Callander Square - Anne Perry [81]
“You do,” Freddie’s smile was fixed on his face, it seemed to hang in the air in front of Reggie, as if there were nothing else in the room. “You see what I mean?” Freddie pressed the point.
“Yes,” Reggie heard his own voice far away. He cleared his throat, and his voice returned louder than he intended. “But they won’t, I mean there’s no reason why they should hear about any of that. You’re the only other person who knows about it, about Dolly, I mean.”
“Quite,” Freddie reached for the port and poured himself more, still meeting Reggie’s eyes over the top. “So it all rather depends on me; doesn’t it?”
“Well, for God’s sake, you won’t say anything! Will you!”
“Oh no,” Freddie sipped his port gently. “No, I shouldn’t think so, for a moment.” He sipped again. “As long as I remember what I’ve said, and don’t contradict myself.”
“You won’t!”
“Hope not. But rather important, you know. Could do with a small reminder.”
“What—what do you mean, Freddie?”
“Reminder,” Freddie said easily, “something to keep my memory on the job, something that was always there, something big enough to be important.”
Reggie stared at him in cold fascination. The glimmering of understanding was coming into his mind, and it was ugly.
“What did you have in mind, Freddie?” he asked slowly. He would like to have hit him, kicked him, sitting so smugly there in front of the fire. But he knew he could not afford to. The police were too busy, too watchful of anything different just now. The time would come, of course, after all this business was finished, and life went back to the way it had been before: then he would be able to sort Freddie out. The fellow was a bounder.
But in the meantime—
“What do you want, Freddie?” he asked again.
Freddie was still smiling. What a charming fellow he used to think he was! That smile was so frank, so quick to grace his features.
“Got this rotten bill outstanding at my tailor’s,” Freddie seemed quite unabashed. “Been there rather a long time. Give me a hand with it, old boy. As a favor. Feel that if I actually owned my clothes, instead of that damned stitchin’ fellow, I’d be enormously grateful.”
“You damn better be!”
“Will, I assure you. Think of you every time I dress.”
“How much?”
“Oh, hundred pounds should about do it.”
“A hundred pounds!” Reggie was shattered. He did not spend that much on clothes in a year, and he would not have allowed Adelina half of it. Damn it all, he paid maids only twenty pounds a year. “How in God’s name did you permit yourself—?”
“Like to dress well, you know.” Freddie stood up. He was tall, slim, elegant: indeed he did dress well, far better than Reggie; then of course he had the figure for it, but even so! “Thanks, old boy,” he said cheerfully. “Shan’t forget it.”
“By God, you’d better not!” Reggie could feel anger and panic rising in him. If Freddie did forget, or went back on his word—
“Don’t worry,” Freddie said easily. “Got an excellent memory, when I choose. Doctor, you know. Doctors never repeat what their patients tell them in confidence. Police can’t make them. Perfectly safe.” He moved to the door gracefully. “I’ll take the hundred now. Tailor chap a bit impatient, you know. Won’t take any more orders till I cough up. Miserly wretch.”
“Haven’t got it now,” Reggie replied stiffly. “I’ll send the footman round to the bank in the morning. Give it to you by tomorrow.”
“Yes, don’t forget, Reggie. Good memory could be vital; I’m sure you understand.”
Reggie understood perfectly. He would have a footman at the bank door the moment it opened. Damn Freddie. And the worst of it was he would have to go on being civil to the cad; there was no way out of it. If he cut him people would notice, and he must at any cost keep Freddie’s good will, at least until the police gave up and left the square.
He sat down again after Freddie had gone. He was glad Adelina had not come back into the