I suppose they assumed I knew.”
“So you’ve been talking about me to people?”
“A few people have been talking about you to me.”
“What do they say?”
“They like you—and they don’t like him.”
“They don’t have to couple us together any more.”
“Except that you were in the picture together.”
“Yes—for a special reason, but that’s a long story—I might
tell you some time, if you’re interested.”
Some men and girls were approaching.
“Maybe tomorrow? Don’t forget you have a date at my office. Make it
eleven-thirty and I’ll take you to lunch.”
“Fine.” And she added as they walked back towards the house: “He didn’t
show up here tonight, did he?”
“No. I’m sure I’d have known if he had. Did you think he might?”
“He’s capable of it. If he’d been here I’d have wanted to leave—I
couldn’t stand any more.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I’m just about at the limit of what I can stand, to be frank.”
“You probably need that holiday in Ireland you talked about. But why
Ireland?”
“I was born there. Where were you born?”
“Vermont… on a farm.”
“So was I. In County Kildare. The greenest fields, and my father rode the
wildest and most beautiful horses…” She paused as if some secret
recollection had stolen her away; George watched her, till she caught his
look. She smiled embarrassedly. “Oh, I guess we all feel that about where we
were born. Vermont is beautiful too.”
“Yes, very…” The people who were approaching had voices he recognized;
he said hastily: “There’s just time for one more question before the mob
finds you again… a rather personal question, so don’t be startled… Did
Saffron ever—in a dressing-room at the studio while the picture was
being made—did he ever quarrel with you and threaten you with a
gun?”
She looked amazed, then laughed. “Good heavens, no. Who on earth made that
one up?”
* * * * *
They separated inside the house, and soon afterwards George
left; it was
already long past his usual bedtime. A few hours later (nine, to be exact) he
was telling his secretary he would see Miss Arundel as soon as she arrived.
But she did not arrive, and about noon he found out where she lived and
telephoned. It was a fashionable apartment hotel and the desk informed him
she was out. He thought she was probably on her way, but after a late lunch
alone he was concerned enough to telephone Randolph at the studio. Randolph
said she had not only not been there, but they had been trying for hours to
find where she was and why she had broken an appointment to see some
publicity people. It was not like her, Randolph said, to be either forgetful
or unco-operative and already he was a little worried. “The hotel people were
cagey at first about what time she got home, but finally they said it was
about one o’clock.”
“Sounds reasonable. I left the Fulton-Griffins’ soon after midnight and
she was still there. She had a date to see me at eleven-thirty this
morning.”
“I didn’t know she was one of your clients.”
“She wasn’t—till last night.”
“Was it important business—or I suppose you can’t tell me that?”
George Hare was a highly successful lawyer for a number of reasons, one of
which was that he never kept a secret that didn’t matter.
“Of course I’ll tell you—she wanted to know if she could sub-let her
apartment while she takes a vacation in Ireland. Hardly headline news, is
it?”
“Talking of headlines, what do you think of the Saffron thing?”
“Been too busy to see the papers yet. Do they make much of it?”
“You bet they do, and in some ways I’m glad they could tie it all into one
story. Sort of takes the edge off what he said when the police found him
drunk.”
“I don’t—quite—get you, Randolph. How do the police come into
it?”
“You mean you don’t know what happened after he left the dinner?”
“I told you I hadn’t seen the papers.”
“Well, read ‘em, they’ll give you the details. Not that there’s much to it
if it hadn’t been him, but he was a fool to talk back to the cops. That’s
probably why they took him along. Of course as a studio we’re not interested
—so far as he’s concerned, we’re through. But we don’t like him
upsetting HER.”
“Naturally.
1 comment