“I see.”
He drew deeply on the cigar and expelled a huge cloud of thick smoke. “There’s a man in New York,” he went on. “A Mr. Lewis Cantrell. He will be able to offer contradictory testimony on one point, and for that reason I want to get to him at once and find out what he’ll be able to say.”
“That’s wonderful! Then he’ll break Hodges in half, won’t he?”
Ronald smiled. “Not quite, dear. His testimony is very minor, but the fact that he can refute Hodges at all will take a little of the weight off Hodge’s story. I’ll have to make the jury reason that, first of all, Cantrell is right and Hodges is wrong. Therefore, if Hodges can lie once he can lie a second time. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“Of course! But I was right — this Mr. Cantrell could be the turning point in the case.”
“He could,” Ronald agreed. “That’s the main reason why I’m taking a plane down tomorrow. I’d want to get to any witness in a hurry, but this is more important than usual.”
They spent the night at home, since Ronald’s flight was leaving early the next morning and he wanted to be well-rested for the trip. Carla’s mind was disturbed by her own reaction to the news. Despite the fact that she was spending her afternoons with Charles, Ronald was still her husband and her first loyalty should be to him. Yet her chief emotional reaction was one of joy at the prospect of a night with Charles. Instead of being thrilled at the thought of a possible break in Ronald’s big case, she was only glad that he would be out-of-town for the day.
What was the matter with her? She reasoned quickly that this was a sign, a sign to show her that she ought to be married to Charles and not to Ronald. And yet she hadn’t dared to do more than hint vaguely at the prospect that afternoon, and Charles was about as enthusiastic over the allusion as a small boy over the idea of a bath. She wanted Charles desperately, and she made up her mind that she would get what she wanted. She always had done so, ever since she vowed so long ago that she would never be poor again.
She would make Charles need her. She needed him now, needed him more than anything else, but she knew how much he loved her body and the way it responded to his touch. In time he would come to need her, and then she could come up with the ultimatum: no more lovemaking unless he married her.
That, she decided, ought to do it.
In bed that night, Ronald turned to her and took her in his arms. She wondered if he would try once again to make love to her and hoped that he wouldn’t, knowing how disturbed he was by his failure.
“Carla,” he said softly, “I’m going to miss you. It’s silly, isn’t it? I’ll only be gone a day, but I’ll miss you.”
She didn’t answer, letting her arms encircle his body and hold him against her.
“Let’s go to sleep like this,” he said. “Close to each other.” Then, embarrassed, he closed his eyes and lowered his head to her breast.
Carla suddenly felt herself overflowing with compassion and affection for this man who was her husband. He was so good to her and loved her so deeply! A lump began to rise in her throat and she held him gently in her arms until they were both asleep.
Ronald was gone by the time she awoke the next morning. She raced through the ritual of shower and breakfast, impatient to get in touch with Charles. When his phone failed to answer she became mildly furious, angered at the thought of missing up on the chance for an extended period of time together. Just as she was about to hang up in disgust, Charles answered the phone.
“Darling,” she said, the words coming out in a rush, “Ronald’s in New York until tomorrow morning. Isn’t that wonderful?”
He laughed. “That’s a fine way for a devoted wife to talk.”
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean. It’s fortunate too, because I’ll be busy until later afternoon. Can you meet me around four?”
“Of course. At your apartment?”
“Where else? And then I’ll take you out to dinner, if you don’t have something better in mind.”
She giggled. “Well, I did have something better in mind, but—”
“But we’ll have the whole night for that.”
“Uh-huh.” She grew serious. “Charles, do you think it will be safe — going out together?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know a small Hungarian restaurant where no one will possibly recognize you. I’ll see you at four, all right?”
“All right. And Charles?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.” She made a little kissing sound against the mouthpiece of the phone and hung up.
Later, Carla emerged radiantly from the bedroom. Her blonde hair fell freely down the back of the black evening-gown in a truly striking fashion. The plunging neckline of the gown plummeted between her full ripe breasts, highlighting and accentuating their complete and vivid perfection. The only obstacle now was Lizzie, and she wished she could have given the girl the day off without arousing her suspicions. Instead she told her that she was spending the evening with a friend. Lizzie’s face didn’t change expression, but Carla was certain that the girl knew the truth She could only hope Lizzie would remain silent.
It was precisely twenty minutes to four when she hopped into the MG and turned the key in the ignition.
It was precisely four o’clock when the five-year-old Ford pulled up where the MG had been. A man got out of the car and walked slowly to the door of the house. His step was firm and sure, but there was a hesitation in the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t quite sure of his footing.
He rang the bell once, shifting uneasily from foot to foot while he waited. At last the door was opened by a stunning Negro girl in a maid’s uniform. The man took a good long look at the girl’s body; then, remembering where he was and why he had come, he flushed guiltily.
“Is Mrs. Macon home?”
“No,” said the girl.
“I see. When do you expect her? You think she’ll be home in a few minutes or so?”
The girl considered, her eyes twinkling as she watched the young man struggle to keep from ogling her. “Yes,” she said suddenly. “Yes, Mrs. Macon should be home any minute. Why don’t you come inside?”
After a second’s hesitation the man followed her into the house. He glanced around automatically, his eyes taking in the almost regal splendor of the living-room. His feet sank into the carpet with every step. The girl pointed to an armchair and he sat down in it, his eyes still flitting continually from one object to another.
“You wait right here,” the girl said. “Mrs. Macon ought to be home soon and I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“Swell.”
“Are you the party who’s been trying to reach Mrs. Macon on the phone?”
He started. “Why, yes. How did you know?”
“I answered the phone every time, so how could I miss knowing? I recognized your voice the minute you opened your mouth. Mrs. Macon’s all upset, not ever being home when you call and you not leaving a name or anything.”
“I suppose I should have realized that.”
She didn’t answer, and at the same time made no move to leave. Unwillingly his eyes returned to her body, trying to imagine just how she would look without the protection of the uniform. The maid’s uniform, a rather shapeless affair of white cotton, was unable to hide entirely the curves of her body. The skirt ended a few inches below her knees, and his eyes caressed what they could see of her legs and imagined the rest. Her arms were equally perfect — slender and chocolate in colour. Several times he forced his gaze away from the silent, motionless girl, and each time his eyes returned to wander over her body. Once his eyes caught hers and held them, and he was blushing slightly when he finally tore his eyes free.