Sixty Days to Live (5 page)

‘Are you quite sure about that?’ Lavina inquired politely. ‘I was under the impression that some comets were solid.’

‘Oh, no, you’ve been misinformed there,’ Fink-Drummond contradicted her quickly.

Lavina considered her uncle a much better authority upon astronomical matters than the ex-Cabinet Minister, but she tactfully refrained from mentioning the source of her own information.

‘I really can’t believe there is anything in this story of yours, Finkie,’ Sam remarked. ‘The world has survived for such billions of years, with comets rushing about the heavens the whole time. It seems to be an incredibly long chance against one hitting the earth head-on during the infinitesimal span of time that constitutes our own lives.’

‘Of course, there’s nothing in it. Can’t be,’ Fink-Drummond
agreed. ‘Anyway, no more than that a comet may pass within a few score million miles and appear as a big, bright new star in the heavens for a time.’

‘That’s about it,’ Sam nodded. ‘Just like the comet of 1811. I remember reading somewhere that people thought then that the world was coming to an end, and there were all sorts of demonstrations and riots in consequence.’

Beatrice Fink-Drummond screwed another cigarette into a long, jade holder. ‘That is evidently what the Cabinet are worrying themselves about. They fear that ignorant people will get frightened without cause, and that somebody may play upon their fears to make trouble for the Government.’

Lavina saw Fink-Drummond’s eyes suddenly narrow, as though an idea had just occurred to him. But he said nothing.

‘Well, if there is any excitement,’ Sam remarked, ‘we should be back just in time for it. I wanted to do a trip round the world, but Lavina says, “Let’s save that for the winter.”’

‘Yes, a month to five weeks is quite long enough now,’ Lavina smiled. ‘Then I want to get settled in my new home.’

‘Where are you going?’ Beatrice Fink-Drummond asked. ‘Or is that a secret?’

‘Goodness, no!’ Sam cut in. ‘But it’s going to be about the queerest honeymoon that you could imagine for two people like ourselves. We’re both a bit tired of city lights and crowds and dressing-up, so, after a few days in Paris, we’re going south, to the Pyrenees. Once we get there, we’re going to abandon Lavina’s maid, my man, and nine-tenths of the luggage. Just take the car up into those lovely, sun-baked pine woods along the foothills of the mountains and lead the simple life. Stay at tiny places, do a bit of walking, and, in fact, get some real fun out of the one sort of holiday that neither of us has ever dreamed of trying before.’

‘My dear, how primitive!’ Beatrice Fink-Drummond made a pretence of being shocked. ‘You really must love each other almost indecently if you’re not afraid of getting bored with five weeks of that.’

‘Either you love a person or you don’t,’ Rupert Brand took her up swiftly, ‘and, if you do, those first few weeks alone together must be heaven. Most of us are such fools that we fritter away all our lives mixing with crowds of mainly stupid people most of whom we don’t care two hoots about.’

Without waiting for a reply he turned to Lavina. ‘Will you forgive me if I go now? I’ve got a flying appointment down at Heston.’

His departure broke up the party, and when Sam’s guests had gone Lavina said suddenly:

‘Well, my unbelieving love, what about the comet now?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t see that what Finkie said changes the situation. We’ve never questioned your uncle’s statement that a comet is coming our way, and, naturally, the Astronomer Royal would report that to the Cabinet. It doesn’t follow that it’s going to smash us up, though.’

‘I must confess that there are times when I can’t really believe that Oliver’s right about the comet hitting the earth,’ she admitted. ‘The idea that we’re actually going to witness the end of the world is too utterly fantastic. All the same, I’m sure the old boy believes it himself, and he’s such a very brilliant scientist that somehow I don’t think he can be mistaken.’

Sam took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Don’t worry your sweet head about it. If it comes, it comes. In the meantime, we’re going to have five glorious weeks together and, personally, I don’t care if the whole box of tricks does blow up after that.’

‘Nor do I, Sam darling.’ She lifted her face to his kiss and for a few moments they lingered together. Then, as he led her out into the hall, he said:

‘By the by, Hemmingway got back last night and I gave him details of all the alterations that you want made to the rooms during our absence. I think you ought to go over them with him, though, in case I’ve forgotten anything, and anyhow, I want you to meet him.’

‘Yes, I’d like to. He’s your secretary, isn’t he?’

‘Hemmingway Hughes is something much more than that. I’ve come to regard him as my closest personal friend and he would have lunched with us to-day if he hadn’t had urgent business in the City. He’s half American, you know, and has just returned from a trip to the States where he’s been conducting some secret negotiations for me, while ostensibly on a visit to his mother.’

‘You must trust him a lot, then. How old is he?’

‘He’s only twenty-nine or thirty but he has the ablest brain for his age of any man I’ve ever met and he’s extraordinarily knowledgeable
about books and art and all sorts of other things outside business. I do hope you’ll like him.’

‘I hope so, too, although he sounds rather frightening.’

Sam took her up to the first floor and opened the door of a big room at the back of the house. A youngish man was seated there, behind a desk. As he rose at their entrance, Lavina saw that he was about six feet tall, and well-built without being unduly heavy. His dark hair, which curled slightly, had receded a little, which made his broad, high forehead a particularly outstanding feature; but it was his eyes which were most remarkable. They were dark, intense, and seemed to have a quality of wisdom and age about them far beyond the years of their owner.

‘Hemmingway,’ said Sam, ‘I’m most anxious for you to meet my fiancée, Lavina Stapleton. Darling, this is my friend, Hemmingway Hughes.’

For a second Lavina felt as though those strange eyes of Hemmingway’s were looking down into the most secret recesses of her mind; then his pale, young-old face was lit by a smile. ‘It’s grand to meet you in the flesh,’ he said. ‘I’ve often admired you as Lavina Leigh in your pictures.’

‘That’s nice of you,’ Lavina smiled in reply. ‘Sam tells me that you’re his second self, so I shall be seeing lots of you, and I do hope we’ll be good friends.’

‘I’m sure we shall.’ He extended a well-shaped, carefully manicured hand.

As she took it, Lavina was conscious of a horrible premonition that they were either going to be deadly enemies or something very much more to each other than just friends.

On May 12th Lavina and Sam were married. There had been no time to arrange the great social function which Sam would have liked to stage, in order to show off his lovely young filmstar bride to his hundreds of wealthy acquaintances; and, although Lavina, having become accustomed to the limelight during the latter part of her film career, would have raised no objection to a big show, she really preferred the idea of being married quietly from her own home in Surrey.

The initial difficulty had been the dilapidated condition of Stapleton Court and the fact that her father lived by such a narrow margin that he could not possibly afford even the few pounds it would cost to open up the house, much less give her a reception there; and he was far too proud to allow Sam to foot the bill for him.

Yet Gervaise Stapleton was not an unreasonable man. He was delighted at the thought that his daughter wanted to be married from her old home rather than from an hotel in London, and when she pointed out that her film earnings had left her with a considerable bank balance, from which she could well afford to pay for everything herself, he readily agreed that she should do so.

For the past week charwomen, french-polishers and menders had been hard at it, scrubbing and cleaning the reception rooms—which had not been open for nearly a quarter of a century—and mending their furnishings. So that on the morning of the wedding a firm of London caterers had had a clear field to prepare for the reception.

Only about a hundred people had been invited; Sam’s more intimate friends, some of Lavina’s film folk and a number of neighbours who had known her since her childhood.

Derek Burroughs was there, making a gallant attempt to hide
the gloom he could not help feeling. Conchita del Serilla, Rupert Brand and Fink-Drummond were among those who had motored down from London; but Mrs. Fink-Drummond was not present, as she had sailed the day before on a visit to friends in the United States.

Everyone agreed that Lavina, with her slight figure, thin, Roman-nosed, aristocratic little face and natural golden hair, made an enchanting bride; and that, in spite of his bulldog chin and greying hair, Sam did not really look old enough to be her father.

Gervaise, in an old-fashioned grey frock-coat and topper, dug out for the occasion, looked positively ducal, and Sam thought that Margery, as the only bridesmaid, looked younger and prettier than on any of the few occasions he had seen her.

Hemmingway Hughes, his pale, clever face smiling but sphinxlike, made an excellent best man and, without appearing to do anything very much, saw to it with his usual efficiency that all the arrangements worked smoothly.

One guest whom Lavina was particularly pleased to see afterwards at the reception was Oliver’s son, her cousin Roy. He was the bad hat of the family and had spent the best part of the last ten years roving about in the Far East, earning a precarious living in a variety of rather dubious ways; but he was a goodnatured, amusing person and Lavina had always been fond of him.

When he managed to get her to himself for a moment he laughingly congratulated her upon having been clever enough to find such a good-looking millionaire for a husband.

‘You’re over thirty so it’s time you settled down yourself, Roy,’ she laughed back at him.

‘No one will have me,’ he grinned.

‘I don’t believe it.’ Her glance took in his bronzed, attractive face with the fair, wavy hair above it. ‘You haven’t lost your looks and you always
were
a devil with the women!’

‘That’s just the trouble. Each girl seems to find out about one of the others, and there’s always a rumpus before I even get as far as popping the question. Besides, there aren’t so many young women knocking around who have the cash and would be prepared to keep me.’

‘You’re still broke, then?’

‘Absolutely stony. That’s why I decided to come back to England. Things were getting too hot for me in the East. Too many writs flying about, and I thought I might induce the old man to kill the fatted calf and set me up in some sort of business here.’

‘Poor Oliver’s killed too many fatted calves for you already, my lad, and he’s never had much money, so I shouldn’t think you’ll have any luck in that direction.’

He sighed. ‘No. He was decent enough, but he’s so wrapped up in his astronomy that it’s almost impossible to get him to talk business. How about this wealthy husband of yours, though? He’s got all sorts of interests. Think you could do me a turn, old girl, and get him to put me into something?’

Lavina smiled a little doubtfully. ‘You’ve blotted your copybook so often, Roy, and I’d have to tell Sam the truth about you; but if you care to leave it like that, I’ll ask him if he can do anything when we get back from our honeymoon.’

‘Thanks. You’re a darling. Always were. Don’t blacken the old horse too much, though, and I really will put in man’s time if you can persuade him to give me a job. You might tell him, too, that I approve the brand of champagne he’s given us for this little “do”. I’m going to knock off another bottle before I hit the trail for London.’

‘Do, Roy. Two, if you like. And thanks for the compliment, because I chose the wine and am paying for it.’

He lifted an eyebrow lazily. ‘Poor old girl. With his moneybags to draw on, you must be crackers! But you always were queer about that sort of thing. Anyhow, good hunting on your honeymoon!’

As some other guests came up he left her and, while she was talking with them, she noticed that Fink-Drummond had got Sam a little apart from the crowd, in another corner of the room.

Fink-Drummond was saying: ‘Listen, Sam, I hate to drag you away from your friends at a time like this but I’ve a most important matter that I must tell you about before you leave England. I won’t keep you long, but is there somewhere we could have a quiet word together?’

‘Of course, Finkie, if it’s something really urgent.’ Sam glanced quickly round the room and added: ‘Come along to the library.
The family use it as a living-room so it’s been shut up for to-day. No one will disturb us there.’

When they reached the library, Fink-Drummond perched himself on the corner of Gervaise Stapleton’s big desk and said impressively: ‘Since I lunched with you the other day I’ve been doing a lot of quiet thinking. You may remember it was suggested that the Government might intend to use this threat of danger from the comet that is approaching as a means of panicking the public and getting themselves home again on a snap election.’

Sam nodded. ‘Yes. But you said yourself that that could not possibly be their intention because they had decided to keep all knowledge of the comet from the public as long as possible.’

‘Exactly. Fink-Drummond tapped Sam on the grey satin stock he was wearing, with a strong, slightly twisted forefinger. ‘That is the whole point. If they’re not going to use it, is there any reason why somebody else shouldn’t?’

‘I see.’ Sam frowned slightly as his quick brain grasped the trend of the ex-Cabinet Minister’s thoughts. ‘You’re suggesting that, when you’ve got your own followers organised, you should blow the gaff about the comet before the Government has the chance to do so? Accuse them of criminal negligence in failing to take such precautions as are possible against the danger, force a General Election and ride home to power yourself on a panic wave of popular indignation?’