Patricia Wentworth: Beggar’s Choice

Car Fairfax shut the door and almost trod on the hat. Fay looked up with a jerk.

“Oh Lord, Car, do keep your clumsy feet off something!” She flung her cigarette across the room, and said “Damn!” when he went to pick it up.

“It’s scorched your green lace. You’ll burn the house down one of these days.”

“I’d like to,” she said. Then she laughed. “I’d love to burn the house down and go up in a puff of smoke! Wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t be an ass, Fay! I say, what’s up?”

“Up? Nothing’s up-everything’s down,” shesaid. “Down- down-down-down-down!” Her voice went up into a sort of scream.

Then she sat up, took out another cigarette and started to light it, spoilt three matches, and flung the box at the door. It hit the middle panel and bounced back.

Fay jumped up.

“How much money have you got, Car?”

“Why, none.”

“You must have some. Every one’s got some.” She came up close to him. “Car, how much money have you?”

Car Fairfax laughed.

“Four and sixpence halfpenny-or four and seven-pence halfpenny. Do you want me to count?”

A curious flickering something showed in her eyes. It was there, and it was gone. He couldn’t have described it-it was too fleeting.

Fay looked at him a little bleakly.

“I’m quite serious.”

“So am I. Money’s a very serious thing-especially when you haven’t got any.”

He was still holding the cigarette end which he had picked up. A faint wraith of smoke curled up between them. Car frowned, but before he could speak her hand was on his arm.

“You don’t mean that you’ve really only got a few shillings?” Then, as he nodded, “But you could get some more-I mean there must be some way-I mean-Car, don’t look like that!”

“I’m not looking like anything,” said Car rather gravely. “My dear girl, you’ve always known I hadn’t a bean.”

“I know-but”-she had drawn back a little, but now she pressed close to him-“you could ask some one-you could borrow-you could ask your uncle.”

Car disengaged himself.

“You’re talking nonsense. What’s the matter? What have you been up to? Getting into a mess?”

“I suppose you’d say so.”

“What sort of a mess?” He lifted the cigarette end to his nose, sniffed it, and tossed it into the fireplace. His eyes dwelt on her consideringly. “Where do you get those beastly things?”

The flicker came again. It was fear-quite naked and unmistakable this time.

“Have I got to account to you for every cigarette I smoke?”

“That one was doped,” said Car.

“It wasn’t.”

“It was-it is. Where did you get it? It’ll save a lot of time if you tell me at once.”

Fay went back to her chair, sat down, produced another cigarette, struck a match, and bent to light it-all with her shoulder turned to Car. He watched her, and saw the match shake in a shaking hand.

“It’s a mug’s game,” he said as she leaned back and sent up a little puff of smoke.

“I wish I could blow rings,” said Fay. “I wish you’d teach me.”

“It’s a mug’s game, Fay.”

“Write and tell Peter,” said Fay. Then, as he didn’t answer, “That’s what you’ll do if I don’t go down on my knees and promise to be good-isn’t it?”

“No,” said Car.

He came over to the fireplace and stood with his back to the narrow gimcrack mantelpiece.

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know. Who’s been giving you doped cigarettes, Fay?”

She blew a puff of smoke at him.

“They’re not!”

He stood up without another word and went to the door.

“Car-you’re not going?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Why?”

“What’s the good of my staying?”

Fay dropped the cigarette and jumped up.

“Car, come back! I told you-I told you I was in a mess-and I am-and if you won’t help me, I’m done.” She caught him by the arm and pulled him round. “Done- done-done! Do you hear? Finished! You don’t care-do you?”

“I wish you’d talk sense. Of course I care!”

“Because of me-or because of Peter?”

“Because of both of you.”

Fay pushed herself away from him and sprang back a yard.

“And if there weren’t any Peter-if there were only me-you wouldn’t care a damn what happened-would you?”

Car stood against the door and looked bored, but behind the boredom there was distress and distaste. It didn’t suit with his friendship with Peter to be having this sort of scene with Peter’s wife. On the other hand, if she’d got herself into a hole, it was naturally up to him to get her out of it, since Peter Lymington, in New York, was too far away to take a hand. He frowned his heaviest frown, the one that deepened every line with which the last three years had marked him, and said, almost roughly,

“Would you mind telling me what you’ve done?”

There was a pause, Fay looking at him, blue pale eyes in a pale face, lips pale too and parted in a trembling curve, eyelids just a-quiver, hands hard clenched at her sides.

“All right then, I’m going.” But as he moved she flung round, went over to the hearth at a stumbling run, caught the mantelpiece with both hands, and so stood, swaying.

Car turned back and came across to her.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter?”

“You don’t care.”

“I told you I cared,” he said wearily.

“Not enough to help.”

“What do you want?”

“I want five hundred pounds,” said Fay, looking up suddenly.

The sheer, bright daring of her glance was like light flashing on water-blue shallow water. It flickered across his face, dwelt a moment, and was gone.

“Five hundred pounds?” said Car.

This time he got a nod, quite cool and steady.

“What for?”

“To pick up the bits.”

“What bits?”

Fay put her forehead against the edge of the mantelpiece. She spoke down into the dusty grate.

“I told you I’d got into a hole. It’ll take five hundred pounds to get me out of it. That’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all?”

“Yes. Car, what a beast you are!”

“I don’t mean to be a beast-but you’ve got to do the talking. What have you been doing?”

Fay was silent; and when she was silent, the whole room was silent too. She and Car might have been dead; or she might have been dead, and Car as far away as Peter. She wondered with a curious prick of anger whether Car would care if she were dead, and in a moment the anger mounted and loosened her tongue.

“All right, I’ll talk. But you won’t like it.” She flung up her head and looked straight in front of her. “I took some money.”

There was a pause before Car said, “Yes? Who from?”

“My beastly shop, of course. Delphine asks for it, she’s so careless. She leaves checks lying about for days. Days? Weeks-months is more like it. Well, I took one and cashed it. They know me at the bank, and it wasn’t crossed-some of her customers are as careless as she is. And then, as luck would have it, there was a row, and I only just got off by the skin of my teeth.”

Car’s hand came down on her shoulder.

“What are you talking about? You’re not-in earnest?”

She pulled away from him with a jerk.

“Of course I am. You don’t suppose I think this is amusing, do you? I was very nearly for it, and I’ve never been less amused in my life.”

His hand fell to his side.

“And you’ve got to find the money-five hundred pounds?”

“Not exactly. That’s only the beginning of it.”

“Oh-that’s only the beginning?”

She stamped her foot.

“I said so! Don’t look at me like that!”

Car didn’t want to look at her at all. He said,