'In that case,' Renshaw agreed, 'the sooner you get there, the better.'
'Then we'll be moving.' Hemmingway disentangled himself
from Lavina, and she followed him out of the car.
They thanked Renshaw again, wished him luck, and began to walk towards the gates of the dock.
It was now half-past five in the morning and dawn was breaking. Having found Lavina, and found her sane, Hemmingway was much more cheerful; but, as they advanced, he was aware that only the last shreds of her courage were keeping her from collapsing. Although she was clinging to his arm her feet faltered as she walked, and it was only with an effort that she could raise her head.
'Did you get any sleep at all?' he asked after a moment.
'I don't know. I think so, in between whiles. But I couldn't get the sight—the sight of Roy, lying there dead on the floor of the ballroom, out of my mind. I've lost count of time entirely. I don't even know what day it is. I didn't cry, you know—not even once—until I saw you. Somehow I couldn't. And now I have, I'm feeling better. But I'd give the earth just to tumble into bed.'
Her utter exhaustion provided Hemmingway with a new problem. There was no public transport running by which he could get her back to St. James's Square, and no possibility of hiring a car; yet she was quite incapable of walking such a distance. The only solution seemed to be the finding of some accommodation where she could get a few hours' sleep while he went to St. James's Square and collected his car.
He thought of the Salvation Army Hostel outside the West India Dock, but Lavina's footsteps were faltering, she was dragging on his arm, and the Hostel was a mile away; so even that seemed too far off. Coming out of the dock gates they turned left along the East India Dock road, and on a corner he saw a little hotel called the 'Main Brace'. Its principal business was obviously done through its bar, but it had a sign hanging outside announcing 'BED AND BREAKFAST'.
He did not like the look of the place at all, as it was only the sort of water-front dive where, in that district, sailors of all nations normally congregate. But Lavina was now weighing on his arm so heavily that she obviously could not go much farther.
The hotel was shut and no one was about, so Hemmingway went to the side door and rang the bell. He kept on ringing for some moments and was beginning to think that the publican had taken his family out of London and left the place untenanted; but at last there was a shuffling inside and a corpulent man in a greasy dressing-gown threw open the door.
'Can you give this lady a bed for a few hours?' Hemmingway asked. 'She's been through a great deal and I must leave her somewhere to get some sleep while I go and collect my car.'
The fat man nodded. 'She can have six beds if she wants 'em. The 'ouse is empty except for me and the Missis, now.'
'One's enough,' Hemmingway smiled. 'But let it be the best you've got; and I'll make it well worth your while to see that she's not disturbed till I get back.'
'Oh, she'll be orl right,' the man shrugged. 'Nobody's goin' to interfere with 'er. Why should they? Tvvo-and-six is the charge, pay in advance—unless she wants breakfast, and that's another bob.'
Comforted somewhat by the man's apparent honesty, Hemmingway produced a ten-shilling note. 'You can take this on account,' he said, 'and there'll be another like it if the lady's had a good sleep by the time I get back.'
'Thanks, guv'nor.' The publican thrust the ten-shilling note into the pocket of his dressing-gown. 'Follow me, will yer?' He turned and led the way upstairs.
The hallway smelt of stale cabbage. The stair carpet was threadbare and the paper on the walls faded with age. But the landlord led them to a room on the first floor overlooking the street, which, while unpretentious, looked reasonably clean.
A big, old-fashioned, brass bedstead occupied nearly half of it while a marble-topped washstand with a jug of water and coarse-looking towels was wedged in one corner, Hemmingway noted with satisfaction that the door had a key on the inside. The second Lavina entered it, she collapsed upon the bed.
'Poor lady's in a shockin' state, ain't she?' said the landlord. 'Like me to get the Missis up an' give 'er a nice cup o' tea or somethin'?'
Hemmingway shook his head. 'No, thanks all the same. All she needs is sleep.'
The man nodded, and shuffled out of the door. 'So long, then. Tell 'er just to give a shout if she wants anything. You can find yer own way out an' I'll let you in again when you get back.'
As the publican closed the door behind him, Hemmingway looked down at Lavina. Dark circles showed under her eyes and her eyelids were blue, as though she had made them up but actually from exhaustion. She was certainly all-in.
He shook her by the shoulder. 'Look here, we'll have to set off for Stapleton directly I get back from St. James's Square with the car. It's no good just flopping down like that with your clothes on. You must undress and get into bed so as to get as much real rest as possible out of the short time you've got.'
Lavina blinked up at him wearily. 'I can't, Hemmingway, I'm too tired. I can hardly stand up.'
'Now, do be sensible. It won't take you a moment to slip out of your things.'
She raised herself on one arm. 'All right. If you'll help me.'
Hemmingway was not used to undressing young women. He was not in the least a prude but his complete lack of social life and his preoccupation with learning when young had kept him right out of the sphere of the girls in his own home town. While he had been struggling to earn his living in New York he had had an unfortunate affair with a girl who had let him down extremely badly; and it had gone so deep that for a long time afterwards he had studiously shunned all feminine advances. Since then, although he had met many pretty women in Sam's company, his whole heart had been in his work. He and Sam travelled a certain amount but, even in the luxury resorts they sometimes visited, there were always big deals in progress, cables to be decoded, long-distance telephone calls coming through and schemes to be thought out for the development of this or that business, and Hemmingway never found himself particularly attracted to the elegant, but so often empty-headed, young women that he met in such places.
Women, too, were a little frightened of him; yet, had they known the truth, he was much more frightened of them when they did attract him; so, while he was not actually cold, he had fallen into the habit of never attempting to go further with them than casual friendship. The fact was that he no longer thought about women as women and was so absorbed in Sam's affairs that he had more or less drifted into the same sort of celibacy as that of a worldly priest who has fought and conquered all desire.
Lavina caught the rather queer look on his face and, exhausted as she was, could not repress a flicker of amusement at his shyness. Her three years on the films had long since accustomed her to acting, often in the scantiest of costumes, before crowds of technicians and lookers-on. She was very proud of her beautiful body and rather liked to show it off whenever she could do so without positive immodesty; so it had not even occurred to her that Hemmingway would be embarrassed by helping her shed her outer garments.
His hesitation was only momentary. As she slid off the bed and, crossing her arms, plucked at the hem of her frock he quickly took hold of it and pulled it over her head. Then, as she sank down again, he unlaced her shoes, took them off and helped her roll down her stockings.
'Thanks. That'll do,' she murmured. 'I'll wriggle out of my body-belt somehow when you've gone; my chemise will have to do as a nightie.'
He pulled out his gun and showed it to her. 'Ever handled one of these things?'
She nodded. 'Yes, often in my film days but only with blanks.'
'Right. It's fully loaded. Just in case someone starts something while I'm away I'll leave it with you; and you'd better lock the door. Don't open it to anyone until I get back. The landlord seems a decent guy, but you never know in a place like this.'