‘Here it is,’ he said, putting the envelope on my desk. ‘What’s the big excitement about, Steve? You got me out of bed twice last night. What’s all this about dynamite?’
‘No comment, Max, for the moment,’ I said. ‘Thanks for bringing it. How’s the Linsky article building?’
He gaped at me.
‘For Pete’s sake, is that all you’re going to say?’
‘That’s all. How’s the Linsky article building?’
‘I’ll have it finished tomorrow.’ He eyed the envelope, looked questioningly at me, then said, ‘Well, if that’s all, I’ll get back to it.’
‘Do that and thanks again.’
Looking mystified, he left me.
I stared at the envelope, then looked at my desk clock. The time was close to midday. In another quarter of an hour, Judy would be going to lunch and I would have the office to myself. I put the envelope in my desk drawer, then tried to settle to reading the short story but concentration was impossible. I was sweating and my heart was thumping. In a few minutes now I could know the truth unless Freda had sold me a pup. There was always that chance, but thinking back, seeing her serious eyes, hearing her say, “Boy scout’s honour” I felt sure this was the film now in my desk drawer that had caused her and Gordy’s death.
The minutes dragged by. I wanted to get up and tell Judy to go, but I restrained myself.
It wasn’t until 12.20 that she looked in.
‘All right for me to go to lunch, Mr. Manson?’
‘Sure.’
She nodded brightly and I heard her go off to the rest room. At 12.30 I heard her leave. I went to the outer door and locked it. I had only an hour before she returned. Then hurrying back to my office I got out the projector and set it on my desk. Opposite was a blank white wall. My hands were unsteady as I ripped open the envelope and took out the cassette. It was a self-loading job, but even at that I spent a few minutes before I got it loaded. I pulled out the plug of my electric desk clock and connected up the projector. Then I lowered the sun blinds and pulled the curtains.
As I returned to my desk, the telephone bell rang.
The sound made my heart skip a beat. For a long moment, I hesitated, then I lifted the receiver.
‘Mr. Manson? Mr. Chandler on the line.’
Sweat dripped off my chin.
‘Steve? Come over and have lunch with me. I’ve got some real poison that will fix Linsky. I want to discuss it with you.’
I sat staring at the projector.
‘You there, Steve? Come right ever. We’ll have a working lunch here.’
Trying to steady my voice, I said, ‘I can’t make it, Mr. Chandler. Jean’s away sick and Judy’s just gone to lunch.’
‘Well, lock up! The office won’t run away. Come on over!’ and he hung up.
That was something I was not going to do. I switched on the projector, moving the focusing ring as a picture appeared on the white wall. I found myself looking down one of the aisles, packed either side with groceries, of the Welcome store.
It was an excellent picture. I could even read the labels on some of the cans. There were no customers, which puzzled me. After a few moments the scanner shifted and I caught a glimpse of a suspended clock. The time showed 09.03. The store had just opened. Now the picture showed where you got hard liquor. Then from around a corner, pushing a market cart, came a woman. As she walked, she was looking over her shoulder as if to make sure no one was watching her. She paused by the whisky section, then looked fully into the lens of the hidden scanner.
My heart skipped a beat and I heard myself gasp.
The woman was Jean!
My hand turned into fists and my nails dug into my palms.
She was looking down the aisle, her expression expectant. Seldom do you see that expression but I had seen it before and I recognised it. It was the look of a lover, waiting for a lover.
Then a man moved into the picture: tall, heavily built, wearing a black hat and a city suit. There was something horribly familiar about his broad back. He caught Jean in his arms and she flung her arms around his neck. They kissed the way only starved lovers kiss.
So brief, and yet to me it was like a knife thrust in my heart. Then he moved back, giving her a warning sign, and I saw his face.
It was Henry Chandler!
The telephone bell rang.
With a shaking hand I turned off the projector, then lifted the receiver.
‘Mr. Manson?’ I recognised Chandler’s secretary’s sharp voice. ‘Mr. Chandler is waiting.’
‘Tell him I am held up.’
‘He won’t like that, Mr. Manson.’
‘I’m sorry,’ and I replaced the receiver. I ran the film back into the cassette, took it off the projector, removed the plug, then moving like an automaton, I put the projector into my closet, the cassette in my pocket and pulled up the blinds. As I did so, the telephone bell rang again.
It was Chandler and there was an angry rasp in his voice.
‘What’s going on? I’m waiting. You’re holding up my lunch!’
I found myself hating him. The thought of eating with him, even looking at him, knowing Jean loved him, revolted me.
‘I have a client with me, Mr. Chandler,’ I said woodenly. ‘I can’t get away.’
‘Who is it?’ he barked.
‘Mr. Coulston, the advertising executive for Hartmans.’
Hartmans was one of our most important advertisers.
A pause, then Chandler said irritably, ‘Well, all right. Why didn’t you say so? Okay, I’ll send the stuff about Linsky over right away. I’m booked solid this afternoon. You read it and come to my place for dinner. We’ll discuss it, huh?’
‘I’ll read it and telephone you, Mr. Chandler. I have a long-standing date for tonight,’ and not giving a damn, I hung up.
I stared at the blank white wall which only a few minutes ago had shown me Jean and Chandler embracing.
She and he! That they were lovers was obvious. I had only to remember the expression of love and longing on Jean’s face to know that was a fact. How Gordy must have rubbed his hands when he had run off the film.
Henry Chandler, the leading citizen, the leading Quaker who had built the city’s church! Chandler, who owned the magazine who threw stones at people! Chandler who had amassed two hundred million dollars and was on first name terms with the President caught on a film in a self-service store (of all places) kissing a girl who had been his fourth secretary! No wonder Gordy had told Freda the film was worth a million dollars. If it became public property, Chandler was finished!
Sitting there, still shaking, I remembered his words when I accepted his offer to edit The Voice of the People. Those words now burned into my brain: You will be attacking the corrupt and the dishonest.
Remember you will be a goldfish in a bowl. Be carefuclass="underline" don’t give anyone a chance to hit back at you. Take me: I’m a Quaker. I believe in God. My private life can’t be criticised. No finger can point to me and no one must be able to point a finger at you.
You hypocrite! I thought. You bloody, bloody hypocrite! You set yourself up as the second God to be a scourge of the corrupt and the dishonest and you’re even worse than any of them because, behind your sanctimonious facade, you are a liar, an adulterer and a cheat!
I was shaking with rage and my body was cold. I wanted to ruin him. I wanted to expose him for what he was. I could do it! I could get Dunmore to blow up one of the frames and I could put the blow-up on the cover of The Voice of the People. I wouldn’t even have to write a commentary. That picture alone would bring him and his empire crashing down!
My searing thoughts were disturbed by the sound of knocking. I controlled mv rage, looked at my watch and saw it was 13.02. I walked unsteadily into the outer office and unlocked the door.