The Old Man and Me by Elaine Dundy Read Free Book Online Page A

gaze. “I see,” he said turning to Smitty. “Now, I understand. You haven’t come to interview me about the war at all. What you’re really interested in is raking up old muck. How clever of you using Miss Whatever-her-name-is as a decoy. Tell me, is it to be for one of those American scandal sheets? I’m quite curious to know.”
    “What are you talking about?” I gasped.
    His expression had become even more disagreeable if possible. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He begins with the respectable approach and you come in for the dirt. Quite a team. Sorry, I’m not playing.”
    “How dare you!” I sprang to my feet, one part of me surprised at the surge of rage I was allowing myself to show, I who had so carefully schooled myself always to keep my feelings under outward control. “How dare you,” I said again and got a grip on myself and went on more carefully. “I never heard of you in my life until the other night if you want to know. Then when you asked me over for drinks Smitty told me you were famous so I looked at some old clippings at his office to see what you were famous for. And I came across Bosworth Clute’s name. And I went to school with one of his daughters. At Braxton Hall if you want to check. And I want my coat and I want to leave.” And I flounced out a picture of righteous indignation.
    C. D. followed me down the stairs. “I say, please Miss Flood. Please. I am sorry. I see I’ve misjudged you. Do come back. At least till your friend finishes our interview. Pay no attention to the ravings of a tiresome old man. I’ve always been much too sensitive about the Clute thing. I’ve an idea. Why don’t you come and sit in my study until I’m finished with Mr. Smithers? I’m sure it’s all very boring for you. Then we can have a friendly drink and talk of pleasanter things. Say yes,” he implored.
    “All right,” I conceded as he led me upstairs to it. “But because I don’t want to mess up Smitty’s interview.”
    “No, I’m sure you don’t,” he murmured and he closed the door on me before I had time to react.
    I wandered around for a while. A door of the study led to his bedroom, then to his bathroom. I didn’t quite dare explore his bedroom so I went to the bathroom and opened his medicine chest. A man is known by the medicine in his chest, I told myself, and suddenly I grabbed two small pill bottles out of it and stuffed them in my handbag and returned to the study.
    Some fifteen minutes later I heard a soft knock. “Yes?” I said.
    “Miss Flood?” purred C. D. “We’re finished now. Do come and join us.” He entered and stood over me beaming. “And what have you been doing all this time?” he asked.
    “Reading your mail,” I replied coolly.
    He laughed his hiss-giggle and began leading me down the stairs to the drawing-room again. Midway he paused and turned to me all charm and suavity. “I am sorry to have behaved like that. Especially when really the whole thing is so unimportant. But—” the old loon’s eyes were brimming with mischief, “but tell the truth, Miss Flood, I assure you it won’t make the slightest difference—they did put you up to it, didn’t they?”
    This time I marched straight down the stairs almost knocking him over, demanded my coat from his man and, without backward word or glance, left.
    So that was that, I thought glumly, huddled in the corner of the taxi that was taking me back to Dody’s. I mean gosh, I mean gee, I mean golly, I’d known he wasn’t going to be one of your ordinary kindly everyday run-of-the-mill old gents, I hadn’t expected him to be—but all this mercurial jazz, one minute one way, one minute the next—he was too much for me. I would never have gotten around him; would never have gotten him to fork over the money. Well, that was that. And now what? Back to America and forget the whole wild project?
    The phone was ringing when I let myself into Dody’s flat. It was C. D. The apologetic full-of-contrition