The Shadow Portrait (15 page)

“I’d like for all of you to meet a good friend of mine,” Phil said. “This is Avis Warwick. She’s studying at the art institute—and she’s never seen an automobile race.” As he introduced his friends, he watched their faces nervously, never knowing when Avis would drop some outlandish remark that might shock them.

“I didn’t know automobile drivers were so handsome.” Avis greeted Peter with a gleam in her eyes. “If someone had told me, I’d have taken up racing myself instead of art.”

Peter was stunned, and a quick glance at Jolie told him that she was not pleased with Avis’s comment. Clearing his throat, he managed a grin, saying, “Oh, all of us drivers are good-looking—it’s a requirement.”

“Well now, you must show me this car of yours.” Avis took
Peter’s arm possessively and led him away. She was looking up at him, smiling and giving him her full attention.

“Quite a lady friend you’ve got there, Phil,” Easy spoke up, a calculating look in his eyes. “Don’t take her long to decide if she likes a fellow or not.”

“She’s pretty outlandish,” Phil admitted, watching the two. He turned to Jolie and said, “Better keep your eye on Peter. I think she’s decided that a racing driver is a better catch than a starving artist.”

“He’s acting like a silly schoolboy,” Jolie practically spat out. “Can’t he see what she is?” By the time the call came for the drivers to man their cars, Avis had captivated Peter with her charms.

“Never met a woman quite like Avis,” Peter remarked as he walked toward the car beside Easy.

“No? Well, I’ve met a few in my day,” Easy shouted over the roar of the engine. “Better watch your step, buddy!”

Just before the race was about to begin, Peter climbed into the driver’s seat with Easy right beside him. Peter looked over and grinned. “I don’t know why two men have to be in these cars all cramped up. What are you going to do if we have engine trouble? Get out and fix it while we’re going ninety miles an hour?”

“Ninety miles an hour?” Easy laughed. “Don’t you wish it was so? What do you think? Have we got a chance, Peter?”

“I don’t know. All I plan on doing is to step on the gas and keep it there until we win, or run off the track, or hit somebody.”

“The competition looks pretty stiff,” Easy said.

Peter looked around with a worried expression. “I think that fellow Lancia driving the Fiat is the one to beat.”

“Yeah, I heard about him. He’s the son of a soap manufacturer. That’s some machine he’s driving. I heard he won the race up in Boston last week. The rest of the drivers didn’t see anything but dust.”

He looked around at all the cars lined up, their engines
roaring, waiting for the starting signal. “We’re going to have to go some to beat these fellas. That fellow Charles Row—you see him in that horrible-looking yellow Wolseley? He won the Gordon Bennett cup in that last year, so when you see yellow try to go by it.”

As soon as Easy spoke, the gun sounded, and Peter yelled, “Here we go, Easy!”

The air was filled with a thunderous explosion as fourteen powerful cars started at once, roaring as they took off down the speedway. Since there was no grandstand, the crowd stood on both sides of the dirt track, quickly surrounded by the rising cloud of dust.

As they made the first turn, Peter shouted, “Well, we’re in the middle of the pack, Easy. All we got to do now is beat the other half.”

“Watch where you’re goin’! That guy in the Bugatti is going to close in on you and cut you off!” Easy hollered.

It was a demanding race, for some of the best drivers in America and a few from overseas had come to race for the prized trophy. The cars, all of them two-seaters, roared and jockeyed for position. Peter frequently wiped his goggles with a quick swipe of his arm, but before long they were again coated with dust. At times he was driving by little more than sheer instinct. One car rammed into the side of the
Jolie Blonde,
knocking it sideways, and Easy half rose and shook his fist, shouting at the driver, who grinned back at them and held one thumb up in the air.

“Knock him off the road, Peter!” Easy yelled.

“No time for that. We can fight after the race is over.”

Clinton and Phil stood along the side of the track with Jolie and Avis, watching the race. Jolie had been very cool to Avis but now forgot about her in the excitement. They watched as the cars spun around the track, all trying to move into a better position. Halfway through, one of them caught the wheel of the car in front and threw both cars into a spin.
The others swerved, but another car coming up from behind them plowed into the spinning cars.

“Look out, Peter!” Jolie cried. Only by expert driving did Peter manage to steer his way around the tangle.

Avis Warwick watched calmly for a while, then she, too, grew excited. She had a strong competitive streak in her, and now her eyes lit up as she saw that Peter had a chance to win.

The last lap became a duel between Peter and a big green Bugatti that roared like a banshee. They fought for first place, but when the checkered flag went down, it was the Bugatti that won.

“They lost!” Avis cried. “They came so close.”

“They did well to come in second in that field,” Clinton said. “Come on. Let’s go and congratulate them.”

They shouldered their way through the crowd and watched as the driver of the Bugatti took the cup and the prize, but then Peter was awarded a smaller cup and an envelope with cash in it.

Avis ran up and hugged Peter. “You did marvelous.” She suddenly reached up, pulled his head down, and kissed him.

Peter was taken aback, and glancing around, he saw Jolie staring at them with displeasure. “Time to go out and eat and celebrate. We didn’t win, but we came close.”

Phil begged off on the dinner that followed. Avis insisted on taking them to a French restaurant. As soon as they went in, all of her guests were immediately aware that this woman was no tourist. The head waiter came up and bowed as soon as he saw her.

“Ah, Madame Warwick, your usual table?”

“Yes, and you’ll have to treat us nice tonight. This is the famous racing driver, Mr. Peter Winslow.”

“Ah, Mr. Winslow, it is a pleasure. Please come this way.”

They were seated at a table over to one side of the glass-walled dining room, and at once Avis said, “Let me order the food. If you don’t like one dish, you’ll have another.” Immediately, she began to order in French. When the food
arrived, it was constantly being whisked away and replaced with a new dish before they had finished.

“I don’t get enough of anything to eat,” Easy protested as the waiter removed his plate and put another one in front of him.

Avis laughed at him. “There’s plenty more to come. Peter, you’re going to dance with me. Clinton, why don’t you ask Jolie to dance?”

Clinton rose at once. “Why, of course.”

Easy sat back and watched the two couples move out on the floor. When the waiter came by, Easy grabbed him by the arm and said, “Hey, buddy.”

“Yes, monsieur?”

“Who is this woman, Avis Warwick?”

“You do not know her? You are her guest, are you not?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know much about her.”

The waiter leaned forward and lowered his voice. “She is the widow of Charles Warwick, who was one of the wealthiest manufacturers in the state. He was an old man when he married. When he died, he left all of his fortune to his widow. She is a very wealthy woman.”

“Well, glad to hear it. Maybe I can have some more of them snails you been bringin’ in here.”

Avis was dancing with Peter and smiling up at him, saying, “Are you proud of what you won or sorry that you didn’t win first place?”

“We were lucky,” Peter shrugged. “We shouldn’t have even finished in the first five. Their cars were built a lot better and much faster.”

“Why don’t you get a bigger, faster car?”

“It takes a lot of money, Avis.”

Avis considered him awhile, then said, “Maybe I can help.”

“Help in racing? You don’t know anything about it, do you?”

“No, but I could help with the money. I’ve got plenty of that.”

“I couldn’t take money from a woman,” Peter objected.

Avis Warwick was pleased with his reply, but she laughed. “You
are
a dinosaur. There are no more left like you. Come on, let’s go get something to drink. Oh, I forgot, you don’t drink. Well, let’s go get
me
something to drink,” she said as she hooked her arm in his and led him back to the table where Easy was enjoying another dish of snails.

The party went on for quite a while, and when they finally left, Avis packed them all into cabs that were waiting. She held on to Peter’s arm and said, “I’ll take care of this one. Good night to the rest of you.”

Jolie sat between Clinton and Easy in the cab, fuming. “Who does she think she is?”

“She thinks she’s a rich woman,” Easy said wryly and told Jolie what he had heard about her wealth from the waiter.

“Well, I don’t care if she is rich. I don’t like her.”

“Now I remember reading something about her,” Clinton said. “She’s kind of an outlaw—always getting into some kind of jam. I just didn’t remember it before.”

When they arrived at the boardinghouse, where Easy and Jolie got out, Clinton got out with them and said, “Congratulations, Easy. That’s a wonderful car you and Peter have built.”

“Couldn’t have done it without your help, Clinton,” Easy said. He looked at the two and said abruptly, “Good night,” then walked quickly into the building.

“I’ve got to get home,” Clinton said.

Jolie was still angry. “I can’t stand that woman! You can tell she’s no good!”

“How can you tell that?” asked Clinton, surprised at Jolie’s outburst.

“I’ve seen enough no-goods to know one. Haven’t you?”

“Well, I guess not really.” Clinton had not seen a great deal of the world, and now he asked uncertainly, “Will I see you again, Jolie, getting ready for the next race?”

“Yes, I expect so, Clinton. Good night.” Jolie turned and stalked into the building.

For a moment, Clinton stood there and watched, then he climbed back into the cab and gave the driver directions to his house.

Jolie went to her own room and paced angrily, clenching her fists. “That Avis woman! You can tell what she’s like. She’s after men, and she doesn’t care how she gets them. Peter’s got to be warned. Don’t guess she has to care, with her money. Surely Peter’s got better sense—” She stopped, then said, “She’s beautiful and rich.” Slowly her hand reached up and she touched the scar that traced her cheek in a long line. She grew silent then and tried to shake the thoughts out of her head.

When Clinton got out of the cab, he paid the driver and walked inside. He had barely closed the door when his father strode out of the study and came rapidly down the hall, his face cloudy. “Where have you been, Clinton?” he demanded.

Clinton considered lying for one moment, but something stirred within him. “I’ve been out with some friends.”

“Out where?”

Again Clinton tried to evade the issue, but his father pressed for an answer. “Where have you been that you’re so ashamed of it?”

“I’m not ashamed of it! I’ve been to an automobile race with the Winslows. Phil was there and his cousin Peter was in the race. I told you about them. Fine young men, both of them.”

“I told you I didn’t want you to go to those races! Besides, it’s late. They weren’t racing this time of the night.”

Now half angry, Clinton said, “We went out for supper.”

“Alone? Just you men?”

“No, Avis Warwick invited us to a fine restaurant and a young woman named Jolie Devorak went along, too. I don’t really want to talk about this now, Father.”

“We’ll talk about it all right! Don’t you have any idea who
Avis Warwick is? Why, she’s nothing but a hussy! Everyone in New York knows she’s nothing but an adulterous woman! I’m ashamed of you, Clinton! And this other young woman, she’s probably no better!”

For the first time in his life, Clinton looked at his father and said with a timbre of defiance in his voice, “You don’t even know anything about her. She’s a fine young woman! There’s nothing wrong with Miss Devorak!”

“Who is she?” Oliver Lanier’s face was flushed and his eyes were squeezed together. He hated for any situation involving his family to be out of his control. He listened impatiently as Clinton tried to explain Jolie Devorak. “It sounds to me,” Oliver said, “like she’s living with those two men. I forbid you to have anything to do with them!”