Джеймс Чейз - There’s Always A Price Tag

She said she would.

‘Then I’ll get off. I’ll be back some time tonight. You’ve got it all clear?’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Never mind what I’m going to do. You look after this end. I’ll look after my end. If you get a girl, tell her Dester is in his bedroom. Take her into your confidence. Tell her he is ill and no one must know because it may upset a deal he is putting through.’

‘She’ll probably tell all her friends,’ Helen said sharply. ‘We can’t do that.’

‘Her friends don’t count. So long as she doesn’t tell the Press or his creditors, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, with any luck, she won’t have the chance to tell anyone until we’ve taken the next step, and then it doesn’t matter, but she’s got to know he is upstairs in his room and ill. She’s got to know that.’

‘Why don’t you tell me what you are planning?’ she asked impatiently. ‘Why be so damned mysterious?’

‘I’m not being mysterious. I’m taking it one step at a time. I don’t even know myself how it’s going to be worked, but I’ll have an idea by the time I get back.’

I left her, went over to the garage, got out the Buick and drove out on to the avenue. I headed through Glendale and on to Highway 101. I took it easy. It was a hot, clear day without a hint of smog, and by that time, there was a lot of traffic on the highway. I stopped at Ventura for lunch, then, around three o’clock, I pushed on through Benham to Santa Barbara. I took a look at the Belle View sanatorium that was tucked away with its own bathing beach and its own ten-foot-high walls. I had a feeling, looking at those walls, that once a drunk was inside, he would have a lot of trouble getting out again.

I turned the car and pottered around the district like any lonely business man taking the Sunday afternoon air, but I kept my eyes open, got used to the locality, spotted two State police points about four miles apart before which sat troopers on their motor cycles, watching the traffic with cold, alert eyes. About fifteen miles out of Santa Barbara, just beyond Carpinteria, a narrow, dirt road, leading off the highway, attracted my attention. I swung the car on to it, and after driving a mile I came out on to a forestry station. There were three large wooden huts and twenty acres or so of young pines and firs under cultivation. I parked the Buick, pushed open the barbed-wire gate and had a walk around. The place was deserted. I peered through the windows of the huts: one of them was a lab, the other two were offices. I imagined they would be full of industrious workers during the week, but on a Sunday, it looked like the place I had been hunting for.

I had nearly got it right now: the forestry station was the clincher.

It was after nine-thirty when I drove through the gateway and parked before the garage. Looking across at the house I could see lights on in the lounge. I wondered how Helen had made out while I had been away. I wondered if she had got the girl and how she had handled the Press. I got out of the car and walked over to the house, opened the front door and entered the hall.

I stood for a moment, listening: I thought I heard someone turn the page of a book. I moved across to the lounge and stood in the doorway.

A girl sat in one of the lounging chairs, a book in her hand, the light from one of the standard lamps falling fully on her. She was dark; her black, glossy hair had brown tints in it, and it fell to her shoulders in long, natural waves. She was perhaps twenty-three or four, and pretty. She looked up and I saw her eyes were Wedgwood blue.

All the women I know and have known came under the category of floozies, smarties, diggers and come-on girls. They all knew their way around. If the word ‘virgin’ was mentioned, they thought it was in connection with the condition of the soil. I had seen plenty of nice girls coming out of college, at the movies and walking the streets, but I had never bothered with them. I was sure I wouldn’t get what I wanted from them, and they were so much waste of time. So I let them alone.

This girl, sitting in the lounging chair, looking at me, came under the category of a nice girl. I could tell that not only by her open, natural expression, but by her frock, the shoes she wore and the way she did her hair.

‘Hello there,’ I said. ‘I guess you must be the new help.’ I came down the three steps into the lounge and went over to the bar. ‘I’m Glyn Nash: did Mrs. Dester mention me?’

‘Oh, yes, Mr. Nash,’ the girl said, putting down her book. She got to her feet. ‘I’m Marian Temple.’

‘Glad to know you.’ I sloshed whisky into a glass. ‘Would you like a drink, Miss Temple?’

She smiled and said she didn’t drink. She had a nice, bright, friendly smile: nothing subtle about it; no come-on, no sex.

I squirted charge water on top of the whisky, fished out an ice cube, stirred the mixture and took a long drink.

‘Is Mrs. Dester around?’ I asked.

‘She’s sitting with Mr. Dester.’

I lit a cigarette, carried my drink to a chair near hers.

‘Sit down, Miss Temple. I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading. Got something good there?’

She sat down.

‘I’m on the third volume of Gibbons’ Decline and Fall, ’ she said. ‘Have you read it?’

‘Not the third volume,’ I said gravely. ‘You mean the Roman Empire stuff?’

She said that was what she meant.

‘Isn’t it a little solid? I go for pulp magazines myself. Raymond Chandler is about the highest I aim at.’

She laughed. ‘I’m planning to go to Rome next fall. I wanted to get the background.’

‘You are? Why Rome?’

‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to go there — and Florence too.’

‘What’s the matter with Paris? There’s more excitement in Paris so I’m told.’

‘I’ll settle for Rome.’

I finished my drink and sat nursing the glass, looking at her. It occurred to me she wasn’t what I imagined a help to look like. This kid was like someone just out of college.

‘Is that why you’ve taken this job? Saving up for Rome?’

She nodded. ‘I’m going to be an architect. I have my finals at the end of next year. I thought this job would give me that little extra while I complete my reading.’

‘Yeah.’ I didn’t quite know what to make of this. I wasn’t sure if Helen had made a mistake or not. I would rather have had a dumb cluck with no brains than a girl like this who was obviously nobody’s fool.

‘Well, I don’t think Mrs. Dester will work you to death.’

She shook her head and laughed.

‘She’s just wonderful. She told me I could use this room when she wasn’t using it herself. I feel quite at home already.’

I stretched out my legs. ‘She told you about Mr. Dester?’

‘Yes. Isn’t it a shame? I’ve seen all his pictures. I think he is the best director of them all.’

‘That’s right. Have you ever seen him?’

She shook her head.

‘Only pictures of him. Why do you ask?’

I pulled a face.

‘Well, you know: he’s been working too hard. He’s changed a lot. His nerves are all shot. She told you he’s going to the sanatorium as soon as they can take him?’

‘Yes.’

I gave her an out-of-the-corner-of-my-eyes stare. She fascinated me. We had been talking now for six or seven minutes and she hadn’t once tried to show me her knees nor flutter her eyelashes at me.

‘Well,’ I went on, getting to my feet, ‘I guess I’ll go up and see how he is before I go back to my apartment. I live over the garage.’

‘Yes, Mrs. Dester said you did.’

She was looking up at me, her big blue eyes interested.

‘Sorry if I took you away from Gibbons.’

‘Oh, that’s all right. I have to work at it: it’s not easy reading.’