The Trouble With Harry (9 page)

When they reached the main path on their way home, the still night was suddenly moved by a bugle blast that seemed to come from down beyond the woods.

They stopped. Miss Graveley said: ‘Whatever was that?'

‘Sounded like the trumpets welcoming Harry,' Captain Wiles said.

‘You didn't know Harry,' said Jennifer, her head bent to one side as she listened.

Sam, watching her, said: ‘I'd like to paint you like that, Jennifer – you look wonderful standing there, listening in the moonlight.'

She straightened her head and smiled at him. ‘What would you call it, Sam?'

Sam considered. ‘Just … “The Listener”. Yes, “The Listener”.'

‘That's the name of a magazine,' said the captain. ‘Think of something original.'

Before Sam could think of anything more, the sound of the bugle notes came to them again.

‘I believe it's someone actually up here on the heath,' Sam said. ‘It's wonderful, isn't it?'

‘I know what it is,' Miss Graveley said. ‘It's the call of the phantom stage coach that used to pass by each night two hundred years ago – the old road was right across the top of the heath, you know.'

‘Phantom coach?' said the captain, looking at her with his face wrinkled and wondering.

Sam put his face to the sky and swelled his chest with an exultant breath. ‘Oh, to be a highwayman on a night like this!'

‘Listen!' Jennifer exclaimed. ‘Running feet!'

‘Horses?' Miss Graveley whispered.

‘If it's a horse it's learnt how to shout,' Sam commented.

The voice came plainly to them. A voice as thin as the air, bleating out one phrase. A woman's voice.

‘What's she saying?' said the captain.

‘You'll know in a minute,' Jennifer said. ‘She's coming this way – there goes the bugle again!'

‘She's calling my name,' said Sam suddenly. ‘It's old Wiggy.'

‘What, running?' said the captain.

‘I'm sure it's Wiggy,' Sam said, his eyes now fixed on the pathway. ‘It
is
Wiggy – look, here she comes.'

A strange figure came trotting along the path in the moonlight. She wore a long nightdress which showed white beneath a dressing gown, and her hair was flying out behind her.

‘Mr Marlow! Mr Marlow! Where are you, Mr Marlow?' she called.

Sam stepped into the middle of the path and held up his hand. ‘Wiggy! What on earth do you want? Change for sixpence?'

She stopped and looked at the four of them, too breathless, now she had finished shouting, even to talk. She held Sam's arm and pointed back towards
the woods. As she pointed the bugle call came as though at her bidding.

Are you having a nightmare?' Sam asked kindly.

‘He's a millionaire!' she gasped at last. ‘He wants to buy your pictures, Mr Marlow! All of them and more besides. He says you're a genius, Mr Marlow!'

‘This is a queer time to come buying pictures,' Sam grumbled.

He looked at Jennifer and the others. Jennifer shrugged, the captain shook his head and Miss Graveley shivered slightly and said: ‘Let's go and have some cocoa.'

They started walking towards the woods. As they walked, Sam said: ‘What's he blowing a bugle for?'

‘That's not a bugle,' Mrs Wiggs said. ‘That's the hooter on his car. A great big Rolls-Royce. He drove me right up the estate as far as he could. We've been to your studio, but we couldn't find you anywhere.'

‘We've been digging,' Sam explained, making his spade more comfortable on his shoulder.

‘It's very good for you is digging,' said Mrs Wiggs. ‘My Henry always swore it was that cured his rheumatics.'

‘What does this millionaire want to pay?' Sam asked.

‘I asked him twelve and six for that bunch of grapes hanging on the swordfish,' Mrs Wiggs said, ‘but he said he couldn't think of it. Said they was priceless.'

‘Doesn't sound priceless to me,' Captain Wiles remarked. ‘Sounds like a pub sign.'

Sam looked down on the little captain. ‘That picture is symbolic of the beginning of the world – you know: “He made the earth and the sea and all that in them is”.'

‘Oh,' said the captain.

‘Priceless,' repeated Mrs Wiggs, tripping on her nightdress and clutching at Sam for support.

‘I'll find a price for them,' said Sam.

‘Ever so took up with them. He got me out of bed by throwing a stone at my window. At first I was angry because I thought he wanted a lemonade, but he told me he stopped by this afternoon and saw the pictures but couldn't wait—'

At that moment a couple emerged from the bracken, attracted by the shouting and the noise. It
was Mark Douglas, the landlord and Mrs D'Arcy, the blonde. They were joined almost immediately by yet another couple, who had been sitting in the bracken only a short distance away. These were Mr Walter D'Arcy and Mrs Mark Douglas. They stood staring at each other.

‘Mark!' exclaimed Mrs Douglas.

‘My God! Cassy! And with one of my tenants!'

Walter D'Arcy stepped forward and tapped Mark Douglas on the shoulder. He pointed towards the blonde who was looking at him in mingled amazement and delight.

‘And that,' said Mr D'Arcy, ‘is my wife.'

‘Walter!' cried the blonde, stepping forward and throwing her arms around her husband's neck. ‘You've been out with a woman!'

‘And about time too,' said Walter, nodding.

‘I didn't know you had it in you,' said the blonde happily.

‘Cassy!' exclaimed Mark Douglas again, his voice filled with pain. ‘That you could do a thing like this to me! Me, your husband!'

Suddenly he burst into tears. Then he fled home,
weeping noisily. His wife followed him, an expression of triumph on her face, while the D'Arcys stood with their arms around each other, looking after them. Presently they, too, went walking homeward, holding hands and laughing.

Mrs Wiggs said to Sam, just as though nothing had happened to interrupt her: ‘And don't shout at him, will you, Mr Marlow? Be nice to him. Perhaps it's the change of your fortune. Don't forget to tell him about your voice, too.'

‘What about my voice?'

‘The way it sings,' said Mrs Wiggs.

‘Why?' said Sam.

‘You never know,' said Mrs Wiggs, ‘with millionaires.'

Sam Marlow and his friends stood in the moonlight by the roadside at the foot of the Sparrowswick Bungalow Estate. They could hear the sound of the Rolls-Royce engine decaying into the distance and occasionally the musical, jubilant blare of the electric hooter. All eyes were fastened on a piece of paper which Sam clutched in his hand. It was a cheque for two hundred pounds.

At last, when the engine noise had gone and the hooter was no longer disturbing the night, Sam said: ‘Now. Will someone tell me what just happened?’

Mrs Wiggs looked at him uncertainly. Then she said: ‘I’ll go in and make you a nice cup of tea.’

Sam patted her shoulder. ‘Stay, Wiggy. I want someone to repeat what the gentleman said. I want to know if you all heard what I heard.’

‘This is the way I heard it,’ said Jennifer soberly. ‘He said that you are a genius, Sam Marlow. He said your paintings rate with the finest contemporary art. He said he would personally purchase your entire collection and give a private exhibition in London. He said he would give you two hundred pounds for those with Mrs Wiggs and he would be visiting you next week to see the rest.’

Sam nodded at all this, thoughtfully, for it confirmed what he had heard. ‘What did I say to that?’ he asked.

Jennifer said: ‘You agreed you were a genius and you asked him for something on account.’

Sam flicked the cheque with his finger. ‘And I got it.’

‘And you got it,’ Jennifer agreed happily.

‘Nice work, Sammy,’ said Captain Wiles. ‘Very nice indeed.’

‘And what are you going to do with your good fortune?’ asked Miss Graveley.

‘Share it,’ said Sam promptly.

‘No, no,’ Miss Graveley hastened. ‘You mustn’t be too generous.’

‘That’s right, Sammy,’ said the new captain. ‘Got to think about your old age.’

‘That’s what I’m thinking about,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t mean share it with everybody. I mean share it with a good woman.’

Miss Graveley beamed benevolently. ‘How lovely! You’re going to marry?’

Jennifer stared at Sam. ‘You secretive old thing, Sam. You never told me you had a romance in view.’

Sam shrugged. ‘I thought it would be forward of me. After all, I only really met you today.’

‘Maybe so,’ Jennifer said. ‘But the first thing you told me was that I was the most wonderful, beautiful thing you’d ever seen. You might easily have turned my head – or, worse still, made me fall in love with you.’

‘Well, why shouldn’t you fall in love with me?’ said Sam. ‘I’m in love with you.’

‘Hold hard, Sammy boy,’ said the captain. ‘Don’t let a little dough shatter your sense of responsibility. Here you are talking about marrying somebody and in the next breath you say you’re in love with Jennifer.’

‘Well,’ said Sam, looking half puzzled and half truculent at his companions, ‘isn’t that the right thing to do? Isn’t that the right sequence? First I say I want to get married, then I say I love her—’

‘But Mr Marlow—’ Miss Graveley began.

‘I don’t comprehend,’ the captain admitted frankly.

Sam turned to Jennifer. ‘Do you, Jennifer?’ he asked in one of his softer tones.

Jennifer laughed a little nervously, then stopped and gulped. ‘You mean – you want to marry
me
?’

Sam tapped the cheque on his hand. ‘Why not?’

‘But …’ Jennifer searched her mind for some objection. ‘I’ve only just got my freedom,’ she said at last. ‘Just today.’

Sam shrugged. ‘Easy come, easy go,’ he said. ‘Besides, if you married me you would keep your freedom.’

Jennifer found a smile. ‘You must be practically unique then!’

‘I respect freedom,’ said Sam. ‘More: I love freedom. We would probably be the only free married couple in the world.’

Jennifer stared at the moon as though for guidance. Then she said:

‘This is very sudden. You’ll have to give me a little time, Sam.’

‘Only fair,’ said Sam reasonably. ‘I’ll give you till we get back to your bungalow.’

Mrs Wiggs gave up. ‘I think I’ll go back to bed,’ she said levelly, in a tone which implied that bed at least was something she could understand and appreciate.

‘You do that, Wiggy,’ said Sam, ‘and tomorrow I’ll give you your ten per cent.’

‘Good night, Mr Marlow,’ said Mrs Wiggs, fading into the shadows of the ivy on the Emporium wall so effectively that none of them was sure she had ever been there.

When they arrived back at Jennifer’s bungalow for supper Jennifer laid her hand on Sam’s arm.

‘I’ve decided, Sam,’ she said.

Sam looked at her expectantly. The new captain
and Miss Graveley stopped at the gate behind them, waiting to hear Jennifer’s decision.

Jennifer said: ‘I think I will marry you, Sam, if you don’t mind. I’m fond of you; we have a great deal in common, and Abie needs a father.’

Sam put his arms around her with an air of enjoyment.

‘Then I can kiss you?’

‘Yes, please,’ Jennifer said, closing her eyes.

‘What a pretty sight!’ said Miss Graveley.

The captain ran his tongue around his teeth in a speculative manner as he watched the young couple embracing. He was remembering the bells he had heard that afternoon, and wondering if they had been in his head or in Sam’s.

Sam and Jennifer stood apart feeling pleased and satisfied and looking at each other as though viewing a new and delightful acquisition. Miss Graveley and the captain thrust themselves forward.

‘Congratulations, my dear,’ said Miss Graveley, kissing Jennifer lightly on the cheek. ‘What a neat arrangement!’

‘You’re a lucky man, Sammy,’ said the captain,
wringing the artist’s hand. ‘I think you’ll be very happy together, up here in the woods like two love birds. And if I grumbled at all at my share of the work in burying Harry, then I’m sorry, for now I can see it was well worth it. If there’s anything else I can do for you two, I’m more than willing to lend a hand—’

‘Hold it!’ said Sam, withdrawing his hand and putting on a thoughtful expression.

‘What’s up, Sam?’ Jennifer said.

‘Harry,’ said Sam. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t finished with him yet, sweetheart’

‘I don’t understand,’ Jennifer said. ‘If anybody’s finished Harry is – he’s been buried three times.’

‘Before we can marry,’ Sam said gently, ‘you’ll have to prove that you’re free; to prove you’re free you’ll have to prove that Harry—’

‘—is dead,’ Jennifer finished. ‘What a horrid complication!’

‘Oh, I don’t know that it is,’ Miss Graveley said, looking at Captain Wiles expectantly.

‘What are you looking at me for?’ said the captain with alarm. ‘I’ll do anything to help you, Sammy, but
please, please don’t ask me to dig up Harry again!’

‘Come, come now,’ Miss Graveley said reproachfully.

‘No,’ Jennifer said, grasping Sam’s arm. ‘We can’t do that.’

‘If you’re thinking of the publicity on your first unfortunate love affair—’ began Miss Graveley.

‘I’m not,’ said Jennifer. ‘I think Sam would be worth anything. I’m thinking of you, Miss Graveley. Murder is murder no matter how exonerating the circumstances, and it wouldn’t be at all nice for you.’

‘That’s right,’ said the captain. ‘Better let him stay where he is. You only have to wait seven years to presume death, anyway—’

‘Seven years!’ groaned Sam. ‘I’ll be an old man!’

‘Don’t be silly, Sam,’ Jennifer told him. ‘You’ve waited far longer than seven years already.’

Sam looked at her appraisingly. ‘Yes, but now I know what I’m waiting for,’ he said.

‘I insist you dig the wretched man up,’ said Miss Graveley. ‘I don’t care a jot what they say to me. They’ll only have to look at me to know the man must have been mad.’

‘I disagree!’ said the captain emphatically.

They looked at him. The captain looked at his feet and shuffled.

‘Really, Captain Wiles?’ Miss Graveley said, pleasantly.

The captain squared his shoulders. His heart was racing at an unusual speed for there had been something almost encouraging in Miss Graveley’s face and voice at that moment. ‘I’ll dig him up,’ he said.