He came in, shook hands, and at once opened a large briefcase which he carried with him and took out a long sealed envelope to which a receipt was attached with a rubber band. He held it out to me. “Here is the money-fifty one-thousand-dollar bills. Now Carrie, I want to ask you once more: Are you sure you want to do this? Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. Some day you may need it. You can still change your mind if you want to. She doesn’t know why you’ve sent for her. I merely told her to be here and said it was important. I guess I deliberately misled her a little. I let her think you’re meditating some kind of legal action—”
“That’s impossible. The agreement took care of that.”
“Of course, but the way is still clear for you to rant and rave a little and pretend that’s what you wanted — and still say nothing about the money. If you think anything of my advice you’ll keep it.”
“I don’t know what I want to do.” Because after the chance I had seen yesterday to get back at her, merely handing the money back didn’t seem any satisfaction at all. And the envelope, all stuffed full of money, looked so thick and lovely I hated the idea of giving it to her. And yet I had sent for her and had to have it out with her or go insane, and the money seemed the only possible excuse for what I had to say.
I slid the receipt out from under the rubber band. “Do I sign here?”
He handed me his fountain pen. I signed and handed him the pen and the receipt. Then I quickly pitched the envelope up on the mantelpiece.
“You’d better count it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Because I knew if I ever felt that money between my fingers I couldn’t bear to part with it.
He put the receipt in his briefcase and just then the phone rang. He looked at his watch. “That may be Grant. I meant to tell you. She insisted that he be here.”
“That’s all right.”
The desk said Mr. Harris was in the lobby and I told them to send him up. He came in with a hunted, hangdog look that I hated. We all sat there for a few minutes looking at our watches until I couldn’t stand it any longer and asked them if I could fix them something to drink. Mr. Hunt shook his head, Grant didn’t even answer. Then he looked at me for the first time since he had been there and almost spit at me: “What’s between mother and this man Holden, anyway?”
“Why — I don’t know, I’m sure.”
“I think you do. And what’s between him and you, by the way, too?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m warning you now that I’ve taken about all off that guy I’m going to take.”
“Very well, but I wish you’d make up your mind what you have against him. Because your mother is one thing, I’m something else.”
“Not necessarily.”
At this moment Mr. Hunt said, “Children, children,” and we became silent again. The significance of the threats about Mr. Holden did not dawn on me then, but in a minute or two I was to find out what lay back of them. The desk called promptly at eleven and said a Mrs. Harris was in the lobby, and I told them to send her up.
But when she knocked and I opened the door to let her in who should be with her but Mr. Holden.
I was so surprised that when she took me in her arms and kissed me I let her, although I had fully intended to refuse even to shake hands. He patted my arm, and apparently was not aware there was anything unusual going on. When I brought them in, though, and he saw Grant, he was on his guard at once. He spoke affably but I could see his quick glance shoot around at all of us. Grant nodded to him coldly, and then I introduced him to Mr. Hunt, who seemed as much surprised at his presence there as I was. Then we all sat down and he took out a cigarette and began tapping it on his finger. Then he looked at me and said: “Well. I had no idea I was going to wind up here when Mrs. Harris called me this morning, Carrie.”
“Oh, you’re back at the Wakefield?”
“M’m. For a day or two.”
“I didn’t know that.”
I was just saying things that meant nothing. I wanted to ask him how he could leave Penn-Duquesne, and what he was doing here, and what she had said to him, and a lot of other things, but I couldn’t do it before all the others, and I couldn’t quite make myself ask him to step into the bedroom. It was all going differently from the way I had planned, and I had some panicky instinct that she had got the jump on me, but there was nothing I could do but begin. I turned to her. “Mrs. Harris, I’ve asked you here to discuss a little matter of business.”
“Yes, Carrie? I love to talk business.”
Her voice was like honey, but her eyes had the old familiar glassy look, and I wanted to back down, to say never mind, that it was nothing important and I preferred not to mention it. But I knew I had to go on. “But before we get to the business part there are one or two matters I want to take up with you.”
“Why, certainly, Carrie. Speak freely. After all, you’re among friends... What matters?”
“...How you broke up my marriage, for instance.”
I sounded all muffled and frightened, and she laughed. “Now, Carrie, you’re joking.”
“No, I’m not joking.”
My voice came back when I said that, and I ripped it out as though I meant it, and stood up facing her. And she came back the same way, shrill and loud, the way she always talked when she got angry. “That’ll be enough of that, young woman. I’ve been expecting it, I know just what you’re up to—”
“You don’t know what I’m up to!”
“Yes, I do, and I warn you that anything of that kind that you attempt is going to have most unpleasant consequences.” She stood up, then, and faced me, and the two of us were in the center of the room like a pair of fighting hens. Grant said something quickly, but she paid no attention to him, and went on, shaking her finger at me. “I’m all ready for you. I’m quite prepared to prove that you never had a marriage to break up, that you deceived and betrayed my son even on his wedding day and before. I’ve taken good care to bring your paramour with me — and we’ll let him tell who broke up your marriage.”
She turned dramatically to Mr. Holden, and I don’t know what she thought he was going to say, but he just laughed. “Be your age, Agnes, if that’s why you insisted I come here with you. I broke up no marriage. And I’m not her paramour — worse luck.”
At this Grant jumped up, his fists clenching and unclenching. “That’s a lie, Holden. You’ve been traveling around the country with her. stopping at the same hotels—”
Mr. Holden looked up then, with such a queer look on his face that Grant stopped. “Mr. Harris, I understand your anger, but I don’t respect it. Only two people can break up a marriage, the husband and the wife. I can speak for the wife, in this case. I tried with every ounce that was in me to get her to come with me, to leave you, because I loved her and I thought you were no good. I tried without avail. She didn’t break up the marriage. That leaves you. Am I right?”
Grant tried to answer him and couldn’t, and slumped down in his chair again, twice as hangdog-looking as he had been before. Mr. Holden then added: “I have never been her lover, in the hotels or any other place — though I’ve tried to be, I say to my credit. I don’t care to hear any more out of you on this subject.”
Grant began to shake and put his fingers in his ears even while Mr. Holden was talking, so it was embarrassing to look at him, but Mrs. Harris wasn’t done yet. She ran over to Mr. Holden and screamed: “How about those stock deals? How about those stock deals?”