Read Online The Blackbirder by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online Page A

years of seniority had promised to teach her when she was older. Another summer.
    Fran was in prison. But Jacques was free. He would help. “I've so much to tell you, Jacques.” She didn't understand his restraint, then she realized.
    The gray man was standing there watching. The man she had brushed in the doorway was also watching. She hadn't looked on him until now. Slight, no taller than she, with a sad monkey face and a beautiful silken brown beard. It was the exact color of the corduroy jacket he wore. His eyes were brown, cinnamon brown. When she turned he peered and asked, “You have a friend, Jacques?” His voice was gentle.
    Jacques spoke formally to Julie. “It has been good to see you, M'mselle. Give my regards to your family.” He took a step away, toward the beard.
    She shook her head slightly. She was puzzled but she accepted it. There must be a reason. Her eyes suddenly lifted to the gray man, to that faint amused smile.
    The bearded man was in front of Jacques. “Your friend— ”
    Jacques's back was to her but she heard his words. “We are late now, Popin.”
    “Popin!” She echoed it aloud.
    He had sidestepped Jacques. “I am Popin.”
    She was delighted. “But amazing! I tried to reach you by phone only a little while ago. The— maid?— said you were in Santa Fe for dinner.”
    “So I am.”
    “For dinner with me,” the gray man said. “Mr. Popin, I am Roderick Blaike.”
    Popin's laughter was unrepressed. His long fingers gestured to one and to the other. “It couldn't happen.” He shook his beard. “No carnation in the buttonhole. No seeking a face for a name. We meet. We are all friends. That easy it is. We will dine together? Miss— ”
    Jacques spoke. His face was a graven thing. “She is Julie Guille.”
    “Yes?” If there was a flicker of surprise behind the silken beard it was swathed. “And you are an old friend of my friend Jacques? How pleasant. A reunion. Mr. Blaike, you do not object if the young lady joins us for dinner?
    Popin didn't know Blaike, the meeting was of strangers. He distrusted the gray man too, obviously; otherwise he would have mentioned Fran. She didn't want to dine with Blaike but possibly he could be eluded after dinner. If there could be granted just one moment alone with the bearded man, to speak Fran's name, to hear it spoken.
    “I'd be delighted,” Blaike said. He might have been laughing at her. He looked from his height down into her face. “You will join us, Miss Guille?”
    “Certainly.’
    Jacques stood apart.
    Popin said, “The New Mexican room is most pleasant. There are the delicate frescoes of Olive Rush. And in this— our new country— there is yet sufficient food.” His voice muted. “We are the fortunate ones.” He raised his cinnamon eyes. “I too am a refugee.” His head turned. “Jacques— ”
    Jacques said unsmiling, “I have the important errands, Popin. You remember. You will excuse me.”
    “But dinner first. You must eat something.”
    “Something I will eat. But first the list for Spike— and other more important things.” He did not wait for response. His huaraches clicked across the lobby.
    Popin shrugged his hands. “You knew him well before, Miss Guille?”
    “He worked for my guardian, Paul Guille.” She made a little face. “I've known him since I was a child— but not too well.” Evidently. She didn't understand. True, she had not known Jacques well but Tanya— Tanya was his wife. It was Tanya who had effected her escape out of France. Jacques knew; he must have known. And he knew her love for Fran.
    A stringed orchestra in the velvet garb of Spanish grandees strummed outside the dining-room door. The room was pleasant, quiet, pastel on the walls and pillars: a delicate faun, a warm gray squirrel, white blossoming cactus. Popin led to a banco against the wall, placed her beside Blaike there. He took the chair across the narrow, painted table. His fingers touched the fat white of the candle.