by John Creasey
‘Maybe you and I aren’t going to get along so well as I hoped we would,’ Theo said, very softly. ‘I guess we’d better part company before we run into real trouble.’
‘What on earth’s the matter with you two?’ Lorna demanded, although she knew quite well why Mannering had reacted so sharply. In the face of another outburst he would react just as sharply again, or Theo would become dominant. ‘I think we’re all tired. Rosamund’s coming home with us, and I’m not going to allow a silly quarrel to prevent that. Shall we go now, John? It won’t take Rosamund and me five minutes to get our things.’
‘Why not?’ Mannering said. ‘You go ahead, while I pay the bill.’
‘I pay the bill,’ Theo said arrogantly.
Mannering stood up as Lorna and Rosamund got up, and Rosamund looked straight ahead of her, as if afraid to look into Theo’s eyes. Odell was at the other side of the dance floor, looking their way; he still seemed to be amused, the girl still moulded herself against him. Theo was standing as stiff as a ramrod. A waiter came, to shift the chairs back.
‘Bring the bill, please,’ Mannering said, and then relaxed, smiled, and drew a coin from his pocket. Theo was glaring. ‘Heads you pay, tails I pay,’ Mannering said. ‘Or would you rather call?’
There was a moment’s pause.
Then: ‘You spin, I’ll call.’ Theo watched the two-shilling piece go up, catching the light. ‘Heads.’ It came down heads on the back of Mannering’s hand, and Theo’s eyes lit up. ‘I pay,’ he repeated. ‘In any case it would be crazy to have you pay for this night of all nights. What got into you, John? That the way you always treat your friends?’
‘I can’t afford to be mixed up in a fracas here, nor can you,’ said Mannering, sitting down again and taking out cigarettes. He had already learned not to offer them to Theo. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that even a human dynamo gets run down, and that you’re overdoing it? Any more outbursts like that will scare Rosamund much more than any old flame will.’
‘You didn’t see the look in her eyes. She was scared.’
‘If you saw a scratch on her chin you’d think it done with a carving knife,’ Mannering said. ‘You’re not seeing things straight, because you’re living too much on your nerves. Sooner or later you’ll have to give them a rest.’
‘I’m going to give them a long rest on my honeymoon,’ Theo announced, and seemed to be completely himself again. ‘But I don’t like the look of that guy. How long was he a friend of Rosamund?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How much do you know about what you do know?’
‘Sometimes not much. I’ve seen Rosamund at dinner dances and night clubs with the chap over there, and, judging from the way he looked at you, he’d like to break your neck. Rosamund is quite a prize, in case you didn’t realise it. I don’t want you in a magistrate’s court tomorrow morning charged with assault and battery, and I don’t want him there, either. If I were you, I wouldn’t try to make Rosamund talk too much about this. If it’s upset her, she’ll take a while to get over it. Forget it for tonight, anyhow. Tomorrow she’ll probably feel she can talk freely about it.’ Mannering motioned the waiter away, although the man held the bill. ‘Knowing you, and seeing how you can flare up like a volcano, she probably thought it wiser not to say anything about the fact that she’s had other boy friends.’
Theo was now smiling contentedly. ‘It happened once in Australia and twice in America,’ he said, apparently apropos of nothing. ‘Meeting guys who made me enjoy the fight, I mean. Guys like you. Okay, John. If it comes to that,’ he went on with the devastating honesty which seemed an integral part of his character, ‘I wouldn’t like Rosamund to know how much of a man I’ve been with some of the damsels who thought that it would be pleasant to be on my payroll. Okay, let me pay that bill. I won’t say a word to Rosamund about all this.’ He glanced at the bill, put down notes to cover it and a good but not overgenerous tip, then moved towards the door. He glanced at the dance floor as he moved. Micky Odell was quite near, looking towards him. The girl seemed to have fallen asleep; her movements were like those of someone dancing in a trance. ‘But I’d sure like to pick a quarrel with that guy,’ he added. ‘Do you know who he is?’
‘Micky something or other,’ said Mannering casually. ‘And you keep out of quarrels; you’ve got a marriage on your hands.’
‘I’d just like one poke at him,’ said Theo longingly. Mannering wondered what would happen if Theo ever learned who Micky Odell really was: what he would do if he was told that some people believed that Rosamund was part of a plot to fleece him. Was she?
The women came as soon as Mannering and Theo reached the foyer. This time the cloakroom girl found time to glance at Mannering and at Theo, and seemed undecided about who warranted attention more. The doorman was waiting, as if he had already been warned to expect them. The Bentley was only a few yards away, and they could walk towards it; there was no need for Theo to fetch it.
‘Goodnight, sir, goodnight, Madam. Mr Mannering, sir, could you spare me a moment?’ The doorman knew Mannering of old, and might want any kind of favour.
‘You carry on,’ Mannering said to the others, and smiled. ‘Yes, Fred?’
‘Just thought I’d tell you, sir,’ the doorman said in a whisper. ‘There’s a chap on a motorbike, been hanging around a lot for the past couple of hours. He was behind you and the Bentley when you arrived.’
‘You were right,’ said Mannering. ‘Thanks a lot.’ He hurried after the others, for a word with Theo before they started off, then felt a spasm of alarm. A short man stepped out of the shadows towards the Bentley as the party of three reached it. Mannering began to run, and called, ‘Look to your right, Theo!’
Theo was already looking to his right.
A street light fell upon the face of the short man, who made no attempt to conceal himself.
‘Hi, Charley,’ Theo greeted, and Rosamund seemed to echo the greeting with a subdued, ‘Hallo, Charley.’
‘John, I want you to meet Charley Simpson, who looks after me like a brother,’ Theo went on. ‘Bodyguard, secretary, masseur, chauffeur, and all the rest rolled into one. Follows me everywhere like Mary’s little lamb, unless I manage to dodge him, or give him so much work he has to be in two places at once.’
‘Like tonight,’ Charley said dryly. ‘But you’re asking for trouble, and you know it.’
‘I can go out by myself sometimes; I’m a big boy now,’ Theo said mildly. ‘Charley, this is Mr John Mannering. You were finding out all you could about him last night, remember?’
Charley looked up.
He had a strong, frank, open, easy-to-smile face, with a broken nose, a broad forehead, a square chin. There was something familiar about him, but Mannering couldn’t place him for the moment, and he didn’t comment, just shook hands. Charley’s grip was very firm.
‘And Mrs Mannering, you know, the portrait painter,’ Theo went on, waving his hand at Lorna.
‘Glad to know you, Mrs Mannering,’ Charley said. ‘Proud to meet you, Mr Mannering.’ His voice was pleasant, more cultured than Mannering had expected: undoubtedly public school. ‘Theo, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Rosamund looks tired out.’
‘This is my night,’ Theo said, half ruefully. ‘All the world is putting me in my place. You want to know something, Charley? Rosamund’s staying with the Mannerings tonight.’
‘Why, that’s wonderful!’ Charley sounded delighted.
‘You’ve said it,’ said Theo. ‘Why don’t you take half a day off and go back to the hotel? I’ll be able to get myself from Chelsea to the Panorama.’
‘I had my half day off at dinner,’ said Charley dryly. ‘And old Bettley left at ten o’clock, with plenty for me to do, so the quicker we start, the better.’
‘What did I tell you? Everywhere poor Theo went, Charley lamb was sure to go,’ misquoted Theo. ‘Have it your own way.’
Charley followed them, waited outside as they went up to the fla
t, and drove after the Bentley when, about two o’clock, Theo drove away. It was as if Charley, much more than Theo, believed that there was cause for fear. Coupled with the incident earlier in the evening, and the fight with the two men from the Jaguar, it was enough to make Mannering wonder what lay behind this fear, and behind the need for Theo’s having a constant watchdog. And why did Theo pay a guard, then sometimes take pleasure in avoiding him?
He could worry about all this tomorrow, Mannering decided.
‘I don’t care what you, Bristow, or even Micky Odell says, she’s absolutely and helplessly in love with Theo, and she wouldn’t work with anyone against him,’ Lorna said, as she entered the main bedroom after leaving Rosamund. ‘I don’t know why she was scared of Micky Odell, though.’
‘You agree that she was.’
‘Of course she was. I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t trying to make her work against Theo, but I don’t think anything in the world would.’ Lorna stifled a yawn. ‘I’ll start the portrait in the morning, and get her talking. I don’t think it will be long before she tells me all about it.’
‘If you really did what Theodorus would like, you’d go up to the studio now and start preparing the canvas,’ Mannering said.
‘If that’s funny, I’m too tired to see it,’ Lorna said. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, stared, and said almost sadly, ‘Even when I was her age, I wasn’t a patch on her, and it’s no use telling me that I was.’
‘You weren’t a patch on her,’ agreed Mannering solemnly.
‘Don’t be a brute,’ said Lorna tartly.
Mannering woke first, a little after eight o’clock, saw that Lorna was sleeping very soundly, got out of his bed without disturbing her, and pulled on his dressing gown. Once in the lounge hall, he heard the chink of cups: Claudia was getting ready for the morning tea, and would almost certainly have a kettle singing, so as to make it the moment either of them rang. He went to the kitchen door, and the grey-haired maid looked round, a rather severe-faced sixty-two or -three, with her hair drawn straight back to a bun. She was ultra-efficient but, as far as Mannering knew, not particularly warmhearted. The creed of Claudia might be called: I Know My Place.
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘’Morning, Claudia. Tea for one, please. I won’t disturb Mrs Mannering yet.’
‘Very good, sir. Will you have it in the study?’
‘The dining room. And I’ll have breakfast in half an hour,’ Mannering said. ‘Don’t go into the spare room. Miss Morrel stayed the night, and may be staying for a while longer.’
‘I won’t disturb her or Madam, sir.’
‘Fine,’ said Mannering, and whistled softly as he bathed, then shaved, crept into the bedroom for his clothes, and found Lorna stirring but sleepy enough to say that she didn’t want any tea yet. Dressed, he went out. The post came, but there was nothing of much interest in it, nothing to push Mannering’s thoughts off the problems which Theo Wray had caused, and the problem of Rosamund and Micky Odell. Lorna was probably right, and would be able to make the girl talk; once she did, they might be able to find the truth. Running through all his musings was the evidence of taut nerves in Theodorus: in a dangerous surge of overwhelming fury, Wray might do irretrievable harm. Cause for jealousy would probably spark off another outburst.
Mannering was glad when Lorna rang; he went in, and found that she couldn’t get to sleep again.
Claudia brought her tea.
‘You look disgustingly fresh,’ Lorna complained.
‘It’s my clean living,’ Mannering retorted. ‘Awake enough to tackle a problem, sweet?’
‘If it’s not too involved.’ In a pink bed jacket, Lorna looked fresh and much younger than she had any right to expect. ‘About Rosamund, I suppose, and the boy friend you invented for her last night.’
‘Yes.’
‘I was never keen on white lies,’ Lorna said, sipping her tea, ‘and this one could cause a lot more complications than most. I’ll talk to her, and telephone you at the shop. Must you be so early there this morning?’
‘I think I’m going to need time off during the day,’ said Mannering, and kissed her, and left the flat.
As he turned into the street, he saw a parked Vespa, of palest blue, and after that wasn’t really surprised to see Quinns’ Thomas coming towards him. The oldest of the Tom, Dick, and Harry trio looked refreshingly young, brisk, and capable. He had not distinguished himself at Oxford, from the scholarly angle, scraping through with a pass, but he had been Universities’ heavyweight champion for three years.
‘Hallo, Tom, still on duty?’ Mannering greeted.
‘I thought I’d better be, sir.’
‘Quite right. Sure it’s your cup of tea?’
‘One of the reasons I came to Quinns was to be at hand if there was any trouble,’ Tom reminded him with an appreciative grin. ‘It was John Mannering the investigator rather than John Mannering the collector and connoisseur I wanted to work for. So unless you’ve someone else in mind, I’d very much like to keep the job of looking after Miss Morrel.’ He tried not to show how much this mattered.
Mannering said, ‘You’ve got the job, Tom.’
The glowing brown eyes lit up. ‘That’s wonderful! Thanks very much.’
‘And you’re in the right place to start,’ said Mannering. ‘She’s here now. But you’d better go back to Quinns and we’ll sort things out there, then you can come back. I doubt if Miss Morrel will be awake for a couple of hours.’
‘I’ll go ahead, and clear the way for you,’ promised Thomas.
There was a heavy mail at the shop, and Thomas was dealing with several current inquiries; he had to pass on technical details to Larraby. The shop was blessedly quiet, and only two people came in before half past ten. By then, Mannering had cleared his desk, and was ready to send Thomas back to Green Street. His hand was actually on the bell-push to summon him when the telephone bell rang: the line direct to his desk, with a number known to few.
He lifted it.
‘Mannering here.’
‘John.’ It was a breathless Lorna: if he were right, a nervous one. ‘I’m worried out of my wits. Rosamund got up just after you left, and seemed as happy as she could be, until she had a telephone call.’
‘A call for her?’
‘Yes. A man whose voice I didn’t recognise asked for her. I’ve never seen such a transformation. She lost her colour so quickly I thought she was going to faint. She hardly said a word, just: “All right, I’ll come,” and then put the receiver down. I didn’t question her at the time – it would have been useless – but I thought I’d have time to over breakfast. She didn’t have anything to eat, though, just went and got dressed. I’d lent her a morning frock which was rather too large,’ Lorna added, talking as if she was really worried. ‘Then she said she had to go out, she was sorry she couldn’t say where, and went off, looking really ill. I tried to persuade her to tell me what was the matter, but she wouldn’t say a word. Then I looked out of the window, and—John, Micky Odell was waiting for her in a car.’
Chapter Ten
Pressure
Rosamund saw Odell as she stepped out of the house, and she hesitated for a moment, looking almost as if she would turn round and run up the stairs again. But she did not. Odell stood by the side of a low-built Italian sports car, its pale blue shining in the morning sun. He smiled at her, and there was the slightly sneery look on his face which had been there the night before. He opened the door for her, and Rosamund hesitated again, then stepped in. He closed the door with exaggerated care, and, without saying a word, climbed in the other side. He switched on the ignition, started the engine, and eased the car away from the kerb.
He drove to the Embankment, and then along towards the centre of London, but he soon turned off, and headed for the dense mass of houses beyond.
Rosamund felt the turmoil of her thoughts mingling with fear of this man. Her heart was pounding. She longed for him to spe
ak, and yet hated what she was sure he was going to say. But although he kept silent, and was obviously waiting for her to speak, she said nothing. Now and again he glanced at her.
She didn’t look at him, just sat with her hands in her lap, wearing her own evening gloves and Lorna Mannering’s dark blue dress, which was a little full at the breast and the waist, as well as an inch or so too long.
At last Odell spoke, with an edge to his voice. ‘If you think you can outsmart me, pet, you’ve another think coming. Don’t forget that.’
‘I’m not outsmarting you or anyone,’ Rosamund said tensely. ‘I told you a week ago that I wouldn’t have anything to do with defrauding anyone, and the last person in the world I’d let you cheat would be Theo.’
‘And I told you that you’d find yourself in a lot of trouble if you didn’t do what I told you.’
‘I don’t care what you say,’ Rosamund said. ‘I’m not going to help you, and if you attempt to cheat Theo, I shall tell him what you’re trying to do.’
She was looking at him now, and saw the way he smiled, the corner of his lip curling, so that she could just see his white teeth. There had been a time when she had thought him wonderful; nearly all the girls who moved into his set did. He could be wonderful too. He could behave as the kindest, most generous man alive, and his gentleness was unbelievable.
He could hurt, also.
And he could frighten.
She had told herself that she was free from him; that although she had friends who were not free and still worked with him, she could stay within that set, yet not be compelled to do whatever he wanted. She had not realised how clever he was.
She was beginning to.
He drove with a light, almost delicate touch, and the car weaved in and out of the traffic, outpacing every other vehicle but seldom appearing to go very fast. People stared; no doubt many with envy. They reached Kensington High Street, not far from Rosamund’s apartment, and she realised that he was taking her there.
The traffic thinned.
‘I don’t want to be unreasonable, Rosie,’ he said, using the diminutive which she had outgrown years ago. ‘I don’t want to break up your plans for the future. If you’re in love with Wray, that’s all right with me – marry him, set up house with him, whether it’s on board a yacht in the Mediterranean or a villa in the Bahamas. I don’t want to get in anybody’s way. But he’s got a lot of money – he has so much that it hurts even to think of it – and I want a share. Not just that ring you had last night, but a good share. That’s all.’