He tapped Mardi’s photograph. “If you knew about this girl, why ask me?”
I sat for a full minute, staring at him. Then I said, “That’s my wife, Colonel—I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at.”
“That’s the woman Curtis sent to me to negotiate the stock I was telling you about.”
I pushed back my chair. “You’ve made a mistake,” I said unsteadily. “That’s Mardi—my wife.”
He picked up the photograph and looked at it carefully. All the time he was doing that, my heart was beating against my ribs like a pile-driver. Then he looked up. “Who was your wife before she married you, Nick?” he said.
With the sudden horrible feeling of things crumbling, I said, “She was Spencer’s secretary.”
Kennedy pushed the photograph across the table towards me. “It fits, doesn’t it?” he said quietly. “There’s no doubt about it, Nick.”
. I just sat there in a heap. Kennedy wasn’t the kind of a guy who made mistakes. I said unevenly, “But this is crazy.”
He got to his feet. “Suppose we leave it, Nick? I’ve got to run along. I’ll be seeing you.” He put his hand on my shoulder for a moment, then walked out of the restaurant. I picked up the photograph and put it in my wallet. I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to think. I got up, pushing the chair away from me with the back of my legs and walked over to the hat rack. I put my hat and coat on slowly. The waiters were looking at me curiously, but I didn’t care about them; then I went outside into the street.
The train to Santa Monica was already in the station and I got a seat. I settled myself and looked out of the window. My eyes didn’t see anything, and although it was a hot day I felt cold.