Ice in the Bedroom (25 page)

‘You astound me, Mr. Widgeon! Why was that?’

'Didn't I tell you he tried to murder Molloy at Barribault's yesterday? No? Well, he did, and the gendarmerie scooped him in and he spent last night in a prison cell. He was pretty sore about it, what embittered him chiefly being the fact that he was given a bath by the authorities. He wouldn't talk about anything else for the first ten minutes, but when I could get a word in edgeways, I handed him the bijouterie, and he said, "What's this?" I explained that it was his better half's missing jewellery and said that, while I would not presume to dictate and would leave the matter of the reward entirely to him, I thought ten per cent of the value of the gewgaws would be fair to all parties concerned, and what do you think his reply was? He said he would be blowed if he gave me a ruddy penny, adding that if a few fatheaded buttinskis like me were to refrain from being so damned officious and weren't always meddling in other people's affairs, the world would be a better and sweeter place. It seems that he insured the stuff for about twice its proper value, and got the money, and now he would have to give it back to the insurance people. He was very heated about it, so, seeing that my presence was not welcome, I came away. And I'd been counting on getting my three thousand quid from him,’ said Freddie brokenly, still gazing at the rabbit, but now as if seeking its sympathy.

He received none from that quarter, rabbits being notoriously indifferent to human suffering - lettuce, lettuce, lettuce, that is all that ever matters to them - but he got plenty from Mr. Cornelius. The house agent's beard quivered, as a bearded man's beard always will at the tale of a friend's distress. He became silent, seeming to be pondering on something or trying to come to some decision. At length he spoke.

'There is another source from which you can obtain the money you require, Mr. Widgeon,' he said.

Freddie was surprised.

'Oh, did Sally tell you about her idea of trying to get the necessary funds from Leila Yorke? It looks like being our last chance, now that Oofy has declined to do the square thing. I phoned her from the Drones about Oofy letting me down, and though of course knocked slightly base over apex by the news, she speedily rallied and said everything was going to be all right, because she was sure that Leila Yorke would come through, she having a heart of gold and more cash than you could shake a stick at. Well, I wore the mask and said, "Oh, fine!" or words to that effect, but I don't mind telling you, Cornelius, that I'm far from happy at the thought of letting a woman foot the bill. It jars my sense of what is fitting. True, as Sally keeps pointing out, it's merely a loan and it isn't as though she were kissing the stuff good-bye. Nevertheless…’

He would have spoken further, but at this moment a bell sounded, and he drew the fact to his companion's attention. A man of the other's age might well be hard of hearing.

'Your phone's ringing, Cornelius.'

'Yours, I think, Mr. Widgeon.'

'By jove, so it is,' said Freddie, starting into life. It must be Sally. Excuse me.' Left alone, Mr. Cornelius fell into a reverie. Rabbits twitched their noses at him, at a loss to understand why there had been this unexpected stoppage in the hitherto smoothly running lettuce supply, but he remained plunged in thought, not heeding their silent appeal Minutes passed, and when at length Freddie came out of the back door of Peacehaven, a glance told Mr. Cornelius that he had not received good news. His aspect reminded the house agent of Ms brother Charles at the time when there was all that trouble about the missing cash from his employer's till, Charles, confronted with the evidence of his peculations, had looked as if something heavy had fallen on him from a considerable height, and so did Freddie. Wasting no time on preambles, he said:

'Well, that's torn it!.

'I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m sunk!’

Again Mr. Cornelius begged his pardon, and Freddie forced himself to a semblance of calm. In order to get the sympathy he was seeking, he saw that he must be coherent,

'That was Sally on the phone, speaking from Claines Hall, Loose Chippings, and what do you think she told me? Leila Yorke has gone!'

'Dead?' said Mr. Cornelius, paling.

'Worse,' said Freddie. 'Legged it abroad with her husband on a sight-seeing jaunt, leaving no address but just a note saying that they were going to roam hither and thither about the Continent in the car, she didn't know where and she didn't know when she would be back. In short, she has disappeared into the void, breaking contact with the human herd, and can't be located. You see what that means?’

'You will be. unable now to apply to her for assistance in your financial emergency?’

'Exactly. I would have said that now we haven't an earthly chance of touching her, but your way of putting it is just as good. And I have to give Boddington my decision in the next couple of days or so. Now you see why I said I was sunk. I see no ray of hope on the horizon.’

It was stated earlier in this chronicle that the luxuriant growth of Mr. Cornelius's beard rendered it hard for the observer to see when he was pursing his lips. A similar difficulty presented itself when he smiled, as he was doing now. Freddie may have noticed a faint fluttering of the foliage, but nothing more. He continued in the same lugubrious strain.

'Leila Yorke was my last hope. Where else can I raise the needful?’

'Why, from me, Mr. Widgeon. I shall be delighted to lend you the money, if you will accept it. That was what I meant just now, when I spoke of an alternative source.'

Freddie stared,

‘You?'

'Certainly. It will be a pleasure.’

There came to Freddie the feeling he had sometimes had when trying to solve The Times crossword puzzle, that his reason was tottering on its throne, There was nothing in the other's appearance to indicate that he had gone off his rocker, and still less to suggest that he was trying to be funny, but he could place no other interpretation on his words.

'Listen,' he said. 'Are you sure you've got this straight? It isn't a fiver till Wednesday week that I want, it’s three thousand pounds.'

'So I have always understood you to say.’

'You mean you've actually got three thousand pounds?'

'Precisely.'

'And you're willing to lend them to me?'

'There is nothing I would like better.'

'But look here,' said Freddie, his scruples troubling him again. 'I'll admit that these doubloons would mean everything to me, and it's a great temptation to sit in on the project, because I honestly believe from what Boddington tells me that I should be able to pay you back in the course of time, but I don't like the idea of you risking all your life's savings like this.'

Once more, Mr. Cornelius's beard stirred as if a passing breeze had ruffled it.

‘These are not my life savings, Mr. Widgeon. I think I have spoken to you of my brother Charles?'

'The one who's living in America?'

'The one who was living in America,' corrected Mr. Cornelius. 'He passed away a few days ago. He fell out of his aeroplane.'

'No, really? I say, I'm awfully sorry,’

'I also. I was very fond of Charles, and he of me. He frequently urged me to give up my business and come and join him in New York, but it would have meant leaving Valley Fields, and I always declined. The reason I have brought his name up in the conversation is that he left me his entire fortune, amounting, the lawyers tell me, to between three and four million dollars.'

'What!'

'So they say.’

'Well, fry me for an onion!'

'The will is not yet probated, but the lawyers are in a position to advance me any sums I may require, however large, so you can rest assured that there will be no difficulty over a trivial demand like three thousand pounds.'

'Trivial?'

'A mere bagatelle. So you see that I can well afford to lend you a helping hand, and, as I told you before, it will be a pleasure.’

Freddie drew a deep breath. Mr. Cornelius, his rabbits and the garden of The Nook seemed to him to be executing a spirited version of the dance, so popular in the twenties, known as the shimmy,

'Cornelius.’ he said, 'you would probably object, if I kissed you, so I won't, but may I say…No, words fail me. My gosh, you're wonderful! You've saved two human lives from the soup, and you can quote me as stating this, that if ever an angel in human shape…No, as I said, words fail me.'

Mr. Cornelius, who had been smiling - at least, so thought Freddie, for his beard had been in a constant state of agitation - became grave.

'There is just one thing, Mr. Widgeon. You must not mention a word of this to anyone, except of course Miss Foster, in whom you will naturally have to confide. But you must swear her to secrecy.’

‘I’ll see that her lips are sealed all right. But why?’

'This must never reach Mrs. Cornelius's ears.'

'Hasn't it?'

'Fortunately, no.'

'You mean she doesn't know? You haven't told her about these pennies from heaven?'

‘I have not, and I do not intend to. Mr. Widgeon,' said Mr. Cornelius, graver than ever, 'have you any conception of what would happen, were my wife to learn that I was a millionaire? Do you think I should be allowed to go on living in Valley Fields, the place I love, and continue to be a house agent, the work I love? Do you suppose I should be permitted to keep my old friends, like Mr. Wrenn of San Rafael, with whom I play chess on Saturdays, and feed rabbits in my shirt sleeves? No, I should be whisked off to a flat in Mayfair, I should have to spend long months in the south of France, a butler would be engaged and I should have to dress for dinner every night. I should have to join a London club, take a box at the opera, learn to play polo,' said Mr. Cornelius, allowing his morbid fancy to run away with him a little. 'The best of women are not proof against sudden wealth. Mrs. Cornelius is perfectly happy and contented in the surroundings to which she has always been accustomed - she was a Miss Bulstrode of Happy Haven at the time of our marriage - and I intend that she shall remain happy and contented.' Freddie nodded.

‘I see what you mean. All that programme you were outlining sounds like heaven to me, but I can understand that you might not get the same angle. Just depends how you look at these things. Well, rest assured that none shall ever learn your secret from Frederick Fotheringay Widgeon, or, for the matter of that, from the future Mrs. F.F.W. Her lips, as I say, shall be sealed, if necessary with Scotch tape. I wonder if you'd mind if I left you for a space? I want to go and phone her the good news.’

'Not at all.’

‘I won't be able to see it, but her little face’ll light up like glorious Technicolor. Thanks to you.'

'My dear Mr. Widgeon, please!'

'I repeat, thanks to you. And if ever there's anything I can do for you in return…’

'I can think of nothing. Ah, yes. Could you tell me how "Rock of Ages" goes?'

'A horse? I don't think I have it on my betting list’

'The hymn.'

'Oh, the hymn? Now I get your drift. Why, surely, turn tumty tumty tumty tum, doesn't it?'

'The words, I mean.'

'Oh, the words? Sorry, I've forgotten, though I seem to recall the word "cleft". Or am I thinking of some other hymn?'

Mr. Cornelius's face lit up, as Sally's was so shortly to do. 'Why, of course. It all comes back to me.'

'Well, that's fine. Anything further?'

'No, thank you.'

'Then for the nonce, my dear old multi-millionaire, pip-pip.'

Freddie hurried into the house. Mr. Cornelius returned to his rabbits, who were feeling that it was about time.

'Rock of ages, cleft for me,' he sang.

The rabbits winced a little. They disapproved of the modern craze for music with meals.

Still, the lettuce was good, they felt philosophically. A rabbit learns to take the rough with the smooth.

THE END