"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll either have to go with you or have you wait here until Doc comes."
She put the papers and her hat behind her, lowered her head and walked right into me. She pushed against me and I could hear her teeth gritting.
I tried to reach around her and grab the papers. Instead, I caught hold of her hat, breaking the band that held it to her arm. It struck the running board and rolled between us.
"Now see what you did," she said, reproachfully.
"I'm sorry," I said.
We both reached for it at the same time. Our heads bumped painfully. It gave me a bad jolt, and I know it must have hurt her worse. Her face went momentarily white.
I said I was sorry again, and started to pick up the hat.
She brought her knee against my chin with a force that almost knocked me out.
It was instinctive, a natural animal reaction to pain. What I did was also instinctive.
I grabbed her by the ankles and jerked upward.
She sailed through the door of the car, open fortunately, and landed bouncing on the seat. Her feet went up in the air and her dress flew over her head.
"Just what the hell," said Dr. Luther, "is going on here?"
8
His hat was jammed low on his sandy hair, and there was a fleck of spittle beneath the overhung teeth. He pushed me to one side and almost jerked her off the seat.
"What in the name of God is the matter with you, Madeline?" he said harshly. "I sent you after those contracts thirty minutes ago, and I waited and waited until my parties gave up and left. And then I come out here and find you showing your backside to-to-"
"Was not backside," she pouted. "Was underneath side."
"To hell with that stuff! You're not a kid; you're not being paid kid's wages! If you can't snap out of it and do your work like you're supposed to, I'll get someone who will."
"Bet you couldn't!" she said. "Bet you couldn't get any one that knows," she stressed the word ever so lightly, "half as much as I do."
"But, dammit!" He stared at her helplessly, swallowing whatever else he had been about to say.
"It's my fault, Doc," I said. "I saw her get those papers out of the car, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion."
"And I was nasty to him," said Madeline, "in my own peculiar way."
"I can imagine," Doc said. "Well, I guess I'm as much at fault as anyone. I'd forgotten about Pat waiting there at the entrance. By the way, you two had better meet each other."
He introduced us, casually, and opened the door of the car. "Make another copy of those contracts tonight, Madeline," he said. "And bring them out here in the afternoon. Same place. Same time. On time!"
"I was going to a show tonight."
"Go ahead. Get up early in the morning and work. I don't care when you do them."
"Well-" she stood near the door, pouting. And with her left hand she scrawled an address in the dust on the car's side and wrote "4- noon" beneath it. "Well, you and Mr. Cosgrove can drive me home, then."
"We've something important to do," said Doc, coolly. "Come along, Pat."
I rubbed out the writing, nodded to her, and walked on around the car. As I drove away, she put her hands behind her and stuck her tongue out at Doc.
"That woman," he muttered. "If she wasn't so valuable to me…"
"She's your secretary?"
"Call her that. She's actually a great deal more; does things that aren't ordinarily included in secretarial work. She knows-well, you heard her. She knows."
"I see," I said.
"There's a perfect example of what being sorry for a person can get you into," he went on, wearily. "When I first ran into her I thought she was one of the most pitiable, helpless little tykes that ever came out of business college. Raised by an aunt who kicked her out when she was sixteen- I can understand why, now! Worked her way through school as a waitress with all the big bad men insulting her. Just wanted to work real hard for a nice fatherly man like me who would give her good advice. Well…"
I laughed appreciatively. "Isn't she a pretty disrupting influence to have around?"
"She gets on my nerves plenty, yes. But she's smart and fast, and people like her in spite of themselves. They let their guards down around her before they realize she's not half as giddy as she appears to be. She-"
"Excuse me, Doc," I said. "Where did you want to drive to?"
"Why, home, I suppose. Unless you've got some place you'd like to go."
"Not at all," I said. "I just thought I understood you to say that-"
"That was a brush-off. I have to use her in my business. I don't have to cart her around-give her any kind of a personal hold on me. Incidentally, Pat…"
"Yes," I said, knowing what was coming.
"I want you to keep away from her, too. I know you're loyal and grateful to me, that you wouldn't deliberately do anything that might injure me. But it's simply a bad idea for two people so close to my affairs to get on an intimate basis. You understand, Pat? I won't tolerate it."
He turned to look at me. I nodded emphatically, not trusting my voice.
He said, "I'm counting on you."
I let him out at the front of the house, and drove the car on back to the garage.
Then another car-the sports roadster I'd seen the night before-swept down the driveway. It shot into the stall next to the sedan, tires sliding, and banged noisily, but apparently harmlessly, against the rear of the garage.
A woman got out and came swiftly toward me, smiling, hand extended.
She was above average height, and slender, yet there was a soft billowy look about her. Her hair was ash blonde, and she had the smooth flawless complexion which should, but so seldom does, accompany it. She wore a tailored, fawn-colored suit with a fox fur scarf around the shoulders.
Briefly, she was a very beautiful woman of thirty or thereabouts. A little theatrical in her actions, but beautiful. And absolutely nothing else.
"You're Pat Cosgrove," she announced, dipping her hand a little to take hold of mine. "Doctor's told me so much about you. I'm Lila Luther."
"How do you do, Mrs. Luther," I said.
"I was going to drop in last night and say hello, but Doctor said you were tired. And, of course, he snatched you away this morning before I got my eyes open."
"Well…" I said.
"Do come along." She linked her wrist over my arm. "I want you to show me your room. Doctor assured me you were made utterly comfortable, but naturally he wouldn't know if you weren't. Isn't he a weird man? But sweet. Very sweet."
"I like him," I said, trying not to make it sound like a reproof. "And the room is fine. I-"
"Oh, well," she shrugged. "Of course, you would like him. Not that you're not sincere. I could see instantly that you were. Do you know Mr. Hardesty? I like him very much, don't you? He's such a smooth, earnest man. So, uh, so unweird."
She chattered incessantly as we went up the driveway and around the walk to the house, apparently so intrigued with the sound of her own voice that my tense silence went unnoticed.