“Yes, I see.”
“This case is practically closed, right this minute, or as soon as I speak to Dr. Miller.”
“Thank you, Arthur. Remember me to Joe Chapin.”
“I’ll do that, George. My best to Geraldine. Not now, though.”
“I’ll save it for some other time, Arthur. Thanks again.”
George Lockwood looked hastily but carefully through the morning newspapers on the remote chance that the accident might be of news value to New York editors because of its particular gruesomeness, but neither the Herald Tribune nor the Times had seen fit to publish a word about it. Geraldine, followed by a bellboy, returned to the room in less than an hour.
“Thank you, Bob,” said George Lockwood to the bellboy.
“Right you are, sir,” said the bellboy, and placed the parcel on the luggage stand and departed.
“Mr. Huntington told me to tell you he could have saved me the trip. All you had to do was phone him,” said Geraldine.
“You were very prompt. Very efficient, my dear, and you don’t know Huntington. Whether I spoke to him on the phone or whatever, he would have inquired about every Brooks customer in Lantenengo County, and my brother and my nephews and anybody else he could think of to talk about.”
“That’s why you made me go. I was wondering. But you always have a reason for things, I’ve learned that.”
He rang for the valet. “Haven’t you? I think everybody has.”
“Not to the extent that you do, and you don’t always explain what your reasons are. Consequently, you mystify people a lot of times.”
“I’ve never mystified you, have I? At least I’ve never let you stay mystified after you ask for an explanation.”
“No, that’s true, dear. But sometimes I forget to ask.”
“Then you can’t really blame me, can you? When something I do mystifies you, just ask. As to other people, I simply don’t give a damn. I owe no one any explanation for anything. Thought, word, or deed. And they love it. All those stories we heard about the wall. Why I had to have a wall. How much it was going to cost me. And why I discontinued the Dietrich farm. The people in the Valley and Swedish Haven—it’s like giving them free band concerts.”
“Why did you discontinue the Dietrich farm?”
“I told you.”
“You gave me a funny reason. Humorous, that is. You said the prevailing wind was from the west, and we’d get tired of the odor of cow manure.”
“That answer seemed to satisfy you at the time. What’s more, it happens to be true.”
“But there must be another reason.”
“There is. Actually, two. One is that in a few years’ time you’ll find that the quail will be plentiful in that lower land, and we’ll have some damn good shooting. A few seasons and the land will be all grown over and full of game. The other reason, of course, is that Dietrichs have farmed that land for so many years that they think of it as theirs, no matter who owns it legally. And the only thing to do was get rid of them, lock, stock and barrel. Good fences make good neighbors, they say. But I did more than build a good fence. I transplanted the neighbors to Lebanon County. I’m very fond of the Dietrichs, now that they’re forty miles away. But Oscar wouldn’t have made a good tenant, not on what was once his own land.”
“I never would have thought it all out so carefully,” she said.
“You didn’t have to. I began thinking of these things when we were married. I knew you didn’t like the old house in Swedish Haven.”
“But I did. At least I didn’t dislike it.”
“No woman likes to live in a house that her husband’s first wife lived in for twenty years.”
“But it wasn’t her house as much as it was yours. You were born there, and your brother. If it was any woman’s house, it was your mother’s.”
“My grandmother’s. Mother never liked that house. And in a few more years you would have liked it even less.”
“Why didn’t your mother like it?”
“I can only guess. My mother’d never tell any of us that she didn’t like the house.”
“You and your brother?”
“Children were children, and they stayed children till they were married. No matter what my father did or said, he was right, according to my mother, and there was to be no discussion or any criticism of anything the parents did. And I mean no criticism, even unspoken criticism. If we didn’t like something they did, and were caught making a face, we’d get a good hard slap.” He rubbed his newly shaved chin. “Those fat little hands could slap.”
“I’m really glad we’re past the age for having children. Or at least that I am.”
“So am I. There’ll be small ones around at Christmas for years to come. And any other time we want them, but only when we want them.”
“Yes. That isn’t exactly what I meant, but—”
“Oh, I know what you meant, Geraldine. You wouldn’t want the task of bringing up a young baby.”
“That’s it. The responsibility.”
“I knew that. Ah.” The door was opened, simultaneously with a knock. “Peter.”
“Good morning, sir. Ma’am. Heard you was stopping with us, sir. Pleasure to see you again, sir, Mr. Lockwood. How can I be of service to you, sir?”
“Good morning, Peter. See that blue box with the yellow edge? Half a dozen brand-new shirts in there,” said George Lockwood.
“That have to go into the laundry before Mr. Lockwood wears them. Yes sir.”
“I know it’s past the time—”
“Oh, I think a special effort can be made, sir. Washed and ironed, no starch, and returned to this ‘ere room by no later than eight o’clock this evening, sir? Unless Mr. Lockwood has some evening shirts amongst them? There I’d be inclined to be pessimistic, sir. Sorry.”
“No evening shirts, Peter.”
“In that case, I just take the box down meself and as one might say, exert a bit of pressure, sir. Very good sir, thank you sir. Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“Thank you, sir.” The valet left.
“Thank you zah,” said Geraldine. “Zah. He sounds as though he were saying czar.”
“I think they learn that in the British army. Well, now, my dear, what shall we do this evening? Would you like to see a show?”
“You’re not taking me out to lunch?”
“I thought you might have plans of your own, so I think I’d like to spend the day downtown.”
“I’m having lunch at Henri’s. Mary Chadburn, if you’d like to join us.”
“God will bless you for being nice to Mary Chadburn, but I don’t want to take anything away from your kind act. You lunch with Mary, and there’ll be a gold star in the Good Book for you.”
“I like Mary.”
“Everybody likes Mary. What could anybody possibly have against her? I’ll be at Lockwood & Company most of the day.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m glad you ordered the vases. They sound just right,” he said, and folded his topcoat over his arm and saluted her with his hat, and left.
George Lockwood’s private office at Lockwood & Company was the smallest in the suite, but it was never used even temporarily by anyone else, and it was always kept ready for just such sudden, unexpected visits as that which George now paid. He went directly to his office, speaking to some of the staff on the way. As was customary, Miss Strademyer knocked on his door and asked if she could take any dictation. “Not this minute, Miss Strademyer. Maybe later. Is my brother in?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, I’ll just go over my mail and then after I’ve seen my brother I may have some letters for you. After lunch, most likely. You’re looking very well, for a girl that just had her appendix out.”