The Tide Can't Wait (13 page)

Lenny was glad Leon had been brought into the open. “How long since you've seen him?” she asked.

“Since before he went to San Francisco,” Portia said. “Rob told you I knew him?”

“Yes.” Lenny hesitated. “Why did you mention him? To warn me?”

Portia nodded. “No one told me in so many words, but I can guess what happened. Leon did the same thing with me. Only it was in Paris. I believed his ‘bleeding country' story, too. The horrible thing is that Leon is sincere. You have to remember that about Leon; it doesn't excuse him, but it explains a great deal.”

“I was told Leon would sell to the highest bidder.”

“And so he will, because as he sees it, the highest bidder has the most money and can help his country the most. There are people who make profits from restoring governments or knocking them down. Those are the ones Leon sees as being the most helpful. What Leon's idea of helping his country is to re-establish the old regime—the one where the few have everything and the many starve to provide for the few. But Leon believes that is just as long as he is one of the few.”

Portia finished her coffee. “I did what you did for Leon. And I helped him get away because I thought I was in love with him. What I did was to let Barr get Leon's material, but I kept him from catching Leon's contact. And then Leon deliberately left me in a situation that—so far as he knew—meant my death. He left me and ran.”

Lenny ached inside. “Why don't they destroy Leon? Why let him go on doing what he's doing?”

“He's too valuable alive,” Portia said. “Leon is dangerous but the men he sells to are more dangerous. Rob wants them, and Leon is the one to lead him to them. Leon is no fool; he knows Rob is playing him. But Rob is handicapped, you see, because Leon tries to kill him but he doesn't dare retaliate in the same way.”

“So Rob uses others—like you and me,” Lenny said.

“He has to,” Portia admitted calmly. “It's an ugly business, Lenny. But in a world such as we have today, it's a necessary one. If Leon should ever win, really win …” She paused, a brooding look on her face.

“Rob didn't tell me in so many words but this time Leon holds more trumps and he's closer to getting what he wants. If last night means anything, he's already managed to make some kind of contact.”

“I realize that much,” Lenny said defensively. “That's why I'm willing to do this—this job.”

“You're a fool,” Portia said bluntly. “I'm telling you all this so you'll get out. You might think you're fooling Leon, but at the end—when the dirty work is up to you—you won't have a chance.”

Suspicion against Portia stirred once more in Lenny. She said, matching Portia's bluntness, “The other night Leon told me to come here. He said you were dangerous, that you would do anything to hurt him. But Rob didn't seem to think that. And now you're trying to get me out as though you still want to help Leon.”

Portia stared at her, smiling, obviously genuinely amused. “I don't know why he said that—I haven't bothered him for a long time. I can guess, but I don't really know.”

She lit another cigarette. “Leon is playing for the future. He can never be sure that I might not turn on him. If I should—and he had you prepared—then he would think he could get you to get rid of me. Out of jealousy or of love for him. That's my guess.”

“If you haven't helped Leon for a long time, why does Rob think as he does about you?”

Portia continued to smile. “He never trusts anyone. And he's seen how Leon acts on women's emotions. He's afraid I'll backslide.”

“Would you?” Lenny asked.

“I don't know,” Portia said. “I don't think so, but I haven't seen Leon recently.”

Lenny remembered her own reactions. She rose abruptly. “If I'm to go to Rob's, I'd better do it.” Right now, she wanted to be away from Portia.

When she came back to the living room, Portia was at her easel, sketching a heavy black cloud that had massed on the horizon. “Storm coming,” she said without turning from her work. “It always makes a good picture. Need any help?”

Lenny was carrying her bag. “No, thanks,” she answered. She thanked Portia for her hospitality and went on out.

The sky had darkened. The air was chill and a sharp wind arose. Lenny started up the path for Barr's cottage. It grew darker rapidly and by the time she was halfway there the first raindrops were spattering down on her. She began to run, the suitcase banging against her leg. Panting, she got onto the porch, dropped the bag, opened the door and went inside. She did not stop to be surprised that the door was unlocked.

Inside, it was dark except for a single light coming from the open kitchen doorway. Lenny set down the bag and felt on the wall for a light switch. “Rob? Rob?”

A man appeared in the lighted doorway. It wasn't Barr at all. It was Leon.

“Hello, Leon.”

He came slowly toward her. His expression was bland, without warmth, without much of anything. It seemed impossible to think that only a short while ago she had been in his arms, had loved him with a burning ache, the loss of which—she realized suddenly—had left an emptiness she had been almost wildly seeking to fill.

“So you know Barr already.” He paused a few feet from her and looked at her suitcase. “And quite well.”

Lenny stood there thinking of everything Portia had told her, of all the things she had thought about Leon, of her resolve. She smiled. “Yes, I know Barr, Leon. I made it my business.”

His eyes mirrored surprise. Then it faded. “I do not understand that.”

Lenny took cigarettes from her jacket pocket and offered them. Leon, punctilious as always, insisted that she take one of his. Doing so, she inclined her head toward his lighter. “Let's sit down, Leon.” She glanced about. “How did you get rid of Rob?”

“I did not get rid of him, Lenore. His car is gone. I am waiting for him.”

“Why?”

They sat on the couch. She was surprised to find that although she was no longer afraid of him, she had developed a revulsion at his nearness. She had not expected this. Leon was sensitive. She would have to watch herself carefully.

He said, “You don't know why, Lenore?”

“I suppose I do. And I think you're very foolish, Leon.”

“Ah?” She had never spoken so bluntly to him before.

She had spoken slowly, exploring the possibilities of what lay ahead. Now she had decided. “You know what happened to me, don't you, Leon? I mean, about Barr and the man in Washington.”

“Yes, I know that.”

She nodded. “It put me in a rather awkward position, you see.” He nodded. “I didn't know what to do. They told me all sorts of things about you.”

“And you believed them?”

Lenny turned her face to him, smiling. “Of course, Leon. It made me—well, proud in a way.” She rushed on now, wanting to get the words out, to say what must be said. “I hadn't really believed you before, you know, not wholly. I mean, about your working for your country. And then I saw it was the truth.”

“But they told you that you and I were working against
your
country.”

Lenny laughed, trying to sound scornful. “Certainly they told me—as though I hadn't known what I was doing when we were in San Francisco.”

She could feel him relax ever so slightly and she took a puff on her cigarette.

He said, “And they told you I was more interested in money, in selling to the highest bidder rather than in saving my country.”

Lenny blessed Portia Sloane. “They told me that, too. I'd think you were a fool, Leon, if you didn't seek the highest bidder. Who else would be in a better position to give your country the help it needs?”

She saw the loosening of tension in him, and she stubbed out her cigarette and leaned toward him, changing her smile into a soft laugh. “My, you're horrible, darling.” She forced herself to run her fingers across the back of his hand, a favorite gesture of hers with him.

He stared at her and then his lips twitched and he smiled his most charming smile. “Am I—too horrible?”

“Horribly clever,” she murmured. “You were. I'm not sure that you are any longer.”

“Why do you say that, Lenore?”

She leaned away from him and took a cigarette from her pack. He was so intent on her answer that she had to use her own matches. “Because you seem frightened. Frightened people make very bad mistakes.”

It wasn't going over.

She went on, “I realize you don't trust me. I can even understand why you wouldn't. But you may be wrong, and when you find that out you'll also find a use for me. But what use can I be to you if I'm dead? Is that why you tried to kill me, because you were frightened?”

“I tried to kill you, Lenore?”

“Last night—when you tried to kill Barr.”

He was either a magnificent liar or he was telling the truth. He shook his head slowly. “I—no. I have not tried to kill Barr until today.”

“Last night,” she repeated.

“Last night I was in London—wanting you. I have been very busy getting things ready.”

“And you didn't hire men to shoot at us?”

“No, I did not, Lenore.” He shook his head. “My dear, why would I try to kill you?”

She accepted this as denial. “Thank God!” She smiled her relief at him. “I'm the one who misjudged, not you.” Then she shook her head. “But you are being foolish in trying to kill Barr.”

“I cannot have my plans upset.”

“Why do you think I'm here, in this house?” She let her eyes stray to her luggage. “Why do you think I brought that?”

“Barr is a very charming man, Lenore.”

“There is only one charming man for me.”

Leon stirred. “Tell me about Barr, what he plans for me.”

It was what she had been waiting for. He was asking her for the final proof that she was on his side. She replied without hesitation, “I'm supposed to help trap you. I'm to get the information about your contact from you and relay it to him.”

“And how are you to do this, my dear?”

His voice was soft, deadly underneath its casualness. Lenny smiled. “Why, just as I'm doing now, by pretending to be on your side against Barr.”

“How then can I trust you? How am I to know that you are really helping me?”

Lenny cried, “Helping you? Have you given me a chance to prove that I can help you?” She got to her feet quickly. “I helped you in San Francisco—and with my eyes open. I'm willing to help you here, now. But no—now you can no longer trust me! Why, Leon? Is it because you're jealous of Rob Barr? Of my being here with my baggage?”

Leon's expression was completely indifferent to her histrionics. But when he spoke, he sounded the injured lover.

“You've been seeing Tommy Price, too.”

So he had been having her watched. Or—and she could not hold back the vagrant thought—had Portia told him? She said, using the same half-angry tone, “Leon! Tommy's an old friend. Of yours, too. Why haven't you seen him since you came?”

“I have more important things to do.”

“And I'm supposed to make myself suspicious by shunning him? Leon, you
are
being a fool. You know me. You know how much I love you.”

“Loved me, perhaps.”

Lenny swung to face him squarely, her face flaming with genuine anger. “If you think that, why did I come to you the night I arrived?” She held out her hands. “I've never known any other man. I never expect to know another, except to help you. Damn you, Leon …”

She dropped her hands and rushed on, beating him with her emotions, seeking to arouse his. “Barr told me to trap you. All right. I was going to you in London tomorrow. To trap you? Of course, by telling you what I've been doing and what I've learned. And I had hoped to learn more tonight.” She lifted her head. “What more can I do for you?”

She swung away, giving him no chance to answer. “That was the way I planned it. But I can't go through with it if things stay as they are—all crosscurrents, all ugliness. I'd rather take my chances with—with being accused of treason than have things remain this way!” She started for the door, scooping up her bag.

He came up from the couch and put his hand out, blocking her from reaching the knob. He took her bag and set it down at a distance. He turned her and let his hands rest on her shoulders. He was little taller than she; their eyes were on a level. He murmured, “Lenore, Lenore. You are so foolish. You are playing a game too dangerous for you. You cannot fool Barr so easily as you think.”

She let Leon hold her, her eyes closed. Slowly she lifted her arms and put them about his neck. Two days ago—one day ago—she had still wanted him. And now he repelled her. But there had been last night—whether or not he had been implicated directly—and there had been Portia's talking to her.

She murmured, forcing her lips close to him, “I can try to fool Barr, Leon.”

“And if you should fail?”

“If I fail—you fail. If you fail—I fail. Then what does it matter?”

“Then you are a traitor to your country and so branded.”

“I cannot believe that. Is it traitorous for a woman to be patriotic toward her husband's country, the country that will be hers?”

It was her last card. He thrust her away almost roughly and looked searchingly into her face. What he found there must have satisfied him. He kissed her.

It took all her will to yield her lips, to let them part beneath his bruising mouth—he who had always been so gentle. Now she realized that Leon was excited, in a way different from any she had ever seen in him. He was intoxicated by a sharp awareness of his own patriotism.

When he thrust her away and began to stride about the room, she knew she had won.