Читать книгу Nothing Venture - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 11

Table of Contents

Mr Fazackerley left Nan and Jervis standing where he had found them. He shook them both warmly by the hand, adjured them to remember that they were dining with him at the Luxe at a quarter to eight, and left them, to be instantly engulfed by a stream of outgoing passengers exactly like the one from which he had been, as it were, thrown up. An eddy caught him, and he and his rucksack, his Gladstone bag, his camera, and his bright yellow boots were absorbed.

Nan and Jervis looked at each other, and for a moment a shared glint of humour gave to each of them a sense of intimacy. To be able to laugh at the same things is one of the three indissoluble bonds. If only for a moment, it linked them.

Nan said, “What a lamb!”

And Jervis said, “Good old F.F.!”

And then the moment passed. The laughter went out of Nan’s eyes.

“You’ll explain about my not being able to dine with him—won’t you?” she said.

Jervis put his head back a little; it made his chin jut out. It was an obstinate chin.

“Why can’t you dine with him?”

If Nan had assumed that she was going to dine with them, Jervis would probably have felt annoyed. Since she assumed that she was not going to make an unwanted third, he at once discovered a number of good reasons why she should do so.

“You’ll have heaps to say to each other. I should be in the way.”

“Well, if you don’t come, he’ll think you’re offended.”

Nan considered this for a moment.

“Do you want me to come?” she said when the moment was over.

Jervis relaxed, smiled quite unexpectedly, and answered,

“Well, I do—if it wouldn’t bore you too much.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t bore me.”

“You see,” he said, “if you don’t come, he’ll think it odd, or he’ll think you’re angry. I’m very fond of F.F. and I’d hate to have his feelings hurt that way, and—” He hesitated, then flashed her a look of something like appeal. “I—it struck me there isn’t really any reason why he should think there’s anything unusual about—us.”

“I’ll come if you want me to,” said Nan.

Their eyes met, and Jervis felt something that he had not felt before. He could not have said quite what it was. It came, and was gone again. It was as if something had touched, very lightly touched, some sensitive spot so deep down in his consciousness that he could not tell what it was that was stirred.

Both of them came out of that moment with a faint sense of shock. Jervis caught sight of the station clock and exclaimed.

“Poor old Page will be cursing me!”

With a queer leap of the pulses Nan realized that she had forgotten, actually forgotten, why she had come to meet Jervis.

He was crossing the platform.

“I’ll call for you if you will tell me your address. I don’t know why I didn’t ask you for it. I ought to have it.”

She said, “Please”; and then, “I haven’t told you why I came to meet you. It’s very important.”

He turned half round, frowning.

“Can’t you tell me at dinner?”

“No, I can’t. It’s urgent.”

He stopped, faced her, and said,

“What is it? Page will curse me.”

The colour burned in Nan’s cheeks. How can you tell an impatient, champing man that you believe someone is going to try and kill him in the open street in broad daylight?

She said with a gasp, “It’s no good—you won’t believe me”; and could have said nothing that would so instantly have caught his attention.

“Why—what’s up?”

“Will you believe me?” said Nan.

“Well, you might give me a chance one way or the other.”

They were within a few feet of an empty bench. Nan put her hand on his arm and pointed to it. They went over to the bench and sat down.

“I don’t see how you’re going to believe me,” said Nan desperately.

Jervis stared at her. What on earth was she going to say? He decided that it wouldn’t hurt old Page to wait.

“Go on!” he said.

“People do get run over,” said Nan breathlessly.

“Oh, constantly.”

“Someone’s going to try and run you over.”

“What for?”

“Five hundred pounds,” said Nan in a shred of a voice.

Jervis stared harder. She was awfully pale. Her eyes were wide, and solemn, and frightened.

“My dear girl, what are you talking about?”

Nan began to tell him as well as she could. Now that she had to put the thing into words, it set not only her voice but the whole of her shaking.

“I don’t understand,” said Jervis. “You heard these two men talking?”

Nan nodded.

“How could you? Why didn’t they see you?”

She showed him with a finger set at right angles to another finger.

“It was a c-corner. I came up behind the t-taxi. The driver had his b-back to me.”

“Tell me exactly what you heard.”

She said it all over again.

“He said, ‘It’s the four-fifteen all right. You’ll have to hurry.’ He said, ‘Let him come out of the station and get well away.’ He said you were sure to walk because you had a craze for exercise.”

Jervis was bending forward looking at her intently.

“You heard my name?”

“No—not your name.”

“Then what does all this amount to?”

“Please, please listen.”

He moved impatiently.

Nan went on.

“The driver said, suppose you took a taxi; and he said, ‘Then you must do the best you can.’ And the driver said he wasn’t keen; and he said, ‘Take it or leave it!’ And the driver said that five hundred pounds was five hundred pounds, and that ‘jug’ was ‘jug’—that’s prison, isn’t it? And then they talked about his getting two months for dangerous driving; and the driver was afraid it might be a lot more, but in the end he said, ‘All right, I’ll do it.’” She stopped and clenched one hand upon the other.

“And what’s all this got to do with me?” said Jervis.

“I knew they were talking about you.”

“But why? What made you think of it? Who were these people? Did you know them? What made you listen to what they were saying?”

“I knew them,” said Nan in a small steadfast voice.

“Who were they?”

It was like being pushed when he spoke in that quick, impatient way.

“She got out of the taxi. I knew her at once.” Nan didn’t look at him; she looked down at her clenched hands.

“She? This is the first time you’ve mentioned a woman.”

Nan nodded.

“She got out of the taxi and went into the house.”

“But who?”

“Rosamund Carew,” said Nan.

Jervis sprang to his feet, then, as suddenly, sat down again.

“What d’you mean by saying a thing like that?”

Nan lifted her chin a little. She wasn’t a bit afraid of him when he was angry.

“I’m telling you what happened.”

He threw back his head and laughed incredulously.

“Go on with the fairy tale!”

A fire of pure rage burned in Nan’s cheeks and brightened her eyes. She stopped looking at her hands and let Jervis have the full benefit of the blaze.

“Mr Leonard got out after her and went into the house. That was when I got behind the taxi. I wasn’t going to listen—I wasn’t thinking about listening—I just didn’t want him to see me. Then he came out of the house and talked to the driver. I told you what they said—and I told you before I began that you wouldn’t believe me.”

Stinging tears rushed to her eyes. Jervis saw the blaze go out, saw the grey darken, soften, deepen. He said in an angry voice,

“What have you got against Leonard? Good Lord—the thing’s absurd! Why, you admit that I wasn’t even mentioned.”

“They were talking about you,” said Nan. “They were.”

He burst out laughing.

“My dear girl—what a mare’s nest! What conceivable motive could there be?”

Nan looked up at him, white and steady.

“Who would come in for your property if you were killed in an accident today?” she said.

Jervis did not start, he stiffened. There was a tingling pause. Nan felt as if she had hit a lump of dynamite. She waited for the explosion, but it did not come. The silence went on. She could not take her breath while it went on like that; and just as she was feeling as if something must give way, he said in a low, concentrated tone,

“What a perfectly foul thing to say!”

This time Nan felt as if it was she who had been hit. She said,

“Yes, it’s foul—” She paused. “But not because I said it.”

He became vividly aware of her. There was a bright stain of colour high up in her cheeks—a round bright stain. Her eyes were bright and wide. There was something in them that winced and yet held firm. In his own consciousness an impulse flared—the impulse to beat down that wincing, resisting something. It flared, and went out.

He rose abruptly to his feet.

“I expect there’s some explanation. Bits of a conversation are very misleading. Thank you for taking so much trouble about it.”

Nan got up too. His being polite was worse than anything. It made her feel giddy with pain. The colour went quite out of her face. She said,

“Good-bye—I’d better not come tonight.”

It was a relief to see him frown.

“Of course you’ll come! We settled that. Give me your address, and I’ll call for you.”

He wrote it down on the back of an envelope with a scrap of pencil which he fished out of a trouser pocket.

“Old Page will be cursing me!” he said, and turned to go.

When he had gone a couple of yards he became aware of Nan running to keep up with him.

“I’m sorry—but what’s a tuxedo?”

He looked over his shoulder at her and said,

“Dinner-jacket.”

“Oh—but he said something about a clawhammer. What’s that?”

“American for tail-coat. I must be getting along.”

She was still running.

“Yes, I know—but—oh, you will be careful, won’t you?”

This time she got a black frown. And then suddenly he laughed.

“I’ll take a policeman along to pick up the bits!” he said, and was gone.