Читать книгу The Death of a Celebrity - Footner Hulbert - Страница 8

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Gavin Dordress and his guests had moved into the studio after dinner. This was a big room occupying the entire westerly end of the penthouse, with windows on three sides looking out on the neat box hedges of the roof garden. The window curtains were drawn back and colored lights were strung in the garden to make a festive effect. At the back of the garden the wall of the adjoining building rose some fifteen feet higher, covered with a lattice over which vines were trained in summer. Indoors, Gavin did not go in for decorative fads: the room was of no period, but merely comfortable, with deep chairs, mellow old rugs, shaded lamps and endless shelves of books. A fire was burning.

The setting was right for a good party, and the company highly ornamental. Gavin, Mack, Emmett, and Siebert were tall, handsome men, and Lee, though his figure was tubby, had a distinctive head; all the women were beautiful women, each in her own style, except poor Louella. Nevertheless it was not a good party; there was no lack of brittle talk and laughter, but it had overtones like thunder on the horizon.

Gavin had become aware of it as soon as they sat down at the table. He could not talk all the time; he was hungry. And as soon as he fell silent, the ladies at his right and left, with a too-perfect courtesy and sweetness, began taking shots at each other. In his mind Gavin consigned them both to the devil. His own clever Cynthia was silent and distrait. He could do little with Louella Kip because she was afraid of him. He addressed himself gratefully to Fanny Parran, whose sharp answers were delightful. But when he talked to Fanny, both Gail and Bea began to discharge their darts in her direction, and Gavin, for Fanny’s own sake, felt obliged to leave the girl alone. He was relieved when the ladies left the table.

The men were no better. Mack Townley had drunk too much; Siebert Ackroyd’s comely young face was white and tight-lipped. Neither would talk; they glanced at Gavin with barely concealed animosity. Gavin inwardly shrugged them off. In the brightly lighted room Emmett Gundy had the look of a handsome boy who had started to wither before he was quite mature. His would-be flattering remarks were curdled with envy. Nursing his brandy goblet between his hands and sniffing the old Armagnac, he simpered, “This is the incense of popular success.” When he lit a cigar he said, “I suppose some Cuban admirer presented you with these.”

Only Lee Mappin was his own dry, comical self, and Gavin’s heart warmed to him. His best friend! They talked about college days, hoping to draw in the other two classmates, but without success. As soon as the men had drunk their brandies, Gavin led them to the ladies in the sunroom, hoping for the best. The tight smiles which greeted them were not reassuring. What a party! Gavin glanced at Cynthia for humorous sympathy, but Cynthia was sunk in her own painful thoughts. From the sunroom they proceeded to the studio.

Bea Townley, tall, dark, regal in the starry blue dress, looked around. “So this is where masterpieces are produced!”

Gavin said: “I wish I could think so.”

“Oh, is this the first time you have been in this room, darling?” asked Gail. Alongside Bea she looked a little insipid. The gathered chiffon dress was too youthful.

Gail was straightening a picture on the wall, and returning a book to its place on the shelf with a proprietary air that made Bea’s eyes snap. “Oh dear, no!” said Bea. “I have spent happy hours here. But every time I enter I have the same feeling of awe.”

“It will wear off,” said Gail.

“Can I have a Scotch and soda?” growled Mack.

“Surely,” said Gavin, pressing a bell.

Even the perfect Hillman was upset tonight, Gavin observed with wry humor, when his servant entered, wheeling the bar. Hillman’s lean face was drawn and grey; eyes and hands shook a little when he put ice in the glasses.

When Gavin took a glass from him he said: “You may go home with the others when they finish up. If we want anything we’ll serve ourselves.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Hillman.

After he had left the room Lee Mappin said, just to be saying something: “Doesn’t Hillman sleep in?”

“No,” said Gavin. “He’s a family man. He has a home of his own. Servants ought to be allowed to live normal lives like anybody else.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Bea. “Do you mean to say that after the butler goes home you are all alone here on this roof?”

“Surely,” said Gavin. “Why not?”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Hardly. I’ve reached the age when I love to be alone.”

Fanny Parran was beside him at the moment. “That’s hardly polite,” she murmured.

“Well, do you blame me?” Gavin asked, smiling back.

Fanny glanced over the company. “No. If it was me, I’d tell them all to get the heck out!”

Gavin laughed. “If they were all like you what a good party it would be!”

“You’re pretty nice yourself,” said Fanny.

Gail and Bea, observing this low-voiced exchange, moved from different directions to break it up. Bea said to Gavin:

“I don’t think it’s right for you to be alone at night. Suppose you were taken sick!”

“I am never sick,” said Gavin. “If I should be, the telephone is beside my bed.”

“You might be too sick to use it.”

“If I was unconscious, what difference would it make to me?”

“You don’t look as if you were going to be sick,” said Bea, languishing at him, “but men who are so much in the public eye are always a mark for kidnappers, burglars, cranks, and so on.”

“Anybody who lives in fear might as well die and be done with it,” said Gavin. “The elevator man is there to protect me from intruders. And up here on the fifteenth floor it is hardly likely anybody is coming by the window.”

Gail glanced scornfully at Bea: “Anybody who tried to tackle Gavin would regret it. He is armed.”

“Are you?” said Bea.

Gail moved toward an immense flat-topped desk at the south end of the room. She said: “He keeps a gun here.” Pulling out the middle drawer, she picked up a business-like black automatic and exhibited it. There was something terrible in her smile.

“You seem to be familiar with them,” said Bea.

“I use a gun like this in my present play.”

“Put it away, Gail,” said Gavin good-humoredly. “I hate to see anybody fooling with a loaded gun.”

Bea, her face sharpened by curiosity, had joined Gail at the desk. Gail returned the gun to its place. Bea’s eyes ran over the contents of the wide, shallow drawer. Alongside the gun lay a pile of typescript with corrections and interlineations in a quaint and individual hand. At the top of the first page was typed the title, “The Changeling.”

“Oh, here is the great play!” cried Bea. “Won’t you read it to us, Gavin?”

Gail stood a little away from the desk, watching Bea with a slight, malicious smile. Fanny Parran and Louella Kip, who did not know Gavin very well, added their voices to Bea’s.

“Oh, do read it, Mr. Dordress!”

Gavin shook his head. “I never read my own stuff aloud,” he said, obstinately good-humored.

“Please!” chorused the three women.

Emmett spoke up: “Leave him alone,” he said with a sour smile. “He hates to be the center of attraction.”

“The truth is,” said Gavin, smiling, “I have listened to too many young playwrights laughing and sobbing over their own lines.”

“But among your intimate friends ...” pleaded Bea.

“Shut the drawer, Bea,” growled Mac. “Can’t you see that he hates to have his work touched?”

Bea smiled at her husband in a manner that presaged trouble later, and slowly pushed the drawer in. Returning to Gavin, she said:

“Well, tell us something about the play: tell us the story of it.”

He shook his head. “It is always likely to be stood on its head or turned inside out up to the very moment when it is handed to the typist.”

Fanny, to create a diversion, asked, “Don’t you have a secretary?”

“No,” he said, suggesting by his smile that if he could have one like her he would. “If she’s young she tries to vamp you; if she’s old she tries to boss you. ... I have a girl in occasionally for correspondence. Writing a play is a slow business. I can type quite fast enough to keep up with the flow of my ideas.”

“Tell us about the people in the play,” said Bea cajolingly.

She seated herself beside Gavin on a sofa and laid a hand on his arm. From across the room Mack’s glowering eyes watched her.

“Not a word,” said Gavin, smiling and firm. “It’s the only rule I ever made for myself—and kept.”

“Then nobody in the world but you knows what is in that play?” said Bea.

“Nobody in the world! ... Mack is taking a big chance in announcing its production.”

“I could still refuse to produce it,” growled Mack.

Everybody except Gavin laughed as at a good joke. Bea, laughing the loudest, said to Mack: “You won’t do that!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he growled.

Gavin glanced at him, puzzled. Mack refused to meet his eye.

It was Emmett Gundy who made the first move to break up the ill-starred party. He exchanged a meaning look with Louella and they arose. It was no more than ten o’clock. The inevitable empty politenesses were exchanged.

“Must you go? It’s so early.”

“Sorry,” said Emmett, “but we have promised to join some friends at the Coq Rouge.”

Louella looked as if this was news to her. She had too honest a face for society. Gavin and Cynthia accompanied them to the door of the room.

“Are you going to be tied up tomorrow, Gavin?” asked Emmett offhandedly.

“I’ll be working on my play. I haven’t made any engagements.”

“Could I see you for a few minutes after working-hours? I want to ask your advice about rewriting my novel.”

“Surely. Drop in about five.”

When they had gone, Gavin said, low-voiced: “Stand by me, Cyn. I want you to stay until after everybody has gone.”

She looked quickly in his face. “Surely, Dad.”

Lee and Fanny were on their feet. “Must you go?” said Gavin with real regret.

“Must!” said Lee. They moved into the foyer and he added: “Fanny and I thought this would be the quickest way to break it up. This party was doomed not to prosper.”

“Dear old Lee!” said Gavin warmly.

“Why this sudden burst of affection?”

“You shine like a good deed in a naughty world!”

“I’ve been called many things in my time,” said Lee. “But that’s a new one.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t a good party,” said Gavin to Fanny.

“Ask me again.”

“I shall.”

When Gavin and Cynthia turned to go back, they met Siebert, very stiff and good-looking, coming out of the studio. Cynthia with the slightest of bows passed on into the room.

“Must you go?” said Gavin. “I was hoping you would stay on a little.”

“Thanks,” said Siebert, “but I’m sure you and Cynthia want a little time together.”

Gavin was drawn to this young man. “It’s a long time since you have dropped in on me, Siebert. When are we going to have another game of chess?”

“Chess is all very well for you,” said Siebert, “but I have my way to make. I can’t take the time for it.”

“Well ... I’m sorry,” said Gavin. “You had the makings of a good player. Good-night, Siebert.”

Siebert went on to get his things.

Gavin looked weary when he reëntered the studio. In the beginning he had exerted himself to make things go; now he didn’t care. Thus, when Mack growled, “Get your things, Bea,” he said nothing.

Bea made no move. “It’s only ten o’clock,” she said. “Gavin will think we’re not enjoying ourselves. Sit here, Gavin.”

Gavin sat beside her. Mack left the room. Bea looked after him indifferently, and rattled on:

“You and Cynthia must dine with us very soon, and that handsome fellow, Siebert ... and of course you, Gail.”

“Thanks,” said Gail.

She was sitting opposite them with a ghastly fixed smile. She was squeezing a handkerchief in her hand, and she had bitten off all the lip-stick from her lower lip without knowing it. Bea, flaunting her beauty and freshness, said:

“What night shall it be, Gavin? I want to make this a very special occasion.”

“I’d rather not make any engagements until I get the play off my hands; four or five days; a week at the outside.”

“Very well, let me know. I want to consult you about the other guests....”

Bea’s flow was checked by the return of Mack. He had her coat over his arm. “Come on,” he said. Bea saw that she could not defy him without creating a scene, and got up slowly.

“Husbands are so peremptory!”

All five of them passed out into the foyer, and stood there while Mack helped his wife into her coat. Gail made no move to get her things.

“Can we put you down anywhere, Gail, dear?” said Bea.

“Thanks, darling. I’m not quite ready.”

Bea’s eyes glittered. She glanced across the sunroom. “How lovely the garden looks under the lights!” she said. “Show it to me, Gavin. It won’t take a minute.”

“Very well,” said Gavin woodenly.

They crossed the sunroom. The key to the garden door hung alongside the door-frame. Gavin opened the door and they went out, closing the door behind them. The three waiting in the foyer could see them dimly through the glass. Gavin was calling Bea’s attention to something off to the south. Bea slipped her hand cosily under his arm and they passed out of sight.

Gail and Mack continued to stare out through the glass. They had forgotten where they were. Cynthia hastened to make conversation:

“Dad consulted a man up in the Bronx Botanical Gardens about planting the sunroom. Everything looks as if it was growing naturally, doesn’t it? Some of the plants are very rare....”

Neither Gail nor Mack paid any attention and her voice trailed away. It was so quiet they could hear sounds from the pantry where the servants were washing up. Moment followed moment, increasing the strain. Finally Gail said in an unnaturally sharp voice:

“I’d like to see the garden, too.”

She crossed the sunroom and went out, leaving the door open. Outside she started to run. Mack watched her for a moment, glowering, then silently went after her. Cynthia, after hesitating painfully, followed Mack.

They found Gavin and Bea standing beside the parapet at the east end of the roof. Behind them a wasted moon was rising over the river, and the pinpoint lights of Queensborough stretched away to infinity. When Cynthia came up to the group, Gail was saying shrilly:

“You better look after your wife, Mack! She needs it!”

“Don’t want your help,” growled Mack.

“She’s loose! She’s common! She’s cheap!” shrilled Gail. “See her trying to brazen it out ...”

“Gail, for God’s sake, be quiet!” said Gavin. His voice was weary with disgust.

“Come in!” growled Mack to Bea, with a jerk of his head towards the house door.

“You have no right to speak to me like that!” retorted Bea. “Am I your servant?”

Mack raised his voice slightly. “Come in!” he repeated. “Or you’ll get worse.”

Bea turned to Gavin. “You hear, he threatens me! He’s mad! It is dangerous for me to go with him!”

“He is your husband,” said Gavin coldly.

That was all that was said, but the voices, that is, three of the voices, were so charged with venom as to make the youngest person present feel physically sick. Such a scene was new to Cynthia. Somehow or other they found themselves in the sunroom again. Gavin drew Cynthia’s arm under his. She felt better when she saw his face. It was weary and disgusted, but there was no loss of dignity there.

Mack made straight for the door of the apartment. He held it open for Bea to pass through. She, having recovered herself partly, took her time about it. “I’m going,” she said to Gavin, “not because he orders me to, but because I want to end a painful situation. Good-night, Gavin. Good-night, Cynthia, dear. Good-night, Gail.” She went out with a nonchalant air. Gail sneered.

Mack, preparing to follow Bea, looked furiously at Gavin. “Give your play to whoever you like,” he said. “I’m through!”

“That suits me,” said Gavin levelly. The door slammed.

Gail, with a grotesque attempt to recover her usual sugary manner, said: “Cynthia, darling, I want a few words alone with Gavin. You will excuse us, I’m sure. Such old friends!”

Cynthia looked at her father, then at Gail. She said coolly: “I’m sorry, but Dad just said he wanted to speak privately to me.”

Gail caught her breath and looked at Gavin. “Is this true?”

“You heard her,” said Gavin.

Gail could scarcely articulate now. “So! So! You put this child ahead of me now! You’re using her as a shield! This chit! Don’t think that I can’t see through your pitiful evasions....”

Cynthia ran away down the corridor. Gail was still storming when she returned with the ermine coat over her arm. “Your coat, Miss Garrett.”

“Am I being put out of the house now?” cried Gail. “Gavin, will you stand for that? Do you put me out of your house?”

Her face was so distorted with rage neither Gavin nor Cynthia could bear to look at her. Since she refused to put her arms through the sleeves of her coat, Cynthia hung it over her shoulders. Gavin opened the door.

“Are you going to let me go down into the street alone?” cried Gail. “Me? There is no doorman in this miserable house to find me a taxi!”

Gavin hesitated.

“Hillman is still here,” said Cynthia. She ran into the pantry and fetched the butler out.

“Hillman,” said Gavin, “go down with Miss Garrett and get her a cab.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be sorry for this, Gavin!” cried Gail. “Remember, I warned you! ... I warned you!”

Gavin closed the door, and he and Cynthia looked at each other. “What a mess!” he said wearily. “My child, I’m so sorry you had to be let in for it!”

“It won’t hurt me,” said Cynthia. “I’m not made of glass.” She laughed shakily. “You are too attractive to the ladies, Dad.”

“It’s not my attractiveness,” said Gavin, “but something more sordid. These women are fighting to get a part in my play.”

“Which one gets it?”

“Neither.”

They dropped on a sofa alongside the fire. After a while Cynthia said: “I’d better go, too. I feel done up, and so do you.”

“Don’t go,” said Gavin. “Why don’t you stay all night?”

“I haven’t my things.”

“I wish you’d come here and live,” he said wistfully. “It would be so jolly to have you in the house.”

She shook her head firmly. “I love my independence. And so do you. We can be friends without living together.”

“I shall never give another party,” said Gavin. “Why do people give parties?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Even Hillman. What the devil do you suppose is the matter with Hillman?”

“He confided in me a little yesterday,” said Cynthia. “He is married to an ambitious wife. She twits him all the time because he’s only a servant. She tells him that their children are old enough now to be ashamed of him. She wants him to give up his job and do something for himself. Hillman tells her he has no money. She says if he would use his wits he wouldn’t be without money.”

“Poor devil!”

Cynthia stood up. “I must go, Dad.”

“Wait! What’s the trouble between you and Siebert?”

Cynthia turned away her head. “Ah, don’t ask me! He’s impossible! Always pestering me to marry him!”

“Aren’t you a little in love with him?”

She looked at the floor. “Yes,” she murmured. “That’s just the trouble. He’s so good to look at ... and such a boy! But I can’t respect him, Dad!”

“Siebert’s a good lad; sound at heart; able, too.”

“I know. I know. But he has no imagination, none of the finer qualities.”

“What of it? These sensitive, imaginative creatures are not easy to live with, Cyn. Siebert is very much of a man.”

“You can say that about him?” she said in surprise. “You ought to hear the way he abuses you!”

Gavin laughed. “Jealous, eh? I seem to be in everybody’s way!”

“Don’t say that!” cried Cynthia, putting her arms around him. “You are my ideal!”

“Ideals are all very well,” said Gavin, smoothing her hair. “But I advise you to think twice before sending Siebert away. I suppose he flies into a rage and uses bad language. That’s a manly weakness, my dear. If you married him his ridiculous jealousy would disappear.”

“No! No! No!” said Cynthia. “He is impossible!”

“Well ... I’m sorry.”

He kissed her good-night at the door. “We’ll feel better in the morning, Cyn.”

“Will you go to bed now?” she asked.

“I’ll read a little while to compose my mind. I’ll call you when I wake.”

“Do, dear.”

Hillman came out of the pantry. “Shall I get you a cab, Miss?” he asked.

“No, indeed. I am accustomed to going about by myself.”

“Good-night, Miss.”

“Good-night, Hillman.”

In the elevator the boy Joe asked her with a sharp look, “Is the party over, Miss?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, everybody’s in the house now except the real late birds. If I’m not wanted for a couple of hours I could get a sleep.”

As Cynthia waited on the corner for a taxi, an odd-looking figure passed by, a tall man with heavy, stooping shoulders, a foreigner by the look of him. An old, yellowish overcoat as shapeless as a bag hung from his shoulders without touching him anywhere, and he wore a leather aviator’s helmet that fastened under his chin. He kept his head down as he walked; he had on thick glasses and had an uncanny way of looking around them. At the moment Cynthia scarcely noticed him, but the strangeness of his appearance impressed him on her subconsciousness.