Mr. American

  No, thought Mr Franklin, we wouldn't want that to happen. Aloud he asked: 'How do you know all this? - there haven't been any details in the press, of course.'

  Sir Charles raised his fine brows. 'Why, from Arthur himself. He came over to Oxton the day before yesterday - as soon as he'd got leave. Stayed overnight and was off yesterday morning - came up to Town in fact. I assumed he would look in on you on his way to the Continent.'

  'No,' said Mr Franklin, 'he didn't call here.'

  'Ah, well, I expect he wanted to catch the boat and didn't have time.' Sir Charles smiled indulgently. 'I'm afraid the younger generation are too much for me - here one moment and off like lightning the next. I can't help wondering if Arthur found some pressing attraction in Switzerland while he was over their with his regimental sports team, and is now off hotfoot to make sure no one else cuts him out. It won't surprise me in the least if he turns up with some French charmer or Germanic ice maiden on his arm, and informs me that this is to be my new daughter-in-law. Peggy didn't hint at anything like that in her letters?'

  Mr Franklin shook his head. 'Just said that Arthur had been and gone with his bob-sleigh outfit.' He must make absolutely certain that there was no misunderstanding. 'So there's absolutely no possibility now that Arthur will be leaving the Army?'

  'None that I can see. The Home Rule Bill goes through in about six weeks, I fancy, so if there's to be another Curragh Mutiny it will have to be before then. And our intelligent Arthur has made sure that he'll be well out of the way.'

  'I see. Yes, he seems to have extricated himself pretty neatly. I'm glad - from what Peggy said it seemed certain he was going to resign for keeps. She didn't have any doubts about it.'

  'You surprise me,' said Sir Charles. 'I've never doubted the exact opposite. And Arthur and Peggy usually have no secrets from each other. Of course, as I think I said once before, it's quite possible that he's simply been pulling her leg, and she took it seriously.'

  Mr Franklin made a noncommittal noise, and wondered again what the reaction would be if he told Sir Charles that the leg-pull had cost him ten thousand pounds. Stark disbelief, probably - and thereafter an ugly family crisis. No, it was not fair to precipitate that before Peggy - or Arthur, more probably - had been given a chance to explain.

  The opportunity came two days later, after Sir Charles had returned to the country, when Peggy came sweeping in from Switzerland, bright-eyed and glowing with the pale suntan acquired on the ski slopes, embraced Mr Franklin with enthusiasm, leaned back in his arms to laugh at him with sheer pleasure, and then kissed him long and contentedly before collapsing into a chair with cries of happy exhaustion. It had been hectic, but tremendous fun, he should have been there, what had he been doing while she was away, had he missed her because she had missed him, she was absolutely fagged out but it was wonderful to be home again, she had skied and skated every day, the Stewarts were the most fearful old fusspots, Poppy Davenport had made a complete idiot of herself over a Finnish ski instructor who hardly spoke a word of English but was six feet five inches tall which had excited Poppy because he was probably the only man in Switzerland capable of carrying her off in his arms, she (Peggy) had gone bob-sleighing several times and won the ladies' prize on the Village Run, a handsome cup which was in her trunk - and that reminded her, she had something for him ...

  Mr Franklin was only too pleased to let the happy spate of words pour out of her, content to sit smiling with pleasure at the sight of the slender, graceful body half-reclining on the couch, and the beautiful face full of laughing animation. He was advancing to kiss her again when she remembered what she had brought him; they clung together for a moment, and then she was off to the hall, to return presently with a small packet which she presented to him, while she placed a forefinger beneath her chin and dropped him a sweeping curtsey.

  He took it in one hand and encircled her waist with the other.

  'You don't have to bring me presents,' he said, laughing. 'Just bring yourself - that's all the present I want.' He emphasised the point by kissing her again, squeezing her bottom with the embracing hand until she wriggled free.

  'Open it, then! Carefully - it's quite fragile.'

  He undid the wrapping, and gasped in admiration at the contents - a beautifully-fashioned gold watch with a gold chain and clasp to fit round the wrist. He had seen them, of course, but it had never occurred to him to wear one himself- they were still rare enough to be curiosities.

  'But, Peggy, darling - that's magnificent! I've never seen anything like it!'

  'It's Swiss,' said Peggy, pleased. 'Here - let me put it on for you.' She fastened the clasp round his wrist, kissed him on the cheek, and said: 'A present for a good boy from Geneva. Are there any letters for me?'

  'On the hall table. But Peggy, this is a wonderful present. ..'She was out of the room before he had finished the sentence, and when she returned and he was continuing to exclaim over the watch, she was already deep in the first letter from the bundle in her hand.

  'It's from Grace Shaw - in Rome ... do you really like it, darling? I hoped you would. I'm so glad. Grace and Ralph have been in Venice - coming home on April the fifth - will I go to Wales with them for a week-end ... don't know about that, Grace, my pet, I don't think I could stand Ralph for more than two hours at a stretch, especially in Wales. And there's the Talbots' dance in aid of the sick kids - I'm sure that's the second week in April, so bad luck, Grace. ..'She slit open another envelope. 'Mark, darling, could you ring for some tea? I'm dying of thirst ...'

  He resigned himself with good-humoured patience to wait until she had waded through her correspondence - this was the breath of life, and there would be no coherent conversation from her until she had satisfied herself that the London world still spun on its social axis. Fortunately, it never took very long; a quick glance at each letter, a brief summary aloud of sender's name and contents for his benefit, with her own frequently pungent comment, was the normal procedure; as she went through it, he wondered how to broach the subject of Arthur - he was reluctant to disturb the pleasure of her homecoming, but if, as seemed likely, Arthur was up to something without his sister's knowledge, she would not thank her husband for keeping it from her any longer than was necessary. Still he hesitated - he looked across at the lovely face intent on the letter in her hand, and felt a surge of affection; he admired his new watch - it gave him inordinate pleasure to think of her carefully considering her choice in some Geneva jewellers, weighing what would please him best.

  Peggy laid aside the last letter with a sigh of relief, and reached for the tea-cup which the maid had set down at her elbow. 'That's that,' she exclaimed. 'Now, then - what's been happening while I've been away?'

  'Not too much. Your father was up a couple of days ago - he'd had Arthur at Oxton en route for the continent. You didn't run across him on your way home?'

  'Arthur? On the continent?' She looked at him in surprise. 'What on earth's he doing there?'

  'On leave, apparently. Didn't you hear about all the excitement there's been in the Army in Ireland?'

  'Oh, yes - Cecil Stewart said something about it. People resigning, or something. Why, what about that?'

  'Well, Arthur was one of them - just as you said he would be. He resigned his commission - and then a week later he withdrew his resignation, like all the others, when the Government satisfied them that they wouldn't have to fight in Ulster.'

  Peggy hesitated, and then shook her head. 'Sorry - I don't understand. You say Arthur resigned - and then went back? Why on earth should he do that?'

  'That's what I'd like to know. Your father seemed to think it was natural enough - but I gather he never thought Arthur was serious about resigning in the first place. And yet Arthur convinced you that he was going to resign - didn't he?'

  Again the momentary hesitation, and then Peggy said: 'That's certainly what he told me - at least, it was the impression I got.'

  The delicate hedge sent a cold chill through Mr Franklin,
but he deliberately kept his side of the conversation casual, almost uninterested.

  'Me, too - from what you told me. I mean, he was pretty serious about going into business. He must have meant to resign, when he spoke to you.'

  'Yes.' Peggy was sitting up now, frowning. 'I can't think what he's playing at. Did he explain to Daddy at all?'

  'Sure - your father is under the impression that the whole thing was a political exercise. But then - ' he paused, keeping his eyes fixed on her profile ‘ - your father doesn't know that Arthur got ten thousand pounds from you on the understanding that he was definitely going to quit the Army.'

  'Good lord!' She turned to stare at him, her eyes widening. 'Oh - but that's silly! I mean - I'm sure he was going to resign. If he hasn't, or if he's changed his mind - well, there has to be some good reason, doesn't there?' She stood up, apparently in alarm, and he noticed that she was clasping her hands nervously. 'He told me - I mean he was positive he was going to resign - that's what he said -and that's why he needed the cash. ..'

  'That's the impression you got? How definite was he?'

  'Oh . . . oh, absolutely definite. He was going to resign and go into business! Mark, if he hasn't - well, I'm sure that something must have happened - he must have changed his mind, or something - '

  'But surely he'd have let us know? We were both expecting his resignation, and he gives it, and then withdraws it. Surely the first thing he'd do, when he's had all that money from you, would be to let you know what's happening. But he hasn't even written to you, or left a message. He's just gone off to the continent without saying a word.'

  'Perhaps.... I don't know.' Peggy seemed to be at a loss - more at a loss than he would have expected. Knowing her, he would have guessed that after an initial blank astonishment she would have been angrily inquiring of no one in particular what the blazes Arthur thought he was doing; anger at her brother's irresponsibility would have seemed more natural than her present nervous bewilderment.

  'Perhaps,' Peggy suddenly said, 'perhaps he was going to resign, but wanted to do it quietly ... or something. And then this thing at the Curragh - 'he noticed that her mention of the Curragh by name seemed to argue a closer knowledge of the incident than she had displayed a few moments ago' - perhaps when it blew up, and he had to resign with all the others, and then they went back, perhaps he felt he had to, too, and means to resign later on ...'

  'The reason he and they resigned was exactly the reason he gave you for resigning,' said Mr Franklin. 'I can't see any reason why he shouldn't stick to it.'

  'No - no, neither can I. I just don't understand it, Mark. God, he's an idiot! Oh, but there must be some good reason for it! I'm sure there is!'

  He had been looking down, frowning, as she spoke; when he raised his head suddenly, he thought he caught an odd look in her eye - was it apprehension? Not anxiety about Arthur and whatever mystery lay behind his conduct, but anxiety about what Mr Franklin himself was thinking? There was something slightly unnatural about her attitude, but he could not put his finger on it. He only knew that Peggy, who carried frankness to the point of fault, and had never had an instant's hesitation in saying exactly what she thought, was now, for some reason, not telling him everything that was in her mind. So he took another way, with rather more guile than he would ever have believed himself capable of. For he did not meet her eye, as she might have expected him to do if she herself was under suspicion; instead he frowned heavily at the inkstand on his desk, as though thoroughly puzzled.

  'It doesn't make sense. I don't get it. Did he ever say what kind of business he had in mind? - that could give us a clue, perhaps.'

  'No.' Peggy shook her head. 'No. He didn't.'

  It was then that Mr Franklin knew for certain that she was not only concealing something, but lying. Peggy had a hard head, she was eminently practical, she would never have dreamed of entrusting ten thousand pounds to Arthur without wanting to know every last detail about his schemes. Even if she had not known what they were at the time she herself got the money from Mr Franklin, she would have made absolutely sure she knew them before letting a penny into Arthur's hands. It simply wasn't in her nature to do otherwise. And yet now she was telling him that she had passed the money across without asking Arthur what it was for. No - that was simply not possible. It was, in fact, utterly ridiculous. Therefore she knew - or suspected - what the money was for, and was trying to conceal that knowledge from him. Mr Franklin felt slightly sick - it was so utterly unlike her that he shrank from believing it. Peggy was honest, if anyone in the world was honest - what on earth could make her dissemble with him? It must be something huge. Or perhaps he was wrong, perhaps he was jumping to conclusions. There was one way of making certain.

  He looked up at her. 'He didn't tell you - when you gave him the cheque?'

  'But I didn't give it to him - I banked it, in the A. W. B. G. P. Fund.'

  'Didn't you mention it to him, though, when you saw him in Switzerland?'

  'No - I didn't think about it. But, Mark, I'm sure it's all right - Arthur wouldn't do anything silly. If he's going to resign, he'll tell us what it's for - and if he isn't, why, he'll just give it back. He can't do anything else!'

  She was asking him - she was pleading with him, he felt, not to push it any further. And he had not been mistaken: she was dissembling, trying to deceive him. If she had been honest - if she had, in an entirely uncharacteristic moment of carelessness, been so rash as to pay the cheque into the A. W. B. G. P. Fund without satisfying herself beforehand that Arthur's scheme was sound, her first instinct now would have been to seize the telephone and check with the bank to see if Arthur had drawn the money out. And if he had, she would have been after him like a tigress. But she wasn't doing that - she knew the cheque had been cashed, and she knew why, and she wasn't telling him.

  Well, that was that. Was there some dime-novel explanation why Arthur had to have money - gambling debts, or making off with the regimental funds, or something? Nonsense if that had been so, Peggy would have laid it on the line to him. A chilling thought struck him - was it for herself she had needed the money, and did Arthur not, in fact, figure in it at all? Whatever the answer, he couldn't ask her - if he examined his mind, he didn't really want to know what the answer was. He forced himself to look up at her, and smile, and shrug his shoulders; she was pale, and he wondered if he imagined that she looked relieved for a split second.

  'Well,' he said as lightly as he could. 'We know what Arthur's like, don't we?' He shook his head in assumed mock despair. 'I'm quite sure it's all right - I just wish the big chucklehead had told you what he was doing. Chances are he's changed his mind about resigning, and in all the excitement at the Curragh he's forgotten all about the money. I guess we ought to find out from him - your father probably knows where he's gone on the continent, and we can get in touch with him. I wouldn't be surprised if the money's in his pants pocket.'

  There was no doubt now of the relief in her face. And that, too, was sure proof. If her conscience had been clear, and Mr Franklin had said what he had just said, she would have looked at him as though he was mad, and assured him that if he was prepared to shrug it off, she wasn't, and she would have an explanation out of Arthur or know the reason why. But now the troubled, anxious look left her face, and she said:

  'Yes - Daddy will know where he is, and we can find out. I just

  don't know - it's not like Arthur. He must have ... well, he must have changed his mind, or there's some other explanation. I'm ... I'm so sorry, Mark.'

  He found he could not look at her, and made a play of opening his desk drawer as though in search of something.

  'Sorry, nothing. It's' Brother Arthur who ought to be sorry, racketing off to Europe without a word to either of us. We'll make him sit up and take notice, though.'

  There was a silence, and then she said, with an emphasis that was almost defiant: 'I'm positive it must be all right. It's just Arthur being completely thoughtless, the oaf.' And then she add
ed: 'It's such an awful lot of money.'

  She was, he decided, like most straightforward people, an extremely bad actor; quite unused to dissembling, she did not know how to do it, but said mechanically the phrases which she supposed fitted the part.