Хэммонд Иннес - Nothing to Lose [= Campbell’s Kingdom]

“Fine,” I said.

“Then it’s a deal.” He smiled gently to himself, “I guess when a man’s finished expanding, he’s finished living.” He turned abruptly to the door. “Come on, Boy. Time we had a drink... You care to join us, Wetheral?”

“Thank you,” I said. “But I’ve got some food coming up.”

“Okay. Be seeing you before I leave.”

He went out. Boy hesitated. “It was the best I could do, Bruce. Garry’s straight and he’s a fighter. Once he gets his teeth into a thing, he doesn’t let up easily. But I’m sorry about Roger Fergus.”

“So am I,” I said.

He had taken the spools containing the recording tape out of his pocket and was joggling them up and down on the palm of his hand. “Funny to think that these little containers may be the start of a new oilfield.” He stared at them, then slipped them into his pocket. “Jeff lent me his station wagon. I’ll get over to Keithley tonight, so that it’ll catch the mail out first thing in the morning. We should get Louis’ report within three days.” He seemed about to say something further, but instead he just said “Good night” and went out.

I lay back on my bed. Things were beginning to move and I wondered whether I’d have the energy to handle it all. Acheson would be arriving tomorrow. Probably he’d have Henry Fergus with him. Once they knew my intention—

There was a knock at the door and Jean came in. “How’s the invalid?” She had a tray of food and she put it down on the table beside me. “Pauline was out, so I did the best I could, Johnny said you were hungry.”

“I could eat a horse.”

She was over by the window, standing there, staring at me. “It’s all over the town that you’re going to drill a well up in the Kingdom.”

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” She hesitated. “Bruce, if Henry Fergus decides to proceed with the dam, you’re headed for trouble.”

“I know that.”

“And if he doesn’t, then the people here will be sore, and they’ll get at you somehow. Johnny wasn’t exactly clever in making an enemy of Peter.”

“Appeasement is not in his line.”

“No, but—” She gave a quick, exasperated sigh and sat down in the chair.

“You don’t seem to realize what you’re up against, any of you. Boy I can understand, and Johnny. But you’re English. You’ve fought in the war. You know what happens when people get whipped up emotionally. You’re not a fool. It’s as though you didn’t care — about yourself, I mean.”

“You think I may get hurt?” I was staring at her, wondering what was behind her concern.

“You’re putting yourself in a position where a lot of people would be glad if an accident happened to you.”

“What are you trying to tell roe?”

“That you’re going about this business so clumsily that you’re going to get hurt. How do you think you’re going to get a drilling rig up to the Kingdom? From now on, Trevedian will have a guard on the hoist. He won’t even allow your rig to move on his new road. Even supposing you did get the rig up there, do you think they’d let it rest at that?” She got to her feet with a quick movement of anger. “You can’t fight a man as big as Henry Fergus, and you know it.”

“I can try,” I said.

She swung round on me. “This isn’t the City of London, Bruce. This is the Canadian West. Now you come out here from England and start throwing down the gauntlet to a man like Henry Fergus. Henry isn’t his father. He isn’t a pioneer. There’s nothing lovable about him. He’s a financier and as cold as six inches of steel.” She turned away to the window, “You’re starting something that’ll end on a mountain slope somewhere out there.” She nodded through the block panes of the window. “I know this sort of business. I was two years in France with the Maquis till they got me. I know every trick. I know how to make murder look like an accident. You’ve made it so easy for them. You have an accident. The police come up here to investigate. Whatever I may say, and perhaps others, they’ll hear about your crazy stunt last night, and they’ll shrug their shoulders and any that you were bound to get hurt sooner or later.”

I had finished my steak. “What do you suggest I do, then?”

She pushed her hand through her hair. “Sell out and go back borne.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

“That wasn’t what you wanted me to do when I first came to see you. You wanted me to fight.”

“You were a stranger then.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She came and stood over me. Her face had a peculiar sadness. “This happened to me once before,” she said in a tired voice. “I don’t want it to happen again.” She suddenly held out her hand. “Good-by, Bruce.” She had control of her voice now, and it was natural, impersonal. “I’ll be gone in the morning. I’m taking a trip down to the coast. It’s time I had a change. I’ve been in Come Lucky too long.”

I looked up at her face. It was suddenly older and there was a withdrawn set to her mouth. “You’re running out on me,” I said.

“No.” The word came out with a violence that was unexpected. “I never ran out on anybody in my life — or anything.” Her voice trembled. “It’s just that I’m tired. I can’t—” She stopped there and shrugged her shoulders. “If you come out to Vancouver—” She hesitated and then said, “I’ll leave my address with the Garrets.”

“Would you really like me more if I threw in my hand because the going looked tough?”

Her hands fluttered uncertainly. “It isn’t a question of liking. It’s just that I can’t stand—” She got hold of herself with a quick intake of breath. “Good-by, Bruce.” Her fingers touched mine. She half bent toward me, a sudden tenderness in her eyes. But then she straightened up and turned quickly to the door. She didn’t look round, and I was left with the remains of toy meal and a feeling of emptiness.

I went round to see her in the morning, but she had already left, traveling to Keithley with Max Trevedian and Garry Keogh in the supply truck. “Did she leave any message?” I asked Miss Garret.

“Only this.” She took a piece of paper from the heavy rolltop desk in the corner. “It’s her address in Vancouver.” Her sharp, beady eyes quizzed me through the lorgnette. “Do you know why she left so suddenly, Mr. Wetheral?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

“Most extraordinary. I can’t understand it. My sister and I are very worried.”

“Didn’t she give you any explanation?” I asked.

“No. She just said she needed a change and was leaving.”

“Ruth,” her sister’s voice called from the other side of the room, “don’t forget the little box she left for Mr. Wetheral.”

“Of course not,” Ruth Garret answered a trifle sharply. “It’s in my room. I’ll get it for you.”

As she went through the door, her sister scurried across the room to me. Her thin, transparent hand caught hold of my arm. “You silly boy,” she said. “Why did you let her go?”

“Why?” I was a little taken aback. “What could I do to stop her?”

“I wouldn’t know what men do to stop a girl running away from them. I’m an old maid.” The blue eyes twinkled up at me. And then suddenly they were full of tears. “It’s so quiet here without her. I wish she hadn’t gone. She was so warm and — and comforting to have around. It was — like having a daughter here. And now she’s gone.” She began to sob. “Youth is very cruel — to old people.”

I took hold of her by the shoulders, feeling the thin frailty of her bones. “Stop crying, Miss Sarah. Please. Tell me why she went away. You know why she went, don’t you?” I shook her gently.