‘You put it marvellously, Michael. But won’t he have to read the preface?’
‘I hope not, but I think it ought to be in Bobbie’s pocket, in case he has to fortify his line of approach. There are no flies on Bobbie, you know.’
‘But will Mr Ferrar care enough to do all this?’
‘Yes,’ said Michael, ‘on the whole, yes. My Dad once did him a good turn, and old Shropshire’s his uncle.’
‘And who could write that preface?’
‘I believe I could get old Blythe. They’re still afraid of him in our party, and when he likes he can make livers creep all right.’
Dinny clasped her hands.
‘Do you think he will like?’
‘It depends on the diary.’
‘Then I think he will.’
‘May I read it before I turn it over to the printers?’
‘Of course! Only, Michael, Hubert doesn’t want the diary to come out.’
‘Well, that’s OK. If it works with Walter and he doesn’t issue the warrant, it won’t be necessary; and if it doesn’t work, it won’t be necessary either, because the “fat will be in the fire”, as old Forsyte used to say.’
‘Will the cost of printing be much?’
‘A few pounds – say twenty.’
‘I can manage that,’ said Dinny; and her mind flew to the two gentlemen, for she was habitually hard up.
‘Oh! that’ll be all right, don’t worry!’
‘It’s my hunch, Michael, and I should like to pay for it. You’ve no idea how horrible it is to sit and do nothing, with Hubert in this danger! I have the feeling that if he’s once given up, he won’t have a dog’s chance.’
‘It’s ill prophesying,’ said Michael, ‘where public men are concerned. People underrate them. They’re a lot more complicated than they’re supposed to be, and perhaps better principled; they’re certainly a lot shrewder. All the same, I believe this will click, if we can work old Blythe and Bobbie Ferrar properly. I’ll go for Blythe, and set Bart on to Bobbie. In the meantime this shall be printed,’ and he took up the diary. ‘Good-bye, Dinny dear, and don’t worry more than you can help.’
Dinny kissed him, and he went.
That evening about ten he rang her up.
‘I’ve read it, Dinny. Walter must be pretty hard-boiled if it doesn’t fetch him. He won’t go to sleep over it, anyway, like the other bloke; he’s a conscientious card, whatever else he is. After all this is a sort of reprieve case, and he’s bound to recognize its seriousness. Once in his hands, he’s got to go through with this diary, and it’s moving stuff, apart from the light on the incident itself. So buck up!’
Dinny said: ‘Bless you!’ fervently, and went to bed lighter at heart than she had been for two days.
Chapter Thirty-five
IN the slow long days, and they seemed many, which followed, Dinny remained at Mount Street, to be in command of any situation that might arise. Her chief difficulty lay in keeping people ignorant of Jean’s machinations. She seemed to succeed with all except Sir Lawrence, who, raising his eyebrow, said cryptically:
‘Pour une gaillarde, c’est une gaillarde!’
And, at Dinny’s limpid glance, added: ‘Quite the Botticellian virgin! Would you like to meet Bobbie Ferrar? We’re lunching together underground at Dumourieux’s in Drury Lane, mainly on mushrooms.’
Dinny had been building so on Bobbie Ferrar that the sight of him gave her a shock, he had so complete an air of caring for none of those things. With his carnation, bass drawl, broad bland face, and slight drop of the underjaw, he did not inspire her.
‘Have you a passion for mushrooms, Miss Cherrell?’ he said.
‘Not French mushrooms.’
‘No?’
‘Bobbie,’ said Sir Lawrence, looking from one to the other, ‘no one would take you for one of the deepest cards in Europe. You are going to tell us that you won’t guarantee to call Walter a strong man, when you talk about the preface?’
Several of Bobbie Ferrar’s even teeth became visible.
‘I have no influence with Walter.’
‘Then who has?’
‘No one. Except –’
‘Yes?’
‘Walter.’
Before she could check herself, Dinny said:
‘You do understand, Mr Ferrar, that this is practically death for my brother and frightful for all of us?’
Bobbie Ferrar looked at her flushed face without speaking. He seemed, indeed, to admit or promise nothing all through that lunch, but when they got up and Sir Lawrence was paying his bill, he said to her:
‘Miss Cherrell, when I go to see Walter about this, would you like to go with me? I could arrange for you to be in the background.’