Charles Todd - A matter of Justice

Thus far Penrith had made no mention of his business partner, and the omission was glaring. Evering brought him up instead.

"And what is Quarles doing, to keep himself out of trouble?"

Penrith grimaced. "I daresay he manages. We no longer handle joint ventures. Which is why you contacted me, I think? You never liked Quarles."

Nor you, Evering thought, but was silent.

They finished their meal and adjourned to the study. It too looked out across the sea, but there were other islands in this direction, scattered blue smudges. Penrith glanced toward the long bank of mist one more time before sitting down. There was some anxiety in his face, as if he was trying to judge how far it had advanced since last he had measured it.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" Evering asked.

"By all means."

The next two hours were spent in intense exposition of the properties that Penrith had brought for discussion.

Evering listened carefully to everything he was told, then sat back with a frown.

"I don't know-" He pulled at his lower lip, a study in uncertainty.

Penrith said persuasively, "It's the best opportunity I can see to improve your position. I like what's here, and I have a feeling that we're moving into a decade of handsome rewards for the farsighted investor."

Evering said, "Yes, yes. You've done your work well. Still-would you mind leaving these papers here for a week? I'm to travel to Kent shortly, and I can bring them to you with my decision." He smiled wryly. "I've learned to be careful, you see."

"Caution is important. There are no guarantees that what I tell you will be right in five or seven years' time. However, time is something we must consider as well. I suggest you make your decision within the fortnight. Or we stand to lose as the shares go up. They aren't going to be overlooked for long, I can assure you."

Evering studied the earnest, handsome face. Penrith, fair and tall and very presentable, gave the impression of coming from old money, and it stood him in good stead, this impression. More than one woman and many a man had fallen for this quality and trusted the advice tripping so lightly from his tongue. In their partnership, Penrith had been the velvet glove, Quarles the iron hand, though Quarles could be very pleasant when it served his purposes. And very coldblooded when it didn't.

The contrast between the two men was something Evering hadn't been prepared for when first he met them. One obviously a gentleman, the other a blunt Yorkshire man with unreadable eyes and a tight mouth. In God's name, what had drawn them together in South Africa, much less kept them together all these years? He couldn't fathom what it was, unless it was the strength of Quarles's personality. Weaker men were often drawn to that. If Quarles had manipulated Penrith, surely he himself could manage it as well. And yet the weak could be as cruel as the strong, he'd had cause to know in his own mother. It was the main reason why Evering had chosen Penrith as his penny. Quarles would not be as easily influenced.

"I assure you, I'm as eager as you to see this under way. But-well, I'd feel better if I had a little time to consider."

Penrith nodded. "Suit yourself." Though it was clear that he was not pleased about being put off. He got up and stretched, walking to the window, staring worriedly at the fog bank. Evering swore silently at the distraction, cursing the weather.

Penrith turned to his host. "When did you say the mail boat comes back this way? "

Evering glanced at his watch. "It should be here within a quarter of an hour. It makes the rounds of the inhabited islands before going back to the mainland. Naturally it depends on how much mail and how many passengers there are on a given run, but for the most part, it keeps to its schedule."

"That's a small vessel to take on storms in some twenty-eight miles of open water. It's a wonder anyone has the courage to live this far out."

"Think of it as our moat. At any rate, the master is a good man. He can read the weather the way you'd read a book. Many of us have made the crossing on our own in heavy seas, when there's no other way."

"All the same, I'll take my chance on dry land, thank you."

Evering laughed and got to his feet. Joining Penrith at the window, he said, "Yes, in fact, there the boat is now, pulling around the headland. You've got about twenty minutes before you need to be at the harbor. I'll walk you down. Good exercise. I've become quite fond of taking my constitutional earlier this time of year. Before the heat builds. Come along, then. Have everything there, do you?"

Penrith had shoved the remaining papers back into his case, his eagerness to be away getting ahead of his professional manner. "Yes, all here." He cast a last glance at the spread of unsigned documents on the table and added, "You will let me know, won't you? What you decide to do?"

"I give you my word," Evering assured him.

They walked out together, taking the shell path through the flower beds to the ornate garden gate where the island's only road crossed the track down to the harbor. But as they passed through the gate, Evering paused in the middle of the road. Penrith, a little ahead, turned and said, "Aren't you coming the rest of the way?"

"Yes. I've just been debating with myself." He had-whether to go on or not. To keep his hands steady, he reached out and caressed the white wooden necks of the swans that curved gracefully to form the top of the gate. "Old man, there's something else I wish to say to you, and I'm afraid I don't know quite how to find the words."

Penrith frowned. "I don't follow you. I thought I'd answered all your questions." He was annoyed, standing there with the sunlight glinting on his hair, an eye on the mail boat. "I really must get back to London tonight-"

"You did answer my questions, and admirably. This is-to be truthful, it's a personal matter. In point of fact, a little gossip that came to my ears recently. I found it rather shocking and brushed it aside as nonsense. But now that I'm face-to-face with you-"

Penrith bristled. "I've done nothing to be gossiped about. I assure you. That business with Cumberline-"

"No, no, your reputation is sound. Or you wouldn't be here. No, this is a personal matter. I told you."

Penrith gestured toward the harbor. "Can you tell me as we walk? The boat is coming in."

"Yes, of course. It's just that-look, to be honest, I'm uncomfortable mentioning this at all, but you've been kind enough to come here and advise me. I can only say that it's very likely the purest gossip. Still, I owe you something-"

"What are you trying to say? I don't follow you at all." Penrith's eyes were hostile now, as if expecting accusations he wasn't prepared to answer. His defensiveness clearly centered on his business, and Evering found that interesting.

"All right, I'll be blunt, if you'll forgive me. It's the stories going round about Quarles. And your-damn it man, about your wife."

"My wife?" Caught off guard, Penrith stared at his companion. "I don't-you must be mad! What is this about? Is it your way of-" He broke off, unwilling to say more.

"No. Just rather embarrassed to bring the matter up at all. Forget that I said anything. It was a mistake. A mistake born of friendship. Nothing more."

He walked on, but Penrith didn't move. "No, you brought this matter up, Evering. I demand that you tell me what it is you're hinting at."

Evering took a deep breath. "It was at the Middleton house party. I wasn't there, of course. But someone-I shan't say whom-saw Quarles coming out of your wife's bedroom at some ungodly hour of the morning. Shoes in hand. There was a little talk among the guests, when that got about. But for your sake, nothing was said. Then, two weeks later at the Garrisons' house-"