Elleri Kuin - The Last Woman in His Life

And so Ellery stood there, watching the BOAC jet take the Scot away.

He was still standing alone on his island when a hand touched his.

He turned around and it was, of all people, Inspector Queen.

El, his father said, squeezing his arm. Come on, Ill buy you a cup of coffee.

The old boy always comes through, Ellery thought over his second cup in the airport restaurant.

Son, you cant monkey around in this business without once in a while running into the back of your own hand, the Inspector said. It didnt have to happen this way. You let yourself get involved with the guy. If I allowed myself that kind of foolishness Id have had to toss my shield in years ago. Human flesh cant stand it.

Ellery raised his hand as if the other were on the Bible. So help me Hannah, Ill never make that mistake again.

Having said this, he found his glance coming to rest on Benedict and Marsh, in man-to-man conversation at the other side of the dining room.

All men, Shaw said, mean well.

Not excluding Ellery. What was this but the familiar Chance Encounter? Time lines converging for the moment, a brief nostalgia, then everyone on his way and no harm done?

Had he but known.

It began, as such apparently meaningless reunions do, with grips, grins, and manly warmth. The pair immediately accepted Ellerys invitation to move over to the Queen table. They had not laid eyes on him, and vice versa, since Harvard.

To Inspector Queen, Marsh was just a citizen named Marsh. But he had certainly heard of Benedict Johnny-B to the world of jet, a charter member of Raffles, fixed star of the lady columnists, crony of nobility, habitu of Monaco, Kitzbhel, and the yachting isles of Greece. January might find Benedict at the winter festival in Mlaga; February in Garmisch-Partenkirchen; March in Bloemfontein for the national games; April at the Songkran Festival in Chiangmai; May in Copenhagen for the royal ballet; June at Epsom Downs for the English Oaks and at Newport and Cork for the transatlantic yacht races; July at Henley and Bayreuth; August at Mystic for the Outdoor Art Festival; September in Luxembourg for the wine; October in Turin for the auto show; November at Madison Square Garden for the horse show; and December at Makaha Beach for the surfing championships. These were only typical; Johnny-B had a hundred other entertainments up his sleeve. Ellery had always thought of him as a run-for-your-life man without the pathological stop-watch.

John Levering Benedict III toiled not (toil, he liked to argue, was mans silliest waster of time), neither did he spin except in the social whirl. He was charming without the obvious streak of rot that ran through his set, a fact that never palled on the press assigned to the Beautiful People. He was even handsome, a not common attribute of his class (in whom the vintage tended to sour) on the slight side, below-average tall, with fine fair hair women adored stroking, and delicate hands and feet. He was, of course, sartorially ideal; year after year he sauntered onto the Ten Best-Dressed list. There was something anciently Grecian about him, a to-the-bone beauty as fine as the texture of his hair.

Johnny-Bs paternal grandfather had staked out a stout chunk of the Olympic Peninsula and the timberlands around Lake Chelan to become one of the earliest lumber barons of the Pacific Northwest. His father had invested in shipping, piling Pelion on Ossa that is to say, according to the gossip, leaving the difficulty of spending the resultant riches to Johnny. In Johnnys set it was often pointed out that with a fortune in the multimillions the feat could not easily be done; that past a certain point great wealth is hard to redistribute. That Johnny tried manfully is a matter of public record. Alimony apparently made mere dents, only enough to bruise; he had just divorced his third wife.

The leash on the runaway tendencies of Johnny Benedict was said to be Al Marsh. Marsh, too, came from a society tree, and he was luxuriously nested in his own right from birth. But he grew up to toil and spin, from choice. With Marsh it was not a question of avarice or anxiety over his wealth; he worked, said those who knew him well, because the life-style of his world bored him. Dilettantism in vacuo had no appeal for him. He had taken top honors at Harvard Law, gone on to serve a brilliant apprenticeship to a United States Supreme Court justice, and emerged into the cynical realities of Washington and New York to found a law firm of his own that, with the aid of his familys influence and connections, quietly acquired a sterling clientele and a hallmark reputation. He had offices in both cities.

Experts in such matters nominated Marsh one of the matrimonial catches of any season whatever. He was unfailingly attractive to women, whom he handled with the same tact he brought to his practice of law, and not only because he was elusive. He was a bigger man than Benedict, darkly rugged, with a smashed nose from his college wrestling days, a jaw that looked as if it had been mined in Colorado, and a naturally squinty set to the eyes the Marlboro type, Johnny called him affectionately who seemed born to saddle horses and foreign cars. He had a fondness for both which he indulged when he could find the time, and a passion for flying; he piloted his own plane with a grim devotion that could only be explained by the fact that his father had died in one.

As so often happens in the case of men to whom women respond, other men did not take to Marsh easily. Some called it his aloofness, others his reserve, others his standoffishness; whatever it was, it caused Marsh to have a very small circle of friends. Johnny Benedict was one of the few.

Their relationship was not altogether personal. Johnny had inherited from his father the services of an ancient and prestigious law firm which had handled three generations of Benedict investments; but for the management of his personal affairs he relied on Marsh.

Of course you just flew in from the moon, Ellery said. Its about the only place, from what I hear, youve never been.

Matter of fact, I got off the jet from London fifteen minutes ago, and Al here got off with me, Benedict said. We had some business in London, and th-then there was that auction at S-Sothebys.

Which of course you had to attend.

Please, Marsh said in a pained way. Amend the auxiliary verb. I know of no law that compels a man to drop what Johnny just dropped for that Monet.

Benedict laughed. Arent you always lecturing me about spending my m-money so Ive a fighting chance for a profit? He not only stammered, he had difficulty with his rs, giving his speech a definite charm. It was hard to see a rapacious capitalist in a man who pronounced it pwofit.

Are you the guy who bought that thing? Inspector Queen exclaimed. Paid all that loot for a hunk of old canvas and a few francs worth of paint?

Dont tell us what you got it for, Johnny, Ellery said. I cant retain figures like that. I suppose youre going to convert it into a dartboard for your game room, or something equally kicky?

Marsh signaled for the waiter. Youve been listening to Johnnys detractors. Another round, please. He really knows art.

I really do, Benedict said, pronouncing it weally. So help m-me Ripley. Id like you to see my c-collection sometime. He added politely, You, too, Inspector Queen.

Thanks, but include me out, the Inspector said. My son calls me a cultural barbarian. Behind my back, of course. Hes too well brought up to say it frontwards.

As for me, Johnny, Ellery said, scowling at pater, I dont believe I could bear it. Ive never quite adjusted to the unequal distribution of wealth.

How about the unequal distribution of brains? Benedict retorted. From what Ive read about you and the Glory Guild case, not to m-mention all those other mental miracles you bring off, youre a second cousin of Einsteins. Something in Ellerys face drove the banter from Benedicts voice. Have I said s-something?