maniac.

  I pressed the button to lower the window, but only to shove my elbow out. I edged away from the adjoining Rolls, which looked sedate and ordinary by comparison. Then off down Maddox Street, along Grosvenor Street to Grosvenor Square; up North Audley Street.

  Lucky to have this garage in Red Place. The rich cripple who had the flat below me used only taxis and an invalid chair, so he let me rent it
from him. It suited me to have the car so close.

  Switch the engine off, put keys in pocket, pull the roller blind down and padlock it in place. A fine night and still fairly early – about eleven. The tangerine glow of London was all around like a circus tent. Lights starred in the houses and flats, cars winked and dipped as they went past; the occasional pedestrian walked the obligatory dog. All so upper crust; yet only on the next street corner someone had been mugged last week. Modern society prospered and festered. I thought, to hell with Malcolm, being blown up by a defective tyre. What a crummy, useless way to go. Some of the Abdens seemed to have a death wish, but surely not Malcolm, already on his second wife, a clutch of children, more than a taste of Parliament, his share of notoriety, money enough at least to live a public and prominent life. I wondered how old his eldest son would be; probably purging his schoolboy fantasies running like a dingo beside the Firth of Forth.

  And what of me? Talking of being useless, what of me? Clutch the rudder, David, or you’ll soon be on the rocks. It was fancy talk even to consider going up to meet Malcolm’s widow and suggest to her that the tyre company might be taken to the cleaners. I’d never do it. I’d never go near an Abden, not from choice.

  America might be a fair bet. It was a place where a good appearance – which I had – and a good accent – which I had – and good connections – which I had – were likely to pay off. Perhaps pay off too well. Yet, apart from being gullible – in a way – the Americans were also pretty hard-headed. Until now I had been there taking the bows on behalf of an esteemed perfumery firm. How would I make the grade on my own? I had a fair amount of what is vulgarly called bread, but it wouldn’t last long.

  As I unlocked the street door of the flats I looked up to the third floor and saw there was a light in it.

  It’s not the most comfortable feeling in the world to come home to an empty flat and to see a light on. Someone in there who has no business there. Once before Derek Jones had got in, but since then I’d had the lock changed. No doubt he had a talent with locks, but not that much. Crack Morris? Why should he come? If it were ordinary burglars, would they be likely to use company electricity?

  I thought to go back to the garage and get a spanner but decided not. If anyone was there who had no business there, I was feeling ugly enough without a lethal instrument to hand.

  I went up the stairs three at a time, noticing that in the flat below the light was also on. My door was locked. The Ingersoll key slipped in quietly enough and I let myself in. The light was on in the living-room. I went in.

  Shona stood there.

  II

  I said: ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to return your key.’

  ‘Oh … I’d forgotten …’

  ‘That I had one?’

  ‘No … Just that I didn’t expect you.’

  She was standing by the window. A yellow turtleneck sweater, a close-fitting short black heavy-silk skirt, split at the side – not so much like a cheongsam as an Apache dancer’s. She looked stormy.

  I said: ‘Been here long?’

  ‘Just a few minutes.’

  ‘I glanced down at the five cigarette ends in the ashtray.

  ‘Well, thanks. You could have posted it.’

  ‘So I could,’ she said.

  ‘Like a drink?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Mind if I have one?’

  ‘It is your flat.’

  I went across to the cabinet, gave myself a whisky and pressed some soda in it. I poured Shona a small Glenfiddich, didn’t contaminate it with water and took it across.

  ‘I said no.’

  ‘You can always change your mind.’

  She took it. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

  ‘That you change your mind? Not on important matters, no.’

  ‘Good. Because I don’t.’

  ‘Splendid,’ I said. ‘Sit down. It won’t cost any more, and you can stay five minutes.’

  ‘I have nothing to stay for,’ she said. ‘The key is on the table.’

  ‘Well, it’s a pity to waste good hooch. But stand up to drink it if it tastes better that way.’

  She sat down. She was wearing more make-up than usual.

  I said: ‘Considering that I’ve a good nose for perfume and a fair palate for wines, it’s surprising that the taste of whisky means practically nothing. One is as good as another to me.’ When she didn’t utter I added: ‘For a Scot not to care enough about whisky is as bad as for a Russian not to care enough about vodka.’

  She sipped her drink. I picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages. I said: ‘Did you go to the Sloane this week?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Neither did I. And Erica’s away somewhere or other.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  I sipped my drink and put the magazine down.

  ‘Arden’s going to town on this new moisturizer.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Can’t go into a major store without having it thrust at you. I was in Harrods yesterday. Big display.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘My spies think they won’t get their outlay back.’

  ‘Your spies will be wrong.’

  End of conversation. After a bit I said: ‘How’s John?’

  ‘Fairly well.’

  ‘I expect he’s happy, isn’t he?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Putting the skids under me, of course.’

  ‘He tends to say: ‘‘I told you so.’’ I do not enjoy hearing it.’

  I muttered something.

  ‘What?’ she barked.

  ‘I was thinking aloud. Remarking to myself that you would have had no need to listen to him saying that if you’d listened to what I had to say instead.’

  ‘I am not here to listen to what you have to say!’

  ‘Naturally not.’

  The next silence was good enough for the Cenotaph. I brought over the Glenfiddich but she emphatically shook her head. I thought I ought to give her some excuse, some reason, even if a provocative one, to stay.

  ‘On the assumption,’ I said, ‘that you’re not here to listen to what I have to say, I’ll continue – with or without your permission – to think aloud. And my present and continuing thought is that I was never built to run on a narrow-gauge track, and my employer, if she’d been as clever as she thinks she is, ought to have known that as well. Considering everything, I think I did pretty fair by her until she flew into a rage and sacked me. Nearly five years I’d been with her and hardly a finger in the till.’

  She said: ‘David, I am not here to listen to your petty excuses! That is all over – finished with. Completely. Forget it and let me go!’

  ‘OK, I’m not stopping you; the door’s unlocked. But I would really like to know – before you go – why you came.’

  ‘I’ve told you!’ Lids were suddenly raised and eyes blazed. ‘I came to return your key!’

  ‘You could have sent it round with any of your staff. Or posted it. Or slid it under the door. No … modest man that I am, I can’t get away from the thought that you really came to see me.’

  ‘See you! I have seen far too much of you for far too long!’

  ‘Well, I wanted to see you,’ I said. ‘And badly. I didn’t quite know it myself until I saw you standing there – looking as if you’d spent most of the day knitting beside the guillotine.’

  ‘You stupid man! D’you suppose I –’

  ‘Strangely enough,’ I interrupted, ‘ I’m still rather struck on you. Can I help it? Just a tact of life. All right, I can hate you, you can hate me. It doesn’t remove the need. I’m hooked.’

  This time I was able to slop another dram into her glass. Again she tried to stop me but not with the hearty violence she could sometimes show. I tried to hold her wrist steady while I poured. It was small, delicate, iron-hard.

  I said conversationally: ‘It’s a competitive world. You know it just as well as I do. Getting mor
e cut-throat every year. So the top firms can’t possibly go on feeding their surplus products to the bulldozers. They’ll all come to see that sooner or later. And not much later than now, I’ll bet. A company like mine, like Kilclair Ltd, you may heap curses on it but it can be useful and profitable. Don’t shake your head – just listen to your old friend. Kilclair can syphon off unwanted products into suitable outlets. If you say not to the factory shops of the north, then not to the factory shops of the north, but to Kenya or Fiji or Tanganyika or wherever. It’s a common-sense business extension of the present setup, a natural outgrowth. It’ll become that, whether you like it or not. I’ve been long enough in your world, and lean tell you … All right, I did it without your knowing, but it need not be such a disaster –’

  She said: ‘You say you wanted to see me badly. That is just a lie. Like all the other lies you tell.’

  ‘Listen –’

  She said: ‘An ageing woman with jaundice. That was what you said! Then you were speaking the truth of your feelings – not now; now is some easy lie just to try to get your job back.’

  ‘And you didn’t want to see me?’

  ‘Never! Never!’ She wrenched her wrist free and some of the whisky spilled.

  ‘Then why do you come tonight dressed like a – like a –’

  ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Pray go on.’

  ‘Like a high-grade Montparnasse tart.’

  She smacked my face. I thought: I rather want this woman, but not to strangle her.

  ‘I was going to say I liked it,’ I said. ‘I mean, the way you’re dressed. And they’re the sort of things that will come off easily.’

  ‘As always,’ she said. ‘You have a common bourgeois mind. You’re like some peasant wanting to rut in the hay. You think that’s the answer to everything!’

  ‘Well, not the answer to everything. But to some things, Shona. To some things.’ I rubbed my jaw. I didn’t think any teeth were loose. ‘Look, for Christ’s sake, I’m not dictating to your principles. I just want you for yourself, here and now, on the bed in the next room … You know what it’s like between us. When it feels like this it’s got to be something even more special.’