I had put it off for a week and couldn’t very well put it off any longer. I was embarrassed for Eric’s sake, though I had no objective reason to be. The story of Sue’s death had gone no further than the local Hawaiian press. Eric had been mentioned only in passing, as a member of the party who had testified at the inquest. Still I felt embarrassment, which deepened in the face of the woman’s love and loyalty to her husband.
Helen Swann was a big pale blonde, vaguely warm and vaguely nervous, the antithesis of Sue Sholto. She was the hausfrau type, but childless, so that all her love was lavished on her husband.
“You saw Eric, didn’t you?” she said in an eager flutter, when she had perfunctorily praised my tan and the lucky stars which had brought me back. “He wrote me about it. Tell me, is he well?”
“He seemed very well when I saw him in Pearl,” I lied. “In tip-top form.”
“I’m so glad. You know, he always tells me in his letters how well he’s feeling, but I can’t entirely believe him. It’s so nice to have confirmation. You see, even if he were sick he wouldn’t tell me, he wouldn’t want to worry me, the poor dear.”
“You’ll be able to see for yourself,” I said, wondering how deep her loving eyes would see. “His ship’s coming back to the States.”
“I know,” she said, her soft mouth wreathed in a girlish smile which struck a pang through me. “He’s coming home tomorrow. Look.”
With the air of a magician solving the riddle of time and space, she picked up a yellow telegram from the table and gave it to me to read:
SAFE BACK IN STATES ARRIVING HOME FOR SHORT LEAVE WEDNESDAY THE EIGHTEENTH EVER SO MUCH LOVE ERIC.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she said. “I don’t care how short the time is if only I can see him again. And he’s coming tomorrow.”
“That’s swell,” but my enthusiasm rang a little uncertainly in my ears. I doubted Eric’s ability to shift with perfect ease from a dead mistress to a living wife. On the other hand, Helen Swann’s tremulous and brooding love needed very little to feed on. Which was why, I thought, her husband had been unfaithful to her.
I stayed long enough to satisfy propriety if not all her eager questions, and promised to have dinner with them during Eric’s leave. Then I went back to Detroit to read a book and forget about women.
The next morning Mary Thompson telephoned from Cleveland. As soon as I heard her low rich voice I knew what had been keeping me dull and somnolent all week. It was suppressed expectation, suppressed by the fear that I’d never hear from her again.
“You made it fast,” I said. “I’m damn glad.”
“Fast for a civilian. I’m damn glad too. How long have you been home?”
“A week.”
“Having a good time?”
“In a quiet way. I suddenly realized when I heard your voice that I’ve been waiting very hard to hear from you.”
“That’s nice. If you mean it. You’re sure you’re not really put out to hear from me, and just carrying it off like a gentleman?”
“You know different. My feeling for you is not precisely gentlemanly. When can I see you?”
“Well, I’m coming back to Detroit today. Not to see you: it’s about a job.”
“Back to Detroit? You mean you were here and didn’t call me?”
“I was just passing through from Chicago. I had to come here to see the folks. Not that any explanation is called for. Avoid that proprietary tone.” Her voice was mocking, but a little steel grated in it. “How’s the girlfriend?”
“Married off, thank God. In which case will you meet me for dinner at the Book-Cadillac at eight?”
“I’d love to. See you.” She hung up.
A couple of hours later I had another telephone call, and I began to feel as if it were Pearl Harbor old home week. This time it was Eric, calling from the airport.
“I’m glad I could get in touch with you,” he said when we had exchanged greetings. “Something new has been added.”
“In connection with – it?”
“Not exactly. Perhaps. Hector Land has disappeared.”
“I thought he was in the brig.”
“He was for ten days. Then we let him out, but he was restricted to the ship. The night we got into Diego he got away somehow, and hasn’t been seen since.”
“I don’t see how he got out of the Yard.”
“We weren’t in the Yard yet. We docked at North Island when we came in. I figure he must have slipped over the side and swum around to one of the unrestricted beaches, maybe at Coronado. He may have drowned himself, for that matter. Anyway he’s gone.”
“His being A.W.O.L. doesn’t prove very much, does it?”
“Not much. But I’m still interested in checking up on him. That’s the main reason I called you. His wife lives in Detroit.”
“I know. Somewhere in Paradise Valley.”
“I can’t take the time now – Helen will be waiting for me – but I thought I’d come into town tonight and look up Mrs. Land. Are you free?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I have a dinner engagement.”
“Could we get together afterwards?”
For a moment I thought of asking him to leave me out of it, let me forget it even if he couldn’t. But I said: “Look, it’s Mary Thompson I’m having dinner with – she just got back to the States. Why don’t you bring Helen and make it a foursome? We’ll make a night of it and if we get the chance we’ll look up Mrs. Land.”
As soon as I made the suggestion I regretted it. There are more entertaining projects for a mixed group than looking in Paradise Valley for a Negro woman you have never seen. Apart from that, I anticipated a certain amount of strain in a meeting between Eric’s wife and Sue’s friend. But Eric took me up on it and the engagement was made for eight.
The party fitted together better than I expected. Helen was so delighted to be with Eric again that nothing could have fazed her, and Eric flourished in the atmosphere of devotion which she generated. Mary, who I remembered had understood Eric from the beginning, was content to let well enough alone. She made no mention of Sue, nor even any subtly feminine insinuation, and the two women were soon on their way to becoming friends.
Mary had changed noticeably since I had seen her. On Oahu her whole nature had seemed open, like a rose in a sudden hailstorm, to the shock and pain of events. She had been shaken by the vibration of horror which had passed through Honolulu House, and I had felt helpless to comfort her, though I did my best. Now she seemed no longer vulnerable. Her nature had closed upon itself and become poised and self-contained again. Perhaps it was no more than the healthful effects of putting the island and its associations behind her, of taking a sea-voyage, of coming home again. But she seemed a different woman.
The difference was emphasized by the Martinis and highballs we had before and after dinner. When Eric and I proposed our expedition, Mary took it up with sophomore enthusiasm:
“I think it should be fun. A manhunt through the wilds of Detroit. A womanhunt, at least.”
“Hardly that,” Eric said drily. “I’ve got her address. 214 Chestnut Street.”
Helen was a bit put out: “I thought you were on leave, Eric. You’ve only got five days and one day’s gone already.”
He looked a little sheepish but said: “This won’t take half an hour. After that we’ll hit the night-spots.”
Mary and I shared the back seat of Eric’s carefully preserved sedan, and I lost interest in where we were going. She let me kiss her, but her mouth was not tremulous and yielding as it had been the one other time. She kissed me firmly back.