1951 - But a Short Time to Live

by James Hadley Chase

  The door opened and Clair entered: Clair, radiant in a smartly cut coat, hatless, her hair caught back with green ribbon, looking very young and bright, and ladened with parcels.

  "Hallo," she said, and shut the door with her foot.

  Harry felt himself turn red, then white, then red again; too surprised to utter a word.

  "How's the head?" Clair asked. She dumped her parcels on the bamboo table, and seeing how confused he was, walked across the room to take a quick look at herself in the fly-blown mirror to give him time to recover. Then she turned and smiled at him.

  "Well, say something," she said. "Don't gape at me as if I were a ghost. You'll make me think I shouldn't have come."

  "You startled me out of my wits," Harry said, his pulse leaping and jumping. "What on earth are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?"

  She came over to the bed, and stood close to him, looking down at him.

  "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

  "Oh yes," Harry said. "Of course I am. Only you're the last person I expected to see — and I was thinking about you too. It is wonderful of you to have come."

  "How are you?"

  "I'm all right," Harry said, conscious that his pyjamas were old and faded, and the room looked horribly drab. "I've a bit of a headache, of course. How did you know?"

  "It's in the paper. As soon as I saw it I thought I'd come and see you. I rang up the studio, and Mr. Mooney gave me your address. He asked me if I was your girlfriend, and said he had heard a lot about me."

  "He's an awful liar," Harry said hastily. "You mustn't believe a word he says."

  "Well, I told him I was your girl. I didn't think he'd give me your address otherwise. Do you mind?"

  "Mind?" Harry said. "No, I don't mind. I don't mind a bit."

  "And I told the old lady who let me in I was your sister. I didn't think she would let me come up unless I said that," Clair said, and giggled.

  "I bet she didn't believe you," Harry said, grinning. "You know this is marvellous. What made you come?"

  She took off her coat and dropped it on a chair.

  "Oh, I hadn't anything better to do, and I thought you might like something to eat. You didn't sound as if you got much when last we met. I told the old lady I was going to give you lunch. She seemed quite relieved. I've even brought you a bottle of whisky if you feel like a drink."

  "But, look, Clair — I suppose I may call you Clair?"

  She smiled.

  "You may. But look — what?"

  Harry struggled to sit up.

  "This is crazy. Why, we only met the other night. . ."

  "You mean you don't want me?" she asked, and her eyes hardened. "Do you want me to go?"

  "Of course I don't. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. But I'm — well, I'm just bowled over. Can't you see? That a girl like you should bother to come here . . . it's fantastic."

  "Is it? Then let's not talk about it. I'm here. Stop looking like a startled ghost and tell me about your head. Does it hurt very much?"

  "A bit, but it's all the better for seeing you."

  She sat on the bed and began to open her parcels.

  "Who did it, Harry?"

  "I don't know. I wish I did. He was after a roll of film I had taken," and he told her about his idea of night photography, of his success and how the tow-headed man had attacked him.

  "Nothing else was stolen except the film. The police think I must have taken someone's picture who didn't want it taken."

  "You — you went to the police?" Clair said, still busy with her parcels.

  "They found me and took me to the station. The inspector said perhaps I had photographed someone working with this chap, and he asked me if anyone had objected to having their photo taken."

  He was watching her closely now, but her expression didn't change. She seemed intent on unpacking plates and knives and forks from the picnic basket she had brought with her.

  "Did anyone?" she asked casually, unwrapping slices of smoked salmon and laying them on two plates.

  "I told the inspector no one had, but it wasn't true."

  "That looks tempting, doesn't it?" she said, showing him the smoked salmon, then frowned and turned to stare at him. "What was that? What wasn't true?"

  "That no one had objected: someone did."

  She looked searchingly at him, and then caught her breath sharply.

  "Oh, Harry, what a fool I am! It was you who took my photo last night? What must you be thinking of me? I didn't recognise you. Honestly, I didn't. It was you, wasn't it?"

  "Well, yes," Harry said awkwardly.

  "I'm so sorry. I — I saw some man pointing a camera at me. I didn't particularly notice him and it was dark. I didn't think you worked at night. Then the flashlight went off and blinded me. It startled me too. Oh, Harry, I am so terribly sorry."

  "It's all right," Harry said, smiling. "I was a bit fed up at the time, of course. I thought you had cut me."

  "I'd never do that," Clair said, and put her hand on his. "You must believe me, Harry."

  "Of course I do." He hesitated, and then went on, 'Your friend didn't like what happened. In fact, he was pretty rotten about it."

  Clair laughed uneasily.

  "Who — Robert? Oh, you don't have to worry about him. He's always like that. Was that why you didn't tell the police the whole story?"

  "It was in a way. I thought they might start asking questions, and I didn't want to drag you into it."

  "It wouldn't have mattered," she said, and drew the bamboo table to the bed. "I assure you he had nothing to do with it."

  "I didn't think he had," Harry said, not entirely convinced. "But you know what the police are. Who is he, Clair, or shouldn't I ask?"

  "Oh, he's my boss," she said carelessly. "Come on, let's eat."

  “Tour boss?" Harry said, taking the plate of smoked salmon she handed to him.

  "That's right. My agent His name's Robert Brady."

  "Did he say anything about me?"

  "Oh, no," Clair returned. "I had a feeling he might make a scene so I just walked on. He's always making scenes. He's even horrid to me sometimes."

  "Is he?" Harry said indignantly. "Well, if I ever run into him again . . ."

  "You mustn't. You're not to have anything to do with him. I don't want him to know anything about you. If he knew I was seeing you he'd be beastly about it I get a lot of work through him so you won't make things difficult for me, will you?"

  "Does he mean anything to you?"

  "Not a thing! I think he's a fat, conceited ape. But he happens to be my boss so I have to be careful."

  "But he has no right to interfere with your private life," Harry pointed out. "Even if he is your boss."

  "He thinks he has. Up to now it hasn't mattered. But now you've come along — well, I'll have to be careful."

  This was so unexpected that Harry stared at her.

  "Do you really mean that?"

  "Mean what?"

  "What you said about me coming along."

  She smiled at him.

  "Well, haven't you come along?" She leaned forward and hooked her finger into his pyjama coat pocket. "If you want to see me, then I want to see you."

  Harry pushed his plate away, and slipped his arms round her. Then he was kissing her, holding her to him, feeling her trembling, her mouth hungrily against his.

  chapter eleven

  For the next three mornings, Clair came to see Harry, bringing food, cigarettes, magazines and flowers. Although Harry protested that he couldn't accept her gifts, she overrode his objections. He was an invalid, she said, and it was the recognised thing for visitors to spoil invalids. If he was going to be stupid about it, she would stay away.

  In the few hours they spent together during those three days, a link was forged between them that would have taken any other couple months to achieve. Once she was sure Harry reciprocated her love, she made no attempt to hide her feelings for him, and he was bewildered and dominated
by her possessiveness.

  By Saturday he had completely recovered, and except for a scar across his forehead, none the worse for his experience.

  Before he returned to work, Clair said, he must have a day in the country, and she promised to call for him in her car on Sunday.

  Ron had heard all about Clair's visits, but had not seen her.

  When she called for Harry on the Sunday morning, Ron was still in bed, but as soon as Harry had left the room to go down to her, he jumped out of bed and watched Harry greet her on the doorstep. She looked particularly lovely and young in a white sweater and bottle green slacks, and Ron saw at once why Harry was so infatuated with her.

  "A girl with those looks," he thought, watching Harry get in the emerald green sports car, "could twist any man round her finger. Anyway, they look happy enough. I hope it lasts."

  Harry had never had the opportunity to learn to drive a car, and was impressed by the speed at which Clair drove. She whisked him through Sloane Square, out to Hammersmith to Shepherd's Bush and on to Western Avenue in no time.

  After forty minutes of fast driving, she pulled up in a narrow country lane, surrounded by woods and high grassy hills, as quiet and as lonely as if they were the only two people left in the world.

  "Let's park here," she said, getting out of the car. "We can go over that stile and have lunch in the wood. Then after lunch we can walk up that hill and look at the view. From there you can see nearly all the Home Counties."

  They climbed the stile, and after walking through the quiet shady wood, they came upon a clearing surrounded by bluebells.

  "How's this?" she asked, flopping down on the grass and smiling up at him. "Let's eat I'm starving."

  Later, when they had finished lunch, and Clair was repacking the basket, Harry said, "You know, Clair, I can't believe it. I keep thinking there must be a catch somewhere."

  "Now, what?" she asked, glancing up and frowning.

  "It beats me what you see in me," he said. What have I to offer you, Clair? There must be hundreds of men you could have fallen in love with. Why did you pick on me?"

  "Darling, you've said that so often," She returned, patting his hand. "Can't you believe I find you different from other men? Don't ever change, Harry. Always be as you are now. And let me do things for you."

  "But that's the trouble," Harry said, worried. "You do too much for me. I want to do things for you too. I've been thinking. I'll have to get a better job."

  "But why?" She looked sharply at him.

  "Because I can't give you the things you are used to on six pounds a week. And I want to give them to you."

  "But I don't want them from you!" Clair exclaimed. "Don't you understand that I have everything I want? Even if I hadn't I could find dozens of men who'd give me money and presents and a good time. But I don't want anything of that. I'm sick and tired of men who want to give me things!" She rested her head on his shoulder. "Now, look, Harry, you've got to be sensible. For a start, it's no good thinking we're going to get married. I've told you how I feel about that. I must have my freedom. I know this sounds hard, but it's the only way we can really be happy together. I love you. I'm all yours. But I can't give up my present life. I can't run a home for you. If I could, I would, but I know myself too well. It'd last about a month; but it wouldn't last longer. I couldn't stand it. You don't know me as I really am. I don't want you to, and you soon would if we lived continuously together."

  "But, Clair . . ." Harry began, sitting up.

  "It's no use. You've either to accept me on my terms or we mustn't meet again."

  "But I love you! I want to marry you. Not at once, of course, but when I have a new job, and I'm earning more money. I want to provide for you and look after you. If two people love each other . . ."

  "It won't work, darling," she said, her eyes hard. "I have my work to do, and I'm not giving that up. If you knew what a struggle I've had to be independent you wouldn't expect me to give it up. If something went wrong, I couldn't start all over again. I just couldn't. You must accept me as I am or not at all. And you must get marriage out of your mind. Let's meet wherever we can, Harry. Let's find happiness and have fun together. Don't worry about money. You won't need money with me. We can go for a ride in the car or stay at the flat. I don't want to be taken out or given things. I promise you, darling. I won't cost you a penny. All I want is you, to be around when I'm lonely, to talk to, to rely on. And, Harry, it won't be one-sided. I'm all yours to take and to have whenever you want'

  Harry looked at her in despair.

  "But it's all wrong. It's not natural. If two people love each other, there can be only one way to live. This — this idea of yours is wrong. It has no foundation."

  "Nor have I," she said with a sudden bitterness that startled him. "It's no good, Harry. You must accept me as I am or we must forget about each other. I don't want to do that, but you can't make me something I'm not. You never will be able to." She jumped to her feet "Come on, let's snap out of this. Let's go to the top of the hill."

  Harry caught hold of her.

  "Do you really love me, Clair?"

  "You know I do. Be patient with me, Harry. Let me have my own way in this."

  "All right," Harry said, and kissed her. "I suppose I'm lucky to have this much. I'll be patient But I want it to be permanent I'm scared of losing you."

  "You're far more likely to lose me if we're tied together," she said. "Now, do snap out of it, Harry. It's no good going on and on . . ."

  "You're not afraid to marry me because of this agent of yours?" Harry asked abruptly.

  She looked away, but not before he saw an odd expression in her eyes.

  "I'm not afraid. That's not the word," she said curtly. "But it wouldn't help. I wouldn't get any more jobs if I married you. And I can't live on air. Robert rather looks on me as his own property. I let him kid himself. It doesn't hurt me. Now, don't look like that He doesn't mean a thing to me. Honestly, Harry, he doesn't."

  That rather spoilt the day, although Harry tried hard not to let it. At least, he told himself as they climbed the hill, she was honest with him. She had concealed nothing. But how he loathed this Robert Brady. What right had he to regard Clair as his property?

  In spite of what Clair had said Harry was still determined to marry her.

  The thing to do, he told himself, was to get down to the job of making money. It was time he pulled himself together. It was time he stopped messing about at street corners for six pounds a week. Perhaps, after all, it would be an idea to open a portrait studio. Worked properly it might make money, and then he could go to Clair and offer her what she wanted and she'd marry him. It would take time, but in the meanwhile he could go on seeing her, go on gradually breaking down her objections, and do what he could to keep her away from Brady.

  They had tea in a field that sloped gently away towards the main road to London, and sat watching the cars moving towards London as the crowds began their return home.

  The cars looked like toys from where they were sitting, and they were both conscious how completely alone they were.

  "Happy, Harry?" Clair asked, suddenly.

  "Yes. I've had a wonderful afternoon; only it's gone too quickly. Would you like to go to the movies when we get back? We could have supper at a place I know in Soho."

  She shook her head.

  "No, I don't want to go to the movies, nor do I want supper out. I have lots of food at the flat. We'll go back in a little whale, and you can talk to me while I iron some dresses. That's what we'll do."

  "But are you sure you wouldn't like to go to the movies?" Harry asked, disappointed. He had the lover's urge to do something in return for the outing she had arranged.

  "I hate going to the cinema on Sundays. It's so crowded, and you have to queue. No, let's go to the flat, and you can keep me company."

  "All right. We needn't go yet, need we? It's only just after five. Or would you rather go?"

  "No, I want to stay; and Harry . .
."

  He looked at her, and there was something he saw in her eyes that sent his heart pounding.

  She pulled him down beside her, holding his face in her hands while she kissed him.

  "Now, Harry! I don't want to wait. We mustn't ever wait for anything," she said fiercely, and her hands slid under his coat and moved down the muscles of his back, and her lips parted against his.

  chapter twelve

  Alf Mooney scarcely believed his ears when Harry told him he had changed his mind, and if Mooney was still willing, he would go into partnership with him.

  During the few days Harry had been away from the shop, business had been so bad that Mooney was doubtful if he would have enough money to pay wages on the following Friday. He had discovered it was Harry who kept the shop going, and that the other two photographers didn't earn their keep.

  And now, just when he had decided the only thing to do was to shut down the business and cut his losses, here was Harry offering new capital. Mooney very nearly threw his hat in the air.

  "I've been thinking about what you said, Mr. Mooney," Harry told him, "and I think perhaps, after all, I might make a go of it.”

  Mooney struggled out of his chair and clasped Harry's hand, his eyes bright with emotion.

  "Call me Alf, kid," he said feverishly. "Make a go of it? Of course you will! Why, damn it! If I had one I'd give you a cigar!"

  If Mooney hadn't been so excited he might have noticed quite a change in Harry since he had been away. He looked a little older, more solid, less vague, and there was a determined look in his usually placid brown eyes.

  "Please don't get too worked up about this," Harry said. "You may not agree to my terms."

  "Worked up?" Mooney said, trembling from head to foot "I'm not worked up." He mopped his face with his handkerchief. "Damn it! This is the best bit of news I've had in weeks." Then he shot Harry a suspicious look. "Terms? What terms?"

  "I've been thinking pretty hard about what you said," Harry returned, "and if I'm allowed to do it my way I'll put down a hundred pounds. I'm not putting down anymore."

  Mooney was so hungry for money he would have accepted half that sum, but for the sake of his reputation and from habit he began to quibble.