Lawrence Sanders - McNally's risk

"No, I didn't know," I said slowly, "but I can't say I'm surprised. Where did you hear that?"

"Oh please," he said. "You know I protect my sources. Now what do you have for me?"

"I went first last time," I reminded him. "It's your turn."

He sighed. "What a scoundrel you are. Very well, what do you want?"

"About Theodosia Johnson, your Madam X… She's been in Palm Beach about a year. But only recently has she become the one-and-only of Chauncey Smythe-Hersforth. Do you know if she dated other men before meeting Chauncey?"

His laugh was a bellow. "Oh, laddie, laddie," he said, "do you think she sat home knitting antimacassars? Of course she saw other men. A horde. A multitude. Very popular, our Theodosia. I have the names of all her swains in my file and, frankly, sweets, I'm amazed that you're not included."

"I am, too."

"Perhaps it was because her taste seemed to run to older men of wealth. That would remove you from her list of eligibles, would it not?"

"Effectively," I said.

"And now that I've paid my dues," he went on, "what delicacy do you have for me? Tit for tat, you know-although my personal preference is somewhat different."

"I don't know how you can use this, Lol," I said, "but I'm sure you'll find a way. It concerns Hector Johnson, father of the beauteous Theo. He was racked up for securities fraud in Michigan. Spent some time in the local clink, paid a fine, made restitution, and was banned from the securities business for life."

"Love it!" Lolly shrieked. "Just love it! Yes, I expect I shall find an occasion to use that gem one of these days. Ta-ta, luv, and keep in touch."

I sat at father's desk a few moments longer, reflecting on what Spindrift had told me of Theo's social activities prior to her meeting Chauncey. It was easy to believe. A young woman of her multifarious charms would attract scads of beaux: single, married, divorced, or lonely in widowerhood. I was certain she had many opportunities to form a lasting relationship. But she had chosen Chauncey Wilson Smythe-Hersforth. Her selection of that noodle, I thought, was significant.

I had intended to call a few pals and see if anyone was interested in a few sets of tennis or, in lieu of that, driving out to Wellington to watch polo practice while gargling something exotic like a Singapore Sling or a Moscow Mule. But instead I phoned Theodosia Johnson. If my choice was between tennis, polo, or her, it was strictly no contest.

I was hoping Hector wouldn't answer, and he didn't. But when Theo said, "Hello?" her voice had the tone of sackcloth and ashes.

"Archy," I said. "Good lord, you sound low. Anything wrong?"

"A slight disagreement with daddy," she said, "and I'm still seething. But I'll recover. I always do. Archy, I'm so happy you called. I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me."

"Fat chance," I said. "Theo, how are you, other than suffering from the megrims."

"What are megrims?"

"Low spirits."

"I'm suffering," she admitted. "Cheer me up."

"How about this: I drop by around noonish and we drive down the coast. It's a super day and it would be a shame to waste it. We'll have lunch outside at the Ocean Grand and talk of many things."

"Of shoes-and ships-and sealing wax-" she said.

"Of cabbages-and kings-" I said.

"And why the sea is boiling hot-" she said.

"And whether pigs have wings," I finished, and she laughed delightedly.

"The only poetry I know," she said. "Thank you, Archy; I feel better already. Yes, I accept your kind invitation."

"Splendid. See you at twelve."

I went back upstairs to take off jeans and T-shirt, shower, and don something more suitable for luncheon at the Ocean Grand with a smashing young miss. I settled on a jacket of plummy silk with trousers of taupe gabardine, and a shirt of faded blue chambray. Casual elegance was the goal, of course, and I believe I achieved it.

Then I set out for my luncheon date with Madam X. A duplicitous plot was beginning to take form in that wok I call my brain, and if all went well I intended to start the stir-fry that scintillant afternoon.

I had imagined Theo would wear something bright and summery, but that woman had a talent for surprise. She wore a pantsuit of black linen. No blouse. Her hair was drawn back and tied with a bow of rosy velvet. Very fetching, and I told her so.

"No bra," she said.

"I happened to notice," I said.

She laughed. "Chauncey never would. And if he did, he'd be shocked."

"Surely he's not that much of a prig."

"You have no idea."

Her obvious scorn of her fiance discomfitted me. She could think those things, but wasn't it rather crass to speak of them to others? As I soon learned, she was in a sharp, almost shrewish mood that day.

For instance, as we drove southward along the corniche I remarked, "I had the pleasure of meeting your father's business associate, Reuben Hagler, the other day."

"Rube?" she said offhandedly. "He's a boozer."

It wasn't her judgment that startled me so much as her use of the sobriquet "boozer." She might have said, "He drinks a little too much," but she chose the coarse epithet. It was not the first time I had noticed her fondness for vulgarisms. I hoped, for her sake, that her speech was more ladylike in the presence of Mrs. Gertrude Smythe-Hersforth. That very proper matron, I suspected, would be tempted to put trousers on the legs of a grand piano.

And not only did Theo seem in a perverse humor that afternoon but she made no effort to conceal her lack of restraint.

"You were right," she said. "It's a super day. Why don't we just keep driving."

"Where to?"

"Oh, I don't know. Miami. The Keys. Check into some fleabag hotel for the weekend."

"Theo, I don't think that would be wise. Do you?"

"I guess not," she said. "Just dreaming."

But I knew that if I kept driving and found a hotel that accepted guests without luggage, she would have happily acquiesced. Her unruliness was daunting.

We arrived at the Ocean Grand and she was suitably impressed by the elegant marbled interior.

"This is what it's all about, isn't it?" she commented.

"You've lost me," I said. "All about what?"

"You know, Archy. Money. Comfort. People to serve you. No problems. The lush life."

There was such fierce desire in her voice that I didn't even attempt a reply. She had a vision and it would have been brutal to explain that what she sought was a chimera. She wouldn't have believed me anyway.

We dined on the terrace of the bistro, overlooking the swimming pool. And beyond was a larger pool: the Atlantic Ocean. I suppose that setting and that luncheon came close to matching Theo's ideal. The omelettes were succulent, the salad subtly tartish, the glasses of chilled chenin blanc just right. And while we lived "the lush life," I initiated my intrigue.

"Theo," I said earnestly, "I have a problem I hope you'll be able to help me with."

"Oh?" she said. "What is it?"

"First of all I want you to know that I have no desire whatsoever to intrude on your personal affairs. Whatever you do or whatever you plan is no business of mine, and I don't want you to think I'm a meddler. But willy-nilly I've been handed a decision to make that concerns you."

That caught her. She paused in the process of dredging a slice of smoked salmon from her omelette.

"Archy," she said, "what is it?"

"Well, Chauncey and I are really not close friends. Not buddy-buddy, you know, but more like casual acquaintances. However, on occasion he asks my advice on legal matters. I have tried to convince him that I am an ersatz lawyer-no license to practice:-and he'd do better to consult my father, who not only has the education and experience but is the attorney of record for the Smythe-Hersforth family. But I think Chauncey is somewhat frightened of my father."