Black August gs-10

by Dennis Wheatley

  'Hildebrand!' she swayed towards him they kissed.

  To Ann, there was something incredibly grotesque about the performance; the fat, emotional woman in her too highly coloured clothes, the lank, disappointed man who, despite the August weather, still wore a thin dark overcoat which dangled far below his knees.

  'Hildebrand my treasure, we must hurry!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret with a quick return to the practicalities of life.

  'But where?' the man turned sad, dark eyes upon his wife.

  'Zumo, my darling had you forgotten? and Chitter son Phlipper will be there, perhaps we can persuade him to take your article on the sex life of the cryptogam.'

  'Ah, yes. Let's go then' He held the door open for her with the elaborate courtesy of an old fashioned actor, but her exit was momentarily impeded by the hurried entrance of Miss Griselda Girlie.

  Griselda tossed a heavy satchel on to a nearby chair as the Pomfret’s left the room. She was studying for her medical degree, and still taking student courses through the long vacation. Striding over to the hideous plush covered mantelpiece, she looked quickly through the letters. 'Oh dear,' she sighed to Ann. 'He hasn't written he won't now, I don't think.'

  Ann nodded sympathetically; she knew that Griselda had tasted one glorious evening of romance when a young traveller in medical implements had made love to her at a students' dance. For a few days Griselda had been almost beautiful but that was a fortnight ago, and now once more was bony plain. Ann felt that it was unkind to encourage her to hope. She knew that Griselda was desperately, tragically, anxious to be loved but how could any man in sober earnestness desire to caress that gaunt unprepossessing body, or kiss those pale bloodless lips.

  'Perhaps it is just as well, dear,' she said softly, 'an affair would handicap you terribly in your work.'

  'I'm sick of work,' Griselda threw herself angrily into the second best arm chair.

  'That's because you've been doing too much,' Ann soothed her. 'Take a day or two off, and you'll feel better.'

  Griselda shrugged despondently. 'Oh, what's the good, Ann why are we cursed with sex I wonder?'

  'Who is cursed with sex?' asked a quick voice behind them. Gregory Sallust had entered unobserved.

  'I am,' cried Griselda fiercely, to Ann's amazement.

  He laughed, not unkindly. 'Blessed, you should say, my dear. Sex is the one great escape we have from the incredible dreariness of daily life. It only becomes a curse when you haven't the courage to get it out of your system in the normal way.'

  'Shut up!' said Ann sharply. She was feeling acutely for the other girl, and wondered how Gregory could be so wantonly cruel.

  'You're a medico,' he went on blandly, ignoring Ann. 'Be sensible then, put aside your stupid little suburban prejudices and make the young man happy. No harm could come to you, and it would probably cure your indigestion.'

  'What a brute you are!' Griselda flung at him. 'As though any girl could go out into the street and offer herself to the first comer.'

  Gregory ran his hand over his dark, smooth hair. 'Dear me, I thought you had a man in tow already but never mind, the other is just as good clinically!'

  'How revolting! I couldn't!' gasped Griselda.

  'Why not?' his voice was sharp imperious. The scar which lifted the outer corner of his left eyebrow gave his long, rather sallow face a queerly satanic look. 'There are a hundred thousand lonely men in London go out then, wait till some strong, healthy looking blighter tries to pick you up be coy if you like, but grab him. Then, once you get down to brass tacks, throw your inhibitions overboard; men always fall for that because it's rare in Anglo Saxon countries. He'll ask you to meet him again certain to, and when you do don't look at his Adam's apple, gaze into his eyes and tell him he's a new Sir Galahad! Then with any luck the poor fish will get all sentimental, and you will at least have secured someone to fend for you in the trouble that is coming to us all.'

  'You filthy beast!' Griselda sprang to her feet, and rushed from the room in a futile endeavour to hide the tears which welled up in her small tired eyes.

  'Gregory, you are a cad.' Ann flung a half smoked cigarette into the grate, and gave him an angry look beneath half closed lids.

  He swung upon her quickly, his shoulders hunched, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets.

  'Why? Don’t be silly, Ann. God knows who'd look at her, but some fool would. There are lonely men lots of them, and her one asset is that she's a young healthy woman, but of course she hasn't got the guts to do it. She's the stupid, inefficient sort who go under in every war and revolution.'

  Ann's eyes fell before his glance. 'What is the latest, Gregory? are things getting very bad?'

  ' Glasgow is under Martial Law. The troops were compelled to fire on the rioters last night. There were seven killed and sixty wounded. In Hull, during the early hours of this morning, an organised raid was made on the principal banks; a number of police were injured, the safes were dynamited and the contents carried off in fast cars. It is said to be the work of international crooks who are taking advantage of the disturbances. In a village of the Merthyr valley an income tax collector was pulled out of bed at four in the morning, saturated in petrol, and then set on fire; he was burnt to death while the crowd cheered as if it had been Guy Fawkes' night. The crews on some of our biggest ships are giving trouble because it is the leave season, and all leave has been cancelled. Three pawn brokers Jews, of course were dragged from their shops and kicked to death in the East End this afternoon. Troops are being moved into the dock areas now, because they fear rioting here tonight.' Sallust paused, and then added cynically: 'Want any more of the gory details?'

  She shivered slightly. 'No! it's all too horrible but do you really think the whole system is breaking up?'

  'I don't think I know,' he laughed harshly, as he crushed out the butt of his cigarette. 'I've been watching events for months and it's only a question of days now. There is not a single strong man in the whole of the Government and this time next week the people will be fighting for food in every town in England.'

  'What do you mean to do?' she asked him curiously.

  'I,' he shrugged; 'oh, don't worry your little head about me. The traditional bad man of the party may get killed in the play, or in that poor boob Pomfret's novels but not in real life. Luckily, I'm not handicapped by any illusions or scruples, and so, my dear I shall come through; a little drunk perhaps on looted gin, but otherwise unscathed. The thing is what about you?'

  'I… I hadn't realised that things were quite so desperate,' Ann confessed.

  'Well, you'll survive you're too damned good looking for anyone to want to do you in. But you'll have to pay the price unless you slip off now. What about those people of yours in Suffolk? I should get out of it if I were you while the going's good.'

  'Perhaps I ought to have stayed down there. A man I met the other day wrote and urged me to, but the letter only reached me just as I was leaving because it was forwarded from here.'

  'Who is he? Anybody who's really in the know or just some chap who is anxious for his lovely's safety?'

  'He's a civil servant, I think; he told me that he was after some post to do with the Government.'

  'Then he probably had some good reason for his warning. Take his tip, Ann and mine. Quit the party… God! what's that?' Gregory Sallust had suddenly caught sight of the monstrosity on the bookcase.

  'A masterpiece by Mrs. Pomfret's protégé Choo Se Foo,' Ann chuckled. 'The Infant Jesus, I believe.'

  'How utterly blasphemous!'

  'Dear me,' she mocked him. I thought you were an atheist.'

  'He turned on her swiftly. 'Perhaps I am but Christ was a great man I hate to see Him mocked at by these filthy pseudo artists.'

  A new sound came to them above the casual noises of the street. The rhythmic tramp… tramp… tramp of marching men. They both moved instinctively to the open window. As the head of the column came level, the door opened and Rudd joined them:

  '
Wonder where the boys are off to,' he remarked thoughtfully; 'we don't often see 'em darn this way.'

  'They are en route for the East End, I expect,' Gregory told him, 'and they are probably taking the side streets in order to avoid comment as far as possible.'

  It was a full battalion in war equipment. Steel helmets packs gas masks overcoats, bandoliers and rifles. Company after company swung by. The dust on their boots showed they had come in from the country and evidently their Colonel did not consider that they were far enough into the heart of London to call them to attention.

  They marched at ease, their rifles slung or carried at the trail, many of them smoking, chewing sweets, or talking.

  'They might give us a bit of a song,' said Rudd.

  'That's just the trouble,' murmured Gregory Sallust, 'they are not singing and that's a damn bad sign.'

  'Eat, Drink, and be Merry, for…'

  The sound of marching feet died away in the distance, and they drew away from the window.

  'I wonder whether Clarkson's is still open?' Gregory remarked as Rudd left them.

  'Why?' asked Ann.

  Want to get a fancy dress for the party,' he answered absently.

  Her tawny eyes were filled with sudden mirth. 'How like you, Gregory, to go fiddling while Rome burns.'

  'You, I suppose, prefer to pray?' he countered in quick derision.

  'No, as a matter of fact I'm going out myself this evening.'

  'Good for you “business as usual”, eh? and “Keep the home fires burning”. All the old gags will come out again you see!… Got a new boy friend?'

  'I shouldn't be going out alone, should I?'

  'No,' he eyed her critically, 'by some amazing stroke of good fortune for you the proportion of proteins, hormones and vitamins which make up your body vary slightly from the proportions allotted to Griselda owing to the result of the blend you don't have to. All the same, what I said to her goes for you too and, if you've got a man, you'll be doubly wise in these days to make it worth his while to stick to you.'

  'Thanks, but the proportions vary in men as well, and so thank goodness they're not all like you. The decent kind don't need to have it made worth their while to stick to a woman if they're in love with her.'

  He gave a sudden shout of laughter. 'God! what fun you are, Ann I love to see you get all romantic, I've a good mind to take you out myself one night!'

  'If that's an invitation it comes a little late,' Ann smiled.

  'Ah! well,' he shrugged his stooping shoulders, 'Fleet Street keeps me busy six nights out of seven, so work shall serve as an anodyne to my broken heart!'

  'Idiot!' she laughed. 'You haven't got a heart.'

  'No, perhaps I haven't, unless it's in my stomach. The ancients believed the stomach to be the seat of all emotions, you know and they were right about so many things. In any case it is time for me to feed it and then go forth to grasp the nettle of my nightly toil.' As he moved towards the door he flung a smile at her over his shoulder. 'Bye bye, little pansy face good hunting to you!'

  For a time she sat alone in the lengthening shadows debating with herself the advisability of taking Gregory's advice and scuttling back to Orford the next day, but there was her job to be considered; supposing all this pessimism proved a false alarm? there had been isolated acts of violence and occasional rioting for the last eighteen months. If she once cleared out she could hardly expect her firm to take her back besides she was going to see Kenyon again that evening! And unless he proved disappointing at this second meeting, she somehow felt that she would not want to leave London for the present. Still undecided, she went up to dress.

  An hour later, as she was being carried swiftly towards Charing Cross in the Underground, she wondered why Kenyon had asked her to meet him at nine o'clock. It seemed absurdly late to her yet his letter had clearly said dinner. She wondered, too, how he would be dressed tails or a dinner jacket. Most of the young men she knew could not afford two sets of evening clothes, and favoured the latter as more economical for their laundry bills. She assured herself that it did not matter two pence really, but as he had suggested the Savoy it meant dancing afterwards, and she preferred not to go to pretentious places unless her escort was properly dressed.

  At Charing Cross she hopped into a taxi, since she had no intention of arriving at the Savoy on foot. As she walked through the lounge of the hotel she found that she had timed her arrival admirably, the clock showed two minutes past nine, and there at one of the small tables below the stairs Kenyon was waiting to greet her.

  In one swift glance she saw that no woman could cavil at his appearance. White tie, and a double breasted waistcoat making a sharp line across his trousers top, his rebellious hair brushed smoothly back, and a flower in his buttonhole. 'Really,' thought Ann as she walked towards him, 'he looks terribly distinguished, almost as though he wore dress clothes every evening.'

  He rose as she came up. 'My dear, you're looking ravishing; have a cocktail?'

  'Thanks, I'd love one,' she smiled serenely as she settled herself in the chair he held for her.

  So he thought her ravishing what fun and really, she had never felt better than she did tonight. How fortunate that she'd decided to blow the extra twenty five bob and have the prettier frock it had seemed a horrible extravagance at the time but now she had no regrets. Ann's face flushed to a delicate pink, her eyes bright with excitement as she raised her glass in response to him across the little table.

  'Your friends the Communists are making a fine to do about the shooting in Glasgow,' he remarked with a grin, 'threatening all sorts of reprisals against the Government.'

  Ann reddened; somehow her Socialistic theories seemed rather futile and childish in the atmosphere of this luxury hotel. It ought, she knew, to have strengthened her conviction in the rightness of her cause. But being honest with herself, she knew that she was enjoying every minute of it; so she shrugged her rather plump little shoulders under the flimsy frock, and smiled, 'Shall we give politics a miss this evening just pretend we're living in normal times I wish you would?'

  'Why rather I'd love to. What about another cocktail?'

  'Yes, er that is…" She hesitated a second, used as she was to practising consideration for young men's pockets. 'Don't think me rude but can you really afford this sort of thing?'

  'You stupid child, of course I can,' he laughed, 'still it's sweet of you to think of it. Waiter two more Forlorn Hopes.'

  Ten minutes later as he followed her down the broad, shallow stairs towards the restaurant, his thoughts were chaotic. What a skin she's got and those little dark curls on the nape of her neck… I'd love to kiss them… By jove I will, too. There's not a girl to touch her in this place… I'm thundering glad I wrote to her after all… but that was a little queer, thinking I might not have the price of a second cocktail. Damned decent though… and how refreshing!'

  'How goes the job?' Ann inquired, after he had ordered what she considered to be an almost criminally expensive meal.

  'I think it will be all right, but I shan't know for about a fortnight.'

  'I do hope you get it; would they give you a decent screw to start with?'

  'Oh, not too bad, about eight quid a week. Here's to it!' he added, lifting his glass; 'and long life and happiness to Mistress Ann Croome.'

  'Thank you,' she smiled quickly as the bubbles of the champagne tickled her tongue. 'Well, eight pounds a week is nice, but not a fortune,' she was thinking, and if they were going to be friends she meant to teach him to be economical. It was terribly nice of him to give her such a marvellous evening, and perhaps it was excusable just this first time, but there must be no more dinners at places like the Savoy.

  'Of course I get an allowance from my father,' he cut in, almost as if he had read her thoughts.

  'I see,' she coloured slightly, 'and is he a civil servant too?'

  'Well, hardly,' Kenyon's blue eyes shone with sudden humour, 'he's a farmer really although fortunately he has a few inves
tments as well.'

  'Investments are so uncertain these days, aren't they?'

  'They are, indeed did you hear that Vibro Magnetic crashed this afternoon?'

  'No! That means another slump in the city, I suppose?'

  He nodded. 'Bound to, they're such a tremendous concern, and they'll bring down dozens of smaller people with them, so goodness knows how many more poor devils will be hammered on the Stock Exchange next settling day.'

  'If things go on like this there won't be any Stock Exchange left.'

  'Not unless the Government decide on a moratorium, they've been talking about it for the last week.'

  'What effect will it have if they do?'

  'No one will have to pay anyone else except for a new transaction.'

  'I hope they do then it would give all the firms that are in difficulties a chance to carry on.'

  ’Perhaps but it almost means an end of credit. People wouldn't be able to get any more goods unless they were in a position to pay for them.'

  'Well, it would keep my firm from going under I'm terrified every day that they'll close down and that I shall lose my job.'

  'Ann,' he said gravely; 'why did you come back to London? delighted as I am to see you, I did write and warn you not to. There's going to be real trouble, here very soon.'

  'I thought it terribly sweet of you to write as we'd only met just that once would you really like to know why I came back?'

  'I would.'

  She leaned a little forward across the table, a mischievous smile lurking in the depths of her golden flecked eyes.

  'Then I'll tell you!… It was because I wanted to see you again!'

  'Really! Do you mean that?' he bent eagerly towards her, stretching out one of his large, freckled hands to take hers, but she laughed and shook her curls.

  'No, not really,' she mocked, then seeing the sudden look of disappointment that clouded his face, she added quickly: 'At least… I did want to see you again, but the principal reason was my job.'

  He nodded to a waiter who held a roast Aylesbury duckling for his inspection, then he turned back to her: 'You hadn't quite forgotten all about me when you got my first letter?'