‘‘I’m tempted, I’ll tell you that,’’ Whittaker said seriously.
Bitter looked at him in surprise, and then decided his leg was being pulled again.
‘‘Have you got the Rolls, or are we going to have to call a cab?’’ Canidy asked, moving his suitcases to the door.
‘‘I told you, I came here from the airport,’’ Whittaker said. ‘‘And anyway, the Rolls is in Jersey.’’
Bitter decided that settled it. His leg was being pulled.
‘‘We can call for a cab downstairs,’’ he said.
2
‘‘Why the wall?’’ Ed
Bitter asked when the cab dropped them in front of the house on Q Street.
‘‘My uncle Chesty built it when Roosevelt got elected,’’ Whittaker said, ‘‘to preserve civilization as we know it from the barbarian Democrats.’’
Ed Bitter laughed. ‘‘That wall’s at least fifty years old.’’ And then he made the connection. ‘‘Chesty? Chesty Whittaker? Chesley Haywood Whittaker?’’
‘‘One and the same,’’ Whittaker said. ‘‘You know the name?’’
‘‘He and my uncle Brandon are friends,’’ Bitter said. ‘‘My father, too, I think.’’
‘‘Brandon what?’’
‘‘Brandon Chambers,’’ Bitter said.
‘‘Newspapers, right?’’ Whittaker asked, and waited for Bitter to acknowledge the association. When Bitter nodded, Whittaker unlocked the heavy wooden door in the wall, pushed it open, and waved Canidy and Bitter through.
Paul, the butler, opened the door as they approached. ‘‘Good afternoon, sir,’’ he said to Whittaker, and then looked at Canidy. ‘‘Nice to see you again, Mr. Canidy. Just set those bags down. I’ll take care of them.’’
‘‘How are you, Paul?’’ Whittaker said. ‘‘Is my uncle here?’’
‘‘I just sent the car to fetch Mr. Whittaker, sir,’’ Paul said. ‘‘Miss Chenowith is in the library.’’
‘‘Then that’s where we’ll go,’’ Whittaker said. ‘‘Would you please bring some beer to the library, Paul? Unless you’d rather have something stronger, Ed?’’
‘‘Beer is fine,’’ Bitter said.
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Paul said.
Canidy and Bitter followed Whittaker across the wide foyer, where he slid open the double doors. Cynthia Chenowith, her shoulder-length brown hair parted simply in the middle, was sitting sidewards on a couch, with a newspaper laid open next to her. She looked up when the door slid open.
‘‘I’m glad you’re here,’’ she said. ‘‘Your uncle was worried. ’’
‘‘Edwin Bitter, officer and gentleman, USN, say hello to Miss Cynthia Chenowith,’’ Whittaker said. ‘‘But don’t get your hopes up. Not only is Canidy smitten with her, but I have been in love with her since she was eight and I was four.’’
Cynthia smiled at Bitter.
‘‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you you are judged by the company you keep?’’ she asked. ‘‘Hello, Canidy.’’
‘‘Miss Cynthia, ma’am,’’ Canidy said, in a mock Southern accent, and bowed deeply.
‘‘You could have called,’’ Cynthia said to Whittaker. ‘‘We weren’t even sure you were on the train. It was damned inconsiderate of you. Aren’t you ever going to grow up?’’
‘‘That time of the month again, is it?’’ Whittaker asked, without thinking.