Part 29 (1/2)
Christopher read and studied, but did nothing definite, and the New Year slipped along with rapid, silent foot. It was Caesar who at length broke up the pleasant drifting interlude and he did it as deliberately as he did everything else, urged by his haunting desire to see Christopher finally committed to the future he had chosen.
”Why don't you go and see those road experiments they are trying in Kent?” Aymer asked one day.
”Frost-proof roads? They are no good. It was tried in Germany. What I would like is to run down to Cornwall and see how the Atlantic Road stands the winter, only it's such a beastly way down by train.”
”It would certainly interfere with golf?” returned Caesar drily.
”I'm beginning to play. Leverson says if I work really hard I may do something in a few years. Patricia says I shan't even if I live to be as old as Methuselah; so I must stick to it to prove her wrong.”
”That's highly desirable, of course. All the same she might leave you a little leisure to play round with your hobby. You mustn't work too hard or Sam will beat you yet.”
”How is Sam?”
”He came to see me before I left town. He is doing well. They will take him in as junior partner in a year or two. I always said he'd do better than you.” He sighed profoundly.
”What a pity you didn't adopt him instead of me,” retorted Christopher teasingly. ”Is it too late to exchange? Buy him a senior partners.h.i.+p and leave me a free lance.”
And because Aymer did not reply at once to his familiar nonsense, he turned quickly and surprised a strange look in the blue eyes, a fleeting, shadowy love, pa.s.sionate, fierce, jealous. It lost itself almost as he caught it and Aymer drawled out in his indifferent tone:
”It really might be worth considering. For then I could go back to London and he could come home every night. Besides, Sam really appreciates me.”
But it was Christopher who had no answer ready this time.
The look he had surprised gripped his heart. It revealed something hitherto unguessed by him. He came and sat on the edge of the sofa, and though he spoke lightly as was his manner, his voice and eyes belied his words.
”On the contrary, Sam does not appreciate you at all. He regards you as an erratic philanthropist with a crank for a.s.sisting deserving boys.”
”A just estimate.”
”Not at all. It is wrong in every particular.”
”Prove it.”
”You are not erratic; you are methodical to a fault. You are not a crank; therefore not a philanthropist. And you show a lamentable disregard to the moral qualities of those to whom you extend a helping hand.”
”Jealousy.”
”Jealousy of whom, please?”
”Of Sam.”
Christopher considered thoughtfully.
”I believe you are right,” he returned at last in a tone of nave surprise. ”How stupid of me not to have guessed before. I had always tried to think you helped him to gratify me. It was a great strain on my credulity. Now I understand.”
”It had nothing to do with you at all,” retorted Caesar irritably, s.h.i.+fting his position a little, whereby a cus.h.i.+on fell to the ground.
With a gust of petulance he pitched another after it, and then in rather a shamed way, told Christopher to ring for Vespasian to put the confounded things right.