Blood Red

by John Creasey

  She appeared, a vision in scarlet. She looked so vividly beautiful that it seemed to light up and give fire to the drab grey street.

  Lorna caught her breath, and as the girl stood by Wray’s side, she breathed, ‘What a beautiful dress! Oh, John, and that girl. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Something made Rosamund look up, so that both of them could see her. This dress was also high at the neck, but sleeveless; that showed as she adjusted the light wrap. Her hair looked jet black against the red, and the whiteness of her shoulders.

  ‘She’s come straight out of a Botticelli,’ Lorna said, as if overawed.

  Mannering did not speak, for he had not been studying the girl or Theodorus: he had been watching the perky little man who now seemed almost shabby. This man had one hand in his pocket, and stood almost aggressively, watching the couple.

  In the front room of a downstairs flat, Thomas of Quinns was standing by the window, on guard because the Red Eye of Love was in Mannering’s flat, and no one must come near unless they could be vouched for.

  The stranger drew nearer the couple.

  Mannering saw him speak.

  Theodorus Wray took his arm off the girl’s. She put a hand on his, as if trying to keep him close to her; something in her manner suggested that she was pleading with him. She actually tried to drag him back as he went towards the little man, who stood with his right hand in his pocket, shoulders squared in a kind of defiance.

  Lorna’s hand was tight about Mannering’s arm. ‘What’s he going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Has he got a gun?’ Lorna was breathless.

  ‘Tom’s at the window,’ Mannering reminded her.

  ‘That won’t be any use if—’ Lorna began, and broke off with a catch at her breath.

  Theodorus Wray was taking a long, slow step one moment, and going forward like a rocket the next. The little man snatched his hand out of his pocket, and a dark weapon showed: not a gun or a knife, but a leather cosh. He had no time to raise it, before Wray was upon him, fists moving like pistons. The little man gave ground and tried to turn and run, but could not turn away. Then a second man, much larger, jumped out of the Jaguar and flung himself at Wray.

  Lorna exclaimed, ‘He’ll kill him!’

  Rosamund obviously saw the second man coming, and actually went forward as if to intercept, but, in a flurry of movement so fast that it was hard to be sure exactly what happened, the perky little man crashed down at full length. Wray turned to meet the second, larger man, who also carried a weapon, which looked like a length of rubber piping. He made one sweeping blow with it, aimed at Wray’s head, and missed by inches. Next moment he must have felt as if he had been hit by an elephant, for he went staggering back until he flopped down. He banged his head on the pavement, and lay very still.

  Thomas of Quinns appeared from the house, running furiously.

  ‘You’re late, Tom,’ Mannering murmured. ‘I think you’ll nearly always be late for Theo Wray.’

  Wray had turned from the two fallen men, the larger of whom still lay there, while the other tried to scramble to his feet. Neither of them appeared to exist for Wray. He rubbed his hands together, then flexed his fingers, slid his arm through Rosamund Morrel’s, and led her to the front door.

  She seemed to go with him as if she’d no will of her own, as if she were floating.

  ‘It’s a pity Theo decided to turn his talents to making money,’ Mannering murmured, and his voice was a little strained. ‘He would have been the best British boxer since Jimmy Wilde. Well, we can leave Tom to pick up the pieces.’ He finished his drink. ‘Come and pretend you didn’t notice a thing; let’s see how they behave when they get here.’

  Lorna finished her gin and Italian, and said, ‘Make my next one stronger,’ and looked at herself in the Georgian mirror over the drawing-room mantelpiece, and poked her hair about; but she did it half-heartedly.

  There was a lift, quite recently installed; any moment the front-door bell would ring, and Claudia, their maid of six months, would open the door and then come and announce them: for Claudia was in her sixties, and knew what service was.

  The front-door bell rang.

  Mannering looked at Lorna and chuckled. ‘I haven’t known you so much on edge for years, not since we first had Bill Bristow here.’

  ‘Be quiet, you fool!’

  The door opened, and grey-haired Claudia appeared and announced as if she was announcing royalty, ‘Miss Rosamund Morrel and Mr Theodorus Wray.’

  Theo came in, with Rosamund on his arm. Rosamund looked a little pale, but Theodorus not only came fresh as from a bandbox, but was smiling as if determined to reveal the brightest, most dazzling smile in the world. His hair looked as if nothing had disturbed it. There was not a wrinkle on that pale mauve coat, his shirt, or his dark navy bow tie, which was very narrow. The studs at the shirt were obviously of diamonds, but they were not ostentatious.

  ‘Hi, John.’ He came forward with hand outstretched, gripped Mannering’s, then slapped him with his free hand across the shoulder. He turned to Lorna, and contrived to put a kind of electric radiance into his smile as he took her hand. ‘I guess you’re Lorna. It’s swell meeting you. I want you to meet the most beautiful girl in the world.’

  He thrust a hand towards Rosamund, like a boxing referee indicating the winner of a closely fought fight. Rosamund looked embarrassed, yet was smiling. She had to take Theodorus as he was, so everyone else had to.

  Lorna expected Theodorus to crush her hand. Instead, he just held it firmly.

  Lorna had already caught a vision of this girl, but realised now, as Rosamund stood with her cheeks slightly flushed and in that glorious scarlet gown, that few could even begin to imagine beauty like it.

  ‘Well, I guess your shop manager wouldn’t come and work for me, so it’s no use trying to bribe your cook away,’ Theo said, and the broad, bright smile which accompanied the words made Lorna and Mannering laugh, and made Wray seem as likeable as a man could be. ‘This place is wonderful. Maybe it doesn’t look much like an ancestral home from the outside, but when you get in here and see some of these antiques – shades of Texas and New South Wales! Gives me a new outlook on a lot of things, John. I guess I’m going to be the biggest customer you ever had. But that can wait. I’ve got something else that can’t wait. I don’t know how I’ve managed to be so patient since we arrived.’

  He looked at Mannering.

  They were back in the drawing room, a room of blues and golds and Regency furniture, of beautiful portraits, including a Gainsborough and two by Lorna Fauntley, now Lorna Mannering. It was large and charming, and the Adam fireplace gave the rest of it a kind of gracefulness which reached to every corner and to the high ceiling.

  Mannering stood by Lorna’s chair; Rosamund was sitting on a stool near the fireplace where a fire glowed, for the evening was chilly. Theo stood between her and Mannering, with that light of challenge in his eyes.

  ‘Theo—’ Rosamund began, as if pleadingly.

  ‘Do you have the Red Eye of Love right here?’ Theo asked.

  ‘Theo, please,’ Rosamund said.

  ‘Just leave this to me, honey.’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t have a cigar, or a cigarette?’ Lorna asked, in a forlorn attempt to change the subject.

  ‘No, thank you, I don’t smoke,’ said Theo. ‘It always seemed to me crazy to burn money. But I’ve got a fat little corner in Rhodesian tobacco, and one of these days I’m going right down to dear li’l old Virginny.’ His smile flashed as he turned back to Mannering. ‘Do you have that ring, John?’

  Mannering looked at Rosamund, who raised her hands and shrugged, as if to say, ‘It’s no use; he’d better have it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mannering said, and slipped his hand into his trousers’ pocket and drew out a beautifully made case of Moroccan leather.

  ‘Why, you’ve had it right next to me all the time!’ Theo exclaimed. ‘I hand it to you, John. May I have
it?’

  Mannering snatched a glance at Rosamund, and thought of what Bristow had said at lunch time. Then he heard Lorna breathe in sharply, as if she had winced at the sight of the ring. All expression except a kind of wonder vanished from Rosamund’s eyes. Theo took her left hand and placed the ring on the engagement finger, just as he had that morning.

  There was a difference now.

  The scarlet of the dress seemed to be reflected in the centre diamond, so that it glowed a deeper red; and as it slid gently upon her finger, the whole of the ring seemed to become alive, to breathe and sparkle like a beautiful woman.

  ‘Now it’s on again, and I don’t want you to take it off until you agree that it’s the ring with which we plight our troth,’ said Theo.

  His voice was almost humble, and his eyes were pleading.

  Chapter Seven

  Decision

  Rosamund knew that both Mannering and his wife were watching her intently, yet she was aware only of the ring blazing on her finger, and of the appeal in Theo’s eyes. He seemed to be begging her to accept the ring, to make it an issue of her love for him. His hands, which could be so vigorous, and sometimes squeezed her until it hurt, were just as firm now; he was oblivious of the Mannerings, of all the world but their two selves.

  She was positive of that.

  Reason told her that this was a kind of madness, that no woman should wear a ring which was both fortune and history on her hand. Thought of the possession of it gave her a choky feeling; as did thought of her love for him.

  He did not speak again, obviously anxious not to break a spell.

  But gradually his fingers tightened, as if he were trying to force the words he longed to hear from her. It was useless to tell herself that it was madness, really a kind of exhibitionism, that he had made a fetish of having only the best, for her and for himself: it was as hard to believe that it was not a love token, but a mark of his own arrogant self-esteem, another indication that, whatever he wanted, he could get. All these things might be true, but the only realities were the fire in the ring and the worship in his eyes and the pressure of his fingers.

  She was going to say yes.

  He sensed it; there must have been something in the movement of her body, perhaps the way she drew in her breath. Whatever it was, he sensed it even before she formed the word. Suddenly she could not form words, because of the pressure of his lips on hers, and his devouring strength.

  Then he let her go. ‘Honey,’ he said, ‘I’m the happiest man in this world.’

  Mannering felt Lorna touching him as they watched the couple. It would be easy to laugh, because she seemed to be willing Rosamund to say yes, seemed to be drawn into the vortex of the couple’s emotions, as she might be at a play or a film, where disbelief was suspended and the players were playing out their own brief drama of love.

  Her eyes were glowing when Theo took the girl in his arms.

  Mannering gave Lorna an understanding squeeze.

  She looked round, and he saw the suspicion of a tear at her eyes, but didn’t scoff. There was sentiment and there was emotion; this was the real stuff of emotion.

  Then Theo drew back, let the girl go, and said in a quiet voice, ‘Honey, I’m the happiest man in this world.’

  He turned round briskly, holding both hands outstretched, and gave a little quirk of a smile as he said, ‘John, you couldn’t run to champagne, could you?’

  ‘I believe we could for an occasion like this,’ Mannering said. ‘Darling, come and help me find it.’ He drew Lorna out of the drawing room. She closed the door, gave a little laugh, and said, ‘I’ve never really believed in people being made for each other before.’

  Mannering put his head on one side. ‘I think I resent that.’

  ‘How long do you think we ought to leave them together?’

  ‘Half an hour will seem like thirty seconds.’

  ‘I suppose so. Well, you get the champagne – it’s up in the studio – and I’ll get the glasses. I don’t suppose Claudia knows where they are; we haven’t had champagne since she came.’ Lorna moved towards the kitchen, and Mannering towards the approach to the bathroom and the loft ladder which led up to the studio. But she came hurrying after him, in alarm. ‘John, I’ve just remembered the fight outside. What do you think that was all about?’

  ‘I want to find out.’

  ‘Theo looked as if he would have killed the man.’

  ‘He probably knows where to draw the line,’ Mannering said. ‘I wonder how they knew that he was coming here. Would he have told the world?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If he didn’t tell anyone else, who did?’

  ‘You mean, did Rosamund?’

  ‘She could have.’

  ‘I think Theo was in a mood where he could have told the first person he came across,’ Lorna asserted, ‘but—oh, forget it. You’re as bad as Bristow and Larraby. Why on earth must you suspect that the girl is setting out to cheat Theo? Have you ever seen anything more genuine than her hesitation about the ring?’

  ‘I’ve never known anything look so genuine.’

  ‘I think she’s perfectly honest, and that she loves him so much that it hurts, even if he is twenty years older,’ Lorna said. ‘I’ll be surprised if they’re not married within the next week or two. Now go and get the champagne, and stop thinking that Rosamund Morrel is a Delilah.’ When Mannering didn’t respond, she added thoughtfully, ‘Of course, I could get to know her better. If she were here every day for a week, sitting for her portrait …’

  ‘You’re going to get to know her better, anyhow; that’s exactly what our Theo wants,’ Mannering reminded her.

  He went up to the studio, with many canvases round the walls and two on easels, its smell of oil paint and turps, its old paint-daubed smock, its memories of their early married life. Lorna had had that breathtaking look of innocence too. Innocence? Mannering wished that there was no murmur of association between this girl and Mickey Odell. He was puzzled for many reasons, few of which he could explain. There was the girl and the causes for suspicion and the fact that her manner and appearance seemed to laugh suspicion away. There was Wray himself, the original human dynamo, a man who obviously knew nothing about precious stones, yet could feel the power of that red diamond.

  Red!

  Rose-pink, Mannering reminded himself; he was letting his imagination run away with him. The colour of the dress, almost certainly chosen by Theo, had turned pink to flaming red, and it had looked as if the touch of the girl’s finger had caused the metamorphosis. She could not have failed to see it, to feel that it was right for her.

  Mannering unearthed the champagne, which was stored in bins in a small loft next to the studio, dusted off two bottles, and took them downstairs. Lorna was ready, with the glasses.

  She carried them so that they rattled noisily, and Mannering kicked deliberately against a chair as he opened the door. When they went in, Theo was on his feet and turning round towards them, his eyes dazed with delight. Rosamund was sitting on a corner of the settee, radiant.

  ‘I want the loudest pop a champagne bottle ever made when it was opened!’ cried Theo, clapping his hands together. ‘How about letting me open it, John? … No, forget it! I was only joking; that’s what people forget about me, I’ve a sense of humour.’ He clapped his hands with a resounding bang. ‘We’re going to be married in a church in three weeks’ time – three weeks on Monday – that’ll give time for the banns to be called. Can you finish that portrait in three weeks, Lorna?’

  Lorna said helplessly, ‘What will you say if I say no?’

  ‘Find a way to make you hurry,’ Theo answered. ‘Maybe the right way would be to ask who you’re painting now, and persuade him or maybe her that he/she wants to go to the South of France for a week or two. Then I’d fix it. I can always fix things,’ he added. ‘There’s nothing you can’t get if you want it hard enough. It isn’t just a question of money, either. Tell me, isn’t that true? Hav
e I mentioned money to you? Hi, honey! Wake up! You can’t spend all the evening looking at that ring; you’ve social duty to attend.’

  Rosamund looked almost guilty as she glanced up from the left hand.

  The two men were together, an hour later, when Lorna and Rosamund were putting the finishing touches to their make-up before they went out to a nightclub; Theo would not listen to the suggestion that he and Rosamund should go alone.

  ‘Theo,’ Mannering said, ‘that diamond is insured only while it’s in my possession.’

  ‘That ring’s insured for all time; I paid the insurance premium this afternoon,’ announced Theo bluffly. ‘I was in time to arrange a transfer from my British funds to Quinns before three o’clock, when your bank closes. Also, I have the documents right here.’ Theo took them out of the pocket of his immaculate jacket. ‘You simply have to telephone your solicitors and your bank manager – I’m told you have their home telephone numbers – to know that it’s okay.’ When Mannering took the documents without a word, Theo shrugged as if to say they could forget all formalities.

  Mannering glanced down at a copy of the draft: it was for seventy-five thousand pounds exactly.

  ‘Let’s go make whoopee,’ Theo said restlessly. ‘How long do you think they’ll be?’

  ‘Not long,’ Mannering said. ‘Do you want Rosamund to wear the ring tonight?’

  ‘Too right I do!’

  ‘A lot of people would do murder to get their hands on it.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ said Theo offhandedly. ‘No one is going to murder anybody while I’m around – or while you’re around, either. I’ve been—’

  ‘I know, you’ve been checking on me,’ said Mannering hastily. ‘Who were the two men outside tonight?’

  Theo took that well; there was only a tightening of his lips and a narrowing of his eyes. He went a little white round the nostril and lips too, but his voice didn’t alter. ‘So you saw that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You couldn’t have had a better view if you’d had a seat in the bleachers,’ Theo said, and shrugged as he did at nearly everything: abruptly. ‘John, I’ve made a lot of fortunes. I’ve made them in a lot of places, I’ve made a lot of men too, and broken others. I couldn’t help it – often I didn’t even know them. If I’d known them, I would have told them to get out before they got hurt. But I didn’t know them. I’m big business. I’m more than big business, I’m MONEY in capital letters. I’m not human. I don’t have flesh and blood like ordinary people when I’m buying land or stocks. I’m a machine and I’m using cyphers. That’s the beginning and the end of it – until some of the cyphers get hurt. Then they become flesh and blood. What I’m trying to say,’ went on Theo very quietly, ‘is that I make enemies. There’s one kind of person who gets hurt and can find his peace only in hurting back. There’s the kind who won’t risk his own skin but hires others to do the rough stuff too. I’m used to them all. You don’t have to worry about me.’