The Case of the Four Friends Page 5

  Dahlia Constant plays no personal part in this story, yet she is in the sense the central figure in it. Have you ever watched a hard-fought game of chess? If so, you must surely have seen some pawn which, boldly advanced two or three squares at the commencement of the game, thereafter remains static. Itself immovable, it is still the key to the whole situation; its capture is the darling wish of one player – its defence the sustained endeavour of the other. Every move is calculated to assail it more vigorously or to protect it more securely – the fate of kings and queens depends on it; saintly bishops lay down their lives with unction in its defence, and adventurous knights perish without remorse in the assault.

  In this tale Dahlia Constant is the advanced yet static pawn – essential to the whole story yet herself taking no active part in it. She must, then, be described – but only briefly, lest attention should be diverted from the protagonists. And that is a pity, for Dahlia deserves fuller and more generous treatment. She was an orphan, she was barely twenty-two, she was beautiful and, above all, she was immensely, fabulously, almost ridiculously wealthy. That she might have married at any time during the past two years was a matter of course. Her name had been coupled by the society and gossip writers with a great many of the most eligible bachelors in London. At one time it was freely stated that she would shortly be engaged to that fascinating yet dangerous and tempestuous Piers Gradon. Common opinion was that she was protected by the two elderly aunts with whom she lived, and that only a superman might hope to carry her off from their protective embrace. There were other reasons than this for the fact that Dahlia was still a single woman. Great wealth gives boundless opportunities to its possessor, but it may also create correspondingly great difficulties. Dahlia Constant’s own inclinations were thoroughly healthy and normal. She was already tired of the round of parties and social functions which she dutifully attended; she looked forward to a husband and a home and a secured and ordered life. But she was not only normal and healthy – she was also old-fashioned. With an almost Victorian insistence, she demanded that she should be loved for herself and not for her money. ‘What does it matter,’ the modern young lady exclaims, ‘that Peter or Denis or Martin or whoever it may be is after my money? Of course he is, and very natural, too! Anyhow, there’s lots of it for both of us, and we shall have a thoroughly amusing time together. Besides, if we don’t make a go of it, we can always have a divorce and go our own ways.’ Such thoughts were wholly alien to Dahlia’s attitude of mind. If she married it would be for better or for worse, and until death did part her from her mate. Could she have had her own way she would probably have liked to disguise herself as a penniless maid, and taken her chance of finding a husband who indeed loved her for herself alone. This was impossible, but still in the case of every suitor she tried (not as a rule successfully) to convince herself that she and not her money was the only attraction.

  Toby Barrick met her at a friend’s house, and quite simply he fell in love with her. In such cases it is hard to be strictly fair or to judge without mental reservations. Of course Toby knew that she was an heiress, and of course her money lent her an attraction to any normal man who did not indulge too much in self-deception. But there was no doubt that Toby’s feelings were genuine and, in the beginning at least, untinged by any sordid motives. When first he met Dahlia he was conscious of an overwhelming jealousy for Piers Gradon, who just then seemed to be the most favoured of her friends. Gradually, as Pier’s shares sank in the matrimonial market, Toby’s natural optimism asserted itself. He loved her – she did not seem in any way averse from him – it was a short step, and one which he took without hesitation, to imagine himself as the accepted suitor. He saw more and more of her, he made no secret of his infatuation, very soon he was imagining himself as already engaged. That was wholly in keeping with his character. In anticipation he thought of himself as the husband of the great heiress, with all his difficulties overcome and with his problems solved. He spent more recklessly than ever; he neglected his work more than before – he lived in a golden future, perfectly assured that everything would come right as – for him – it always and properly did. He intended to propose before Christmas, and in order that he might not be separated more than was necessary from his fiancée (for so he already regarded her) he persuaded Charles Sandham to fix on the Magnifico for the New Year’s holiday because he knew that Dahlia and her aunts were to be staying there at that time.

  But what of Dahlia? She had liked Toby Barrick when first she met him, and she liked him better the more that she saw of him. She thought, she was almost sure, that she had found her ideal husband. And so she made no secret of her feelings, and public rumour had it that the engagement between ‘a beautiful and popular heiress’ and a ‘charming and successful lawyer’ might be announced at any moment. The aunts, it is true, were not wholly satisfied. ‘He’s very well preserved, but he’s much-too old for you. Besides, you should beware of widowers – they have too much experience, and are always dangerous.’ So said Aunt Dora – not very fairly, for she was herself over seventy but continued to appear as fifty. Dahlia tossed her head in annoyance and made no comment. Aunt Emily’s attitude towards the romance afforded ample evidence that she was the shrewder aunt. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I like dear Mr Barrick immensely; he’s so polite and charming and so devoted to you. You know when he first came to see me I thought that he might be after your money, but I’m sure now that he’s much too nice for that. I do hope you’ll marry him, dear, and be very happy. I’m sure he doesn’t even think about money when you are there.’ Dahlia smiled and told her aunt that Toby was a partner in one of the most important solicitors’ firms in the City, and that it was impossible to think of any sordid motive where he was concerned – but – but – somehow a seed of doubt had been planted.

  Then came the day on which Toby had decided to propose. The proposal was to be made at a private dance at a friend’s house. He and Dahlia had sparred about the arrangements for that evening as lovers will.

  ‘Are you going on Thursday night?’ she had said.

  ‘That depends entirely on you – of course I’m going if you are.’

  ‘But I don’t know if the aunts will want to go.’

  ‘Dahlia, you must go on Thursday; I particularly want to dance with you that night.’

  ‘I really can’t be sure. I’ll go if I can, but you mustn’t count on me.’

  He knew that she would go, and he knew that he would propose to her then. She knew it, too, and she made up her mind – or almost made up her mind – to accept him. Why, then did it all go wrong? Perhaps the fault was partly Toby’s. It was true enough that he had been first attracted to Dahlia simply for herself, but men’s motives are strangely mixed and, as his own affairs became more and more involved, the crude material advantages of this marriage bulked larger and larger in his mind. He counted on it as a certainty, and, as he thought of the future, he thought more and more of his personal gains and less and less of his wife’s happiness. And Dahlia? Was she not, perhaps instinctively, conscious of the change in Toby? Try as she would, she could not quite banish the doubt which had been planted in her mind by Aunt Emily. Somehow, instinctively, against her own wishes, she felt that Toby did care just a little too much about her wealth and not quite enough about her. And so when that evening he asked her to marry him, she did not give him the answer which he had expected and which she had a little earlier intended to give him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Toby dear,’ she said, ‘but I can’t, at least I don’t think I can.’

  ‘But you love me, darling, you said you did. What in Heaven’s name is the matter?’

  Had he been a wiser man, he would not have allowed his confidence in her acceptance to become so obvious. But he was not wise, and Dahlia was temperamentally not the person to yield to an over-confident suitor.

  It was a crestfallen Toby who was pleading at the end of the conversation that he should not be wholly and permanently rejected.

  ‘Y
ou won’t turn me down for ever, will you?’

  ‘Oh, please, please, don’t press me to answer questions like that.’

  ‘At least we shall meet as friends,’ he had urged.

  ‘Of course, Toby, I shall always be your friend,’ she had replied, and with that he had had to be content.

  ***

  It was small wonder that Toby was depressed when he entered the office. Dahlia had refused him, but he was determined to try again and he still felt that in time he must succeed. In the meantime he must at all costs prevent his world from knowing that he had been rejected. The bright picture of the holiday at the Magnifico – where he confidently expected that his friends would read the announcement of his engagement – had faded. At the best he could only say that ‘nothing was quite settled’. But how could he set his own affairs in order? On the most optimistic calculation he could not hope to win over Dahlia for a good many months – and how could he carry on for that time? The news of Sir William Merger’s illness had reached him and a cold shiver had passed over him as he realized that if Sir William died he, Toby, might be in imminent danger of a criminal prosecution. His gambling debts and his speculations could be arranged for somehow – he had surmounted that kind of difficulty before – but the whisper of embezzlement of trust funds and the misappropriation of the securities of clients was altogether a different business. Perhaps for the first time in his career Toby was desperately frightened. One expedient, as he saw it, remained to him. The firm must provide the means to extricate him. Dash it all, Charles Sandham was a decent old stick, and he must be rolling in money! Besides, if the junior partner got into trouble, the reputation of the firm would be hopelessly compromised. Surely he could arrange that the firm would come to the rescue? But how could he get that help without revealing to his partner that he had played fast and loose with the assets and the credit of the firm? Besides, he had the ugly suspicion that that interfering old ass Chapman knew or guessed more than he should about the state of affairs. Blast it! Well, somehow or other he must raise money, and a great deal of money, and he must raise it quickly.

  ***

  ‘Morning, Charles,’ Toby said, with affected bonhomie as he entered his partner’s room. ‘Chapman said that you wanted to see me. Hope there’s nothing in the morning’s mail to stop us starting on our holiday tomorrow.’

  ‘Old William Merger’s pretty ill. I don’t think he’ll last long. Chapman’s been telling me that I ought to refresh my memory about all his affairs, but I suppose that can wait till after the holiday.’

  Toby stirred uneasily, but he concealed his anxiety. ‘Oh, you needn’t worry. I have all that in hand. I’ve spent a lot of time, you know, over all this Merger business – and I’ve got it all taped. Nothing else that matters, what?’

  ‘Nothing, except that Chapman tells me he wants to resign. You could, as they used to say, have knocked me down with a feather when he told me. But I fancy it’s only a Christmas grouse. We’ll have to think up some sort of a plan to persuade him to carry on.’

  But Toby’s mind was working fast. With Chapman out of the way there would be no one in the least likely to inquire into his own conduct of the business.

  ‘Well, I’m not so sure,’ he said. ‘Of course the old man is pretty knowledgeable about things that happened fifty years ago and all that sort of thing, but I sometimes wonder whether he’s really such a great asset to us. It’s often like that with old retainers, you know. You think that you can’t get on without them, but when at last they do go you find that everything proceeds quite as efficiently and much more quickly without them. Why not call his bluff, say how much you regret his decision and all that, but accept his resignation? You’ll win, anyhow. If he does go, no harm will be done, but I’ll bet a lot of money that he’ll change his tune the moment he sees that you’re not falling for his sentimental stuff.’

  Sandham shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think that would work – besides, whatever you think of his day-to-day activities, he is extraordinarily useful with regard to all our older clients. This Merger stuff, for example – ’

  Toby hastily tried to shift the conversation. ‘Oh, surely that can wait till we get back. Are we all lined up, so to speak, for travelling down tomorrow?’

  ‘So far as I’m concerned, certainly,’ Sandham replied a little crossly, ‘though I’m beginning to feel rather sorry that we are going to such a caravanserai as the Magnifico. I used to like Rye and Brancaster and Aberdovey and places like that very much better. But I suppose you had to be where the lady is going. What about your engagement, Toby; I suppose we shall be drinking your health as an engaged man some time on the holiday? I hope I’m not being inquisitive – or premature?’

  Toby’s face clouded over, but he contrived to speak with apparent nonchalance.

  ‘Well, it’s notoriously hard to be certain about the ladies, Charles, but I think that – well – I think that Dahlia and I understand each other pretty well, and I shouldn’t be surprised if we fixed it up before very many weeks have passed, but of course you’ll keep that under your hat, won’t you? I don’t want all the world pointing at me as the love-lorn swain or anything like that, you know, until it’s really settled.’

  ‘I’m glad that it’s panning out all right, and of course I shall be the soul of discretion. By the way, Evelyn has got our fourth man all fixed and settled.’

  ‘Good, who’s coming?’

  ‘His nephew, Piers Gradon – you know him, don’t you?’ With difficulty Toby suppressed his vexation. Vexation is, perhaps, too weak a word to use, for no name could have given him more acute annoyance. Was Piers Gradon still making passes at Dahlia? If so, the holiday promised to be extremely unpleasant for one of them at least. Their rivalry might well flare up in the Magnifico, and he knew enough of Piers Gradon to realize that an open quarrel was by no means unlikely. Had Dahlia been quite honest, he wondered, in telling him, when she refused him, that she had no other in her mind? He contrived, however, to disguise the bitterness of his feelings.

  ‘Oh yes, I know him,’ he said, ‘and to be perfectly candid, I don’t like him a lot.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I do,’ Sandham answered, ‘but I couldn’t raise any objections. After all, he’s Evelyn’s nephew, and it wouldn’t have been decent to raise any question about him. Besides, I’d left the choice to Evelyn. We can surely get on with him for a few days. And I believe that he’s pretty high-class at golf and bridge.’

  Toby shrugged his shoulders and tried to disguise the extent of his annoyance. How could he possibly hope to bring Dahlia back to a better state of mind in the face of Piers’s competition? And how could he hope to deal with his own most pressing problems whilst devoting all his energies to the pursuit of Dahlia? One thing alone was certain – he must obtain as much money as would enable him to ride the storm in the event of Sir William Merger’s decease. If he failed in that, irreparable disaster stared him in the face. Somehow, by hook or by crook, he must persuade his partner to raise a considerable sum through the agency or credit of the firm, and so free himself from immediate danger. Would it be better to disguise his real position or to confess the whole of his misdoings and appeal to Sandham’s generosity? After all, the credit of the firm and all hope of prosperity in the future would be destroyed if the junior partner was exposed to a criminal prosecution. Perhaps he held a stronger hand vis-á-vis Charles Sandham than he had supposed. Rather nervously he cleared his throat and plunged into the middle of the business.

  ‘By the way, Charles,’ he said, ‘I’ve been an awful ass, and I’ll have to raise a good deal of money pretty quickly. I don’t want to worry you more than I must, but I suppose that the firm could contrive to make a capital sum available for me at short notice without too much difficulty. It’s only a temporary matter, of course.’

  In so far as he had thought about it at all, Toby had expected that Sandham would read him a lecture about the dangers of gambling and of over-optimistic speculation on the Sto
ck Exchange, and that he would then begin to ask questions about the amount of money required. He was wholly unprepared for the violent reaction which his opening remark produced.

  ‘That’s wholly out of the question,’ Charles Sandham replied, ‘and I’m amazed that you should suggest it. Damn it all, man, you must know as well as I do that we’re not made of money, and you’ve always had a pretty generous share of our profits. Besides, I’m pretty hard put to it myself with the wedding and all that this year, and I’ve got to think of the future myself. No, no, there can’t be any talk of lending you money just now. If you’ve burned your fingers in private speculations, you must just cut your losses and try to restore the position over the next few years. I’m not the sort of man to criticize other people, but it won’t do you any harm to cut out betting and such like and put your nose to the grindstone a bit more. Forgive me if I sound rude, but I’m rather worried myself today. Anyhow, there can’t be any question at all of using the firm’s credit to raise money for you. Forget it.’