8
Meecham stopped the car in the driveway and got out. Pulling his overcoat collar up around his neck, he went around the back of the car and opened the door for Virginia. “Here you are. And good luck.”
She glanced up at him in surprise. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“No.”
“But my mother will want to see you, to thank you.”
“She hasn’t anything to thank me for. The whole thing has been a pleasure.”
“You’re sore, aren’t you? Just because I suggested that about the bill.”
“I’m not sore,” Meecham said. “I have to go back to the jail to see Loftus.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to.”
“But why should he...?”
“I don’t know, and I probably wouldn’t tell you anyway.”
“Well, thanks for the ride.” She got out of the car and went toward the front door of the house. Before she was halfway there the door opened and Mrs. Hamilton came out.
Virginia ran into her mother’s arms and her mother held her there, rocking back and forth. It was almost an exact repetition of the scene the previous morning in Cordwink’s office.
“Momma!”
“Ginny darling. Darling girl.”
“Oh, momma!”
Meecham watched them, but this time he felt quite detached, unmoved. He wondered what Mrs. Hamilton would do if she found out how and why Virginia had tried to raise money.
As unobtrusively as possible he slid in behind the wheel of his car and pressed the starter button. Mrs. Hamilton’s reaction to the sound was immediate and exaggerated, like an amateur actress’ response to a cue that was late in coming.
“Mr. Meecham! Oh, Mr. Meecham, wait a minute.”
With an air of resignation Meecham switched off the ignition, set the emergency brake and got out of the car for the second time.
Mrs. Hamilton approached him, her right hand stretched out in greeting. “You weren’t leaving?”
“I was. I have some bus—”
“Please come in and have a cup of coffee. Or a drink. Business can wait. This is such a happy occasion for me. I have my girl back safe and sound.”
Safe and sound. Meecham almost winced at the phrase, it seemed so incongruous. Her girl would probably never be either safe or sound. He had a suspicion that Mrs. Hamilton knew this and that the phrase had slipped out, in unconscious irony.
“I’d like some coffee,” Meecham said. “Nice of you to invite me.”
Virginia had gone ahead into the house. Her coat had fallen off one shoulder and the hem dragged in the dirty snow.
“She looks terrible,” Mrs. Hamilton said, in a changed voice. “As if she hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept.”
“Have you?”
“Some. Thank God it’s all over now, anyway. It is over. Isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The man is guilty, he’s proved it?”
“As far as I know, yes. I’m not the Sheriff’s confidant.”
The answer seemed to satisfy her. “I think you’ve brought us luck, Mr. Meecham.”
The inside of the house was moist and fragrant, like a florist’s shop. Meecham saw that, in anticipation of Virginia’s arrival, someone had watered all the plants, watered them too liberally as if to make up for past neglect. The saucers under the flowerpots were brimming and one of the ivy-planted wall brackets dripped with sharp little pings onto the waxed concrete floor.
Mrs. Hamilton didn’t notice the dripping. She had taken Virginia’s coat and was hanging it in the closet. She handled the coat with a kind of nervous tenderness as if it was of great value and she wasn’t sure how to treat it. For the first time Meecham took a close look at the coat. Its bold black and white design dazzled the eye, but the material was cheap.
Neither of the women made any move to take Meecham’s hat or coat, so he laid them across a chair. He was a little irritated because he was sure that the omission on their part was more than a lapse in manners; it was an unconscious expression of their real feeling toward him. He wondered again why Mrs. Hamilton had invited him in for coffee, and why he had accepted against his will.
“We should do something to celebrate,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “Perhaps a little dinner party tonight. Would you like that, Ginny?”
Virginia ignored, or didn’t hear, the question. She was gazing at Meecham thoughtfully, part of her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Meecham, I’ve got an idea.”
“Mr. Meecham, dear,” Mrs. Hamilton corrected. “Mr. It sounds coarse to...”
“Momma, please. I’m talking.”
“Then talk properly.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Momma, this is important!” She turned back to Meecham. “I think I’ll sue them for false arrest. I suffered grievous humiliation, didn’t I, my reputation was damaged, I underwent great privations, et cetera. How about that, Meecham?”
“It’s not such a good idea,” Meecham said.
“It is, it’s a wonderful idea. Why, I could get a fortune if I won.”
“You couldn’t win because you haven’t a case. There was no malicious persecution, and the Sheriff had enough grounds to arr—”
“Stop.” Mrs. Hamilton spoke quietly but with such force, such cold anger, that Meecham stopped in the middle of a word, and Virginia turned to look at her mother with an air of surprise. “I’m ashamed of you, Virginia. Ashamed.”
“For heaven’s sake, Momma, I’ve got my rights and...”
“There’ll be no further discussion of this, ever.” Mrs. Hamilton’s face had changed from white to pink, and now back to white again, as if there was something the matter with her circulatory system and it responded too quickly and too violently to changes in her emotions. “The subject will never be brought up again. Is that clear to you, Virginia? And you, Mr. Meecham?”
“The whole thing was a pipe-dream anyway,” Meecham said.
“Of course. Of course it was.” She was regaining her composure. “You hear that, Virginia?”
“I heard.”
“Now go and say hello to Carney, like a good girl. She can’t leave the office.”
Virginia turned obediently and walked away, but not before giving Meecham an obvious we’ll-talk-about-it-later glance. Mrs. Hamilton must have seen the glance and interpreted it, but she said nothing about it until she and Meecham were settled in front of the fireplace.
Between them, so close to Meecham that he could scarcely move his legs, there was an immense three-tiered glass table that looked as though it weighed a ton. The chair that Meecham occupied was deep and low and soft, one of those chairs it was difficult to get out of even without a table blocking the way.
Meecham felt suddenly and inexplicably afraid. The fear passed over him like a wave, accelerating his heartbeat, and left behind beads of moisture on his forehead and a damp cold sensation across the small of his back. He had to control an impulse to kick away the huge table, spilling the coffee from its silver urn, shattering the china cups and the glass tiers. Violence is the instinctive response to fear. But because the fear was nameless and unimmediate, the violence was vague and unreasoning. He dropped an ash tray. Dropped it, quite unintentionally, and when he saw it break he had no conscious feeling of satisfaction, but he stopped sweating and his heartbeat was normal again.
Mrs. Hamilton dismissed his apologies with a gesture. She looked annoyed, not at the loss of the ash tray, but at the interruption of her thoughts.
She said quietly and firmly, “You understand, don’t you, that Virginia gets wild ideas sometimes. You mustn’t take them seriously.”