Sue For Mercy Part 4

"You didn't tell me you were engaged to be married," I said breezily. "We must drink to your fiancee. Does she live in London?"

I expected him to look guilty, but he didn't. He half-smiled, smothered it, and followed me through to my flat without trying to touch me.

"So that's what Bianca told you? I'm sorry; I ought to have warned you about her, but I hoped you need never meet. I'm not engaged. I was once - for three weeks, but when Dad was arrested she told me she thought we ought to postpone the wedding for a while. I did the n.o.ble thing and offered to release her from our engagement. She said 'no, no!', but she didn't mean it. So I had a chat with her father and said we'd better just forget the whole thing. She was a nice girl, but she didn't have the guts to last the course. Anything else you want to know about her?"

I took a mouthful of chicken and chewed. I shook my head. Charles sat opposite me as if we were strangers in a restaurant. Usually I laid his place side by side with mine, but tonight I'd put him on the far side of the table.

"Ronald didn't like her," he said. "He said I needed an emotional anchor, not a pennant to fly whichever way the wind might happen to blow. Felicity could never do what you have done for me. I can't imagine her ever offering me the comfort of her body, or..."

"You might have told me. It would have been more open."

"I didn't want to tell you anything, you know that. Not until this is all over."

"But why?" I pushed my plate aside. "Bianca said you were a bit of a rogue where the girls are concerned. She also said you made a pa.s.s at her once."

That ruffled him. "I do not make a habit of hopping in and out of girls' beds, Sue. It's happened once or twice - yes. I was always ashamed of myself afterwards, because it didn't mean anything. As for Bianca..." He checked my face to see if I would take it. "She made a pa.s.s at me, not I at her. And I had to decline the offer. That's partly why she hates me."

His eyes slid away from mine, and I could see he was nerving himself to hear me call him a liar again. I didn't. Strangely enough, I believed him.

"All right. I accept that. But she said you were 'naughty' over the fraud case, and I know they're blackmailing you."

"Yes, and on the other hand, no. I am allowing myself to be blackmailed, if you like, but for an excellent reason."

"To get at J.B.'s money?"

He didn't like that. His face tightened up and went cold on me.

"Well what other reason can there be?" I asked despairingly.

"To get Dad out of jail, of course." He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Don't you understand, Sue? He was framed for the fraud case, and the brains behind the frame have just been to see you, to make sure nothing will go wrong with their next job. This time I'm being set up as scapegoat. This time the stakes are higher; before, they played for forty thousand and my father's firm. This time they are playing for J.B.'s money and his life. They want me to murder him and arrange it so that Julian will inherit."

I started to cry, partly from shock, partly from relief. I knew I was hearing the truth now. We abandoned the hardly-tasted meal and opened the wine. I needed it, even if Charles didn't.

The roots of the trouble lay in the past, in John Brenner's marriage to a difficult woman who brought him money but no kindness or understanding. Their only child Julian was conceived in a desperate attempt to put some warmth into the marriage. He was born in the same month, and in the same nursing home as Charles, but his mother indoctrinated him from birth with the idea that his parentage ent.i.tled him to an easy ride through life. John Brenner was frequently away on business; there were rumours that he kept a mistress, but if this were true, he was discreet about it. Whatever the cause, his wife came to look on him simply as a source of money, and Julian copied her.

It was perhaps unfortunate that Charles was always around to act as foil to Julian, for Charles had been born with a quick brain, a thirst for knowledge and a dogged temperament that earned him every prize he cared to compete for at school, and brought him scholars.h.i.+ps as he grew older. Charles was conscious of his ability, but not conceited, for his father and brothers - all men of steady character - banged it into him that though he had been born with a gift, it would do him no good unless he exploited it, and that that meant hard work. Luckily, Charles liked work. Julian didn't. Even if John Brenner had not had Charles constantly in sight, he must have been disappointed in his only son, for though Julian had been born with some brains, he had no inclination to use them.

When Charles was ten, John Brenner offered to pay his fees to a well-known public school. The offer was refused. Oliver Ashton said that Charles could either pay his own way, or go to the local grammar school as his brothers had done. In due course Charles won a scholars.h.i.+p to the same public school to which Julian had been sent. At that time they tolerated each other. Julian floated around at the bottom of the cla.s.ses, making the least possible effort to get through school, waiting for the day when he could take up his rightful position in the world as a millionaire's heir. Charles found compet.i.tion sharpened his mind and finished school with an armful of trophies to his credit before going on to Oxford on another scholars.h.i.+p.

After school Julian drifted from one thing to another, taking nothing seriously. His father found him jobs; he would keep them for a while and then, growing bored, would take off for the South of France or the Bahamas for an extended holiday before drifting back to Whitestones to ask for more money.

Charles enjoyed himself at Oxford. He revelled in setting himself impossible tasks and then completing them within time limits set by himself. He had one secret which he kept even from his family; every year on his birthday John Brenner wrote to Charles and offered him a job, and every year Charles refused, saying he wished to make his own way in the world. Charles spoke of this to no one, least of all to Julian, and yet when the two met, discomfort ruled. Charles came to the conclusion that Julian had discovered his father's offers of work, and resented them. He did not blame Julian for resenting them, but he did begin to feel sorry for John Brenner, and after he qualified and began to work for the Merchant Bank, he used to ask the millionaire to dine with him when he was in London. John Brenner always accepted these invitations.

It seemed to me that the two men, the one old and powerful, and the other young but conscious of latent power, recognised each other's quality and were drawn to each other despite the difference in their ages and Charles' pride.

When Julian's mother died, he inherited a lump sum of money and married Bianca, who had as great a talent for spending it as he did himself. They bought a big mock-Tudor house in an expensive suburb of town and Julian played the Stock Market - disastrously. He got into debt. His father bailed him out and, discovering that most of Julian's money had gone this way and that, suggested his son might try accountancy as a last resort, under Oliver Ashton's eye. Julian refused. He plunged into some slightly questionable property deal which was to retrieve his financial position, it fell through, and he was left worse off than before. Once more John Brenner rescued him, and repeated the suggestion of a job with Oliver Ashton. This time he reinforced his suggestion by telling Julian that he had no wish to leave his money to someone who did not know how to handle it. He said that he had altered his Will, which had previously made Julian residuary legatee, subject to certain bequests to servants. The new Will left Julian a mere two thousand pounds per annum, with the remainder going to charity. John Brenner informed his son that if he could make a success of the job with Oliver Ashton, and show signs of settling down, he would tear up the new Will, and reinstate Julian as his heir. Julian had no choice but to take the job, but it rankled.

At first John Brenner's plan had appeared to work well. Oliver Ashton, working part-time since his operation for lung cancer a couple of years back, never believed evil of anyone if he could help it, and thought of Julian as a wayward child in need of kindness. He handed Julian over to a man called Robert Maudsley, who had been with the firm for years. Ronald Ashton, the second son, disliked Julian's presence in the office because he thought he did his work badly, but he made no complaint, since he did not wish to upset his father.

It was easy, afterwards, to see how the frame had been worked.

In Bianca, Julian had a wife with just as many brains as he, far more guts, and far fewer scruples. She and her husband worked on Robert Maudsley until he agreed to help them. Robert was a good choice; an ageing bachelor, he was qualified but had no capital, so that he could not set up by himself, and he had not quite enough brains to justify his being offered a partners.h.i.+p in the family firm. He had had an "understanding" for years with Ruth James, who was Oliver Ashton's secretary, but had never "named the day". It was Robert who co-opted Ruth. Bianca provided the driving force and the brains, Julian and Robert the opportunity, and Ruth the necessary secretarial skills for the frame.

The first step was to select suitable clients; Oliver Ashton only worked half days, and the clients he didn't deal with were split almost equally between Ronald and Robert, with Julian sometimes helping out. The victims had to be people with money which they wished either to invest for the first time - such as a widow who had just received her husband's life insurance - or professional men who wished to take money out of stocks which were not doing well, so that it might be reinvested in a more profitable manner. Between them, Julian and Robert selected four such clients, and told them their problem would be referred to Mr. Oliver Ashton for solution. Needless to say, Oliver Ashton never even heard that they had any problem! The next step was for Ruth to write formal letters to each of these four clients, as if they came from Oliver Ashton, saying that he would be only too pleased to invest money on their behalf, if they would send him a cheque made out to him personally.

"Personally", that was the point. Usually such cheques would be made out to the firm, but in the letters which Ruth typed and signed on his behalf, it was clearly stated that the cheques were to be made out to Oliver Ashton in person. The police found this a most d.a.m.ning point, when they came to investigate.

When the victims sent in their cheques, Ruth intercepted them, put the letters in the appropriate files, and gave the cheques to her fellow conspirators. By that time either Robert or Julian - probably Julian, since he was most like Oliver Ashton in build - had got himself up in a white wig and opened an account in the name of Oliver Ashton in a bank in a neighbouring town. The manager of the bank knew Oliver Ashton by repute but not by sight; he was cynically amused when his new client explained that he wished to keep this second account a secret from his family. He asked, for instance, that his bank statements should be sent to his office. The fake "Oliver Ashton" managed to convey that he wanted to run a second account in a different town in order to support a mistress there. The four cheques were paid into this secret account, and all but two thousand pounds were subsequently withdrawn by "Oliver Ashton", in cash, over a period of about a month.

In time, of course, the four victims became restive. They wanted their share certificates, or at least some acknowledgement that their money had been received. One wrote, another phoned. Oliver Ashton couldn't understand what they were on about. One went to the police, and the Fraud Squad walked in. Perfectly timed, the bank statements for the secret account arrived at the office. Ruth handed them over to the police, in tears. Nearly forty thousand pounds had disappeared; two thousand had turned up in an account which had been opened by "Oliver Ashton" under mysterious circ.u.mstances, and the letters from the clients were all on file, just as they ought to be. It was an open and shut case against Oliver Ashton.

Naturally Oliver Ashton denied everything. Then one evening Robert, Julian and Bianca cornered him with a handful of letters purporting to involve both Mary Ashton and Charles in the fraud. They were forgeries, but good ones; it turned out that Ruth had quite a talent in that direction. Oliver Ashton, frail and badly shaken by the case, couldn't stand the thought of his darling wife, and the son of whom he had been so proud standing in the dock with him. Broken, he bought their immunity; he sold the firm to Robert Maudsley and agreed to plead guilty to fraud, provided the incriminating letters were destroyed. Robert had an agreement ready to sign, together with a cheque for twenty thousand pounds. Julian and Bianca witnessed the sale, and then drove Oliver down to the police station and waited for him while he made a statement confessing his guilt.

Charles was in Paris on business at the time, and he had Felicity and his own future to think about, but he threw all that up to tear back home to see what he could salvage from the wreck. He was too late; his father could fight no longer. He had turned into a tired old man overnight. The police had their confession, and Ronald had already been dismissed from the firm he had always supposed he would inherit, and was without a job or prospect of landing one. Oliver told his sons to think of themselves, and not to waste time and energy on fighting the inevitable. Charles raged, to no avail. He and Ronald worked out how the fraud must have been committed. They ferreted out the weak points in the prosecution case; that the manager of the bank could not truthfully say that the real Oliver Ashton had opened the secret account with him, and that thirty-eight thousand pounds had vanished into thin air. David, the elder brother, wrote from Ireland to suggest that Charles pounded the truth out of Ruth, but that would only have brought Charles into court himself on a charge of grievous bodily harm. Oliver Ashton insisted that he must plead guilty, and did so.

He was tried - a formality - and sentenced. Ronald took the twenty thousand pounds for which the family firm had been sold, and went to work for his mother at Collett Cosmetics. That at least had worked out well. He and his wife now lived at Green Gables and kept Mary Ashton sane. Charles broke his engagement to Felicity and went back to Paris fighting mad, but unable to see what he could do about it. Ruth married Robert Maudsley, and Bianca brought herself a diamond solitaire.

To do him credit, John Brenner refused to believe that his old friend was guilty. Julian was stupid enough to taunt his father with having been friendly with a crook, and when that had no effect, threw in a hint that Charles had been involved, too. John Brenner replied that if Charles had been involved, the fraud would have been carried off so cleverly that it would never have been detected! Jealous, Julian flared up. There had been a row to end all rows, and a great many things had been said which would have been better left unsaid. In consequence, John Brenner disinherited his son completely, which set Bianca plotting once more - this time not for the paltry sum of nineteen thousand pounds which was Julian and Bianca's share of the original loot, but for John Brenner's life.

As before they needed a scapegoat, and for various reasons - because he had offended Bianca, and because he had always been a favourite of John Brenner's - the conspirators' choice fell on Charles rather than on Ronald. Julian and Bianca visited him when he got back from Paris, and threatened him with publication of letters similar to those which had broken his father, unless he left his job and went to work for John Brenner on their behalf.

Apparently Charles conceived a counterplot even while they were detailing their plan for him to fleece John Brenner of a considerable sum of money each month. Charles was not frightened by their threats, although he pretended he was; in reality he was eager for the opportunity to work with them, so that he might collect evidence to clear his father. He asked for time to consider. They gave him a week, during which he threw up his job, and turned practically everything he owned into ready money. Then he went to John Brenner and asked him for a job.

I think it must have been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life, for even while he told me about it he ground his teeth. At first John Brenner had refused to believe that Charles was serious, so Charles had to spin him some yarn about having dropped a packet on the Stock Exchange, and wis.h.i.+ng to gain experience in J.B.'s employ so that he could recoup. He made it clear to his future boss that he would use any information that came his way, while working for J.B., to make money on the side. J.B. had laughed, angry and disillusioned with his favourite, and dared him to try. Perhaps, too, some of the poisonous hints Julian had dropped in his ear had been absorbed.

"He wanted to punish me for letting him down," said Charles, starting to pace the room. "He probed for my weak spots, and I've got plenty. He considered it a day well spent if he could make me slam out of the room to avoid losing my temper. He really did have me licking stamps and... I saw it did no good to take it quietly, so I started to hit back. We threw words at each other like hand grenades. He abused me till he learned I would give as good as I took. But he didn't give me notice, and I stuck it out somehow, until he saw that I really was the same person, even if I had come a cropper on the 'Change. I do have a feeling for the way money moves. I do have the sort of background, and the training to work for, and even with him. He began to trust me again, and then to test me out... and then to wonder if I meant to stay with him or to leave as suddenly as I'd come. He tried to get me to talk about my financial affairs, and the real reason why I'd gone to work for him, but at the time I couldn't...

"He began to fret because he felt he had no hold on me. He'd been so lonely; fighting with me was the best thing that had happened to him for years. Like you, he knows when I lie. He knew from the beginning that I hadn't really gone to him to learn how to make money, although he saw that I was short... He tried bribery; he offered me a directors.h.i.+p in one of his companies, a new car. He tried to give me things - a valuable picture I'd admired, clothes, and so on. I returned them all at first, but... not the watch he gave me at Christmas. You see, he'd given a beauty of a watch when I was twenty-one, and I'd had to sell it with the rest of my things. He noticed that at once. He gave me another at Christmas, and I couldn't even thank him for it!"

He clasped and unclasped the watch angrily, staring into s.p.a.ce. I was beginning to wonder if John Brenner cared for Charles in the same way that Charles seemed to care for his boss.

He slid over that part of the story which covered his "business" arrangement with Julian and Bianca, only a.s.suring me that although he had managed to satisfy them, he had not cheated his employer while doing so. The flicker of his eyelids and a half smile told me he would lie if I pressed him on the subject.

He wasn't sure whether Bianca and Julian had intended to murder J.B. from the start, or whether that idea had grown with the success of their scheme to plant Charles in J.B.'s household. However it had been, Charles had been completely unprepared for the use of violence.

The Friday night on which he disappeared was one of those on which he had been scheduled to meet the Brenners and Maudsleys to discuss the progress of their scheme. He was asked to stay at the Brenners for the weekend, because they had something important to discuss with him. Having agreed to collaborate with them, Charles had to agree to that, too. He collected his overnight bag from the boarding-house and turned up at the Brenners in time for supper. It was his custom at that time to have a sandwich for lunch, and he had been healthily hungry when he arrived. Over pre-supper drinks it was suggested to him that he put a forged Will into J.B.'s safe - a Will which would reinstate Julian as heir - and then tamper with J.B.'s insulin bottles so that J.B. would go into a coma and die. Bianca's idea was that Charles should put the Will into the safe on the following Tuesday morning, just before J.B. left on his trip south, so that he would be taken ill on the yacht, when it would be difficult to raise medical a.s.sistance quickly.

Charles raised a number of objections, which were squashed by Bianca. Finally he had to say "no". There was no explosion from Bianca. She suggested that he think it over while they had supper, and asked if he'd like to wash up first. She showed him into a bedroom which might once have been a nursery, for it had bars on the window. She locked the door and left him there. There were no sheets or blankets on the bed, the room was unheated, he had no coat with him - and he was hungry. There was a washbasin, so he had water to drink, and there was a pot under the bed. They left him there until Monday night, hoping that hunger and cold would persuade him where words had not.

Charles said that he could have broken out, but had decided against it. He had agreed to work with the conspirators, hoping for an opportunity to collect evidence which would free his father, and at the same time protect J.B. from harm. If he broke out, he would blow his cover and lose the only advantage he had. He sweated it out; his greatest fear that if he told the villains to go to h.e.l.l, they might tamper with the insulin bottles themselves, while he was not there to warn J.B. So he sat it out.

When they came to fetch him on Monday evening, he was weak, but still active enough to give Julian a black eye, and Robert a crack on the knee.

Charles didn't detail what they had done to him. He said that at first their idea was not to damage him so that it would show, but that as time went on and he remained obdurate, they grew careless, and more inventive. He said he'd heard the clock chime ten and twelve but couldn't remember it striking eleven. Once they had to pour whisky down him to bring him round. Almost immediately after he lost consciousness again, and only woke up in hospital.

"And now they know about you," he said, giving me one of his loving, anxious looks. "Bianca saw that you were no one-night stand. She knows I'm serious about you, and that she now has the perfect weapon to make me do whatever she wishes. She only has to threaten to harm you, and I'll do as she wishes."

"You wouldn't kill..."

"Of course not. But I must join J.B. as quickly as I can, and keep him out of the country until we're ready to move. I mustn't see you again, until this is all over."

"How long will it be, and what is it you are planning?"

"I mustn't tell you. I daren't. But it won't be long now. The next move is up to Ronald, and when he's got his bit of the jigsaw in place, I'll come back and tell Bianca that I'm willing to see sense and that I'll do whatever it is that she wishes me to do. Darling Sue - forgive me for dragging you into this?"

I was more frightened now than I had been before. I clung to him, and he to me. Presently we moved to the bed and made love slowly, sadly, for the last time.

I woke in the night, and waking, I roused him, too. I had taken to leaving the gas fire on at nights, partly because the weather had turned cold, and partly for company. I had no need to worry about bills, for as Bianca had hinted, Charles had been more than generous to me. It was warm, lying in his arms. The following night I would be alone and cold.

"I've been thinking," he said, low in my ear. "Every day this last week I've been able to tell myself that, incredibly, I was happy. Not just content, but properly happy."

There were a lot of things that I wanted to say to him, such as that I was a stodgy Old Maid in the making, and that I didn't really expect to hear from him again once he'd gone, but I thought they might sound as if I were asking for promises from him, so I said nothing at all.

"Sweet Sue," he said. "When I was right down, wondering if I'd ever have the courage to face them again, along you came and said 'I'm Sue', all soft and loving. I've been hanging on to you with my fingernails. I've never known what it was all about before. It explains so much; why Dad wouldn't allow Mother to be drawn into it, and why David made Inge stop having children after she'd borne him three girls in three years. It even explains why Jane looks at Ronald as if she's going to cry... I've always felt the cold so much, till now."

There was a heavy fall of snow in the night. He cleaned it off my car for me before he went.

Four.

I lost nearly half a stone in the fortnight that followed. I don't quite know why; it just rolled off me. Bessie told me I was a fool if I thought I'd see Charles again, but even she was impressed by the six dozen red roses he sent me. I had to borrow a couple of vases from Rita in order to get them all into water. Charles never did anything by halves.

After some thought I told Bessie most of what Charles had told me. At first she refused to take me seriously, but later she said I ought to go to the police. However, when I pointed out that I had no proof, she agreed with me that we'd just have to wait and see what happened. I felt better when she knew about it. I didn't want to reason why, but even then I must have been aware that I would need some insurance to get through the adventure in one piece.

I bought some new clothes and some wool so that I could knit Charles a sweater. I didn't go out at night much, because Charles usually phoned me between six and eight. He had found J.B. bursting with irritability at the stupidity of everyone around him, and had hardly allowed Charles to change into lighter clothes before setting him to work. Anyone might have overheard those telephone conversations. Charles would tell me the latest anecdote of J.B., and in turn I would tell him what I'd been doing. It was all highly satisfactory.

Then on the Thursday morning the postman left me a letter from Ronald Ashton, asking me to join him and his mother for a coffee in the Turkish room of the biggest store in town that evening, at six o'clock. On Thursday nights several of the big shops stayed open until eight at night.

I told Bessie about it, and she said "What a giggle!" and that she might just be doing a spot of shopping herself that evening. Frown as I might, she was so curious to catch a glimpse of the Ashtons that she came into town with me, and only left my side when I entered the coffee bar.

I saw them before they saw me. At first I thought Ronald could have pa.s.sed for Charles' twin, although he was a good stone heavier. Then I saw that Ronald's hair was a couple of shades darker and more conservatively cut. Ronald wore gla.s.ses all the time, whereas Charles only wore them for reading and driving. Ronald was dressed entirely in grey, he looked reliable and una.s.sertive. He had commandeered a corner table and placed his mother with her back to the wall so that she had a view of whoever might enter. She was slim; her shoulders were tense beneath a simple jersey suit from Switzerland. She reminded me of a picture of Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse, for she had the same carefully arranged dark hair and beautifully made-up face. Only eyes and mouth hinted at the anguish she was trying to suppress. A superb tweed coat was flung over the back of her chair, and rings glinted on thin fingers.

"h.e.l.lo," I said, with my hands deep in my pockets. "I'm Sue Stephens."

Mrs. Ashton surveyed me with all the enthusiasm of one presented with an untrained puppy. "This... is... Susan?" she asked her son. Her fine eyebrows indicated that "Susan" did not match up to expectations.

Ronald didn't even blink. He rose, handing me to a chair from which he had to remove a substantial briefcase. He looked me over thoroughly, without prejudice, and then smiled. I didn't think he normally smiled much; he wasn't that kind. He was a very serious young man.

"Delighted," he said, sounding as if he meant it. "Coffee or tea?"

"Black coffee," I said faintly. "Please."

"I give up!" announced Mrs. Ashton, veiling beautiful eyes with blue-veined lids. "I thought Charles at least, of all of you, might choose someone to do the family credit."

"Charles knows what's good for him," said Ronald, disposing of that topic of conversation. A waitress materialised in response to a flick of his fingers. I thought Ronald had all the virtues; fancy being able to summon a waitress in the busiest coffee bar in town, just like that! Ronald wore a wedding ring; I wondered if Charles would wear one if he decided to get married. I thought he probably wouldn't.

"You are ready to move now?" I asked, feeling slightly unreal. "Charles didn't say anything about it last night when he phoned me."

"Right up to early this morning he was hoping he could keep Uncle John away until everything was ready," explained Ronald. "But Uncle John has to make a speech in Birmingham on Sat.u.r.day night, and he won't even consider cancelling it. They are flying back this evening, and will spend the night in a hotel in London. Charles apologises, but he won't be able to ring you tonight. Tomorrow he and J.B. will be busy in London, and with any luck Charles will be able to persuade J.B. to go straight to Birmingham on Sat.u.r.day. That way he should be safe until Sunday, when we will be ready to move. Did you bring my note with you?"

I handed it over. He shredded it up, together with the envelope, and burned the remains in an ashtray. He was very thorough.

"Charles has told Uncle John what's going on, but Uncle John refuses to believe that his son really means to go through with it. He thinks that when it comes to the crunch, Julian's nerve will fail him. He believes that Bianca is the brains behind all this, and if he can only split the marriage up, he may be able to salvage Julian. It's possible. I'm not happy about it, but it is possible."

"You're taking a risk," I ventured. "Couldn't you just tell the police..."

"What would we tell them?" he asked soberly. "There's no proof. No, we have to let them incriminate themselves, while taking every precaution we can think of to safeguard Uncle John. I'm doing my bit tonight, and if the worst comes to the worst, we could move after that, although we'd prefer a couple more days grace."

"Can I help?"

"Yes. Charles wants you to go away for the weekend - at our expense, of course. He wants you safely out of the way when we move."

I s.h.i.+vered. My coffee came, and I drank it, without sugar. I thought of pleading with him to let me stay and help, and then thought I'd better not.

"I'll go home for the weekend," I said. "I usually go once a month anyway. No need for a sub."

They nodded approval. Mrs. Ashton's eyebrows still indicated that she found my appearance disappointing. "Do you have to wear gla.s.ses all the time?" she asked.

"Yes, I do." Her eyebrows now told me that she deplored not only the information, but the argumentative tone in which it had been given. "Sorry!" I said. "But that's the way I am. Now don't let's get worked up about this. Charles and I had a great week together, but we might find we haven't anything to say to each other when we meet again."

Mrs. Ashton sighed. Ronald gave me a kindly, but reproving shake of his head. "Charles has told us he intends to marry you," he said.

"Oh!" I blinked with shock. "But he's an awful liar, isn't he?"

Ronald looked shocked, but Mrs. Ashton viewed me with something that might have been approval. "Very good, Susan. Perhaps you will be able to control him, after all. G.o.d knows, n.o.body else can."

"Except Uncle John," frowned Ronald.

"Oh, him!" She managed a smile. "I almost pity Charles, working with John. His temper has been something diabolical these last few years."

There didn't seem anything else to say. Ronald collected the bill and we rose to go. As we moved to the entrance of the coffee bar, the harsher light picked out a dozen lines on Mrs. Ashton's face which had been softened in the kinder glow inside. She looked ravaged.

Impulsively I touched her arm. "I'm so sorry," I said.

She stared at me full-eyed. Her composure was paper-thin. I took my hand away. Her pride was as high as her son's. Ronald shook me by the hand, a gesture kindly meant and gratefully accepted. I saw there were many differences between the brothers. Charles was mercurial whereas Ronald was solid. Charles' eyes were never still, always observing and a.s.sessing; Ronald looked you full in the eyes and hid nothing. I liked Ronald, but I loved Charles.

Bessie caught up with me as Mrs. Ashton and Ronald disappeared into the crowd.

"Smas.h.i.+ng outfit!" was Bessie's verdict. "But doesn't she look sour!"

As we followed the Ashtons out, I told her, loftily that she didn't understand. Of course Bessie had to be brought up to date. She thought me feeble-minded, meekly agreeing to go away for the weekend while the Ashtons put their plan into operation. If she had been in my place, Bessie said, she would have forced Ronald to let her in on their secrets. I argued that the Ashtons knew what they were doing, and that as Bessie hadn't met Bianca, she couldn't appreciate just how nasty a piece of work she was. I said I was quite happy to leave the dirty work to someone else, so long as it didn't land Charles in prison, too, and...

"Come on!" hissed Bessie, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me after her out of the shop and across the street.