Read Online Crescendo by Phyllis Bentley - Free Book Online Page B

was a bad lot, and must be prevented at all costs from carrying off Jerry.
    â€œWe’ll send the boy to a university,” said Arnold. “At a university he’ll meet men who really know what’s what in these matters, and then he’ll see what a phony poser this chap Chillie is.”
    Arnold did not, however, as yet tell his wife the whole truth about Chillie and the nature of his designs on their son. The knowledge would upset Meg terribly, it would break her innocent heart in pieces—he felt he must save her from it if he possibly could. Besides, it would be so embarrassing for Jerry. Far better that the matter should remain quietly private between his son and himself. At the bottom of his heart Arnold knew that he was keeping Meg in reserve. If all else failed, he would have to tell her; her anguished outburst of grief would convince Jerry if nothing else could. But sons were apt to resent the frustration of their wishes by a parent’s grief. No, he would try not to tell Meg. He would be perfectly polite andconsiderate to Chillie as long as he was in the house, and the moment he was gone he would tell Jerry his suspicions. But the boy’s trust and affection must be retained, repeated Arnold to himself, so that Jerry would believe him.
    Arnold had a great desire to take Jerry and Chillie down to Holmelea Mills together, so that they might see in each other’s company that the place was not in the least dark or satanic, but on the contrary extremely well-lighted and comfortable. The windows were large, the power mainly electric, the lighting fluorescent; the machines gleamed with speed and newness—he was always on the look-out for new machines, had bought another only yesterday; pieces of cloth were shot down slippery slides or wheeled about in neat trolley-carts, no man ever having to carry the weight of one on his shoulder. In fact, Arnold set such store on this visit to the mill that he made up his mind to insist on it if necessary. But no insistence was necessary; Chillie’s greed supplied the impetus. Arnold observed with sardonic amusement that Chillie wanted very much to come down to the mill and be fitted up with a suit length, while Jerry was ashamed of his father’s ham-handed generosity, as he regarded it, and took Chillie for walks on the moors instead. It was Chillie’s greed, too, which prevented any show-down taking place about Jerry’s project of living with Chillie in London. The boy often approached the subject but Chillie as often headed him off. Chillie had had second thoughts, Arnold surmised, and wanted the cloth and the comfortable weekend’s accommodation before he had to quarrel with his hosts.
    Tuesday morning, the last of Chillie’s stay, was thus reached without the mill visit having been paid, and Arnold was afraid that he would be obliged to exert pressure to assure it, when at the breakfast table Chillie suddenly said in a petulant tone:
    â€œI must see the Barraclough mills before I go.”
    â€œThere’s scarcely time before your train,” began Jerry, but Arnold interrupted.
    â€œCome down with me,” he said. “I’m always there by nine. Bring your case—you can go on afterwards to Ashworth station. I’ll drive you. I have to call on some customers in that direction, some time today.”
    â€œWe needn’t trouble you, Mr. Barraclough. We can go by bus,” said Chillie, intending as usual to show his high-minded contempt for every luxury.
    â€œWell, we can settle that later,” said Arnold impatiently. “I’ve picked out a few lengths, Jerry, for your friend to see.” (He could not bring himself to use the man’s absurd nickname, and Chillie’s real surname escaped his recollection.) He rose from the table, saying: “Get the car out, Jerry. Come along.”
    So now the three of them were turning into the yard of Holmelea Mills.
    â€œHere we are,”