Дональд Джеймс - The House of Eros

‘Cy says he’s looking into it,’ Savary said.

‘That’s all right, then.’ Mary smiled full-face at the colonel before he could go on. ‘Now I’m going to ask you to help me run the tombola, George. Let’s concentrate on the thing in hand. As Cy says, today’s playday. But there are still some good dollars to be extracted from our unsuspecting guests.’ She took his hand and drew him, reluctant, to his feet.

Out on the terrace Cy walked with his arm locked in Sunny’s. His free hand was gesturing expansively but his face was drawn tight with anger. ‘She can’t resign, for Christ’s sake,’ he said.

‘She’s drafting a letter to Oliver tomorrow.’

‘She can’t do it,’ he snarled. ‘Not now.’

She pulled away from him. ‘You mean now that Quatch has been arrested?’

He stopped, smiled easily at Hector and Sarah Hand as they passed by and returned a cold glance to Sunny. ‘Who told you?’

‘Colonel Savary told me. Apparently there was an item in the New York Times , ’ she said.

‘For God’s sake, you must see Mary can’t resign now. This trial spells trouble for the Fund.’

‘It spells trouble for you, Cy, doesn’t it?’

He began to walk beside her. ‘What are you getting at, Sunny?’

She looked at him angrily. ‘I know you, Cy. Not well, not the way a wife should know her husband. But well enough to know that there’s something not quite above board about this Quatch deal. I’ve felt it for a long time. What are you doing,’ she said with a casual bitterness, ‘syphoning some of it?’

‘Is that what Mary said?’

‘Of course not. If Mary believed that she would have called the cops long ago. She’s just uneasy about this money being paid. She’s not alone, you know that.’

‘I need the family’s support now more than ever.’

They had reached the end of the terrace. She turned, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Cy,’ Sunny said wearily. ‘But better she resigns now than vote against you on committee.’

The tombola raised several thousand dollars as club members paid sky-high prices for tickets to win goods supplied free by other club members. For a chaste kiss from the Anderson brothers a wild auction raised seven hundred dollars from an angry Anita Simpson. She had been caught holding the last bid, certain that her friend Marsha Shaw would take the bidding up further. She paid up with obvious reluctance and took her prize in the most perfunctory manner.

At some time during the proceedings it was clear that Fin Butler was not just drunk, but very drunk. When the dancing on the terrace began, Sunny came over to Mary. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘Cy is going to have to be here until the last drunk can’t get another word out.’

‘You want to stay at Page Corner tonight? It saves twenty minutes’ drive.’

‘Sure. I want out of here. I thought I’d take your keys and drive Fin back. He’s had too much already. Cy can drive you back when the shindig ends.’

‘OK,’ Mary said, a warm excitement flowing through her. ‘OK. We’ll be along later.’

In the Rectory living room, Fin Butler sat slumped in a chair. Sunny had made him coffee but he had left it untouched. A bottle of whisky stood on the low table beside him.

‘Fin,’ Sunny said, irritated that Cy and her sister were still not back, ‘I’m going to take this whisky away. You understand me. I’m taking the whisky away.’ She reached for the bottle but he looked up at her with a pale, sickly look that made her stop her hand before it grasped the neck of the bottle.

She straightened up. ‘For God’s sake, Fin, you’ve had enough.’ She cast around for some threat to offer. ‘If you don’t stop now and drink some coffee I’m going to call Dr Harker.’

Where in God’s name was Mary? Sunny poured more coffee and fed some to Fin. Then she took the whisky bottle with her across the room to the telephone. He barely noticed.

She punched the number of the club and waited for the long tones to summon someone to the reception area. It was Vic Impari who answered.

‘Vic,’ Sunny said. ‘Has my sister left yet? Sunny Stevenson here,’ she added quickly as an afterthought.

‘Oh hullo, Mrs Stevenson. Yes, your sister left with Mr Stevenson about an hour ago. Nothing wrong, I hope.’

‘No, nothing,’ Sunny said shortly. ‘OK, thank you.’

She put down the phone and turned back to Fin. He was slumped forward. Alarmed, she took his shoulders and pulled him back in the chair. She poured herself a drink and sipped it, watching Fin. Was he conscious? His eyes opened from time to time but he only stared fixedly at the carpet before closing his eyes again.

She thought again about calling Dr Harker. But Dr Harker gossiped too much about his patients. No, she would wait for Mary.

And then one of the most curious feelings she had ever experienced came into her mind. Her sister… And Cy.

Sunny stood upright and caught a glimpse of herself in the Italian mirror over the mantelpiece. She could see the tense, suspicious look on her face. She shook her head. She had told herself a hundred times that she wouldn’t care if Cy started an affair. But with her sister. With Mary!

She tried to force a dismissive smile. But the muscles around her mouth would not respond. Again, as unbidden as the first thought a few seconds earlier, the image came into her mind of the time last week she and Cy had stayed in this house. That moment when she had come out of the bathroom drying her hair. Cy was already moving backwards, away from Mary, she remembered that.

Strangely, she seemed to retain a complete picture in her mind. Cy, his hands raised. Her sister’s flushed face.

‘I have a file to pick up from the office,’ Cy said. ‘OK if we make the detour?’

In the passenger seat beside him Mary had nodded without turning her head. She was saying to herself: this is the most absurdly dangerous thing I have ever done in my life.

Through the trees she could see the lights of Page Corner, the house she had lived in since she was a child. The house where Sunny was waiting for her. She shook her head. No, Fin would be out cold and Sunny would be watching TV and thinking of an early night.

Through the corner of his eye Cy had caught the slight shake of her head. Waiting until they had swung past Page Corner and were travelling the straight road towards Meyerick, he reached out and touched her knee, walking his fingers slowly back towards her thigh.

She put the palm of her hand on the back of his and pressed down, exerting a slight pressure towards the inside of her leg. They drove like that to Meyerick.

The offices of the Meyerick Fund had been chosen by Cy in his first year as president. In that year the city had announced plans for the refurbishment of the old commercial waterfront, a half-mile or so of crumbling warehouses intersected by two stagnant canals. On behalf of the Fund Cy had bought a large loft in a neo-Gothic warehouse, its gable inscribed 1885 and its timbers saturated with soft, oriental odours. He had acted, as he often did, without too much consultation. Oliver Digweed had been informed and had apparently agreed. By the next trustee meeting the loft belonged to the Meyerick Fund. Within six months everybody agreed it was an inspired buy.

Cy’s Mercedes moved along the waterfront under the ornate cast iron lamps which the developers had retained. The river gleamed in the yellow lights. He pulled the car to a stop, switched off the engine and turned slowly in his seat.

‘What about your file?’ she said.

He reached out so that his hand was along her shoulder, touching the back of her neck. She made no effort to move away. His arm moved further round her shoulder. Drawing her towards him, he kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth as she fumbled desperately for him.