James Chase - Tell It to the Birds

“Well for Pete’s sake!” Anson said, catching his breath. He pushed past Barlowe and stood on the drive, staring. There was no need for him to pretend. The sight of this beauty, the gay play of the fountain, the colour and the flowers caught him by the throat.

“I did it all,” Barlowe said, standing by his side. “Everything… I grew the flowers: lighted them; made the fountain… I did everything.”

“I would give five years of my life to be able to create a thing like that,” Anson said and at that moment he meant it.

“I’ve given a lot of the years of my life learning how to do it,” Barlowe said, and suddenly his face became pinched and ill-tempered again. “And where’s it got me? Just a small time job with Framley’s.”

Here it is, Anson thought. Here’s what I’ve been waiting for! Turning to Barlowe, a look of puzzled astonishment on his face, he said, “But why work for anyone, Mr. Barlowe, when you have such a talent? You could make a whale of a lot of money as a landscape architect.”

Barlowe made an angry gesture.

“Do you think I haven’t thought of that? How can I, without capital? I can’t take risks. I’m married and I haven’t anything behind me.”

“Nothing behind you?” Anson said his voice incredulous. “That’s ridiculous! You have this!” He waved dramatically towards the garden. “Any bank would advance you money if they saw this! Haven’t you talked to them?”

“My bank won’t advance me anything!” Barlowe said bitterly. “I’ve no security to offer. I have a minus credit rating. My mother cost me… well, that’s neither here nor there. I can’t raise a loan. Even the house is mortgaged to the hilt!”

Anson walked away from him. He stood over the floodlit fish pond, watching the goldfish as they moved in the lighted water. He stood there for some moments before Barlowe joined him.

“This interests me,” Anson said. “When I see a garden like this… well, it excites me.” He looked at Barlowe. “I see endless possibilities. How much capital would you need to start up on your own? I’m in touch with a lot of people in Brent, Lambsville and Pru Town… wealthy people. They would be crazy to have a garden like this. I could give you a flock of introductions. How much capital do you want?”

Barlowe’s face was suddenly alert and hopeful.

“What are we standing out here for?” he said, putting his hand on Alison’s arm. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it.”

As Anson re-entered the sitting-room and sat down on the settee, he gave Meg a quick furtive wink of triumph.

“I’ll be working late, Anna,” Anson said. “I have a policy to cope with. No need for you to hang around.”

“I’ll do it if you like, Mr. Anson,” Anna said, “I don’t expect it will take long.”

“It could do. Isn’t this the night you take your boy friend to the movies?”

Anna giggled.

“He takes me, you mean.”

“Go on… get off. I’ve nothing to do.” When she had gone, Anson went to the store cupboard and took from it four policy blanks. He put them on his desk, then lighting a cigarette, he leaned back in his desk chair.

It was now five days since he had talked Barlowe into taking out a $5,000 life insurance policy. Before the deal could be completed, Barlowe had to take the usual insurance medical examination. It would have been tough luck if he had failed it, but he hadn’t. Dr. Stevens, who acted for the National Fidelity, had said Barlowe was a first class life.

It was when Anson had explained to Barlowe how he could use a life policy to raise the capital he needed to set up as a horticultural architect - a phrase Anson kept using and which obviously pleased Barlowe — that Barlowe’s sales resistance had disappeared. He had become so eager to sign that Anson was worried he had oversold his prospect. He had to explain to Barlowe that before the National Fidelity would accept him as a client he would have to pass a medical examination.

“The great advantage of this policy so far as you are concerned,” Anson said hurrying over the sudden pause that followed when he had mentioned the medical examination, “is that you will be able to ask your bank manager, a year from signature, for three thousand dollars and get it without any fuss. You will only have to pay $150 to gain this advantage.’”

Barlowe frowned. He picked at the dirty adhesive bandage on his hand.

“Do you mean I have to wait a year before I can raise the capital I want?” he demanded. “Why, I thought…”

“Excuse me, Mr. Barlowe, but not so many minutes ago you told me you hadn’t a hope of ever raising any kind of capital,” Anson said quietly. “Now, in a year’s time, because of this policy, you will be able to buy your land and start up in business.”

Barlowe hesitated, then nodded.

“Yes… all right. So what happens now?”

“As soon as I have the doctor’s report, I’ll come out with the policy for your signature,” Anson said.

There was one final touch necessary to complete his plan.

“If you care to pay the first premium in cash, I’ll be able to give you a five per cent discount. You may as well have the discount and it saves book-keeping for me.”

And of course Barlowe had agreed.

Anson picked up one of the policy blanks. He inserted it into the typewriter and filled in the necessary details. This policy was for $5,000: the beneficiary in the event of the death of the insured was to be Mrs. Philip Barlowe.

He put in another blank, duplicating what he had already done. The third and fourth policy blanks were different. These, he made out for the sum of $50,000. If Barlowe happened to spot the difference, Anson could always say it was a typist’s error.

Tomorrow night would be Thursday. Anson knew Meg would be alone. Although he was tempted to go out to the lonely house and make love to her, he knew this now would be too dangerous. He would have to wait. In six months, perhaps less, he and she would be together for as long as he liked: he and she and fifty thousand dollars… worth waiting for.

He called the Barlowe house. Meg answered the telephone.

“It’s all fixed,” he said. “I’ll be coming out the night after tomorrow. I told you I’d fix it, didn’t I?”

“You are sure it is going to be all right?” The note of anxiety in her voice excited him. “When he has signed….what are you going to do?”

“Let’s wait until he signs,” Anson said. “I’m thinking of you. I wish I were with you,” and he put down the receiver.

A few minutes after six o’clock a.m. Philip Barlowe came awake with a sudden start. He had been dreaming. His grey-white pillow was damp with sweat.

He came awake the way an animal comes awake: instantly alert, suspicious, slightly frightened. He lay still, listening, then when he heard no sound to alarm him, he relaxed and moved further down in the single bed, making himself more comfortable.

Thursday!

The two days that meant more to him were Monday and Thursday when he got away from the house to spend the night alone after the dreary night classes when he attempted to instil into the minds of a group of pimply youths the basic theory of horticulture.

This night, he told himself, he would go out to Jason’s Glen. There, he would be sure to find a number of smoochers and petters: young people behaving disgracefully in their secondhand cars. The thought of what he had heard and seen in the past brought beads of sweat out on his high forehead.

One of these days, he told himself, his small, well shaped hands turning in to fists, he would teach these sluts a lesson.

Their feeble, immoral petting disgusted him. Sometime in the very near future, some girl would learn what it meant to go beyond a giggle, a struggle and vapid gasp of breath.