The Stand-In (14 page)

“They're settling for three, that's why!” Bran went into the Jackie Gleason routine again.

“Coral, why three thousand? Why?”

Bran said, “I'll explain to her, Coral. Hold up, Millie! We have to get the three thou' first. Coral, you get on that phone and call St. Andrews. If Nube is busy, ask them to have him call here as soon as possible. We want him to tell Julian to open that envelope and
extract
three thousand. He is also to instruct Julian that there'll be no signing of any documents unless, of course, he wants an I.O.U. for three thousand, and you better make the call, Coral, because I'm liable not to be very polite.”

Coral went to Millie. “Sweetie, it will be over soon. Just hold on, sweetie.” Nube had been wrong and Bran right. Eunice Merson's column had not been a death warrant. Because Nube had been so hard on Bran, she couldn't blame him for the Jackie Gleason bit, but enough was enough. Let him wipe that expression off his face. Kitten wasn't back yet. They still couldn't be sure Kitten was okay. His grinning face was obscene. She picked up the phone. Bran, still grinning, was holding the memo pad under her nose. He had written the St. Andrews number with a circle around it. Like another grin.

Now Bran was showing Millie the item in the paper and asking her to read it, explaining what it was and how the kidnappers must have seen it. He said since the kidnappers only had Kitten, they didn't expect any fifty thousand pounds. Coral said, “Bran!” She knew she had thought the same thing really, but to say it to Millie! “Really, Bran!” He didn't seem to know what was bugging her, but Millie knew, Millie knew all right. Coral felt herself blushing.

She left a message for Nube to call her. “Millie, when the phone rings, it will only be Nube. Just hold on a little longer. Everything's set now, Mill.”

She hadn't called her sister “Mill” since they were kids. Millicent. Millie-cent, one cent, two cents, three thousand cents. She had no right to be holier-than-thou to Bran, Coral thought, watching him gesturing grandly, hearing him go on and on to Millie, unable to stop talking because he had been right and Nube wrong.

No, it was because he was going to be able to keep his damned picture rights, that's why he was on this talking jag. He was carrying on as if Millie was a crowd of people; his blue eyes shone like enamel. Well, it did no harm, because Millie wasn't listening, anyhow. Millie was praying. She prayed a lot. Coral went to a window. The traffic was moving steadily in Portland Place toward Regent's Park, away from Regent's Park. Nube said he had taken his kids to the park when he did
The Red Lion
in London. She would take Cornie to Regent's Park. She would take Kitten and Cornie to Regent's Park.

The phone rang. “Millie, that's just Nube,” she said, running to answer it.

Nube listened quietly when she told him the kidnappers had called and had settled for three thousand pounds. He quietly agreed to lend them the money and asked what time she would have to leave. He said he would come to the St. Georges and bring the money himself. Would Coral have them send up some Brown Windsor soup, two cold chicken legs, a green salad, and a pot of black coffee.

Bran had lunch sent up for himself, too, but neither she nor Millie could think of food. Coral ordered another pot of coffee because she hadn't slept and had to be alert when she went to get Kitten.

The waiters came up with the table before Nube arrived, and Bran started to eat. Coral saw that the smell of Bran's mutton chops was gagging Millie, too. She opened a window and felt how warm the air was; it could be home, it was so warm today. Cornie would be wanting to play outside, but she had given strict orders that the Witherses weren't to let her out of her room.

“Why can't I go out? Why can't I?”

Cornie would be at the whining stage by now, or she might be doing her ‘I hate you I wish you was dead' routine. The Witherses wouldn't like that, particularly if she came at them with both fists.

Nube came in, his white silk sweater like snow. He was carrying a flight bag, which he promptly unzipped. He showed the money to Millie and then zipped the bag up again and gave it to her to hold. (That was sweet of Nube.) Then he seated himself opposite Bran at the rolling table and lifted the shiny cover off the soup.

“You can only get this brown soup in England, and I'm queer for it.”

Nube saw how Bran was trying to keep from grinning. Millie noticed Nube lifting a spoonful of the soup and looking at her; she clutched the flight bag, looking back. Then she set it down on the coffee table and hugged her elbows, instead. Nube's stare had got to her.

Nube let the brown soup pour out of his spoon, untouched. “I think we should call the cops right now.”

Millie said, “No, no, no.”

Nube waited for Millie to stop. “Coral will tell you this was my advice from the beginning.”

“I won't. I won't.” Millie began to cry in a tired way.

“Then no, what you say goes. No more tears, please. I've been giving this a lot of thought. I don't believe they saw Merson's piece and marked the merchandise down like bargain day. I don't believe they would take the chance for three thousand. Now I'll tell you what did occur to me. It is my opinion that they are continuing with the plan because they got another idea. They could correct their mistake. Even with the wrong little girl, they could still come out on top.”

Millie didn't know what Nube was talking about. She didn't care. Holding her elbows, she kept crying, “It's Kitten, it's Kitten.”

“I'm sorry I have to talk to you this way, Mrs. Williams, but I must. The kidnappers are not going to show themselves just to collect three thousand pounds. But there
is
something here worth sticking out their necks for.”

Bran laid his fork and knife down side by side on his plate the way his mother had taught him to. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

“Your wife, Bran.”

They all stared at Coral, who made her helpless gesture.

“The way I see it, they'll get Coral out of the car by telling her Kitten's around the corner, in a doorway, or a basement. Then when Coral goes to get Kitten, they'll kidnap her—Coral.”

Millie began to sob.

Nube said, “Well, Bran?”

“Crap! Shit! You never give in, do you? You told us one story, and when that didn't work, you're trying another. You think there's still a way to make it finish with my signing over the rights!”

“I'm not talking about rights. I'm talking about your wife. What about your wife?”

“I know you like a book! Don't think I don't know you! You're not the only one can think, Nube. I don't trust your thinking as far as I can throw a piano!”

“You're not throwing pianos, you're throwing the bull, but how far will you throw your wife, that's the point. To the wolves? If she was only your wife I couldn't stop you, but she's also my—my investment. I happen to have a lot invested in Coral.”

“Coral! My
baby!”

“You have my sympathy, Mrs. Williams,” Nube said. “Take my advice and call the police. If the police are on the spot waiting, I'll let Coral go.”

Coral said, “No police, Nube! They won't show if the cops are there, and you know it. Stop it, Millie, I'm going. Listen, Nube, I may be your investment, but—”

“My investment and my heart's blood, darling.”

“Of course, Nube, of course, but I'm Millie's sister and I'm going, and if you take back that money I can get it myself and you know I can.”

“Can you? Well, you just try and I'll blow the whistle. I'll call the cops myself.”

“Bran! What will we do, Bran?” He looked as if he hadn't heard. She thought he stopped listening as soon as they stopped talking about his movie rights. He was crazy, she thought, and turned back to her director. “Nube, what can we do?”

He hugged her. “You know I'll work it out, don't you, doll? Okay. Your sister is the little girl's mother, so she has the right to take this risk. Now, I don't like it. I think it could turn out real … messy—but your sister's got the right to wade into the mess, I admit that. Now here's my idea.” He turned to Millie.
“You're
going to drive your sister's car and pick up Kitten. You'll wear Coral's clothes and her wig, and I'll send Carlos over after lunch. He can make you look like Coral so you don't have to worry about them spotting you from the car.”

“Oh, Nube!”

He showed her his last-ditch face. “This is it. This is the way it's going to be done, or I call the police. Make up your mind.” He took another spoonful of the Brown Windsor soup, made a face, and laid the spoon down.

Millie was nodding to show that she would go. No cops, she would go.

“That's that, then.” Nube took the cover off the other serving dish and picking up a cold chicken leg began to eat.

Bran, as if this was a dare, started on his second mutton chop. Coral stared at the two men chewing away. “Both,” she thought, “I hate them both.” She went to Millie and stood behind her, pulling her tight, feeling Millie's back against her breasts.

14

Desmond told Ronnie he was going to bring the kid down and keep her in the bedroom with them. Ronnie said that was okay but he'd go up with him to fetch her. He held the gun on her and with his handkerchief wiped off all the places she could have reached in the little room. He kept the gun on her while Desmond carried her down.

Desmond gave her the rest of the milk and some more bread and cheese so at least she wasn't hungry. Ronnie just stood, holding the pistol on him, saying it wasn't much of a last lunch, was it? (It was then Desmond noticed the room had been emptied of everything he could have used to attack Ronnie, the poker, the oil lamp, the bucket.)

“Just to be on the safe side while I try to make you come to your senses.
Par example
, you must see, Desmond, that there's no virtue in any attempt to save her? You do see that?” He went on and on saying that Desmond wanted to save her because she
was
him. It was only self-defense, not self-respect; not pity, only self-pity. “I beg of you, old chap, make it perfectly clear to yourself which is your neck. It's a big neck now, yours. Put your hands around it. Feel the rope around it. I'm not risking mine, and I truly believe that if you weren't confused you'd have as much care for yours. I wish you would, old chap.”

But Ronnie was wrong. It wasn't because she was him,
that shit
, she was a poor innocent little kid and Desmond wasn't going to let Ronnie kill her if he could stop him.

Then Desmond noticed that Ronnie was watching the time. At one-thirty he left the room, explaining, so Desmond wouldn't get his hopes up, that he only wanted to see something from the downstairs windows. (It was where to dig the grave, that was it.) While Ronnie was away, Desmond looked out of the windows, too, to see if there was any place he could hide with the kid, providing he could get her out alive. The road was no good, but if there was a—what? God damn it, there was nothing.

Then Ronnie said to come down. He grinned up at Kitten, who had trailed Desmond to the landing, and told her to come along, too.

“You've been such a good little girl, we're going to let you have a treat. All little girls adore digging,” he told Desmond. (The pistol nodded.) “You do adore digging, don't you, Kitten?”

Desmond noticed the poor kid looking at him to find out whether she should say yes or no. She knew enough to be scared of Ronnie, even though she couldn't understand that he was asking her if she would “adore” digging her grave. That word, “adore,” was to ride Desmond, of course.

“Digging, you can get nice and filthy. Wizard!”

“Wizard” was to ride him, too. Cyril said wizard, Daph said wizard, but now he knew when Ronnie said it, it was to ride him. “Dig yourself,” he said.

“Kitten is coming with me. You wouldn't desert her, would you?”

When Desmond started downstairs with the kid, Ronnie laughed. “Put off the evil moment and who can tell, help may arrive, eh? Have you tried prayer, Desmond? Surely you used to pray? ‘Please, Lord, let Branton Collier catch the mumps!'”

When they got outside and were going around to the back of the house, Ronnie made Desmond walk first so it was impossible to try picking her up and running. Ronnie held out his hand so Kitten would walk with him, and she turned to Desmond asking him with her eyes, “Must I? Must I?” Hoping for a chance, okay, praying, what else could he do—Oh, Jesus if he only got one chance—he nodded yes.

She trotted alongside Ronnie but wouldn't take his hand. Desmond saw her, because he kept turning around to make sure she was still okay. And a lot of good that was! There was a brick shed next to a big greenhouse. They went into the shed and Ronnie took down a long brown smock which was hanging from a hook and gave it to him.

“Taines used to wear this. Alas, poor Taines! He was the Aunts' head gardener. Put it on, sister, it will keep your uniform clean.”

The brown smock felt as if it had been buried in damp earth.

“Better take off those white boots, and the stockings, too.”

The kid gave Ronnie another horse laugh saying she didn't want to get dirty, either. Ronnie said, snickering, that it would be all right just this once, wouldn't it, Desmond? As Desmond took off Daph's shoes and stockings and put on the brown smock, Ronnie found a spade and a trowel. Desmond tried not to look at the spade so Ronnie wouldn't know that in his mind he was lifting it, knocking the gun away with it, raising it again … Ronnie gave the kid the trowel but kept the spade himself. Then, Desmond first, Ronnie with the spade and pistol, and the kid with the trowel, they walked to what must be the end of the grounds. There were small gravestones! A private cemetery? Desmond knew it was a warm day, but inside the brown smock he shivered with resolve.