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Ketcham made his way to the door and shouted “Help” and “Hello” and beat on the door with his fists, which caused the door to resound like a bell.
No one responded.
Ketcham made his way to the corner opposite from the toilet, and rested his back against the wall, and started to weep in the darkness.
The parking lot of the country club was nearly full, and Matt lost sight of Susan’s Porsche while finding a place to park the Plymouth. After three minutes of wandering around the parking lot, he found the car, but not Susan.
“Thank you ever so much for waiting for me,” he muttered, and headed for the brightly lit entrance to the club-house.
He found Susan in the center of the large entrance foyer, talking to a man whose dress and manner made Matt guess—correctly, it turned out—that he was the steward, or manager.
“Good evening,” Matt said, smiling.
“Matt, this is Mr. Witherington, the manager.”
“Claude Witherington,” the man said as he put out his hand to Matt. Then he was unable to resist making the correction: “Executive Manager, actually. Welcome to River View, Mr. Payne. We hope you’ll enjoy our facilities.”
“Thank you very much,” Matt said.
“After Mr. Reynolds called,” Witherington said, “I had your guest card made out.” He handed it to Matt.
“Thank you,” Matt said.
“This is a no-cash club,” Witherington said. “I thought I should mention that.”
“How am I going to pay?”
“Have you a home club?”
“I belong to Merion, in Philadelphia, if that’s what you mean.”
“Splendid. Merion, of course, is on our reciprocal list. Actually, had I known that, I wouldn’t have had to issue a guest card at all. In any event, all you will have to do is sign the chit, and if you think of it, add ‘Merion, Philadelphia. ’ ”
“Actually, I think it’s in Merion,” Matt said. “What should I do, write ‘Merion, Merion’?”
Susan Reynolds shook her head, but there was the flicker of a smile on her lips. Mr. Witherington looked distressed, but after a moment smiled happily.
“You just sign your name, Mr. Payne, and I’ll handle it from there. You’ll be billed through your club.”
“You’re very kind, thank you very much.”
“Not at all,” Witherington said. “Enjoy, enjoy!”
He walked off.
Susan put out her hand.
“Good night, Matt.”
“Good night?”
“Good night.”
“That wasn’t our deal, fair maiden. Our deal was that I help you deceive your parents—and that was difficult for me; they’re nice people—and in return you keep me from being overwhelmed by loneliness here in the provinces. I kept up my end of the deal, and I expect the same from you.”
“Matt, if you go into the bar, and hold your left hand up so that people can see you don’t have a wedding ring, a half dozen—what did you say, ‘fair maidens’?—will fall over themselves to get at you.”
“I know, that happens to me all the time. But I’m not that sort of boy. I don’t let myself get picked up by strange young ladies. And I don’t kiss on the first date. Besides, if you went home now, so soon, your daddy and mommy might get the idea our romance is on the rocks.”
