The Cheat (Holman)/Chapter 18
Carmelita had turned Rao-Singh's check over to Mrs. Peabody and Mrs. Hurd, who were far too rapt up in their mission to notice and would have been too reserved anyway to comment upon their hostess' hasty arrival and agitated condition. Carmelita managed a smile and listened politely to their inconsequential comments about the Fête and its success.
"You and Prince Rao-Singh deserve a large share of the credit," declared Mrs. Peabody, and Carmelita winced at this coupling of their names.
"And Mr. Church tells me that Mr. Drake, your husband, was of great value in the accounting," chimed Mrs. Hurd. Poor Dudley!
Carmelita offered them tea and was glad when they refused, though they lingered on several endless minutes. Under ordinary circumstances she would have been flattered by their evident desire to cultivate her and their pleasure in her company. But in her present state of mind she was fervently grateful when they picked up their wraps and sauntered, chatting as they went, to Mrs. Peabody's car. She stood down in the drive talking through the open limousine window until they started.
"You really must come over, dear Mrs. Drake, for some bridge," invited Mrs. Peabody at the last minute. "And bring Mr. Drake. We shall be delighted."
Carmelita accepted without hardly knowing what she did. What a farce. Well, no date had been set, anyway.
She had hardly regained the living-room and a deep, upholstered chair in which to rest and gather her scattered wits together when another car drove up bearing Lucy Hodge in an excited, for her, condition.
"Jackie phones me that your father is in town, Carmelita," she greeted her.
Two weeks ago this would have filled Carmelita with a great hope and joy. But since that letter from him—
"That is news," she said uncertainly. "I have never heard from him since my marriage, you know—except for a letter I received the other day in which he repeated that he had disowned me. I don't think he'll want to see me."
"Probably not," agreed Lucy, and drew one of her interminable supply of monogrammed cigarettes and, lighting it, exhaled an enormous puff. Her chief interest in dashing over to give Carmelita the news had been curiosity to see how she would take it. She had, of course, known of the estrangement between Don Caesar de Cordoba and his daughter. "However, I've instructed Jackie to sound him out and possibly something can be done. Frankly, Carmelita, you must be rather up against it for funds, if you'll pardon the impertinence of an old friend. But so are we. I fear sometimes old Jackie will have to turn workingman. That would be a frightful blow. The old dear is so stupid. He would never get along. We should starve."
At eight o'clock, Carmelita was reflecting, she had promised to dine—alone—with Rao-Singh. The significance of the "alone" had dawned upon her when he had seized her in his arms and crushed her to him. He had bought the right to kiss her for five thousand dollars and now with an additional five thousand he—
Her promise had been made in desperation. Surely he would not expect her to keep it. His burning eyes, flushed face, crushing arms that longed to possess her—no, no, there must be a way out!
"What is worrying you, Carmelita? Is something terribly wrong?" asked Lucy, a little alarmed by the wanness of Carmelita's face and the manner in which she was twisting her fingers until the knuckles showed white.
"Your news is such a shock," Carmelita muttered.
"Well, there is only one way to appease your father, of course. Go to him and offer to divorce Dudley and start all over again. I don't think you two are the lovey-doves you were at the beginning, anyway. You have hardly seen anything of him all summer."
"It has been my fault. He has worked so hard."
"Nonsense. If he had wanted to see more of you he could have managed. And what has all his alleged hard work gotten him—and you—anyway? I don't observe either of you rolling in wealth. You are apparently worrying yourself sick over something—probably money. If you had only taken my advice in the first place, in Paris—
"Please, please!" Carmelita suddenly cried, rising and standing with twisted face before the airily impudent Lucy. And, feeling that she could not stand it a second longer, Carmelita turned swiftly and without a word of explanation rushed up the stairs and to her boudoir. Lucy had risen also and for a minute she stood in curious puzzlement watching Carmelita disappear. Should she follow? Possibly Carmelita was ill. But she had a date to go swimming with Rao-Singh and a party in ten minutes and, with a sigh and a shrug of the shoulders, she walked out and started her car.
Carmelita listened to the screeching and gratings as Lucy shifted her gears badly, and felt better. At least she had been successful in not breaking down in her visitor's presence. She had learned in the past few months that Lucy Hodge was an entertaining fair-weather friend but a bad confidante in an emergency. Lucy's mind only seemed to work when she was scheming something for her own interests. Otherwise it was shallow and lazy. There was no use confiding in her.
So her father was in New York. An hour away, and he could do so much for her if he only would. Why, it would be nothing for him to write her a check for five thousand dollars, if he could bury his pride enough to do it and if he wouldn't ask questions, and she could give it to Rao-Singh and have done with him forever.
On an impulse she took the telephone and ealled the Ritz-Carlton Hotel—Lucy had not mentioned where he was stopping but he always went there. There was a little confusion in getting the connection and Carmelita tapped her foot impatiently. "Hello," said the man at the desk, and she inquired eagerly if Don Caesar de Cordoba were registered. "Yes," came the answer. Her heart missed a beat. Might she speak to him? Silence a moment. Then, "Mr. de Cordoba is out of town and will not return for two weeks." Carmelita hung up the transmitter utterly depressed. She had really managed to work up considerable hope from her father's presence so near, and now it was shattered. And he had not tried to get in touch with her before leaving.
She looked around to find the maid standing in her boudoir door with a large, fragrant bouquet of flowers. Who could be sending them? Rao-Singh? The maid approached with them and Carmelita could not restrain an exclamation, "Oh, aren't they beautiful!" Dudley's Italian florist had fairly outdone himself. She pressed her burning cheeks into their cool, sweet depths. There was a card buried in the mass of red roses:
Dudley! And he was coming here. "You may take them, Marie," she said to the maid calmly, "and put them in water. There are vases in the hall closet. And be very careful with them." She handed over the flowers and the maid disappeared.
The flowers were a good omen. He had probably been thinking about Saturday night and was coming to make amends. That was what he meant by "good news." Well, it was good news and she would welcome him with open arms. But he brought complications also. On the whole, she concluded to take the plunge. She would, she decided at last, sitting uneasily in a chair near the window, tell him everything and throw herself upon his mercy. And now, in preparation for the ordeal, she would change into fresh clothes for the evening. It was nearly half-past five.
She went to her wardrobe and selected a simple, sleeveless evening gown of a silky burnt-orange material and laid it out upon the bed. Then she disrobed, bathed, foregoing the assistance of her maid, and donned the fresh costume. Physically the renovation made her feel considerably better. She was sitting on the little bench in front of the mirror in her elaborate dressing table administering the final touches to her toilette when she caught sight of Dudley's face behind her in the glass. He startled her, for she had not heard his taxi arriving. He was agrin from ear to ear. She rose with a joyous expression and in two strides he had her in his arms and was kissing her hands and face and shoulders very thoroughly, and he wondered if she were going to cry.
Finally he held her off from him and fairly shouted in his eagerness, "Darling, I have the most wonderful news in the world. All our problems are solved!"
Poor boy. His knowledge of their problems was so limited.
"You don't believe it? Well, look at this," and he pulled out two thin leather-bound volumes—the bank-book and the check-book. He was excited as a youngster. "They're yours, Carmelita. See—your name is on the bank-book."
"But I don't understand." It was indeed her name on the book and, opening the pages, she saw that there was $25,000 deposited to her credit. And the check-book was crisp and new. Was this a cruel joke?
She had sunk down upon the bed because she no longer trusted her knees, and he sat down beside her.
"It's my pay for the big deal I've put over for my uncle—the one I've been so mysterious about. The papers were signed to-day, and this is just an installment of my commission. Don't be afraid to take it. There's lots more coming. We're rich, Carmelita, rich—you can buy anything you like! Rent a whole village of Long Island estates if you want them! Our troubles are over, as I said. And my uncle is going to take me into the firm." He poured it out in a joyful, tumultuous flood into her unbelieving ears that were finally forced to believe.
Suddenly she burst into tears, to his astonishment, half laughing, almost hysterical. He tried helplessly to understand and comfort her.
"This is a fine way to take my news," he protested. She clung close to him, apologizing brokenly, "I am crying because I am so happy—happy."
Poor boy, this was what he had been working for all these months. And she had put every impediment in his way. He had gone right on slaving for her. And unconsciously he had solved all their problems. Why, he had opened a way out as broad and clear as sunlight. She would write a check from her own check-book for five thousand dollars and dash over with it to Rao-Singh and the world would all seem bright again.
Dudley was going right on making plans without noticing she wasn't listening. "I want you to let me pay everything it has cost you to lease this place and run it," he said earnestly. "And then we'll start on a new basis. After Labor Day we'll move into a new apartment on the Drive and we'll start an entirely new mode of life—entertaining, see all the shows, oh, we'll have a wonderful time this fall and winter, Carmelita! Don't think I haven't appreciated what you've gone through with me. I love you all the more for it."
"And I've never loved you so much as at this minute, Dudley," she caressed him. He had evidently forgotten all about Rao-Singh. If he would only let her get away and transact her business quickly with the Hindu and clear her conscience once and for all.
"If you've got any debts here in connection with the house," he went on rather grandly, "I want you to go right ahead and pay them out of your check-book. The money is yours and you don't have to account to me for it in any way. "It was such a delicious sensation to be able to say things like that to her at last that he could have gone on saying them forever.
"Don't you want to change your clothes, Dudley? It's been so fearfully hot and, poor boy, you've hurried so to get out here and tell me your wonderful news." While he was busy doing it, she could, she thought—
"What I'd like to do," he answered, "is to take a little dip in the Sound. It's rather late in the day for that, I know, but I know I'd feel right on the crest after a couple of dives. Don't suppose you'll come along. I see you're dressed for dinner." He looked at her anxiously. "I hope you haven't made a dinner engagement anywhere. I want you all to myself to-night, and we can have a quiet little honeymoon dinner together."
"I'm afraid I did say I'd dine—with Lucy," she said confusedly. Perhaps she could get an opportunity to get away for a few minutes that way. "But I can dash over and call it off."
"Why not do it over the 'phone?" There seemed no answer to that.
She waited for him down in the living-room, not daring to absent herself yet, and tried to read the evening newspaper he had brought out with him and dropped on the divan. She was tickled to death with his wonderful news, not now so much for what it would mean to her in the future but really because he had made good and been rewarded for his months of strenuous work. And, of course, it could hardly have come at a more opportune time. The hand of fate seemed to be operating in her favor at last.
He came down in his bathing suit and once more she felt a glow of pride in his well-set-up body and broad shoulders and altogether wholesome appearance. Dudley had been a rather famous college athlete in his day and he had always taken good care of himself. Moreover, his was the sort of physique that never showed the results of the hardships it was put under. He had been under a severe physical and mental strain for a year now, yet his face and eyes were as clear and free of wrinkles as a baby's. There was no man quite like Dudley. She tossed her paper into the corner of the divan, sprang up and flung herself into his arms and kissed him anew.
"Well, sweetheart—that's something like," he laughed as he released her. She kept hold of his hand as they walked down the path together leading to the little pier. It was near the end of the lazy August afternoon. The Sound was like glass and the water at high tide lapped against the pier with a little plopping sound. A tramp steamer was making slowly for New York along the horizon. Closer by a slim yacht had lowered its sails for lack of wind and was making noisy use of the auxiliary motor. She sat on the bench at the end of the pier and watched him walk out upon the springboard and, balancing himself an instant on his toes, launch into a graceful dive. He came up damp and smiling.
"That clears the cobwebs away!" he called to her as he hoisted himself up the ladder and onto the pier. "Let's buy a place like this. We can come into New York and live at a hotel during the winter months." He seemed to believe he was a rival of Rockefeller now. She smiled acquiescence. And all the time a vague uneasiness was spoiling her delight in his triumph. If she could only go to Rao-Singh and get this thing forever off her mind without causing Dudley to ask questions. He took three more dives, thoroughly enjoying himself, and then he took her silence and seeming impatience as a desire to get back to the house, so he announced, "Well, I guess that'll do. Will you roll out early in the morning, Carmelita, and swim with me before I get the train for New York?" She agreed.
It was half-past seven by the clock in the living-room when she walked into the house. Dudley had obediently gone around to enter by the back door so as not to track water over the rugs. He was standing at the foot of the stairs when the telephone rang and she picked it up to answer. At the sound of the voice on the wire she turned pale and looked quickly around to see where he was. Rao-Singh was ealling her.
"I hope you have not forgotten our engagement," said the suave voice.
She answered hurriedly, "Tell Lucy not to worry. I shall be right along. I'm sorry she is ill." And hung up the receiver. "It was Lucy Hodge's maid. She is suddenly ill and wants me to run over for a minute. You don't mind?"
"Oh, hang Lucy," he said impatiently. "Just when I wanted you all to myself."
"I'll only be a minute."
"If you'll wait five minutes, I'll go over with you." He was anxious to be with her as much as possible.
"No, you go ahead and get dressed and I'll be back before you're ready to come down to dinner." The maid was already setting the table for two in the next room. "It will only make it harder to get away if you're with me. I can tell her I must get back to you."
She went over to him and kissed him and he reluctantly yielded. As soon as he had disappeared up the steps she went over to the wall-safe in the living-room. She had taken the precaution to place her new bank-book and check-book there while she accompanied Dudley swimming. She twirled the combination, pulled open the door, and fumbled hastily in the drawer of the inner compartment for the books. She heard something fall as she secured them and turned away, giving the safedoor a push to close it but not making sure it had locked. She was too intent upon getting away before Dudley summoned her for some reason or other to investigate what had fallen down inside the safe.
She snapped on her desk light and made out a check to "Cash" for five thousand dollars. Her fountain pen trembled as she wrote, so much so that she made a bad blot on the check and had to tear it up and toss it into the little wicker waste basket at her feet. She took the precaution to tear it into very small bits. Then she made out another check, this time more carefully, and stuffed it into the bosom of her dress. With a precautionary look around, she hurried out through the open door, out upon the piazza and over the lawn, not stopping to don hat or wrap beforehand.