More Deadly Than The Male (32 page)

He returned to the flat after four o'clock. It was pretty obvious that the place hadn't been touched since he had been away. It was in a complete mess, and George felt suddenly depressed and a little irritated. He put Leo on the settee. He had collected the cat on his way back to the flat, and set to work to tidy up. Cora wasn't in. Her bedroom was dirty, and hopelessly untidy, and there was cigarette ash over everything

It took him until almost six o'clock before he had straightened the flat, then he made himself a cup of tea and sat down. Leo got onto his lap.

George wondered where Cora had got to. He wondered hopefully if she had missed him. Perhaps tonight she would decide that it was time to be nice to him. Somehow he didn't think he could go on indefinitely like this. The strain was beginning to tell on him. He could understand her feelings for Sydney. Though how she could have loved a fellow like that defeated him. Sydney had been very firm with her. Perhaps he had better he firm, too. Perhaps . . . he clenched his fists. It was no good thinking now. He would see her tonight.

Cora returned at half past six. George heard her come in and go to her bedroom Almost immediately she came into the sittingroom.

"So you're back," she said, looking at hint curiously.

He looked at her, aware of a tightening in his throat. She was wearing wine-coloured slacks and a white silk-and-wool sweater. Her long black hair curled to her shoulders and partly hid her right eye.

George drew in a quick, deep breath. The sweater and slacks set off her sensual little figure. The sight of her in these new clothes fired his blood. He pushed Leo off his lap and went to her. "Cora!" he said, taking her in his arms. "Can't you be kind to me now? Do I have to wait much longer, Cora? Look!" He pushed her away and took out the roll of notes. "Two hundred pounds! Think what we can do with that! I can get more. But can't you give me just a little. . .?"

She studied him, a strange expression in her eyes. "I think so, George," she said at last. "Yes, I think so I think you've waited long enough."

He took her in his arms again and kissed her. She stood quite still, her eyes closed, cold, indifferent. He tried to move her by his kisses, but her mouth was a hard line. He let her go at last, and sat down.

"I've got to get used to the idea," she said gently. "It's no good rushing me. George, will you do something for me?"

He stared up at her, his face congested. "Aren't I always doing something for you?" he said hoarsely.

"This is such a little thing," she said, smiling. "Will you leave me for an hour? I want to think. I want to get used to the idea. I have a feeling that when you come back . . ." She turned away. "Well, you'll be surprised, George. I promise you that."

He had gone at once, and he had spent the next hour tramping the back streets, continually looking at his watch, his hunger for her deadening him to any other feeling.

When he returned to the flat, she had gone. She had packed her clothes, taken her jewellery and gone. There was no personal thing of hers left in her room except the faint smell of sandalwood. 

He stood looking round the room for a long time, and then he wandered into the sitting-room. He glanced almost indifferently at the mantelpiece where he had left the two hundred pounds. That had gone too.

He was angry. This was the last time a woman would make a fool of him! He didn't blame her in a way. He should have guessed that she still loved Sydney too much to have any feeling for him. It wasn't that that made him angry. It was the knowledge that she had deliberately thrown dust in his eyes, sure of her ability to fool him as she had fooled him before, as Babs had fooled him. What kind of a man was he, that women could fool him so easily? He clenched his fists, cursing himself for being such a simple, trusting weakling.

No doubt she hadn't expected him to return so soon. She had probably been getting ready to leave when he had returned. So she had got rid of him with a promise, and instead of keeping the promise, she had packed and gone.

He lit a cigarette and, taking Leo on his lap, he stared out of the window. He remained like that until it grew dark. While he sat there, he decided that he would wash his hands of her. He would pack and go. He would go to Eastbourne. He had always wanted to go to Eastbourne, and now he would see what the town had to offer him He would put all this behind him and go hack to his bookselling It wasn't much of a life, but anything was better than this ghastly, reckless existence.

He was still sitting there in misery, trying to holster up his spirits, when he heard someone rapping on the door. At first he wasn't going to answer, but the rapping went on and on, so he got up fmally and jerked open the door.

Eva was standing there.

He stared at her blankly, wondering what she wanted.

"Yes?" he said, blocking the way. "What do you want?"

"Is Cora here?" Eva asked. There was a cold, spiteful look in her eyes.

He shook his head.

"Where is she?" Eva asked.

"I don't know."

"You mean she's left you?"

He nodded. "Please go away," he said, and began to close the door.

"Perhaps you don't know she's been sleeping with Ernie for the past four days," Eva said.

George looked at her. "I don't know why you've cone here," he said. "But I don't intend to listen to your lies."

"Lies?" Her voice shot up. "Why, you dumb fool, why should I lie about a thing like that! I want you to do something about it. Do you think I want a bitch like that to steal my man?"

George went cold. "I don't believe you," he said. "She's in love with Sydney. She wouldn't . . ." And he stopped. Was this another of Cora's little tricks? Was all that talk about being in love with Sydney just an excuse to fob him off?

"She's been after Ernie for months," Eva said. "I've watched her. But until now Ernie hasn't been having any. But she's got money now. She's giving him things. She promised to give him a car! He's not satisfied with the car I gave him. Oh no, he wants another! She's been working for him all this week. Making money . . . big money! Well, you've got to stop her! Do you hear? You've got to stop her!"

George clenched his fists. A red curtain hung before his eyes. So that's what she had been doing with his money. Giving it to Ernie, winning Ernie's attention.

"Working?" he said. "What do you mean?"

"He's given her a beat," Eva returned, her voice hoarse with suppressed fury. "And a flat in Old Burlington Street."

"Where's her heat?" George heard himself ask.

"Sackville Street," Eva returned, suddenly frightened by the ruthless, hard face before her.

"All right," George said, and closed the door in her face.

Fifteen minutes later he left the flat and walked across Hanover Square towards Sackville Street. Street-walkers moved slowly along the back streets, paused to talk among themselves, looked at George hopefully and went on.

George walked down Sackville Street, along Vigo Street into Bond Street. He turned and retraced his steps. He had been doing this for over half an hour when he suddenly saw Cora. She was walking just ahead of a tall, well-dressed man in his middle fifties. She was loitering, a contemptuous expression on her hard little face.

George stepped into a shop doorway where he could watch, without being seen.

The well-dressed man overtook Cora, glanced at her and went on. She did not increase her pace, but kept on, swinging her hips, her head in the air.

The mail walked as far as the street corner, and then stopped. He looked round furtively, noted that Cora was still coming towards him, and then looked tip and down, as if to assure himself that no one was watching him.

Cora came on. She looked at him enquiringly as she paused before crossing the street.

The man raised his hat and said something. Cora smiled. She waved her hand towards Old Burlington Street. From the doorway, George could see the man eyeing her figure. He said something, and then looked away.

Cora turned and began to walk casually towards Old Burlington Street, her hands in her pockets, her hips swinging. After giving her a start, the man followed her.

George came out of the doorway and followed them. They entered a tall building half way down the street, and when he was sure that they were safely out of the way he went up to the front door. There were three hell-pushes on the door. One of them had a little card: "Miss Nichols".

George stood looking at the card for several minutes, then he crossed the street and waited. He waited until the well-dressed man had left the building, and then he approached the place himself. As he was crossing the street again, he saw a man coming towards him. He thought it looked like Little Ernie, and he darted into a doorway, his hand flying to his gun.

It was Little Ernie.

George watched him coming down the street. Ernie called out cheerfully to a woman who was walking in the opposite direction. " 'Ullo, ducks; don't loiter. There's still an 'our before bye-byes."

George gritted his teeth. The little rat had made Cora into one of these women! All right, he'd fix him. The world would be well rid of a filthy little brute like Ernie.

He stepped out of his doorway as Little Ernie turned into Cora's building. A few quick steps, and George was on him, as he was opening the front door with a key.

"Hello, Ernie," George said softly. Little Ernie gave a squeal of terror. He spun round, throwing up his hands.

George rammed the gun into his side. "I warned you, you rotten little rat. You won't get a car this time," and he pulled the trigger three times.

The noise of gunfire crashed down the empty street. The flash blinded George. But he wasn't nervous nor frightened. He watched Little Ernie flop on the steps of the house and then, bending over him, he shot him again.

A woman began to scream at the other end of the street.

George slipped the gun into his pocket and stepped from the shadow of the doorway. There was still no one about. Without hurrying, he walked to Clifford Street and stopped a passing taxi.

"Hyde Park Corner," he said, and got into the taxi.

He glanced through the little window at the hack. People were appearing now. A policeman was running down Old Burlington Street. It was going to be all right. His luck was holding. In another few seconds he'd be out of danger. He sat back in the cab and closed his eyes.

He did not allow himself to think until he had paid off the taxi and was walking towards Knightsbridge. He had no horror at what he had done. It was as if he had stepped on a beetle, no more, no less. 

What would Cora do? Would she tell the police? If she did that it would be the end of him; but he somehow didn't care. He was tired of this business, sick and tired of it. He wanted a little peace. Better keep away from the flat tonight, he thought. He wanted one more night of freedom. He'd go back the next morning. If the police were waiting for him, then he'd let them take him. But not tonight. He'd walk and walk, because he wanted to think He wanted to make plans.

He woke the next morning in a Salvation Army hostel off the Cromwell Road. He remembered walking until he could walk no more, and had crawled into this place at three o'clock in the morning. Now it was just after seven o'clock, and he decided to return to his flat immediately.

On his way back he tried to think about Little Ernie, but what had happened the previous night had a dream quality about it, and he could not get his mind to believe that it had happened.

Even when climbing the stairs to the flat high above Holles Street, he could not believe that the police might be waiting for him He was so tired, anyway, that he couldn't care one way or the other.

He pushed open the door, and for a moment hesitated, listening. There was no sound in the flat. He went into the sittingroom. There was no one there, but there was a distinct smell of sandalwood in the room. He stood very still, trying to remember whether the scent had been there before Eva came to see him. He couldn't remember. Anyway, Cora wasn't likely to have returned. But the thought disturbed him, and he went quickly to his bedroom. Then he paused and looked blankly round the room. His cupboard and chest of drawers were open and empty. His clothes were scattered all over the room. One look at them was enough. They had been systematically ripped to pieces. His flannel trousers were in shreds. His tweed coat was armless and ripped down the back. His shirts were a mass of holes. Even his shoes were cut with a knife. Everything he owned was torn to pieces, as if it had been set upon by a wild animal.

Cora! Of course! She had cone back to revenge Little Ernie. Then he remembered Leo, and he felt so sick and faint that he had to sit on the bed. As he did so, he became aware of something in the corner, half hidden by the dressing- table. He saw red streaks on the wall. He peered forward fearfully. In the shadowy light he could make out fur, blood, and then a squashed paw, and he closed his eyes. He sat there shivering. After a while, he began to cry.

Light rain began to fall, and islands of sullen grey clouds knitted together to form a depressing curtain of mist that blotted out the watery moon.

George stood in a shop doorway, his collar turned up and his hat well down on his cars. He carried Leo, wrapped in a bath-towel; the bundle felt hard, a wood carving, against his side. He remained in the shelter of the doorway for some time, a lonely motionless figure, merged into the darkness, unseen.

One by one the lights behind the big window opposite, screened by the yellow muslin curtains, went out like the eyes of a robot figure closing in sleep. Several times the green-painted glasspanelled door with the gilt letters "Restaurant" on it, opened, and men and women, in pairs or singly, came out. George watched them disperse, their heads down, some arm in arum, moving rapidly to another more distant shelter.