Chapter 10
When he got home, Cee-Zee lay dozing in the armchair, a half-finished crossword puzzle tucked beside her. In repose her face looked worn out, strained from the hospital ordeal. All the high living had lowered her resistance. She might be in a good humor and try to kid him into believing she could snap back. But he knew better. She needed care. The proper rest. Good food. He hoped she had enough sense to respect these requirements of her body.
Gently he lifted and carried her into the bedroom, setting her down and pulling the covers over her. She sighed in sleep and turned to hug the pillow. He tip-toed back into the living room and switched off the lights, then came back and got into bed himself.
For awhile he lay and listened to her breathing, trying to understand why she insisted on keeping secret what had happened to her with Lilio. He felt impatient with her for protecting him. But he knew it was not her nature to rat on anyone. She had a strange loyalty to all living creatures, good or bad. "Judge not that ye may not be judged...." It was hard to believe that Cee-Zee might have a core of religious sentiment buried deep inside. He wanted to shake her back into reality, make her realize the danger of enemies as well as the value of friends.
His mind wandered back to Robin and how she treated his insistence. Women were alien creatures to him, hoeing their private paths toward incredible destinations. No matter how close he got to them, he did not feel secure that he was a partner to their total being. Each one seemed to hang a small gate that closed him away. Even Hilda, for all her giving, remained a mystery. And there was precious little he could do about understanding any of them.
The alarm went off at seven o'clock. He reached to shut it off before the noise wakened Cee-Zee. He fell back onto the pillow, aware that he had not slept at all and angry with himself because he had to get dressed now to spend another senseless day with insurance policies that bored him silly. He thought about taking the day off and waiting for sleep to come when it would, getting up afterward at his leisure, messing around the house, talking to Cee-Zee, maybe cleaning his camera after all these months of neglect. The prospect felt good to him and he decided not to go to the office for once. He closed his eyes again and smiled languidly. The rich man. The wealthy Mr. Spokane is in private conference today. The bed sheets felt smooth and appealing to his naked body.
Around noon he felt Cee-Zee turn over and yawn. She lay facing him, her cheek snuggled in between the groove of both pillows. She sighed contentedly.
"Still here?" she said, blinking slowly without concern.
"Yep. For the rest of my days."
"That's nice." She examined the nipple of one exposed breast. "You look better today. Have a good time? I didn't hear you come in."
Eric nodded. In a way, it had been a good time. The mixture of Robin with Hilda made a strange brew. "You were dead to the world."
"Must have been. Don't even remember going to bed."
He grinned and touched the tip of her nose with an affectionate finger. "Wonder why not."
"Oh, I see," she laughed with understanding. "You make a fine, gallant nurse. Only I wish you'd do something about that damned telephone."
And as she said it, the phone began to ring. "See what I mean?"
"We'll tear it out," he said mildly as she handed him the receiver.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Spokane." The reedy thin voice could belong to only one person.
"Yes, Donald," Eric said. "What can I do for you?"
"I called to do something for you." His voice sounded tight-lipped beneath the idle manner.
"And what may that be?" Eric said, enjoying himself.
"I'm sending the chauffeur for Robin's automobile. That will save you the trouble of returning it."
"Very good. But why couldn't Robin tell me this herself?"
"She asked me to phone for her. My sister has decided to take one of her vacations. She won't have time to see you anymore, Mr. Spokane. And neither will I."
Eric heard the receiver drop neatly into its cradle. He handed the phone to Cee-Zee, preoccupied with the question of whether Robin was going away of her own free will or not. He began to surmise that maybe she never left because she wanted to go. Her guilty conscience, egged on by Donald and their pact, might be driving her away now. He felt convinced that Donald, upon discovering that his sister was getting friendly with a strange man, reminded her of her obligation. He could even see Donald getting the tickets for her and making sure she got on the plane. This heredity business made a convenient gimmick for Donald to keep his sister from becoming involved with anyone else.
"You look mad," Cee-Zee said.
"J, am." He flung himself out of bed and started to pull his clothes on.
"Too bad you didn't rip the phone out before that call," she mused.
But he didn't hear her. His mind whirled with the problem of getting to Robin before she left. Once out of the country, he knew she was lost to him. She must be stopped now. Made to see that Donald was influencing her. Made to face herself instead of running away.
He leaped down the stairs, taking the flights two jumps at a time, dashed into the car and roared up the avenue, tucking his shirttails in as he drove.
He double parked and ran past the doormen who stared after him. It didn't matter that he looked half out of his mind, his hair uncombed, a straggly beard grubby on his chin, no tie, no jacket.
The elevator couldn't move fast enough. He kept his thumb on the buzzer till Kate opened the door. He whizzed past her surprised face and started banging on the line of closed doors, calling Robin's name as he went.
No answer, no sound except Kate's protesting squeals. He rattled knobs and burst into empty rooms till he opened one final door and saw Donald seated at his desk, turning the pages of a small leather volume.
"You look upset, Mr. Spokane," he said, getting up and pulling the silk cord of his dressing gown tighter. "Did you lose something? May I help you?" His smile spread broad and satisfied, showing the pale gums over his teeth.
In that instant Eric knew that Robin had left. But how long ago? And to where? He strode up to Donald and got him by the throat, pressing his thumbs hard against the pointed Adam's apple.
"Talk or you're dead. I don't care if they hang a murder rap on me." He spoke through tight lips, spitting the words into Donald's face, watching it turn yellow, seeing the eyes begin to bulge. He shook him, he kept pressing the spindly throat.
"Too late," Donald choked. He tried to nod that he was willing to speak.
Eric loosened his grip the barest amount, giving him just enough breath to speak. "When? Where?"
"La Guardia. You're too late ... Havana."
He dropped Donald and ran out past Kate, still standing there with her hands to her mouth. The elevator door was just closing. He slid inside.
The Jag nosed and found its way from lane to lane as he sped to the airport. Just the barest chance he could catch her before flight time. His hopes were good because on the phone Donald had said that Robin was leaving, not that she had left. He judged that he was twenty minutes behind her from the time of the call. Steadily he pressed the gas pedal, working to shave off that twenty minutes. Dodging around cars at eighty five, he trusted to luck that the highway's radar control would not put the cops on him.
Reaching La Guardia, he leaped over the car door and pushed his way through the milling people inside to the waiting room. Loudspeaker voices blared flight arrivals and departures, men checked luggage weights at counters. He nearly knocked over a smiling stewardess as he combed the crowd for sight of Robin. Then he slipped under the chain past the ticket guard and saw a finer lifting slowly from the runway. He stood for an instant watching it rise into the sky, the pocket of frustration spilling over inside him. Suddenly he cursed himself for a jerk and raced back to the car.
He raced the Jag over the connecting highway between La Guardia and International, praying that his own stupidity hadn't fouled him up. He should have realized that Donald was clever enough to tell him only a half truth. He had to believe that Robin was taking a flight to Cuba. That part of it sounded real enough. But he knew damned well Donald had given him the wrong airport.
The same loudspeaker, the same crowds. He shouldered his way through them, boring a swift line of vision above the blonde heads and grays and chestnuts, finding no sign of her, no woman who remotely resembled the brushed auburn cut. Not on the lines, not on the field outside where mechanics tinkered with engines of the huge waiting planes.
Satisfied that she had not stepped into the rest room for a minute, ashamed of himself for having missed her, he jangled the change in his pocket and thought what to do next. Even if he took a flight to Cuba himself, it was a big place to look for one little girl. All he could think of was to go back and finish Donald off. At least then Robin would be free for the next man who became interested.
He dropped silver into a vending machine and watched the cigarettes and matches plop down. Listiessly he pulled off the cellophane and tapped a cigarette against the back of his hand. Then he struck a match and started to lift it toward the tobacco, suddenly dropping them both as he saw Robin walking behind the chauffeur who carried the small valises. His whole world lit up with a brighter flame than any match. Waves of warmth moved over his back. For a few moments, he stood very still, enjoying the satisfaction and the immense security of having succeeded in arriving before she did.
She didn't spot him. She looked blankly ahead of her, puppet-like behind the chauffeur, a sweater dangling carelessly over her arm. This was the first time he had seen her without the semblance of a smile. She seemed bereft of pride, stripped naked so that only her aching heart showed. But she held her head high, looking very much the rich, untouchable heiress. Untouchable. The double meaning of his expression stabbed him into moving toward her now. He did not want to delay the conquering of all the obstacles still looming before Robin could feel free to do with her life as she chose.
"Hello," he said mildly. "I came to return the car."
She looked at him speechless, her dry lips half parted. The chauffeur went to the weighing platform with her luggage.
"I didn't think you would leave without saying goodbye to an old friend," he said, knowing the challenge of his words.
She still hadn't recovered herself. Her eyes had a numb glow to them. He wondered if she heard what he was saying. In the silence he lit another cigarette and gave it to her. "I had a fine chat with your brother," he said. "He doesn't appreciate me at all."
She turned half away from him and managed to find her voice. "I don't think you have a right in my affairs," she said. The words danced on strings which sounded as though Donald pulled them.
"I haven't," Eric said. "Only an interest. A very sincere interest. We haven't known each other very long, Robin, but somehow I can't be convinced that you would go away so abruptly. We had a date this evening, remember."
She couldn't turn to face him. He walked around to face her instead. "What about that date?" he continued.
"You're making this too painful for me," she said, pulling deeply on the cigarette but unable to have it steady her.
"Look," he said, "we don't have to talk about this here. If you really want to go to Cuba, I won't try to stop you. Believe me. I only ask that you give us an hour to talk it over. There's always another plane leaving. Donald doesn't have to know." He resisted an impulse to put his hands on her shoulders to comfort her, to share some of his assurance with her. "What do you say?"
Robin shook her head no. "It's impossible," she said in a barely audible whisper.
"Nothing's that impossible. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me."
Her eyes searched his, their green depths dark with question.
"I nearly killed your brother, trying to find out what happened to you. Maybe I would go back and finish the job if it turns out that you're so afraid of him you haven't the freedom to take an hour away from the plans he makes for you to follow. Do you want me to face a prison sentence?" He spoke half jokingly, half serious.
"What did you do to him?"
"Nothing yet. He may have a sore throat for awhile, but it'll clear up."
"You're a coward, Eric."
He took her cigarette and puffed on it. "And you?"
She paused and passed a hand over her tired eyes. "I guess I don't know what I am."
"Then maybe we'd better help you find out."
The chauffeur returned with her baggage stubs and she sent him home.
"I'm getting on the next plane, regardless of what you think you have to say to me, Eric."
He took her arm and led her out to the Jag. "That's a deal," he agreed, watching her squint up at him in the sunshine.
He drove slowly out into Long Island, repeating in detail everything that had happened between himself and Donald. Sensing Robin's amazement, he emphasized the less flattering aspects of her brother's behavior. No doubt she had never permitted herself to see that Donald also was a coward.
For the flight she had put on a sky blue shirtwaist dress. It's skirt billowed in the breeze, reminding him of an ad for Rheingold, as she crossed her legs and let the golden day warm her face.
He brought the car up in front of a roadside restaurant where a few college students sat before french frieds and hamburgers talking about coming finals. He had chosen the place deliberately. The hopeful atmosphere of young people would be better for her than dark corners and the morbid implications of liquor in the middle of the day.
"All we ever seem to do," she said, "is sit someplace and disagree." She tried to smile but most of her was off thinking about other things. He had a tough battle to face with Robin. It occurred to him with sudden clarity that there was nothing in it for him except the dubious satisfaction of being right. He thought back to himself breathing down her neck last night and it handed him a laugh. She was hardly more than a college kid herself. Better educated perhaps, because of the Millardson treasury. But certainly not more mature. A very little girl sat opposite him, filled to brimming with confusion and doubts. Neither romantic nor alluring, these troubles of a little girl. Facing the reality of his position, Eric wondered at the unnamed force compelling his interest in her.
He ordered open steak sandwiches and coffee for them both, taking his time about starting the battle again.
"You're looking for the right words, aren't you?" she said. "I feel sorry, Eric, that you have to go to all this trouble for nothing."
"Thanks for the sympathy." He caught the reflection of himself in the plate glass window, his unkempt head and fierce eyes beneath the heavy ridges of brow. "You know, looking at myself over there," he said, "makes me wonder why Donald thinks I'm such a threat to you."
"He thinks that about every man." The hint of shyness tinging her words made him examine her. She opened her purse quickly and started to rummage through its contents.
"Do you need something," he said, "or are you managing to avoid me by messing around in that?"
"Of course I'm avoiding you," she said, still unable to look at him. "Because I don't understand why you care what happens to me."
"You know something?" Eric said, shutting the flap of her purse so that she had to look at him. "That makes two of us."
Neither of them jumped to fill in the silence with a quip. Eric handed her the ketchup bottle and the salt. Then she set the bottle near his plate. Someone dropped coins into the juke box. A rock and roll number crooned in four part harmony. They remained serious and quiet, watching each other while they ate. Now that he had stopped fighting with her, Eric felt that she was beginning to give in to him. He was trying to influence her because of a compulsion and not to prove a scientific theory. All his cards lay on the table without a single ace in the hole.
"I don't know what to do about you," she said finally.
"For a start, how about trusting me? We can get you a little place around here. Donald doesn't have to know that you didn't leave the country. Maybe together we can work this thing out. For both our sakes."
Slowly she unwrapped a cube of sugar.
"You don't like the sound of it?" he continued. "You think it's dishonest to do something behind Donald's back?"
"I can go to Cuba for a week. That won't hurt anything."
"And when you come back, it'll start all over again. Sooner or later, you'll have to do something that Donald won't approve."
"Like what?"
"Like living your own life."
The color drained from her cheeks. He had hit home. "Do anything you want, Robin. But believe in it for yourself. I don't think your father is so proud of you for nothing. He says you're a real firecracker."
Now she smiled for the first time that afternoon.
"And I have faith that he isn't mistaken," Eric concluded. "The rest is up to you."
He watched her struggle to distill meaning from her confused emotions. She drank three cups of coffee, clasping and unclasping her fingers. Occasionally she breathed a little sigh.
"I do trust you, Eric. Try to believe that. But I can't go into hiding like a convict. Let me get on that plane. I need to be alone, away from everything and everyone. That'll give me a chance to think. It won't be running away this time. It'll be really flunking."
"And when you return?"
"I'll get in touch with you first. I promise."
He had reached an impasse with her and he knew it. All he could do now was trust her native intelligence and her courage.
"All right," he said. "I'll settle for that"
Mutely, she thanked him.
They drove back to the airport. He waited with her for the plane. They shook hands before she went out onto the field. Then impulsively she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
He watched her go, saw the easy line of her lithe body mingling with other passengers. She wouldn't turn around to wave to him and he didn't want her to. No goodbyes between them.