Роберт Фиш - The Wager

“Ah!” Kek saw her point at last, and also her mistake. “But I promised you cruises , not a single cruise, don’t you remember? And this time we’ll have adjoining staterooms, and a flaming shipboard romance, and everything that goes with it, to make up for the last one.” He moved behind the bar and started to set out glasses while André and Anita stared at him. Kek reached for a bottle of brandy. “We leave at seven o’clock this evening, sweet. For Philadelphia, by train. The Andropolis sails from there at midnight.”

Anita settled on a barstool with an unbelieving look on her pretty face. André sat down beside her, staring at Huuygens.

“You’re going to take another cruise? On the same ship?”

“Of course,” Kek said, and poured. He slid glasses over the countertop, retaining one for himself. “I have to. The carving is there on board.”

“What?”

“Yes — behind a dresser drawer in my stateroom. I figured Jamison wouldn’t look there again, not after he found that lovely-wrapped package missing from the air-conditioning duct.” He laughed. “That was the carving, at the time. The candy dish was where it belonged, on the vanity, full of caramels. One thing I’m pleased about — I won’t have to keep wrapping and rewrapping anymore.”

There was a lot about this that André didn’t understand, but one thing was quite clear.

“Yes, but when you come back this time, they’ll be twice as suspicious!”

Kek smiled. “Not quite. As the young lady at the travel agency said, this one is just a Cruise to Nowhere, three or four days on the ocean for people who just like the sight and sound of the sea, and — although she failed to mention it — each other’s company.” He smiled genially at the two people staring at him. “And they don’t even open the ship’s shop, because, you see, passengers on a Cruise to Nowhere aren’t bothered by the nasty Customs when they return...”

He smiled more widely, winked, and raised his glass.

“And if nobody else does it this time, I’ll do it myself. To a bon voyage .”

André Martins sat at ease on the sofa, feet elevated and a beer in one hand, doing his best to understand the mentality that could find pleasure in an early-morning game-show. The sound of a key in the lock was lost in the greater clamor from a correct answer to an infantile question on the television, for what reason André could not say. He looked up at the opening door and then jumped to his feet to help Kek with the luggage. Anita followed, looking tanned and happy, closing the door behind her. André, glad that his four days of lonely exile were ended, turned off the television set and went back of the bar, reaching for glasses.

“How was the trip?”

“Wonderful!” Anita said. “A lot better than the last time.”

“I always told you cruises should be taken in doses,” Kek said, and started to shuck his jacket. “There are just so many red-haired young men in the world, and fortunately the supply ran out before this cruise, so we were able to enjoy ourselves.”

“Don’t say anything about Billy Standish,” Anita said with mock severity. “He was thoughtful, and kind—”

“And courteous and helpful, and everything else Boy Scouts should be,” Kek conceded. “The one thing he forgot was that Boy Scouts shouldn’t lust after beautiful young ladies.”

Anita laughed. “If that was lust, give me — well, give me this last trip.”

André cut into the conversation, looking at Kek. “What about—”

“On schedule.” Huuygens put aside his jacket and bent over his small briefcase. He opened it and brought out a bulky package. The carving had been protected by several thick folds of cardboard, then further cushioned with a pair of Kek’s pajamas. He carefully unwrapped it, put aside the cardboard, and set it on the bar. Anita shook her head.

“I’ve seen it daily on the trip. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I know,” André said, and grinned. “Even if I never saw it except through a glass case.” He glanced at his watch and reached for the brandy. “What time do you have to be at Girard’s?”

“Noon.” Kek swung himself onto a stool. “Plenty of time.”

André pushed the bottle over. “Want me along? Just in case Girard changes his mind about the odds, now that the carving is actually here, and not there? Or tries to get cute in any other way? I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s not a nice man.”

Kek shook his head and poured himself a drink.

“I agree that Girard is not a nice man, but you don’t understand his mentality,” he said, and sipped. “I wouldn’t buy a used car from him, and if he handed anyone a pistol to start a game of Russian roulette, three to one all chambers would be loaded. But welsh on a gambling wager? He’ll live up to every comma and period on any bet he makes, if it breaks his heart. His pride wouldn’t allow him any other choice.” André didn’t look too convinced. Kek set down his drink, frowning. “You received the rest of your fee, didn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” André said, waving that aside. “But that was peanuts. Your case is a lot different—”

“Not to worry,” Kek said confidently, and finished his drink. “Well, I’ll go in and wrap this thing decently, and then go visit M’sieu Girard. I’d hate to have him pacing the floor and thinking we Huuygens were men without honor, just by being a minute late.” He picked up the carving and paused before going into his study. “I shouldn’t be with Girard too long. Where do you want to eat?”

“How about right here?” Anita suggested. “I’m ready to start being a cook again, and I’m sure André must be tired of eating in restaurants.”

“You can start being a cook tonight,” Kek said, and smiled. “Let’s celebrate at lunch today. In fact, let’s celebrate at the Quinleven Club. At one?” Kek looked at his watch. “And to bring your cup to overflowing,” he added, “you can even ask Max to join us. With or without Rose.”

Anita frowned at him. “Max?”

“Max,” Kek said firmly. “We owe him more than you think,” he added and went in to prepare his package.

The apartment house in which Victor Girard lived was less than three blocks from Kek’s building. The day was unusually pleasant for early August, with a slight breeze and a dryness in the air that was almost invigorating. Kek walked along, his briefcase held firmly. Fifty thousand dollars to five; ten-thousand-to-one odds. Not bad, he had to admit to himself, and pushed through the heavy glass doors into the interior. He gave the doorman his name, glancing at the wall clock as he waited to be announced. Twelve o’clock exactly. A business deal to be consummated, and that would be the last time he would be forced to see M’sieu Girard. Which, Kek calculated, would be no great hardship.

Permission finally having been granted from above, Kek entered the elevator and was whisked to the proper floor. The door opened with a whisper and he found himself in an ornate corridor that gave an indication of the kind of luxury one might expect within the apartment. Kek pressed the small button and heard the chimes within. Before their echo could die away in the stillness, the door had been yanked open and Girard was facing him. The tiny black eyes darted instantly to the briefcase, even before he stepped back to invite Huuygens to enter.

“Come in, come in!”

“I’m afraid I don’t have too much time, M’sieu,” Kek said, and stopped in the foyer of the apartment, the door behind him still slightly open. “An early luncheon appointment. But we should be able to transact our business here without too much loss of time, if M’sieu doesn’t object—”