1951 - In a Vain Shadow (8 page)

It was pretty obvious from all these letters that just before the war she must have been the rage of Cairo. One of the last letters in the box was from Sarek. It wasn’t dated, but the postmark showed it had been written on 3rd September, 1939. It interested me because it appeared to be the only letter he wrote to her. or at least, the only letter of his she kept.

Chirie,

I can see nothing but danger and trouble ahead of us. It is impossible to remain here much longer: a week at the outside. It is time for you to decide what you are going to do. At the moment I have enough money for both of us. Together we can drop out of sight and begin a new life. For the moment Paris is safe enough, but later it may be possible to go to America. I must know immediately. You can be sure of my love. In haste.

Henry

He had probably written that to her when he realized war was inevitable. But why, with so many offers of marriage and hundreds of men to choose from, had she picked a little vulture like Sarek?

I returned the letter to the box. There were no other letters from Sarek, but I did find a long, angry letter from her stage partner, Boris Daumier, dated 31st August, 1939, accusing her of sleeping with other men, of ruining their act, of continually insulting him. It was the high-pitch hysterical squealing of a man maddened beyond endurance. Pages of it, and towards the end the fury petered out and he grovelled, appealing to her to remember their love for each other, reminding her of the happy days and nights they had shared together in the past, begging her to put other men out of her life and return to him.

It made me feel sick to read it. I knew how that big slob must have suffered, but at least he had had some nights with her. I hadn’t.

I now knew something about her; not much, but something to work on. When it came to a showdown I felt pretty sure I could handle her.

Why was she writing these threatening notes to Sarek? What was the point of it? She wasn’t the type to play practical jokes. There was a motive: I was sure of that. For some reason she wanted to throw a scare into Sarek. Somehow I was going to find out that reason.

I had taken the lock on her door to Chesham and had a key fitted. Then I repaired the window catch, screwed on the lock, and locked it from the outside. It gave me an extraordinary feeling of power to have a key to her room.

Now I had her where I wanted her, I got bored waiting her return. I was tempted to phone for Netta, but the risk was too obvious. With a menace like that vicar around, it would be asking for trouble to bring Netta to the house, and besides, now I was sure of Rita, Netta had lost a lot of her attraction.

On the sixth day I took the car and drove to London. It was a Thursday: the day the threatening letter was due to turn up. I had an idea it wouldn’t turn up, but I had to be sure.

I parked the car outside the Wardour Street office, climbed the stairs and pushed open the office door.

Emmie was typing away as if her life depended on it, not as I expected, lording it in his room, but still behind her own rickety, shabby little desk.

She looked up and her gooseberry eyes hardened. She looked a sight. Her pasty skin was blotched with spots, and she had a little red sore at the comer of her mouth.

‘Hello,’ I said, and somehow managed to smile at her. ‘Thought I’d look you up. The house is as dead as a dodo.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘Well, that’s fine. Business must be good.’

‘I don’t want you in the office, Mitchell.’

I had made up my mind to win her over. I had thought a lot about her since I had been alone in Four Winds. I knew my only chance to get her on my side was to tackle her when Sarek was out of the way. She was too powerful to have as an enemy, but if I could get on the right side of her I might still get the in I wanted.

‘If I’m in the way I’ll shove of, but I’d be glad to give you a helping hand if you would like me to.’

‘I don’t want your help.’

Although it turned me sick to my stomach I leaned on the desk and smiled into her ghastly fat face.

‘Come on. Miss Pearl, let’s bury the hatchet... All right, I know I started off on the wrong foot. Well, I’m sorry and I apologize. You’re smart, I don’t need to be told that, although Sarek did tell me. Why don’t we get together? I’m willing if you are.’ Being that close to her was like sticking your nose into a slum house.

She stared at me, her eyes watchful, her mouth set.

‘I’m busy.’

Keeping that smile on my face was about the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

‘Look, you and I both admire Mr. Sarek. We both work for him. What’s the point in…?’

‘I’m busy.’

I wanted to spit in her fat, hideous face, but somehow I still managed to smile at her.

‘Well, all right, perhaps when you’re not so busy.’ I straightened. It was a relief to get away from her. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘You can get out.’

I knew the smile was growing dim at the edges.

‘That’s easy. But surely there’s something else?’

She gave me a bleak, spiteful stare and then began typing again.

I could have murdered her then. I could have taken that greasy, fat skull between my hands and hammered it against the typewriter.

I lit a cigarette to give my voice a chance to steady up.

‘Any more threatening letters come in?’

She paused in her typing.

‘No, and when Mr. Sarek returns I am going to advise him to pay you off. You’re getting too much for doing nothing, anyway.’

That made two of them gunning for me. I had one where I wanted her, but I knew I’d never nail this fat little horror to the mast. White-hot fury boiled up inside me, but I still managed a grin: a little crooked perhaps, but a grin.

‘Better look after that sore on your mouth. It might spread and spoil your beauty.’

Well, at least I hurt her. I saw her flinch. Still grinning, I went out and shut the door gently behind me.

When I returned to Four Winds I went up to her room, collected the typewriter and carried it into the guest room. I set it down on the bedside table, took of the lid and threaded a sheet of the blue, deckle-edged paper into the machine.

If she had decided to send him no more threatening letters then I’d take on the job. And I’d send him a threatening letter to remember: not the junk she had been sending. I’d give him t such a scare he wouldn’t let me out of his sight; a scare that even fat Emmie couldn’t talk him out of Rita would know who had written the note, but that didn’t worry me. There was nothing she could do about it without giving herself away. And besides, I wanted her to know I had found the typewriter. It would be a nice way to break the news.

For some minutes I sat thinking, then thumped out the note with one finger.

You have had three warnings. This is the last. From now on you won’t be safe. Sometime, somewhere, we will kill you. It won’t be quick and sudden. You will know all about it, and we will soften you, you rat, before we do it.

That ought to throw a scare into him. I couldn’t see Emmie persuading him to sack me after getting a note like that.

I hoped I would be there when he read it. His face would be worth seeing. But the best sight of all would be Rita’s face when he showed the note to her. If that didn’t give her a jolt then nothing would.

On Monday I had a telegram saying he and Mrs. Sarek would arrive at eight forty-five. Would I be at the airport to drive them home?

I would be there all right.

Miss Robinson, looking fresh and clear eyed and clean minded, gave me a cool stare when I walked into the reception hall.

‘Remember me? Mr. Sarek’s coming in on the 8:45 plane. Is it on schedule?’

She remembered her manners enough to give me a distant nod.

‘Good evening. I have heard from Mr. Sarek. Yes, it’ll be on time.’

‘He’ll be glad to see you looking so pretty.’

‘The plane is due now. If you’ll wait here, I’ll let him know where you are.’

She swept away, her back stiff.

My charm didn’t seem to be registering well these days.

After a while I heard a plane come in and I strolled to the door. Minutes ticked by, then I saw Miss Robinson and Sarek.

Behind them came Rita and a man in uniform carrying the baggage.

I went out to meet them.

‘Hello, there, did you have a good trip?’

He brushed me aside as querulous as a wet hen.

‘I have a bad cold. Where is the car? Do I have to walk all night?’

Miss Robinson was holding his arm, making soft, soothing noises at him. One look at his white, pinched face and the angry irritation in his little black eyes told me this was the moment to make an impression.

‘Get him inside while I fetch the car. He looks ill.’ I didn’t even pause to look at Rita. I wanted to, but the situation called for speed. I raced back to the car park and brought the car round to the reception hall entrance in four seconds flat.

‘Right, let’s get him in. He’d better travel in front. It’s warmer and not so draughty.’

Between us. Miss Robinson and I practically earned the little squirt to the car. Luckily I had brought a rug to cover the radiator and I wrapped him up in it as if he was a pneumonia case. Miss Robinson didn’t seem to like the way I took charge. She pushed me aside and leaned into the car.

‘Are you quite comfortable now, Mr. Sarek? If you’re not warm enough I can easily get you another rug.’

‘Is all right. I want to get home.’ Not quite so querulous, but still very sorry for himself. And he was so sorry for himself he forgot to tip her.

While we were fussing over him Rita got in the back. She tipped the man with the baggage, closed her purse with an impatient click and leaned back on the broken springs to stare out of the window.

I slid under the wheel.

‘I’ll keep the window shut if you think it’ll be too cold for you.’

‘Close it and get going. I want to go to bed. I am ill, you understand? Is on my chest.’

‘Oh shut up about your chest!

I turned my head to hide a grin. I bet she had had a rare time with him coming over. Her voice sounded exasperated.

‘Is all right for you to say shut up! Is easy to talk that way when you are not ill For three days I can’t breathe. Is my chest. And when do I sleep? Three nights I lie awake. And all you say is shut up!’

I was watching her in the driving minor. She started to say something, then stopped herself. Instead, she lit a cigarette and stared sullenly of of the window.

‘How did you catch cold, Mr. Sarek?’

‘Never mind. You get me home. Who cares whether I die or not? Don’t talk. I don’t want to listen.’

And he made it sound as if he hated my guts. When I looked into the mirror again there was a bitter, triumphant little smile on her lips.

She hadn’t been wasting any time.

He wanted a fire in his room and a hot water bottle.

While I was lighting the fire he said, ‘You better look out for another job, Mitchell. I lose money on this trip. I can’t afford to pay you for doing nothing.’

I sat back on my heels and looked at him.

‘But don’t you want someone to guard you, Mr. Sarek? Of course, I know I don’t appear to do much for what I’m getting, but it’s like paying an insurance premium. If anything did happen, then you’d be glad to have me around.’

He couldn’t meet my eyes.

‘Is practical joke. Mrs. Sarek is right. Three weeks and no more threats. Is waste of money. I can’t afford it.’

Wait until tomorrow, old pal, I thought. You’ll be singing a different tune tomorrow.

‘Well, all right. If you really want me to go I’ll look for something else. When do you think?’

‘In a week.’

I cleared up the hearth, then stirred the blazing coal with the poker.

‘I’ll certainly miss those games of chess.’

Even that one didn’t pay a dividend.

‘Put out the light. I want to rest.’

All right, you little vulture, I thought, if that’s how you feel about it. Just wait until tomorrow. You won’t be so cocky tomorrow.

I turned out the light.

‘If there’s anything you want, Mr. Sarek, rap on the wall. I sleep very lightly.’

I was going to make it easy for him to change his mind in the morning.

He grunted: not even a word of thanks.

‘I want to rest.’

‘I’ll see you’re not disturbed, Mr. Sarek.’

As I shut the door behind me I saw her coming up the stairs.

I was oozing soft soap by now. I tried a little on her just for the hell of it.

‘If you’d rather not cook tonight, Mrs. Sarek. I’ll prepare the supper.’

She looked past me, her face sullen.

‘I don’t want any supper. I’m going to bed.’

‘I told him if he wanted anything to call me tonight. I thought you wouldn’t want to be disturbed after your journey.’

She looked at me then. I managed to keep a straight face.

‘You’re trying very hard, aren’t you? Did he tell you he didn’t want you after this week?’

‘Yes; he mentioned it. But he’s not well. I didn’t pay much attention.’

An angry flush stained her face.

‘Well, you’re going just the same!’

I grinned at her.

‘Don’t bet on it, Mrs. Sarek.’

I went on down the stairs whistling softly, knowing she was staring blankly after me.

The telephone rang at nine o’clock the next morning. She was out in the paddock collecting the eggs, so I answered it.

‘I want to speak to Mr. Sarek.’

I didn’t have to be told who owned that whining voice.

‘Is that Miss Pearl?’

‘Yes. I want to speak to Mr. Sarek at once.’

‘Mr. Sarek’s in bed. He has a bad cold.’

‘Can’t he come to the ‘phone? It is very important.’

‘Mr. Sarek’s in bed. He has a bad cold. Are you deaf or is this one of your off days?’

‘Don’t talk that way to me!’

‘I’d just as soon not talk to you at all. Do you want to give him a message?’

‘Tell him I’m coming down to see him.’

‘Don’t do that, please! I’ll have to meet you at that station.’

‘Tell him I’m catching the nine forty-five train.’