Live, Love, and Cry

by George B Mair

  Deirdre was watching and listening with dawning understanding as the two-edged talk batted to and fro. ‘David and me like privacy, Carol.’

  ‘Privacy!’ The room roared with laughter and Jim wiped tears from his cheeks with an unsteady hand. ‘Good joke that, Deirdre. No s’ch thing ’s privacy anywhere. Carol’s got a two-way mirror in every bedroom. Big kick’s to ask some pompous ol’ basket down f’r weekend ’n’ then watch ’m when ’e thinks ’e’s nice an’ private. No privacy ’ere.’

  ‘Then I’m for home,’ said Deirdre firmly, and lifted her slip.

  The room suddenly became silent.

  ‘You’re jokin’, chicken,’ said Carol Anne slowly. ‘Isn’t done. When gang starts playin’ roulette mus’ go on t’ the end.’

  Her words were slurring and Grant guessed that she would pass out almost any time. She had lowered three straight whiskies since he had arrived and was even fumbling with her cigarette. ‘No hurry, Deirdre,’ he said quietly. ‘Carol was going to tell us where your father might be, remember?’

  Deirdre hesitated and then dropped her slip. ‘I smoked your reefer, Carol, so you do your bit. Where’s Dad?’

  Grant again interrupted. ‘No hurry, Deirdre, Carol’s a good girl and Carol’ll tell us in her own good time. Won’t you, Carol?’

  ‘Carol’ll do sweet muck all,’ said Lou slowly. ‘Carol’ll start the nice music and then Titty can start with David.’

  Grant looked at Deirdre. ‘You look as though you wanted to be sick, honey. How about going and spending another penny first?’ He was sitting on the floor and fiddling with the toe of one shoe.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Carol Anne. ‘Firs’ spend penny and then we’ll all settle down to real business. This party’s no good. Too much talk. Deirdre and David don’ know their cues.’

  She left the room holding Deirdre by the arm and Grant looked straight at Lou as he turned the pivoting heel of his right shoe and heard the tinkle of crushing glass. He had last used this in Moscow Kremlin and knew that he still had enough immunity to the gas it contained to breathe normally. Professor Juin and he had suffered months of dangerous experimental work in the Big House to break through all the technical problems involved in creating one of the most dangerous weapons ever devised for protecting one man against a mob, and he knew he was almost going to enjoy watching this lot of psychopaths pass out.

  Lou looked at him oddly. ‘What’s cookin’, David?’ And then his hands clutched at his throat. Grant saw his eyes blaze with fear and in the same two or three seconds the entire roomful of near-naked men and women flopped where they stood, gasping for breath, unable to speak and clawing at their mouths or neck. Grant knew that they would be dazzled by blazing lights flashing in all directions, and dizzy with a fearsome sense of the room spinning round and round. But he had no sympathy for any of them, and anyhow it was the only way he could think of to keep Deirdre from corruption and at the same time collect witnesses who might be vital for the police.

  Titty Wise was the first to fade into complete unconsciousness, and she lay ungainly on the floor, her head limp against Jim’s twitching feet while Peter’s right arm sprawled limply across her powerful thighs. She was a beautiful creature, with deep hazel eyes and blue-black hair, a swarthy complexion and downy hair covering the angles of her jaw. But Grant guessed that in an emergency she might be the most dangerous one in the room.

  The men lasted four or five seconds longer, but in less than a minute the room was silent, with the au pair girl unconscious on the floor beside the still-moving record.

  Swiftly Grant lifted the girls’ clothing and opened all the windows. Outside in the hall he locked the door, and turned to greet Carol Anne with Deirdre walking down the stairs. ‘Put these on,’ he said briefly.

  Carol Anne had entered the phase of lethargy which usually follows stimulation by marihuana, but she had soused her face with water and although she was looking better Grant knew that inside she must still be disorientated. ‘We’re going places, Carol,’ he said, ‘so get dressed. Deirdre will help you.’ He turned to the girl. ‘How’s it going?’

  She again forced a smile. ‘Might be worse. But for a minute or two that cigarette damn near carried me away. Nearly lost my head. Didn’t care what happened or what I did with anyone. I just wanted to love, and love and love.’

  ‘I like love, too, chicken,’ said Carol sleepily. ‘But where’re we goin’? Carol wants t’ look at a ceiling. Where we goin’, handsome? An’ why can’t Carol go downstairs in her own house?’

  Her eyes became suspicious and Grant laughed aloud. ‘Rest of the party’s away to my place in Troon, Carol. Hank got fed up with Lou. So we’re starting over again later. Get your duds on and move.’

  The gas was heavier than air, but he dreaded a slow drift round the door and into the hall. ‘And just for fun we’ll dress upstairs. C’mon, girls.’

  He pulled Deirdre and Carol up after him and thrilled as Deirdre squeezed his hand. The girl must still be mystified, but he saw that she trusted him. There was a bedroom door open and he could see a small balcony beyond the French-style window. ‘Move, Deirdre,’ he snapped. ‘Give you five minutes and then we go, but keep an eye on Carol Anne while I’m in the hall.’

  He closed the door behind him, ran downstairs and lifted the phone. There was an arrangement that one number would constantly be manned by a responsible person and he got through within seconds. ‘Grant speaking. Send police to Killarney, Midton Road, Prestwick. But not before three hours have passed. Repeat not before three hours. This time necessary clear house of highly dangerous nerve gas. Final repeat. Police only after three hours. Will find three women and four men all unconscious and in varying states undress. Evidence cocaine and marihuana, plus sex orgy. Man of unknown nationality answering to name of Lou friend of Carpenter and probably individual who piloted a transport aircraft loaded with PENTER 15 for treatment Edinburgh water supply. Suggest that total grilling when he is recovering from effects his exposure to gas will produce evidence supporting this statement and possibly leading eventually to still unknown place where Carpenter manufactured his special drug.

  ‘Shall later, and personally, deliver to Troon police a girl called Carol Anne Wilson, who, I hope, will turn Queen’s evidence and state everything she knows about PENTER 15, Carpenter and the man Lou.

  ‘Finally,’ added Grant slowly, ‘suggest police cordon round Killarney in Midton Road to avoid impossible happening and far-out risk of some unexpected recovery and attempt escape, but repeat on no account must police enter house under three hours from now. And not even wearing gas-masks. Standard masks do not protect against the gas used this evening.’

  The message was repeated and he opened both the front door and the gas-filled room before turning again to the stairs.

  The girls were dressed and Carol Anne was smoking sleepily on a chair. ‘Why don’ we jus’ go to bed? We three, handsome?’ she muttered. ‘This stage after roulette we always go bed. What hell’s wrong t’night?’

  Grant lifted her to her feet and opened the windows. ‘Down this way, Deirdre. Only a few feet drop. Ground rises at the back. You go first and catch her if she falls when I let go.’

  Deirdre was bursting with questions, but kept quiet while Grant tucked Carol Anne into the car and then drove at speed back to Troon. At the police station he asked to see the sergeant on duty. A call confirming his credentials was put through to the Edinburgh number and then he carried Carol Anne into the station. She was sound asleep. It was just after midnight and Grant left her to cool off in a cell. He guessed that by morning she would be in a mood to talk. And until then he could do nothing.

  The police were co-operative. The Sergeant seemed intelligent. All was under control and Deirdre was waiting. What more could a man want, he thought, as he darted back to the car.

  ‘And now, David Grant,’ said Deirdre patiently, ‘will you tell me what’s been happening? What did you do to those people?’

 
He squeezed her hand. ‘Supper with a bottle of hock in our room, beautiful, and then I’ll tell you the tale. Up to date we’re doing fine—and congratulations. That was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.’

  Deirdre hesitated. ‘Do you know, David, in a sort of way I liked it. Especially when we both got away safely, but if you want to please me, for goodness’ sake how was it done?’

  He slowed down the car at the entrance to the hotel and kissed her hand. ‘Later,’ he smiled. ‘First a bath and then supper in our rooms. Chicken sandwiches, salad, some fresh pineapple and a bottle of hock. We’ve earned it.’

  Chapter Eleven – ‘This is one fish which isn’t going to get away.’

  ‘And so,’ Grant ended, ‘we’ve got two key witnesses, because both Carol Anne and Lou are suspect. It stands to reason from the hints we had and reading between the lines that Lou knows plenty. So you can rely on my chief to pump out the last syllable that matters.’

  They were relaxing over a glass of wine. Baths had washed away the sense of filth which was in their souls after the roulette game. Deirdre had become talkative and Grant wondered how she had managed to smoke her reefer without much side-effect.

  She laughed. ‘Daddy has told me a lot about drugs. If you mix marihuana leaves and seeds with butter and flour you can get a sort of sweetmeat called majoon which can knock you out in minutes if you eat much. But if you mix the pure drug in a pipe or cigarette the effects vary a lot. Inhaling is fatal and I managed to blow most of it away. Of course, some went inside, but it made me feel terrific. In fact,’ she paused, ‘there were a few minutes when I was really carried away and I can understand now why Mary Jane encourages addiction. There was a marvellous feeling of giddiness, and then I became sort of sleepy: sleepy in the way that you feel you just don’t care. My legs were floppy and everything beautifully relaxed. Sort of,’ she corrected. ‘I got the most naughty ideas and some of these men made me feel funny inside.’

  ‘Which men?’ asked Grant dryly.

  ‘It’s difficult to explain. Not one man. Just any man. I was all googaa. But after a little it passed off. I remember asking for a Pimm—a thing I seldom drink at all—so I guess I must have been a bit crazy. And then I began to show my legs in that silly dance,’ she continued. ‘Not like me at all.’

  Grant had told her the whole story, and the nerve-gas climax had made her smile. It had the advantage that by morning none of the victims could guess what had really happened. They would believe that they had passed out with drink and drugs. And for sure there would be heavy sentences for some. The au pair girl was a minor and the courts would charge every one of them with corrupting her morals. But if Carol Anne turned Queen’s evidence she might not even be charged. Titty Wise would be deported, with or without a short prison sentence, and much would depend on how they co-operated with the police.

  ‘Co-operated,’ said Deirdre. ‘That reminds me of that horribly crude game. Plenty co-operation in Prestwick Roulette. I never realised that people could be so promiscuous. And yet I thought that I was quite worldly in my own way.’

  Grant concealed a cynical smile. Swapping partners and sex orgies had been part of society’s way of life since the beginning of time, but it wasn’t so often that one ran across it personally. People were naturally cautious, but calvinistic Home Secretaries had made it so difficult for people with strong sex instincts to ventilate them except in squalid clubs that the result had been a terrific epidemic of sex parties in society at all levels. Prosperity, like danger, had brought the same sort of need for escape and novelty. People who were fundamentally decent often wanted to break out in the most bizarre ways and it was easier doing this with strangers. Hence the cryptic adverts in many newspapers and the occasional scandal which hit the headlines. No society level was free and one recent Cabinet Minister was said to have the best collection of nasty photographs in Europe. Yet he did his job well.

  ‘So that sort of party is quite normal?’ said Deirdre coldly.

  Grant shrugged his shoulders. ‘Facts are facts. Ask any priest or family doctor and he’ll tell you the same thing.’

  ‘Not for me,’ said Deirdre dryly. ‘A bit crude. And I like to choose my own men.’

  She was wearing a baby-doll nightdress with a Chinese silk brocade house-coat. Her cheeks were still flushed with excitement and her ash-blonde hair rippling over her shoulder in a cascade which contrasted with the deep blues and crimsons of her coat. She was also wearing a platinum ring with a dark green jade seal on her right hand and a pair of lapis-lazuli earrings which must have cost a packet. He moved from his chair and stood beside her. ‘It’s late, sweetie. But you teased me about not asking a straightforward question. Yes or no?’

  She smiled slightly. ‘Always direct, David. I told you that you weren’t sophisticated enough.’

  He knelt at her feet and slowly grasped her thighs, his arms enfolding her in a grip like steel. ‘I would have killed anyone who touched you,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry I exposed you to all that dirt.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t say that, David. One bit of me liked it. And it’s good to know what people do when they’re not themselves.’ Her hands had dropped on his head and she was aimlessly stroking his hair. ‘You look funny when your hair is tousled. And I like when you’re funny. When you are “on parade” it makes me a little frightened.’

  ‘Why?’ His voice was pitched low and she saw that he was hurt, that for David Grant the last sin was to scare or let down a friend. For a split second she saw him as a little boy asking Mother for a sweet: and then he became simply a lonely man who lived a dangerous life asking for a little affection.

  He was clean-cut and strong. A real man. What Sir Alec Douglas-Home had once called a ‘whole man’, and impulsively she wriggled out of her house-coat. ‘That better, David?’

  He looked at her half sadly. Her mood was communicating and the immensity of his task was making him nostalgic. It was the strange introspection of the Celt which bothered him from time to time and made him wish that he could be more the extrovert and more the buffoon. But always his life seemed to have been made up of taut dramas mixed with tragedy: long separation from parents who now lived in Tasmania; his accident in the R.A.F. with lost years of convalescence mixed with study; service in far-away places for one organisation or another, and for almost ten years the discipline of a service which recognised no private life or private ambition, but which, instead, offered life in the saddle for those who made the grade and who were found able to shoulder burdens beyond those known by any ordinary man. He had learned to take both life and love where he found them, to condition himself against loss of both in a second’s notice, and he had become selfish of those moments which he could really call his own, frightened almost to give too much away, scared even to give of himself when he already passed almost every waking hour giving to others of skills and endurance which were beyond the limits of reason.

  He had come to develop a sort of extra sense, an intuition of danger, and when love seemed to smell of self-possession he had shied clear, but now, in less that two days, this witch had knocked down every barrier.

  ‘I think I must love you, Deirdre,’ he said at last. ‘You make me want your body, but we hit it off in other ways as well: you seem to know what to do, feel the way I do in a tight corner, and I’ve never seen you show fear. I’m even jealous of men I’ve never seen, of all the men who’ve known you with your guard down.’

  She sighed gently. ‘Nothing to be jealous about, David. Just flirting and teetering on the border.’

  He met her eyes and was suddenly serious. ‘One bit of me wishes that I could say the same.’

  She shook her head. ‘Silly man! A girl wants an experienced lover. After all, bed is about the most important thing in marriage, and I’ve learned enough to know from home that if bed isn’t okay love goes out the window.’

  His hands were slipping down her thighs and against the tawny skin of her legs. Her flesh was
firm and warm, tingling, he sensed, with desire, and yet longing to postpone the final coming together so that they could savour it at leisure after relishing it in advance for long moments which could never be repeated.

  ‘You’ve got me at an unfair advantage, David,’ she smiled. ‘And even during that dreadful roulette game you were still just about fully clothed. Let me see you. I want to feel if you are as tough as you look. And as tender,’ she added quietly.

  He stood up and slowly dropped his dressing gown, a weave from Kashmir but no heavier than a few ounces, even counting the gold-braided cord.

  His pyjamas were pure silk, with a Paisley shawl design, and she unbuttoned his jacket. ‘Your chest, David. I see tiny hairs curling around the collar and they make me go gooseflesh all over.’

  He relaxed as she slipped off his jacket and ran her lips over the thick hair of his chest. Her hands were playing with his shoulder muscles and he felt her probing the powerful folds of his axilla. ‘So strong,’ she murmured. ‘And still tender. How many men have you killed?’ she asked unexpectedly.

  He hesitated. There had been too many. And his only excuse must be that they had all been bad, or else that it had been man-to-man in a private battle which both knew must end in death for one. He was a weapon of State, a machine as much as any aircraft or nuclear weapon. But more precise and for some purposes more suitable. He was still standing, and his hands folded over the softness of her nightie which moulded her breasts. Her figure was tautly thrusting inside and he could feel her heart racing as his fingers closed over the crests of her firm nipples. ‘Death has been part of me since I was in the middle twenties,’ he said. ‘But always for a big cause.’

  ‘For freedom?’ she asked seriously.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s no such thing. We’re all slaves to something, but I’ve always worked for bosses who are trying to clear the world of beastliness.’ His lips buried themselves in the coolness of her dropping hair and he ran his tongue along the thin line of her parting. ‘You are very lovely.’