Problem at Pollensa Bay and Other Stories Read online

  Richard's eye rested upon her in warm approval. "Good girl. You know, you look simply stunning in that dress."

  They went in to dinner. Throughout the evening Richard was nervous and unlike himself, joking and laughing about nothing at all, as if in a vain attempt to shake off his cares. Several times Theo tried to lead him back to the subject they had been discussing before, but he edged away from it.

  Then suddenly, as she rose to go to bed, he came to the point.

  "No, don't go yet. I've got something to say. You know, about this miserable business."

  She sat down again.

  He began talking rapidly. With a bit of luck, the whole thing could be hushed up. He had covered his tracks fairly well. So long as certain papers didn't get into the receiver's hands -

  He stopped significantly.

  "Papers?" asked Theo perplexedly. "You mean you will destroy them?"

  Richard made a grimace.

  "I'd destroy them fast enough if I could get hold of them. That's the devil of it all!"

  "Who has them, then?"

  "A man we both know - Vincent Easton."

  A very faint exclamation escaped Theo. She forced it back, but Richard had noticed it.

  "I've suspected he knew something of the business all along. That's why I've asked him here a good bit. You may remember that I asked you to be nice to him?"

  "I remember," said Theo.

  "Somehow I never seem to have got on really friendly terms with him. Don't know why. But he likes you. I should say he likes you a good deal."

  Theo said in a very clear voice: "He does."

  "Ah!" said Richard appreciatively. "That's good. Now you see what I'm driving at. I'm convinced that if you went to Vincent Easton and asked him to give you those papers, he wouldn't refuse. Pretty woman, you know - all that sort of thing."

  "I can't do that," said Theo quickly.

  "Nonsense."

  "It's out of the question."

  The red came slowly out in blotches on Richard's face. She saw that he was angry.

  "My dear girl, I don't think you quite realize the position. If this comes out, I'm liable to go to prison. It's ruin - disgrace."

  "Vincent Easton will not use those papers against you. I am sure of that."

  "That's not quite the point. He mayn't realize that they incriminate me. It's only taken in conjunction with - with my affairs - with the figures they're bound to find. Oh! I can't go into details. He'll ruin me without knowing what he's doing unless somebody puts the position before him."

  "You can do that yourself, surely. Write to him."

  "A fat lot of good that would be! No, Theo, we've only got one hope. You're the trump card. You're my wife. You must help me. Go to Easton tonight - "

  A cry broke from Theo.

  "Not tonight. Tomorrow perhaps."

  "My God, Theo, can't you realize things? Tomorrow may be too late. If you could go now - at once - to Easton's rooms." He saw her flinch, and tried to reassure her. "I know, my dear girl, I know. It's a beastly thing to do. But it's life or death. Theo, you won't fail me? You said you'd do anything to help me - "

  Theo heard herself speaking in a hard, dry voice. "Not this thing. There are reasons."

  "It's life or death, Theo. I mean it. See here."

  He snapped open a drawer of the desk and took out a revolver. If there was something theatrical about that action, it escaped her notice.

  "It's that or shooting myself. I can't face the racket. If you won't do as I ask you, I'll be a dead man before morning. I swear to you solemnly that that's the truth."

  Theo gave a low cry. "No, Richard, not that!"

  "Then help me."

  He flung the revolver down on the table and knelt by her side. "Theo, my darling - if you love me - if you've ever loved me - do this for me. You're my wife, Theo. I've no one else to turn to."

  On and on his voice went, murmuring, pleading. And at last Theo heard her own voice saying: "Very well - yes."

  Richard took her to the door and put her into a taxi.

  IV

  "Theo!"

  Vincent Easton sprang up in incredulous delight. She stood in the doorway. Her wrap of white ermine was hanging from her shoulders. Never, Easton thought, had she looked so beautiful.

  "You've come after all."

  She put out a hand to stop him as he came towards her.

  "No, Vincent, this isn't what you think."

  She spoke in a low, hurried voice.

  "I'm here from my husband. He thinks there are some papers which may - do him harm. I have come to ask you to give them to me."

  Vincent stood very still, looking at her. Then he gave a short laugh.

  "So that's it, is it? I thought Hobson, Jekyll and Lucas sounded familiar the other day, but I couldn't place them at the minute. Didn't know your husband was connected with the firm. Things have been going wrong there for some time. I was commissioned to look into the matter. I suspected some underling. Never thought of the man at the top.

  Theo said nothing. Vincent looked at her curiously.

  "It makes no difference to you, this?" he asked. "That - Oh! well, to put it plainly, that your husband's a swindler?'

  She shook her head.

  "It beats me," said Vincent. Then he added quietly: "Will you wait a minute or two? I will get the papers."

  Theo sat down in a chair. He went into the other room. Presently he returned and delivered a small package into her hand.

  "Thank you," said Theo. "Have you a match?"

  Taking the matchbox he proffered, she knelt down by the fireplace. When the papers were reduced to a pile of ashes, she stood up.

  "Thank you," she said again.

  "Not at all," he answered formally. "Let me get you a taxi."

  He put her into it, saw her drive away. A strange, formal little interview. After the first, they had not even dared look at each other. Well, that was that, the end. He would go away, abroad, try and forget.

  Theo leaned her head out of the window and spoke to the taxi driver. She could not go back at once to the house in Chelsea. She must have a breathing space. Seeing Vincent again had shaken her horribly. If only - if only. But she pulled herself up. Love for her husband she had none - but she owed him loyalty. He was down, she must stick by him. Whatever else he might have done, he loved her; his offence had been committed against society, not against her.

  The taxi meandered on through the wide streets of Hampstead. They came out on the heath, and a breath of cool, invigorating air fanned Theo's cheeks. She had herself in hand again now. The taxi sped back towards Chelsea. Richard came out to meet her in the hall.

  "Well," he demanded, "you've been a long time."

  "Have I?"

  "Yes - a very long time. Is it - all right?"

  He followed her, a cunning look in his eyes. His hands were shaking.

  "It's - it's all right, eh?" he said again.

  "I burnt them myself."

  "Oh!"

  She went on into the study, sinking into a big armchair. Her face was dead white and her whole body drooped with fatigue. She thought to herself: "If only I could go to sleep now and never, never wake up again!"

  Richard was watching her. His glance, shy, furtive, kept coming and going. She noticed nothing. She was beyond noticing.

  "It went off quite all right, eh?"

  "I've told you so."

  "You're sure they were the right papers? Did you look?"

  "No."

  "But then - "

  "I'm sure, I tell you. Don't bother me, Richard. I can't bear any more tonight."

  Richard shifted nervously.

  "No, no. I'm sure."

  He fidgeted about the room. Presently he came over to her, laid a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off.

  "Don't touch me." She tried to laugh. "I'm sorry, Richard. My nerves are on edge. I feel I can't bear to be touched."

  "I know. I understand."

  Again he wandered up and d
own. "Theo," he burst out suddenly. "I'm damned sorry."

  "What?" She looked up, vaguely startled.

  "I oughtn't to have let you go there at this time of night. I never dreamed that you'd be subjected to any - unpleasantness.''

  "Unpleasantness?" She laughed. The word seemed to amuse her. "You don't know! Oh, Richard, you don't know!"

  "I don't know what?"

  She said very gravely, looking straight in front of her: "What this night has cost me."

  "My God! Theo! I never meant - You - you did that, for me? The swine! Theo - Theo - I couldn't have known. I couldn't have guessed. My God!"

  He was kneeling by her now stammering, his arms round her, and she turned and looked at him with faint surprise, as though his words had at last really penetrated to her attention.

  "I - I never meant - "

  "You never meant what, Richard?"

  Her voice startled him.

  "Tell me. What was it that you never meant?"

  "Theo, don't let us speak of it. I don't want to know. I want never to think of it."

  She was staring at him, wide awake now, with every faculty alert. Her words came clear and distinct: "You never meant - What do you think happened?"

  "It didn't happen, Theo. Let's say it didn't happen."

  And still she stared, till the truth began to come to her. "You think that - "

  "I don't want - "

  She interrupted him: "You think that Vincent Easton asked a price for those letters? You think that I - paid him?"

  Richard said weakly and unconvincingly: "I - I never dreamed he was that kind of man."

  V

  "Didn't you?" She looked at him searchingly. His eyes fell before hers.

  "Why did you ask me to put on this dress this evening? Why did you send me there alone at this time of night? You guessed he - cared for me. You wanted to save your skin - save it at any cost - even at the cost of my honour."

  She got up. "I see now. You meant that from the beginning - or at least you saw it as a possibility, and it didn't deter you."

  "Theo - "

  "You can't deny it. Richard, I thought I knew all there was to know about you years ago. I've known almost from the first that you weren't straight as regards the world. But I thought you were straight with me."

  "Theo - "

  "Can you deny what I've just been saying?"

  He was silent, in spite of himself.

  "Listen, Richard. There is something I must tell you. Three days ago when this blow fell on you, the servants told you I was away - gone to the country. That was only partly true. I had gone away with Vincent Easton."

  Richard made an inarticulate sound. She held out a hand to stop him.

  "Wait. We were at Dover. I saw a paper - I realized what had happened. Then, as you know, I came back."

  She paused.

  Richard caught her by the wrist. His eyes burnt into hers. "You came back - in time?"

  Theo gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yes, I came back, as you say, 'in time,' Richard."

  Her husband relinquished his hold on her arm. He stood by the mantelpiece, his head thrown back. He looked handsome and rather noble.

  "In that case," he said, "I can forgive."

  "I cannot."

  The two words came crisply. They had the semblance and the effect of a bomb in the quiet room. Richard started forward, staring, his jaw dropped with an almost ludicrous effect.

  "You - er - what did you say, Theo?"

  "I said I cannot forgive! In leaving you for another man, I sinned - not technically, perhaps, but in intention, which is the same thing. But if I sinned, I sinned through love. You, too, have not been faithful to me since our marriage. Oh, yes, I know. That I forgave, because I really believed in your love for me. But the thing you have done tonight is different. It is an ugly thing, Richard - a thing no woman should forgive. You sold me, your own wife, to purchase safety!"

  She picked up her wrap and turned towards the door.

  "Theo," he stammered out, "where are you going?"

  She looked back over her shoulder at him.

  "We all have to pay in this life, Richard. For my sin I must pay in loneliness. For yours - well, you gambled with the thing you love, and you have lost it!"

  "You are going?"

  She drew a long breath. "To freedom. There is nothing to bind me here."

  He heard the door shut. Ages passed, or was it a few minutes? Something fluttered down outside the window - the last of the magnolia petals, soft, fragrant.