Tell It To The Birds

"I was admiring your garden," he said. "I would very much like to see it in daylight. As I drove up, my headlights showed me some of the finest roses I have ever seen."

Barlowe was about to open the front door; now he paused.

"Are you interested in gardening?"

"I'm crazy about it, but unfortunately I live in an apartment. My father had a cottage in Carmel. He grew roses, but they weren't in the same class as yours."

"Is that a fact?" Barlowe was now completely relaxed. "Would you like to see my garden?" His ill-tempered face softened. "I'll show it to you."

He opened a cupboard by the front door and Anson saw the cupboard contained a number of electrical switches.

Barlowe flicked them all down, then he opened the front door.

Anson moved forward, then paused.

The small garden had been transformed into a fairyland. Although he could see no sign of any lamps, the garden was now artistically and beautifully floodlit. It was as if the flowers themselves were producing their own lights. Even the fountain and the fish pond were bathed in blue and yellow lights.

"Well for Pete's sake!" Anson said, catching his breath. He pushed past Barlowe and stood on the drive, staring. There was no need for him to pretend. The sight of this beauty, the gay play of the fountain, the colour and the flowers caught him by the throat.

"I did it all," Barlowe said, standing by his side. "Everything... I grew the flowers: lighted them; made the fountain ... I did everything."

"I would give five years of my life to be able to create a thing like that," Anson said and at that moment he meant it.

"I've given a lot of the years of my life learning how to do it," Barlowe said, and suddenly his face became pinched and ill-tempered again. "And where's it got me? Just a small time job with Framley's."

Here it is, Anson thought. Here's what I've been waiting for! Turning to Barlowe, a look of puzzled astonishment on his face, he said, "But why work for anyone, Mr. Barlowe, when you have such a talent? You could make a whale of a lot of money as a landscape architect."

Barlowe made an angry gesture.

"Do you think I haven't thought of that? How can I, without capital? I can't take risks. I'm married and I haven't anything behind me."

"Nothing behind you?" Anson said his voice incredulous. "That's ridiculous! You have this!" He waved dramatically towards the garden. "Any bank would advance you money if they saw this! Haven't you talked to them?"

"My bank won't advance me anything!" Barlowe said bitterly. "I've no security to offer. I have a minus credit rating. My mother cost me ... well, that's neither here nor there. I can't raise a loan. Even the house is mortgaged to the hilt!"

Anson walked away from him. He stood over the floodlit fish pond, watching the goldfish as they moved in the lighted water. He stood there for some moments before Barlowe joined him.

"This interests me," Anson said. "When I see a garden like this ... well, it excites me." He looked at Barlowe. "I see endless possibilities. How much capital would you need to start up on your own? I'm in touch with a lot of people in Brent, Lambsville and Pru Town ... wealthy people. They would be crazy to have a garden like this. I could give you a flock of introductions. How much capital do you want?"

Barlowe's face was suddenly alert and hopeful.

"What are we standing out here for?" he said, putting his hand on Alison's arm. "Let's go inside and I'll tell you about it."

As Anson re-entered the sitting-room and sat down on the settee, he gave Meg a quick furtive wink of triumph.

"I'll be working late, Anna," Anson said. "I have a policy to cope with. No need for you to hang around."

"I'll do it if you like, Mr. Anson," Anna said, "I don't expect it will take long."

"It could do. Isn't this the night you take your boy friend to the movies?"

Anna giggled.

"He takes me, you mean."

"Go on ... get off. I've nothing to do." When she had gone, Anson went to the store cupboard and took from it four policy blanks. He put them on his desk, then lighting a cigarette, he leaned back in his desk chair.

It was now five days since he had talked Barlowe into taking out a $5,000 life insurance policy. Before the deal could be completed, Barlowe had to take the usual insurance medical examination. It would have been tough luck if he had failed it, but he hadn't. Dr. Stevens, who acted for the National Fidelity, had said Barlowe was a first class life.

It was when Anson had explained to Barlowe how he could use a life policy to raise the capital he needed to set up as a horticultural architect - a phrase Anson kept using and which obviously pleased Barlowe — that Barlowe's sales resistance had disappeared. He had become so eager to sign that Anson was worried he had oversold his prospect. He had to explain to Barlowe that before the National Fidelity would accept him as a client he would have to pass a medical examination.