The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

‘‘I was about to call a cab,’’ he said.

‘‘You’re perfectly welcome to stay here, of course,’’ she said.

‘‘That’s very kind of you, Cynthia,’’ he said, slightly sarcastic.

She caught his tone. ‘‘I’m living here now. In the garage apartment. I sort of keep an eye on things. Mrs. Harris has retired, you know.’’

‘‘Oh,’’ he said.

Canidy knew from Jimmy that Cynthia’s father, who had dropped dead on the twelfth-hole fairway of Winged Foot, the New York Athletic Club’s golf course, had not left his widow and only child enough money to pay for his funeral. Chesty Whittaker, who had been Thomas Chenowith’s Harvard classmate and an usher at his wedding, had consequently fulfilled his obligation as a gentleman and a friend. He had ‘‘found’’ some interest-bearing municipal bonds, which had escaped the Chenowith financial debacle, enough of them to ensure Tom Chenowith’s widow and child a comfortable existence. He had further ‘‘arranged’’ for scholarships to be provided for Cynthia from the Emma Willard School and later Vassar and still later Harvard Law. It was thus not surprising that the garage apartment had suddenly become available—rent-free—to Cynthia.

‘‘Where are you going—in the cab, I mean?’’

‘‘Back to Anacostia,’’ Canidy said.

There was the muted ring of a telephone somewhere else in the house. Cynthia Chenowith, smelling of something interesting and expensive, stepped past Canidy and picked up the telephone he had been about to use. She listened a moment.

‘‘Mr. Whittaker, I’m on the extension,’’ she said. ‘‘Dick Canidy is here.’’ Then, a moment later, she handed him

the telephone.

‘‘Dick? Jim couldn’t get away. He tried to call you.’’

‘‘Yes, sir. So I have just found out.’’

‘‘You do plan to spend the night?’’

‘‘I was about to go back to Anacostia.’’

‘‘Could I talk you into filling in at dinner? Or is whoever is waiting for you at Anacostia a goddess defying description? ’’

‘‘He could hardly be called a goddess,’’ Canidy said.

Chesty Whittaker laughed. ‘‘Have Cynthia make you a drink. You’re going to take her and another young lovely to dinner tonight.’’

‘‘Splendid,’’ Canidy said. ‘‘If you’re not just being kind. I don’t want to intrude.’’

‘‘Don’t be an ass,’’ Chesty Whittaker said. ‘‘Actually, I consider you a gift from heaven. I’ll be there in an hour or so.’’

He hung up.

Canidy put the phone into its cradle.

‘‘We are going to be dinner partners tonight,’’ he said.

‘‘Paul?’’ she called, raising her voice.

The butler appeared.

‘‘Yes, miss?’’

‘‘Mr. Canidy will be staying. Would you put his bag in Jimmy’s room, please, and then see what he will have to drink?’’

Not quite understanding why, Canidy was suddenly annoyed. Cynthia’s housemotherish ‘‘I’m in charge of the young people’’ attitude irritated him.

‘‘Put my bag in the room across from Jimmy’s,’’ he ordered. ‘‘That’s my room. And I know where to find the whiskey.’’

He got an annoyed, angry look from Cynthia Chenowith, but she didn’t countermand his order. She nodded her head at him and walked out of the sitting room.