Under the Net (11 page)

When I had come to this conclusion I felt better. Somehow the idea of Hugo gone on Sadie had been extremely distasteful to me. This still, however, failed to illuminate a course of action for me. What was I to do? If I accepted Sadie's offer I would seem to be enrolling myself on the wrong side in some sort of obscure battle with Hugo; and if I accepted the offer with the full intention of helping Hugo if possible and outwitting Sadie, this savoured of double-dealing. I still had besides a strong inclination to keep clear of the thing altogether, as I didn't dare even to imagine with what sort of a head I could bring myself to face Hugo, should that dread necessity ever arise. On the other hand, I felt that by now I was somewhow involved myself, and I couldn't help being fascinated by the way things had fallen out, and wondering what on earth would happen next. Some fate which I would not readily deny was leading me back to Hugo.

I thought the matter to and fro and up and down, and the morning passed without my having made a decision. I was becoming quite exhausted by the suspense, so I decided that, since work was out of the question in view of my nervous and excited condition, I might as well pass the afternoon in a useful routine way by going and fetching the radiogram from Earls Court Road. At this I found myself ruefully reflecting that while I was likely to get my neck broken at Welbeck Street by Hugo I was likely to get it broken at Earls Court Road by Sacred Sammy. I went to the telephone.

There was no reply from Madge's number, so I judged that the coast was clear and set off. I still had my key to the flat and I let myself in, wondering what was the best place to store the radiogram, whether at Dave's or at Mrs Tinckham's. I bounded into the sitting-room, and was well inside the door when I saw a man standing on the other side of the room with a bottle in his hand. It needed but one glance to tell me that this was Sacred Sammy. He was dressed in tweeds and had the look of an outdoor man who had lived too much by electric light. He had a heavy reddish face and a powerful spread of nose. His hair was only slightly grey. He held his head well and the bottle by the neck. He looked at me now with a calm bland dangerous look. It was evident to me that he knew who I was. I hesitated. Sammy has his name in lights, but he used to be a real race-course bookie, and there was no doubt that he was a tough customer. I estimated the distance between us and took a step back. Then I took off my belt. It was a rather heavy leather belt with a strong brass buckle. This was only a feint. I have seen Guardsmen do this before a fight and it's an impressive gesture. I had no intention of using it as a weapon, but prevention is better than a
fracas
and Sammy, who perhaps didn't know that I was a Judo expert, might have it in mind to start something. If he came at me I had already planned to give him an old-fashioned flying mare.

While I was performing these manoeuvres I saw Sammy's face soften into a look of affected incomprehension.

‘What do you think you're doing?' he asked.

I wasn't quite ready for this, and felt let down. ‘Don't you want to fight?' I replied, with irritation.

Sammy stared at me, and then broke into a roar of laughter. ‘My, my!' he said. ‘Whatever gave you that idea. You're Donaghue, aren't you? Here, have a lotion.' And quick as a flash he put a glass of whisky into my free hand. You can imagine what a fool I felt, with the whisky in one hand and my belt in the other.

When I had reorganized myself, I said, hoping that I didn't sound sheepish, ‘I suppose you're Starfield?' I felt thoroughly at a loss. I suspected that it ought to be up to me whether we fought or not. I certainly didn't want to fight, but I had let Sammy get the initiative now, and no mistake, and I hated that too.

‘That's me,' said Sammy, ‘and you're young Donaghue. Well, what a fire-eater!' and he went off into another explosion of laughter. I took a gulp of the whisky and put on my belt, endeavouring to wear the expression of one who, contrary to appearances, is master of the situation. The films provide one with useful conventions of this kind. I looked Sammy up and down with deliberation. He was rather a handsome creature in the style already indicated. There was a crude power in him, and I set myself to see the Sammy whom Madge saw. It wasn't difficult. He had humorous triangular blue eyes, which noticed my scrutiny with amusement and returned it with mock seriousness.

‘You're quite a young fellow!' said Sammy. ‘You know, I could never get much out of Madge about you.' He refilled my glass.

‘I expect you're fed up about being fired out,' he added in a completely unprovocative tone.

‘Look here, Starfield,' I said, ‘there are some things a gentleman can't discuss coolly. If you want to fight, good. If not, shut up. I've come here to fetch some of my things, not to chat with you.' I was pleased not to be feeling afraid of him, and I hoped he was aware of it, but I knew that my speech would have sounded better if I hadn't been drinking the man's whisky. It also occurred to me at that moment that Sammy might dispute my ownership of the radiogram.

‘You're a touchy fellow,' said Sammy. ‘Don't be in such a hurry. I want to look at you. It's not every day I meet a writer chap who talks on the radio.'

I suspected he was mocking, but the mere thought that Sammy might find me a romantic figure amused me so much that I laughed, and Sammy laughed too in sympathy. He seemed to want me to like him. I was drinking my second glass of whisky and beginning to think that perhaps after all Sammy was rather a peach.

‘Where did you meet Madge?' I asked. I wasn't going to let him make all the running.

‘Where did she tell you I met her?' Sammy countered.

‘On a number eleven bus.'

Sammy let out his roar. ‘Not likely!' he said. ‘Catch me riding on a bus! No, we met at a party some film people were giving.'

I raised my eyebrows.

‘Yes, boy, she was just beginning to get around.' Sammy wagged his finger at me. ‘Never let them out of your sight, that's the only way!'

This mixture of triumph and solicitude nauseated me. ‘Magdalen is a free agent,' I said coldly.

‘Not any more she isn't!' said Sammy.

I looked at him with sudden loathing. ‘Look here,' I said, ‘are you really going to marry Madge?'

Sammy took this as an expression of friendly incredulity from a well-wisher. ‘Why not?' he said. ‘Isn't she a beautiful girl? Isn't she a turn up for the book? She hasn't got a wooden leg, has she?' and he dug me in the ribs so violently that the whisky splashed on to the carpet.

‘I don't mean that,' I said. ‘I mean do you
intend
to marry her?'

‘Oh, you're asking about my
intentions,'
said Sammy. ‘That's a body blow! You ought to have brought your shotgun!' He roared with laughter again. ‘Here,“ he said, 'let's finish the bottle.‘

By now I had just sufficient whisky in me not to care much one way or the other.

‘It's your affair,' I said.

‘It is. Believe you me,' said Sammy, and we left it at that.

Sammy now began to rummage in his pockets. ‘There's something I'd like to give you, young fellow,' he said. I watched suspiciously. He produced his cheque-book with an ostentatious flourish and opened his fountain pen.

‘Well, now,' he said, ‘shall we say a hundred pounds, shall we say two hundred?'

I was open-mouthed. ‘Whatever for?' I asked.

‘Well, let's say for removal expenses,' said Sammy, and winked.

For a moment I was completely baffled. Then it dawned on me that I was being bought off! How had such an idea got into Sammy's head? It took but another moment to conclude that Magdalen must have put it there. This further proof of the tortuousness of Madge's mind left me gasping. This must have been her strange notion of how to put a good thing in my way. I was both extremely affronted and extremely touched. I smiled at Sammy with a sort of gentleness.

‘No,' I said, “I couldn't possibly take money.‘

‘Why not?' said Sammy.

‘First, because I really have no claims on Madge,' I said. I thought he might understand this point better, so I put it first. ‘And secondly because I don't belong to a social class that takes money in a situation like this.'

Sammy eyed me as one eyes a clever debater.

‘First you say there's no situation,' he said, ‘and then you say it's not a situation where you take money. Let's be grown up about it. I know the conventions as well as you do. But what do chaps like you care about your social class? Chaps like you are always short of money. If you don't take the cash you'll regret it tomorrow.' And he began to write a cheque.

My awareness that his hypothetical statement was true added but the more passion to my cries of ‘No! I won't take it! I don't want it!'

Sammy looked at me with an interested
ad hominem
look. ‘But I've done you an injury,' he said in an explanatory tone. ‘I wouldn't feel straight with my conscience if you didn't take something.'

He sounded really concerned for me, and I began to wonder what sort of picture Madge had given him.

‘What makes you so damned sure you've injured me?' I asked.

‘Well, your being so set on marrying Madge,' said Sammy.

I took a deep breath. This rather had me cornered. It seemed a disloyalty to Madge to declare that nothing was further from my mind than the idea of marrying her - especially as it now occurred to me that Madge might well have been using my alleged aspirations as a lever to make up Sammy's mind. In any case, I could see that Sammy was determined not to believe a denial.

‘Well, maybe I am injured,' I said grudgingly.

‘That's a generous fellow!' cried Sammy, delighted. ‘And now let's say a couple of hundred quid!'

I wondered what to do. Sammy's curious ethical code did seem to demand a settlement. I needed the money. What prevented the closure of this mutually rewarding deal? My principles. Surely there must be some way round. In similar fixes I have rarely failed to find one.

‘Don't interrupt, Starfield,' I said. ‘I'm thinking.' Then I had an idea.

The mid-day edition of the
Evening Standard
was lying on the floor at our feet. I turned to the back page and looked at my watch. It was 2.35. Racing that day was at Salisbury and Nottingham.

‘I suggest,' I said, ‘that you tell me a winner in the three o'clock race, and that you phone the bet for me to your own firm or wherever you keep your betting account. If that goes down we'll increase the stake for the three-thirty and so on for the rest of the afternoon. We'll aim at making fifty pounds, and you agree to stand the loss if any.‘

Sammy was overjoyed. ‘Done!' he said. ‘What a sportsman! But we'll make a sight more than fifty pounds. I know today's card like my own daughter. It's a poem.'

We spread the paper out on the rug.

‘Little Grange will win the three o'clock at Salisbury,‘ said Sammy. 'A cert, but odds on. We'll ginger it up by joining it with Queen's Rook in the three-thirty.‘

I was beginning to feel cautious; already I had the feeling that Sammy was gambling with my money.

‘But suppose Queen's Rook doesn't win!' I said. ‘It's not fun I want, it's cash. Let's put something on Little Grange alone.'

‘Nonsense,' said Sammy. ‘What's the use of caution when you know your onions? Hold on to your hat, my boy, while I just get the office on the blower. Hello, hello! Is that Andy? This is Sam.'

‘Keep the stake down, keep the stake down,' I was saying to him.

‘My private account,' Sammy was saying. ‘Sure, I don't hold with gambling!' in reply to some witticism of Andy's. ‘This is for a friend who's done me a good turn.'

He winked a triangular eye at me, and in a moment he had placed forty pounds in a win double, Little Grange and Queen's Rook. While that was cooking we turned our attention to the Nottingham card. The three o‘clock at Nottingham was a selling plate.

‘Not interesting,' said Sammy. ‘That's a race for horses with three legs, we'll steer clear of it. But the rest of the day's a wedding present. Let's make it really exciting and have a treble. Saint Cross in the three-thirty, Hal Adair in the four o'clock, and Peter of Alex in the four-thirty. I don't care for the four o‘clock at Salisbury. That leaves the four-thirty at Salisbury, and that'll be won by either Dagenham or Elaine's Choice.'

‘Well, put it on each way, for heaven's sake,' I said.

I poured myself out another stiff glass. I am not a natural gambler.

Sammy was on the phone staking twenty pounds at Nottingham. Then he was asking for the winner of the three o‘clock race at Salisbury. I sat down on the floor. Sammy stood to lose more money than I had in the bank. My nerves were vibrating like the strings of a harp. I wished I'd never suggested it.

‘Stop looking green,' said Sammy. ‘It's only money! And just guess who won the three o'clock. Little Grange at two to one on!‘

This made it worse. ‘But it's a double,' I said. ‘Doubles never work. It's just a way of losing more than one's stake.'

‘Shut up,' said Sammy, ‘and leave the worrying to me. If you can't stand it you can go and sit on the landing.'

He was working out on a piece of paper how much we were going to win. ‘Queen's Rook won't lose,' said Sammy, ‘but we're covered anyway by the four-thirty. Twenty-fiive quid each way on the two of them just to please you. There's security for you! You put it down and you pick it up!'

I was working out how much we were going to lose. This was easier and could be done in the head. I made it a hundred and sixty pounds. I was tempted to go away and leave Sammy to it, but dignity forbade me to desert him in what was after all my own enterprise. Besides this, the question was academic, since too much whisky on an empty stomach had by now immobilized me completely. My legs felt as if they were stuffed with straw. I groaned. Sammy was ringing up about the next race. Queen's Rook had been beaten by a head but Saint Cross had won at Nottingham.