The Case of William Smith

Chapter Five

Cyril Eversley put out a hand and touched the bell on his office table. Like everything else about him the hand was long and thin. If his cousin Brett looked like a Georgian squire, he himself had rather the air of a medieval scholar – a flowing robe and a skull-cap would have been much more appropriate than a modern suit. He was seven years older than Brett and the senior partner. No one would have guessed that they were related. Where Brett was dark and florid, Cyril had the thinning fair hair, the pallor, and slight stoop of a delicate man who leads a sedentary life. He might have been an artist, a scholar, a dilettante. He was, as a matter of fact, a little of all three. The rather charming water-colour drawing of his daughter Sylvia which faced him across the room was his own work, he could still read Greek for pleasure, and he was a collector of eighteenth-century miniatures and snuffboxes.

Almost before he had drawn his hand back from the bell the door opened and Miss Jones came in.

‘Yes, Mr. Eversley?’

He looked up with his slight habitual frown and said,

‘Come in and shut the door.’

With the click of the latch her manner changed.

That ‘Yes, Mr. Eversley?’ had been any secretary to any employer – voice, manner, and look all just right – the efficient, trusted employee answering a summons. But as soon as the door was shut she became someone else. It was as if she came in and threw off some drab uniform coat, to display the bright dress which had been hidden under it. She seemed a different woman as she came over to stand by the table and say, ‘What is it?’ William’s description of her may serve – ‘Not young, but a looker.’ A moment ago she might easily have been forty; the change in look and manner took ten years away. Actually she was thirty-seven. There was bright natural colour in the oval face and well cut lips, good lashes to shade the hazel eyes. The tall, upright figure was pleasantly curved, the plain dark dress very well cut. There was some grace of movement, and a noticeable effect of vitality. When it came to the hands and feet, nature had turned suddenly stingy. Neither were well shaped, but she wore good shoes, and did all she could to the hands which a secretary cannot hope to keep out of sight. She groomed them assiduously and used a very discreet nail-polish.

To her, ‘What is it?’ Cyril Eversley replied with a shade of petulance,

‘Why must it be anything?’

She smiled a little.

‘I don’t know, but it is.’

He threw himself back in his chair.

‘For God’s sake sit down! I’m worried to death.’

‘Poor Cyril! As I said before, what is it?’

She was seating herself. If anyone came in, she had writing-pad and pencil before her – a discussion was in progress, presently a decision would be taken and a letter dictated. It had all been going on for so long that every move had become instinctive.

Cyril picked up a letter from his blotting-pad – thick paper covered with a strong, square writing rather reminiscent of cuneiform.

‘It’s Katharine’s trust,’ he said. ‘This is from Admiral Holden, who is the third trustee.’

‘Well?’

‘It isn’t well at all. He was supposed to be dying, and he hasn’t died. He has recovered, and he seems to have heard from Katharine. I don’t know what she said to him, but this is what he writes:

‘Dear Eversley,

I had a letter from Katharine a couple of months ago. She mentioned that she was giving up her flat and looking for something smaller. She also mentioned that she was going to take a job. I could not understand why this should be necessary, but I was not at the time fully recovered, so I thought that I would wait until I could go into the matter with you in person. Katharine has not written again, and I have not her present address. I shall be in town next week and should like to call upon you on Wednesday morning or Thursday afternoon, whichever would be the more convenient to yourself. I could then go into Katharine’s affairs with you and your cousin Brett. After nearly two years of incapacity I should be glad of the opportunity of bringing my trusteeship up to date.

Yours sincerely,

J. G. Holden.” ’

Miss Jones repeated her ‘Well?’

Eversley opened his hand and let the letter fall.

‘What are we going to do?’ he said.

‘The money isn’t there?’

‘You know it isn’t there. You know we had to borrow it in ’45. If things had looked up, we could have paid it back. We had to borrow it – you know that as well as I do. It was either that or a smash, and we’ve always kept up the income payments – until the other day. I told Brett it was folly to cut them, but he’s so extravagant – he won’t cut out anything himself. If we’d gone on paying Katharine her income, there wouldn’t have been any trouble. It’s this cutting her down that is bringing Holden into it. He’s never done anything before except sign what was put in front of him. Of course all through the war he was serving, and then he had that motor smash and nobody thought he’d ever get up off his bed again – and now he says he’s recovered and wants to go into Katharine’s affairs. What are we going to do?’

He had the helpless look of a child who has tumbled down and waits for someone to pick him up. She thought, ‘He’s a drifter – he’s drifted into this. When firms drift they smash. They’ve been drifting for years. You can drift on to the rocks, but you don’t drift off them. But even if there was a smash, there would be pickings. In any case I’m too far in – ’ She said,

‘You say he’s always signed everything you put in front of him.’

‘He won’t now. He’ll want to go into it all. We’ve got to show him figures – he’s got to be convinced. Can’t you put up something that will make him think it’s all right?’

She raised her eyebrows.

‘My dear Cyril, you’re not asking me to fudge the books!’

She saw him wince at the word. Cyril all over. You had to wrap things up for him – make them sound pretty. A plain word for a plain thing and he panicked.

‘Mavis – for heaven’s sake!’

‘Well, that’s what you’re asking me to do, isn’t it?’

He threw out that long, thin hand.

‘Don’t you see I’m only asking for time to get the money paid back? Now Sylvia is married, I can sell Evendon and move into something smaller. Brett must stop taking so much out of the firm – I’ve always told him it wouldn’t stand it. We must both cut down and get the money paid back. And Katharine must have her income. It was the merest folly to cut it down. But we must have time – don’t you see, we must have time.’

She sat there looking at him. He had said, ‘Don’t you see?’ She saw very well. More than he knew – more than he guessed – more than he would have any courage for. She weighed the chances, the probabilities, putting this down on the credit, this on the debit side.

The silence was more than he could bear. He rushed in on it with nervous speech.

‘Brett must marry her. That’s the solution of course. I don’t know why he hasn’t fixed it up before it came to this. A man has got to settle down some time, and I don’t know what more he wants. He’s always admired her – who doesn’t? She’s a charming creature. If he doesn’t take care, someone will get in before him. And if it came to a marriage settlement, and lawyers imported into it – well, as I said to him not long ago, it would be just flat ruin.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said he had asked her and she had refused him.’

Miss Jones considered that carefully. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted Brett Eversley to marry Katharine. She disliked Katharine very much – it might serve her right. On the other hand, once you started anything you couldn’t always tell where it was going to stop. Perhaps better to play for time.

Cyril couldn’t get the word off his tongue.

‘Time – that’s what we want – time. If we can satisfy Holden and get time to pay the money back we’ll be all right. Can’t you think of something we can do?’

She said, ‘I could.’

‘Mavis!’

‘What do I get out of it?’

The words came across the table like a pistol-shot. He said her name again in a shocked tone, and she smiled.

‘Look here, Cyril, if I do this I’m risking a lot. It’s got to be worth my while. I’ll be risking a lot, and you know it. Well, I’m not doing it for nothing, and that’s flat.’ The hazel eyes had the hard, dominant look which had impressed William Smith.

Cyril Eversley said, ‘What do you want?’ But he knew before she spoke.

Her smile widened.

‘You’ve been a widower for five years-Sylvia is married. Everybody expects you to marry again.’

He said, ‘It would make too much talk.’

‘My dear Cyril, men marry their secretaries every day. Who cares about talk?’

He looked down at his own long, nervous fingers. At some moment, he didn’t know when, they had picked up a short length of red pencil. He saw them twitch on it, rolling it to and fro.

‘I should be lost without you here.’

‘You needn’t let that stand in your way. I like to have a finger in the pie. I would stay on at any rate until we’d got everything straight.’

There was more to put straight than he knew about – more than she ever intended him to know. It could be done if she brought this off. The Admiral was a godsend. She pressed her advantage.

‘Look here, Cyril, it’s a pretty good bargain for you – honestly. Don’t you ever get tired of your own company down at Evendon? I should have thought you’d be bored stiff now that you haven’t got Sylvia dashing in and out with her crowd.’

He looked up with a faint gleam of humour.

‘There used to be rather too much dashing in and out, you know.’

‘I daresay, but there’s no sense in going to the opposite extreme. And you want someone to run the house. I don’t mind betting you’re being robbed right and left.’

Inwardly he shrank. Mavis had a coarse streak in her. She attracted him, as vital, domineering women do attract his type of man. Sometimes the attraction was strong enough, to blind him to everything else. When it wasn’t she could jar him badly. No man likes to be urged to marry, but he had to reckon with long habit and the pressure of her will on his.

She said with half a laugh, ‘You really want a wife a great deal more than I want a husband. I think I’m a bit of a fool to take it on. I shouldn’t if I wasn’t fond of you, but there it is.’

He said, ‘I know.’ And then, ‘Why can’t we just go on as we are? As you say, I haven’t got so much to offer you now.’

She laughed outright.

‘Perhaps not, but I happen to want it. I said it was a bargain, and I said you’d be getting the best of it, and so you will. But I shouldn’t be going into it if I wasn’t getting something too. You’ll get a good-looking, presentable wife and an efficient mistress for your house, and I’ll keep on at the office until we’ve straightened everything out and I’ve trained somebody else. Comfort, efficiency, and security – that’s your share of the bargain. I give up my independence, and I get a double job, a lot of hard work, and – security. If that satisfies me, it’s just your luck. I’m putting all my cards on the table.’

She had a moment’s thought of how surprised he would be if she really did so – surprised, and shocked. That was one of the amusing things about Cyril – the moment you got down to facts they shocked him.

He was staring at his hand again, and at the red pencil. His fingers had tightened on it. He did not speak. She could feel him resisting – not actively, but in a withdrawn kind of way, as if he had gone into another room and locked the door. If they had been anywhere else, she would have let her temper go. Nothing ever enraged her so much, and he knew it. But he knew that she couldn’t make a scene in the office. He was afraid of her scenes, but she couldn’t make one here. Perhaps one of the things which nerved him to resist her was the knowledge that once they were married she would be perfectly free to make him a scene whenever she chose.

Mavis Jones put out an ugly manicured hand and picked up Admiral Holden’s letter. She might have been picking up a weapon. She picked it up, glanced at it, and put it down again.

‘Wednesday or Thursday next week,’ she said crisply. ‘It doesn’t give us too much time.’

The thrust went keenly home. He started, dropped the pencil, and said with panic in his voice,

‘What can you do?’

It was surrender, and they both knew it. The colour was warm in her face as she leaned across the table and laid her hand on his.

‘Don’t worry – I’ll pull it off. The less you know, the better. I’ll go through all the papers and cook something up. ’ She laughed good-humouredly. ‘There’s almost nothing you can’t do with figures – especially when you’re good at them and the other person isn’t.’

She had better not have said that – he wasn’t any too good at them himself – he might start thinking.

She got up and came round the table and put an arm about his neck.

‘Aren’t you going to kiss me?’

He turned a harried face.

‘Mavis!’

‘My poor old man! You needn’t worry like that – it’ll be all right on the night.’

‘Are you sure?’

He had been leaning back against her. He turned now as if for shelter and pressed his face into her neck. She held him like that and said,

‘Quite sure.’ And then, ‘We’d better give notice at the register office today. There has to be a clear day’s notice. We can get married on Saturday and go away for the weekend. No need to give it out – better let all this other business fade a bit first. So you don’t have to feel you’re being rushed.’

‘Need we – ’

She bent and kissed him.

‘Darling, I simply can’t do it unless I’m your wife. And he’s coming next week – that’s where the hurry comes in. It’s a big thing, and I’ll do it for my husband, but – oh, Cyril, you must see that I couldn’t do it for anyone else.’

Cyril Eversley saw.