He explained, as if to a child, “Well, Carol, Vivien was always in hot water before she married me. There’s a certain quality about her that attracts men and yet keeps them safely at a distance. She seems to float on a pedestal above their reach and they admire and respect that. But then, suddenly, a smile or a mischievous look in her eyes or a gown that reveals a little too much and suggests more, and she’s no longer on a pedestal and her body has substance and meaning and respect is forgotten and the man does the natural thing, he makes a play for her. Know what I mean?”
“I have noticed that contradictory quality.”
“Sure. So before she married me she was always in trouble and embarrassed and was practically a nervous wreck. But with me she’s been able to relax.”
I was thinking that it took all kinds to make up a world. He didn’t know how to explain it, but Vivien played upon the paternal side of his nature as well as the sensuous. He was well aware of her physical demands and her many affairs, but as long as the “little girl” Vivien cried upon his shoulder, Papa was able to overlook everything. But with “Jeff” it had gone farther than that, and Scott was worried.
I said, “Did Jeff persuade you to come here together?”
He turned his head to blink at me. “Do you mind, Carol?”
I almost laughed as I said, “No, of course not.”
“He’s the one persuaded us. He said he would settle everything tonight. We’re going to thrash out the whole matter. Maybe,” he said, attempting a grin, “you won’t have to worry about your husband any more.”
“That,” I said, “will be just dandy.”
“Sure. He’s taking a chance on my losing my head, but that sounds like the old Jeff. Anyway, I’m willing to meet him halfway. I’m only human, too.”
I muttered under my breath, “Sometimes I wonder.” Then I said, “I wish you luck, Scott,” and walked away.
I went in search of John, but was intercepted by Sam and led to the ballroom. We danced a rumba. Sam’s method of dancing was based on a mathematically precise formula and never failed to amuse me, but he enjoyed it.
I was swung out of his arms and into another man’s and looked up and said, “I’ve been looking for you, John,” but the carnation in his buttonhole was white and “Jeffrey” grinned down at me.
“Having a good time, Carol?”
I nodded. “How about you?”
“Wonderful,” he laughed. “I’ve put away enough alcohol to float a battleship, but I can’t seem to get drunk and I’m having a terrific time watching the vulures of Pebble Beach waiting for the explosion.”
“The what?”
“Vivien. Scott. You. Me. It’s like dancing at the end of a rope with a knife in your hand. Splendid feeling.”
“Maybe you’re kidding yourself, Jeff. Maybe you don’t have a knife in your hand and can’t cut yourself free.”
“Academic nonsense, darling. My knife has as much substance as the Rock of Gibraltar.”
“You mean that literally, don’t you?”
He tripped and paused and looked soberly down into my eyes. His choice of words had been an error and he read that mistake in my expression. His eyes raised and swept around the room, frantically seeking escape. “If you don’t mind — ” he mumbled. “Thirsty again.” He stepped away and left me standing on the edge of the floor. I watched him hurry through the guests and disappear into the solarium.
I started after him, but Sam stopped me by one of the potted plants. He leaned back against a wall, smoking a cigarette, and asked, “In a hurry?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then stay a minute. I’ve been watching the party. The atmosphere has a peculiar sense of false gaiety. Your guests are enjoying themselves, no doubt, but the Hamlynes and Chandlers — they’re all being very feverish.”
“I told you that this was just a stage setting for something else.”
“And I was inclined not to believe you. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Sam, you have to believe me,” I whispered desperately, “You’re all I have to cling to.”
He was silent a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. I’m your anchor on sanity.”
“I hope—”
“I don’t mind, Carol. I’m flattered.” He looked up at the ceiling and blew out a puff of smoke. He said casually, “There’s always room for a good playwright on my staff. We know how to work together.”
Now the night was full-rounded and the timing was right and I had enough courage to carry through what had to be done.
I made a last tour through the main floor simply to confirm the fact that I was not needed. Groups of guests were scattered everywhere, drinking, or playing gin rummy, or lying about their sports prowess, or maneuvering subtly in the direction of someone else’s wife or husband. It was all going smoothly.
I got away from a group that wanted to know where one got one’s ideas for one’s plays and hurried up to my rooms and closed the door. One floor lamp was on, casting its dim radiance over a writing desk. Ann was with the other servants and I was alone. I opened a drawer of the desk and took out Jeffrey’s manuscripts. I had placed them there that morning. I had been afraid they might be found in the library.
Contained in one of those pages of poetry was the answer to the last vestiges of doubt in my mind.
I went through the typed pages, taking my time about it, and finally selected a poem of eight lines. I could memorize that easily. Furthermore, the page was wrinkled and soiled and indicated much handling. Obviously, it was one of Jeffrey’s favorites.
Seated in a chair under the lamp, with the page on my lap, I found it difficult to concentrate. So much was at stake in those few words; so much could happen and so much could be wrong and so much violence could be let loose. The words swam before my eyes and the page was black and the words were white and I was sinking into something unknown. There was weird music in my ears and then I realized that it was the orchestra playing below and my eyes focused on the poem.
Actually, it took only a few minutes to memorize the eight lines, but I read them over and over. I had to be sure I would not forget. Fear could erase them from my mind in one stroke. I could not let that happen. I paced the floor and repeated the poem aloud a dozen times and the words bounced in my mind like little white celluloid balls and I knew I could not forget them. I put the typed pages away and left the rooms.
I went downstairs and searched for “Jeffrey.” I found Sam in the library surrounded by the younger set, all of them drinking and having a grand time listening to him hold forth on the never-never land of Hollywood. I pinched his arm and pulled him away for a moment, but he said that he had not seen either of the brothers. “And besides,” he said, “you’re disturbing us youngsters at play.” I left him with his youngsters.
I went into the small alcove off the library that served as a catchall room for magazines and old books, Vivien was there, alone, idly turning the pages of a magazine. She glanced at me, but there was no hint of welcome in her eyes. She was waiting for someone else.
I asked her if she had seen Jeffrey. She shook her head and looked away from me, but at mention of Jeffrey’s name a light had burst in her eyes. I stated, “You’re waiting for him here.”
She glanced at me sideways. “Is that so?”
I stepped closer and smiled down at her, “You’re extraordinarily beautiful tonight, Vivien.”
A tiny laugh bubbled on her lips as she looked up at me with surprise. “Well, thank you.”
“You seem very much at ease. Not at all as you were the last time I saw you.”
A veil slid over her eyes and her smile was frozen. “It’s a nice party.”
“I don’t mean that. I noticed it when you arrived, a certain glow about you that came from an inner sense of satisfaction.”
She continued studying me from the corners of her eyes, but, though she kept her expression smooth, she was inwardly laughing at me. She and “Jeff” had reached an understandi
ng. At least, she thought they had, and she was as contented as a kitten with a saucer of warm milk.
I looked away from her for a moment and through the archway into the library. John was standing with a group across the room. He was staring blankly into space and was immobile as a statue, but tiny hard muscles were rippling along the lines of his jaw. He was concentrating on something with a single-minded purpose that obliterated everything else.
I looked back at Vivien and said, “That night you had a dream that wasn’t a dream, about a man with a rope — ”
She shuddered at the memory, but threw her head back and looked at me calmly. “Darling,” she purred, “forget it. Don’t rub it in. Very well, I had an alcoholic nightmare and would as soon forget it.”
“But if it had been true it would be pretty awful to think of right now, wouldn’t it? I mean, especially now.”
Her brows drew together in a suspicious frown. “I don’t understand you.”
“I don’t expect you to. But that rope you were dreaming about turned out to be a red silk cord from a man’s dressing gown. I found it on the floor of the guest room after you left.”
Her reaction was not what I had expected. She stared at me through narrowed eyes and suspicion grew in their depths. “How interesting,” she said. “Really, now, do you expect me to believe that I wasn’t dreaming?”
I hadn’t time to explain to her. I said, “Believe it or not, but when you see Jeff think of that red cord and, for God’s sake, keep on thinking about it.”
Her curiosity was aroused, then, but time was running out and I walked away before she could question me. John walked to my side as I was crossing the library. He finished his highball and collected another for himself and one for me. I compared the color of the two glasses. His was extremely light. He had put just enough bourbon in his glass to give the water some color and no more. I tasted mine and found it unusually strong.
“Better drink up,” he whispered. “You’ll need it.”
I sipped at the drink, but had no intention of taking much of it. I asked, “What is it, John?”
He looked about to make sure that no one could overhear us, then said, “I keep a revolver in my desk, the only one in the house. It was missing once before and found in the garden.”
“Well?”
“I cleaned it thoroughly and put it away, unloaded. An hour ago it was there. Now it’s gone again. Also, six thirty-eight-caliber shells are missing out of a box that was with the gun.”
“Are you sure you didn’t misplace it yourself?”
“I’m positive of that. Someone has stolen it.” His eyes turned flat and opaque as he said, “I’ve questioned Brannen and Miss Laura. Only two people have gone to the second floor in the past hour or so, you and Jeff.”
“I went to my rooms.”
“So they told me. You went down the hallway of the north wing, and returned the same way. Jeff went down the hallway toward my rooms. Brannen said he returned about a minute or so later and seemed extremely nervous. Carol, he has that gun.”
“You can’t be sure.”
He shook his head with impatience. “Let’s not kid ourselves. Jeff has it and it’s loaded.”
I looked into my glass, afraid that my eyes would tell him more than I wanted him to know, and said, “Why?”
“God, Carol, your guess is as good as mine. But I know this. You don’t carry a revolver at a party just for the hell of it. That gun is meant to be used — somehow.”
“Well,” I said, still not looking at him, “you have nothing to worry about, as long as Brannen and Miss Laura know the circumstances.”
He missed the point entirely and growled, “Hell, I’m not worried for myself. I’m thinking of Jeff and — and possibly someone else. You know how odd he’s been.” He gripped my arm with a hot, feverish hand and whispered, “See if you can find him and get that gun away from him. I’ll look around this end of the house. You might have a look around the ballroom.”
“Very well, John.”
I put my drink aside, practically untasted, and started for the main hall. As I stepped into the reception hall I saw Sam just coming in through the front door. He jerked his head at me and drew me away from the stream of people going back and forth.
“Carol,” he said, “I think this situation is even more serious than you imagine.”
“No,” I said, “it can’t be. Nothing could be.”
He was not convinced and said quickly, “There’s a murderous plot of some sort being resolved tonight. I think Mrs. Chandler is involved. About half an hour ago I followed your husband as he slipped outside and went around to the Chandler car. He had a key to the trunk, which he unlocked. He took out three pieces of luggage, carted them around the house to the garage, and put them in a station wagon, which I understand is his. On the face of it, it looked to me like a simple case of Mrs. Chandler and your husband running off together. But then he did an odd thing. After locking his car, with the luggage inside, he dropped the keys down a storm drain and returned to the party.”
I tried to make sense out of that and could come to no conclusion. I asked Sam, “Was the luggage Vivien’s or Jeff’s?”
“Oh, it was Mrs. Chandler’s. Her initials were on each bag.”
“So that’s why she’s purring tonight.”
Sam placed his hands on my arms and looked into my eyes. “Promise me one thing, Carol. Be extremely careful tonight. It isn’t only your husband who’s acting in an odd manner. John Hamlyne’s movements, too, according to the list I have, are more than a little strange. Nothing he has done checks with what you’ve told me. So promise?”
“I’ll be careful.”
I got him involved with a group of people passing by and chose the first opportune moment to slip out the front door. I strolled casually by the curious chauffeurs on the porch, then hurried around the corner of the house. The fog was thick and it was difficult to see the drop-off of the ledge. I stayed close to the house and walked out the ledge to the two benches. I stood there motionless, listening. I was quite sure there was no one else on the ledge.
Then I sat on a bench and pulled out the box containing the portable typewriter and opened it. A .38 pistol was lying in the compartment formerly occupied by the manuscripts. I lifted the black weapon and flipped open the chamber and ejected the six shells. One by one I threw them into the fog and over the edge of the cliff. Then I closed the chamber of the pistol and put it back in the box.
I was about to close the lid when my hand brushed the roller of the typewriter. There was a sheet of paper in the machine. I stooped down and tried to read it, but it was too dark. I pulled the paper from the machine, folded it, and tucked it in the V of my bra. Then I closed the lid and put the box back under the bench.
As soon as I returned to the party Sam saw me crossing the hall and guided me to the ballroom. He insisted that we have at least one dance. Fortunately, we were on the floor only a few minutes when the orchestra stopped for a rest period. I wandered with Sam into the solarium and saw J. Hamlyne standing in the midst of an interested group, animatedly discussing something about the arts and seemingly very drunk. Vivien was at his side, holding to his arm and smiling at him. I walked closer and saw the white carnation. It was “Jeffrey.”
I moved a little away from the group and took the sheet of paper from my bra. I held it in the light and read:
Sorry, John:
This is the way it has to be done. I have become too involved and there is no other way out. I had thought I might be able to run away from it and was going to take Vivien with me — she wanted to go — but I realize that would be a stupid thing to do. Wherever I would be, however I was living, you would be there, too. You and I have been too much like one person. I can’t do that to you. This way, it will seem horrible for a while, but that will fade and die and then everything will be as it should have been in the first place, one person. Good-by and forgive me.
At the bottom was the typed signature
“Jeffrey Hamlyne.” The box would be found, naturally, and the note in the typewriter. It was meant to be found, but not by me and not at that time.
The note was as brief as possible, but that was a decidedly clever touch. The inclusion of Vivien’s name was quite enough. It was already an old story among the gossips. Jeffrey had made a mistake by marrying me, he had fallen in love with Vivien, I would not give him his freedom (no one knew differently), so he had been carrying on an affair with Vivien that had somehow got out of hand and the Hamlynes were facing a scandalous explosion. He had been drinking heavily and had been brooding about it, which everyone knew, and had not been his normal self, which everyone also knew. He was taking the romantic way out. How could anyone condemn a man who, though perhaps not quite sensible, was so very romantic? It was clever, unusually clever, but too much so.
Chapter Seventeen
I ROLLED THE NOTE into a ball and tucked it back in my bra, then moved back to the edge of “Jeffrey’s” group. He had an arm about Vivien’s waist and was still doing all the talking. When he saw me he paused and frowned. The timing was perfect. Everyone turned and saw me standing there. Then they looked back at “Jeffrey.” His arm remained about Vivien’s waist. A few eyebrows slowly began to raise.
That was the moment for which he had been waiting. It was necessary for him to quarrel with me publicly. The bad taste would be forgotten, but the quarrel, especially a last quarrel, would be remembered by everyone.
But that was also the moment for which I had been waiting. I had had no idea of how to time his actions, but his sudden frown and the picture he made at Vivien’s side was all I needed to know. My heart was hammering wildly, but I felt an odd glow of warmth within me, too, and knew that I was going to succeed in my purpose. I had only to beat his timing and, with a few words, destroy all his plans.
Marriage Bed Page 21