Collinson’s eyes were on Alder as he rose. “I’m sorry, Alder.”
“Look, big boy,” began Harris Toomey.
Alder brushed past him. He followed Linda out of the dining room into the lobby. There he caught her arm. “That’s telling him.”
“I’ll never talk to him again as long as I live,” raged Linda. “He was being deliberately insulting.”
“What do you think I would have done if I’d met Newcombe about the time you and he were—”
She stopped.
“What I said to Harris goes for you. To hell with you — in spades!”
She headed for the elevators. Alder grinned. He had never been fonder of Linda than he was at that moment. He walked to the newsstand, looked at the headlines of the papers and bought a News. Then he strolled to the elevators and entered one of the cars.
Chapter 18
A few moments later he stepped A out on the eighteenth floor and walked to the door of Linda’s suite. He pressed the door buzzer. She opened the door. Some of the fire was gone from her eyes, but she was not yet ready to surrender.
He walked in and closed the door behind him.
“That actor friend of yours was giving me the eye,” she began.
“Why not? You’re beautiful — and desirable.”
“Is that all that’s on your male mind?”
He took her into his arms and kissed her. She was yielding, warm and soft. She returned his kisses with passion. “I wish there’d never been anyone else, Tom. I wish it was eighteen years ago — when we first met.”
“Twenty,” he said.
“I love you, Tom,” she went on, ignoring his correction. “I love you more now than I ever thought I could love anyone.”
He patted her shoulders and felt her muscles tighten.
“You’re holding back,” she cried. “You won’t give in all the way!”
“I’m not a demonstrative man, Linda. I think you know that.”
“I know it, but I don’t have to like it. I wish—” She kissed him again and clung to him for a moment. “Did I do that much to you? Tom — it isn’t because I’ve... I’ve known other men?”
“No.”
“What, then? How am I lacking? Where am I failing you?”
“You’re not lacking, Linda. You’ve got everything a man could hope for in this world. You’re beautiful, you’re warm—”
“But I can’t get through to you. Not all the way. There’s a corner of you that won’t give in. Perhaps it’s your brain. It’s a machine. It runs so smoothly, so efficiently that it rejects any outside force. Like love.”
It wasn’t his brain, Alder knew that. Everything about Linda was right. She had beauty, poise. She was everything in a woman that he wanted. She loved him. She would be right for him. Her past did not matter. That she had been married, that there had been other men, was no hindrance. Not to him. Alder knew himself well enough for that. Those things left no physical disfigurement, no mental scars, not if the woman was Linda and the man was himself.
It was not his brain, for Linda was right when she called it a machine. It was that. Alder knew every cog of it. He was its complete master.
It was his heart.
A corner of it, a tiny piece, was dead. It was not warmed by his pulsing blood. It sent-no impulse to the rest of his heart, to his brain.
He said to Linda, “I love you.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You love me — as much as you can. I’ll take that much. But I wish it was — all the love you’re capable of.”
The door buzzer whirred. Linda shuddered a little. “Yes?” she called.
The door was opened by Walter Collinson. Harris Toomey stood beside and a little behind him.
Collinson said, “Linda, you know me well enough — I’d cut off my right hand rather than hurt you.”
“You need both hands to count your money,” Linda said and then apologized instantly. “That was beastly of me!”
“It’s all right.” Collinson came into the room. “My apologies to you, Mr. Alder.”
Alder nodded.
Toomey came into the room. There was no contrition in him. The look he sent Alder was a challenge.
“I don’t give in easy, Alder. You’re going to have a fight on your hands.”
“There’s nothing to fight about, Harris,” said Linda. She took Alder’s hand and faced Toomey proudly.
“I’ll lick you, Alder,” said the millionaire sportsman heavily.
“All right, you’ll lick me.”
“Please,” interrupted Collinson. “Let’s have a drink and talk. I’m more than a little worried.”
“So am I,” exclaimed Linda. “I know something terrible has happened to Nikki.”
Alder shook his head. “I think you’re overly alarmed, Linda. Mrs. Collinson can take care of herself.”
“You know Nikki so well?” asked Toomey testily. “You met her casually on the plane yesterday, but you know her better than her friends — or her husband?”
“Harris!” cried Linda angrily.
Alder said evenly, “Relax, Linda. I’ll phone for the drinks.” He went to the phone and said, “Room Service?... Linda... bourbon?”
“Daiquiri,” she said.
It had been her favorite drink in the old days.
“Bourbon straight,” Collinson said.
“On the rocks for me,” growled Toomey.
Alder added a bourbon straight for himself. He put down the phone and seated himself at the window end of the couch. The others sat down near him.
“Mr. Collinson,” Alder began, “how long have you and Mrs. Collinson been married?”
“Ten, almost eleven years. We were married in the spring of 1949.” He smiled wanly. “And my name is Walter, Walt.”
“What has the length of their marriage got to do with this?” Harris Toomey demanded. “Nikki didn’t run out. I can assure you of that. She’s devoted to Walt.”
“Has Mrs. Collinson taken trips without you on other occasions?”
“Of course. Many times.”
“Recently?”
Collinson thought for a moment. “About two months ago was the last time. She came to Chicago then.”
“Mr. Collinson,” Alder said, “please don’t take offense at my next questions. Linda and I discussed this earlier. It seems Linda doesn’t know your wife’s maiden name and she wasn’t sure that you knew it.”
“Now I’ve heard everything!” cried Toomey. “You and Linda discussed it! Is there anything you two haven’t — discussed?”
“Harris,” said Linda, “why don’t you shut up!”
Toomey sprang to his feet. “I’ve had about all I can stand of this. Alder—”
Collinson said in a surprisingly harsh voice, “Sit down, Harris. Alder is trying to be of help, and I want his help.”
“I’m not going to listen to him.”
“Shut up, Harris!” snapped Collinson.
Toomey’s mouth opened and closed like a mackerel’s out of water, then he seated himself abruptly. He hunched down on the sofa, resigning himself to the inevitable.
“Mr. Alder,” said Collinson clearly, “the answer to your question is yes... yes, I know Nikki’s maiden name. It’s Kovacs. But no, I have never met any of her family. Nikki felt that it would be awkward; her mother does not speak English very well and she would be too uncomfortable. I’m not proud of that — I should have insisted on meeting them, but I was very much in love with Nikki and did not want to embarrass her. No, embarrass is the wrong word.”
“You did not want to cross your wife.”
“That’s about right. I am not the sort of man to force my opinions on anyone. My father inherited great wealth and he was taught by his father that wealth has responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was not to use that wealth as a weapon or a cudgel to beat down people. I was very fond of my father. When she came back from her last visit, Nikki talked to me about her family. She thought we might visit them this summer.”