she spoke very clearly and purely. She darted forward, reaching for the handbell. Zinnie let her ring it. Above its din, a white-jacketed Filipino said from the doorway:
“Missus?”
“A shaker of Gibsons, Juan. Oh, and ginger ale for Mildred.”
“I want a Gibson, too,” the little girl said.
“All right, darling.” Zinnie turned to the houseboy: “A special cocktail for Martha.”
He smiled comprehendingly, and disappeared.
“Say hello to your Aunt Mildred, Martha.”
“Hello, Aunt Mildred.”
“Hello, Martha. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How is Uncle Carl?”
“Uncle Carl is ill,” Mildred said in a monotone.
“Isn’t Uncle Carl coming? Mummy said he was coming. She said so on the telephone.”
“No,” her mother cut in. “You didn’t understand what I said, dear. I was talking about somebody else. Uncle Carl is far away. He’s living far away.”
“Who is coming, Mummy?”
“Lots of people are coming. Daddy will be here soon. And Dr. Grantland. And Aunt Mildred is here.”
The child looked up at her, her eyes clear and untroubled. She said: “I don’t want Daddy to come. I don’t like Daddy. I want Dr. Grantland to come. He will come and take us to a nice place.”
“Not
us
, dear. You and Mrs. Hutchinson. Dr. Grantland will take you for a ride in his car, and you’ll spend the day with Mrs. Hutchinson. Maybe all night, too. Won’t that be fun?”
“Yes,” the child answered gravely. “That will be fun.”
“Now go and ask Mrs. Hutchinson to give you your lunch.”
“I ate my lunch. I ate it all up. You said I could have a special cocktail.”
“In the kitchen, dear. Juan will give you your cocktail in the kitchen.”
“I don’t want to go in the kitchen. I want to stay here, with people.”
“No, you can’t.” Zinnie was getting edgy. “Now be a nicegirl and do what you’re told, or I’ll tell Daddy about you. He won’t like it.”
“I don’t care. I want to stay here and talk to the people.”
“Some other time, Martha.” She rose and hustled the little girl out of the room. A long wail ended with the closing of a door.
“She’s a beautiful child.”
Mildred turned to me. “Which one of them do you mean? Yes, Martha is pretty. And she’s bright. But the way Zinnie is handling her—she treats her as if she were a doll.”
Mildred was going to say more, but Zinnie returned, closely followed by the houseboy with the drinks. I drank mine in a hurry, and ate the onion by way of lunch.
“Have another, Mr. Archer.” One drink had converted Zinnie’s tension into vivacity, of a sort. “We’ve got the rest of the shaker to knock back between us. Unless we can persuade Mildred to climb down off her high wagon.”
“You know where I stand on the subject.” Mildred gripped her glass of ginger ale defensively. “I see you’ve had the room redone.”
I said: “One’s enough for me, thanks. What I’d like to do, if you don’t object, is talk to the man who saw your brother-in-law. Sam something?”
“Sam Yogan. Of course, talk to Sam if you like.”
“Is he around now?”
“I think so. Come on, I’ll help you find him. Coming, Mildred?”
“I’d better stay here,” Mildred said. “If Carl comes to the house, I want to be here to meet him.”
“Aren’t you afraid of him?”
“No, I’m not afraid of him. I love my husband. No doubt it’s hard for you to understand that.”
The hostility between the two women kept showing its sharp edges. Zinnie said:
“Well, I’m afraid of him. Why do you think I’m sending Martha to town? And I’ve got half a mind to go myself.”
“With Dr. Grantland?”
Zinnie didn’t answer. She rose abruptly, with a glance at me. I followed her through a dining-room furnished in massive old mahogany, into a sunlit kitchen gleaming with formica and chrome and tile. The houseboy turned from the sink, where he was washing dishes:
“Yes, Missus?”
“Is Sam around?”
“Before, he was
“Missus?”
“A shaker of Gibsons, Juan. Oh, and ginger ale for Mildred.”
“I want a Gibson, too,” the little girl said.
“All right, darling.” Zinnie turned to the houseboy: “A special cocktail for Martha.”
He smiled comprehendingly, and disappeared.
“Say hello to your Aunt Mildred, Martha.”
“Hello, Aunt Mildred.”
“Hello, Martha. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How is Uncle Carl?”
“Uncle Carl is ill,” Mildred said in a monotone.
“Isn’t Uncle Carl coming? Mummy said he was coming. She said so on the telephone.”
“No,” her mother cut in. “You didn’t understand what I said, dear. I was talking about somebody else. Uncle Carl is far away. He’s living far away.”
“Who is coming, Mummy?”
“Lots of people are coming. Daddy will be here soon. And Dr. Grantland. And Aunt Mildred is here.”
The child looked up at her, her eyes clear and untroubled. She said: “I don’t want Daddy to come. I don’t like Daddy. I want Dr. Grantland to come. He will come and take us to a nice place.”
“Not
us
, dear. You and Mrs. Hutchinson. Dr. Grantland will take you for a ride in his car, and you’ll spend the day with Mrs. Hutchinson. Maybe all night, too. Won’t that be fun?”
“Yes,” the child answered gravely. “That will be fun.”
“Now go and ask Mrs. Hutchinson to give you your lunch.”
“I ate my lunch. I ate it all up. You said I could have a special cocktail.”
“In the kitchen, dear. Juan will give you your cocktail in the kitchen.”
“I don’t want to go in the kitchen. I want to stay here, with people.”
“No, you can’t.” Zinnie was getting edgy. “Now be a nicegirl and do what you’re told, or I’ll tell Daddy about you. He won’t like it.”
“I don’t care. I want to stay here and talk to the people.”
“Some other time, Martha.” She rose and hustled the little girl out of the room. A long wail ended with the closing of a door.
“She’s a beautiful child.”
Mildred turned to me. “Which one of them do you mean? Yes, Martha is pretty. And she’s bright. But the way Zinnie is handling her—she treats her as if she were a doll.”
Mildred was going to say more, but Zinnie returned, closely followed by the houseboy with the drinks. I drank mine in a hurry, and ate the onion by way of lunch.
“Have another, Mr. Archer.” One drink had converted Zinnie’s tension into vivacity, of a sort. “We’ve got the rest of the shaker to knock back between us. Unless we can persuade Mildred to climb down off her high wagon.”
“You know where I stand on the subject.” Mildred gripped her glass of ginger ale defensively. “I see you’ve had the room redone.”
I said: “One’s enough for me, thanks. What I’d like to do, if you don’t object, is talk to the man who saw your brother-in-law. Sam something?”
“Sam Yogan. Of course, talk to Sam if you like.”
“Is he around now?”
“I think so. Come on, I’ll help you find him. Coming, Mildred?”
“I’d better stay here,” Mildred said. “If Carl comes to the house, I want to be here to meet him.”
“Aren’t you afraid of him?”
“No, I’m not afraid of him. I love my husband. No doubt it’s hard for you to understand that.”
The hostility between the two women kept showing its sharp edges. Zinnie said:
“Well, I’m afraid of him. Why do you think I’m sending Martha to town? And I’ve got half a mind to go myself.”
“With Dr. Grantland?”
Zinnie didn’t answer. She rose abruptly, with a glance at me. I followed her through a dining-room furnished in massive old mahogany, into a sunlit kitchen gleaming with formica and chrome and tile. The houseboy turned from the sink, where he was washing dishes:
“Yes, Missus?”
“Is Sam around?”
“Before, he was
Similar Books
