Callander Square - Anne Perry [89]
“I see.” Balantyne did not see at all, but he felt Carlton’s need, his groping toward belief that it was understandable, and that he himself understood. “Yes, I see,” he repeated.
“I find it,” Carlton swallowed. “I find it hard to come to terms with, but in time I shall. I shall consider the child to be mine. Balantyne—you will?” His skin colored deeply. He could not put it into words.
“Of course,” Balantyne said immediately. “To do anything else would be monstrous, and quite wrong!”
“Thank you,” Carlton’s hand was clenched by his side and there was a nervous flick in his temple. “I—I love her very much, you know.”
“She’s a very fine woman,” Balantyne said generously, and he meant it. “And she will love you the more for your understanding.”
Carlton looked up quickly.
“Do you think so?” There was a stab of hope in his voice that was painful to hear.
“I’m sure,” Balantyne said firmly. “Now are you sure you won’t have some port? Very good, you know. Reggie Southeron recommended it, and he may know damn all else, but he does know his palate.”
Carlton took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Thank you, perhaps I will.”
NINE
REGGIE SOUTHERNON WAS not visited by Pitt until late the following afternoon. He was just settling into his deep chair to thaw out from the unpleasantness of travel, the hard springs, the drafts, the rain down the neck, when Pitt was announced. He seriously gave thought to the possibility of refusing to see him; but perhaps it would be unwise. It might make him dig the harder into matters preferably left alone: and of course not to see him would be to lose an opportunity to put his own case, defend himself before he was attacked. Damn Freddie Bolsover!
“Send him in,” he said a little irritably. “And you’d better put away the good sherry and bring some of that other stuff.” Silly to insult him by not offering him any at all, but no need to waste the good.
Pitt came in, untidy as usual, his coat flapping, wet across the shoulders; his face was genial, good-tempered, but his eyes were sharper than Reggie had noticed before.
“Good evening, sir,” he said easily. Odd that such a fellow should have so fine a voice, such diction. Ideas above himself, shouldn’t wonder; aping his betters.
“Evening,” Reggie replied. “I suppose you’ve come about Helena Doran, poor creature? Can’t tell you anything; don’t know.”
“No, of course not,” Pitt agreed civilly. “I’m sure if you had known anything, you would have told us long before we came and sought you out. Still,” he smiled suddenly with what would, at another time, have been charm—had he been a social equal, of course! “Still, you might be able to fill in a few blanks.”
“Sherry?” Reggie offered, holding up the decanter.
“No, thank you,” Pitt declined with a small wave of his hand.
Reggie poured himself some in considerable annoyance. He had got in this wretched kitchen stuff, and now the damned fellow did not want it. He was obliged to stand here like a fool and drink it himself.
“I’ve told you,” he said petulantly. “I don’t know anything about Helena Doran.”
“Not about her death, perhaps; but you must know something about her life,” Pitt said easily. “Maybe more than you realize. I would like your opinions. You’re a man of the world, you must have to make judgments about people, as a banker.”
Reggie should not have been surprised. Of course the fellow would have found out what he did. It was true, he was a pretty good judge, in the general way of things. Made a mistake about Freddie, though!
“Tell you anything I can, naturally,” he mellowed a bit. “Shocking thing; very young, you know.”
“And pretty, they say.” Pitt raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Very, in a pale sort of way. A bit fair for my taste, a bit fragile looking, but very nice for those who like that type. Prefer something a bit more robust, myself.” Must not let it even cross his mind that Reggie