Джеймс Чейз - Believe This... You’ll Believe Anything

‘The best there is, Señor Burden, but I will clean it.’ He looked even more gloomy. Getting to his feet, he went on, ‘Then tomorrow?’

When he had gone. I went over to the kiosk and bought a map of El Salvador, then going up to my room. I put on swim trunks and went down to the pool. After a swim, I sat in the shade and studied the schedule and the map. Tomorrow, we were to visit the Izcola volcano and return to the hotel for lunch. Nothing was suggested for the afternoons. I would have to discuss the afternoons with Mrs. Vidal, I told myself.

Around 18.00, after a final swim, I went to my room, shaved, put on a shirt and tie and a lightweight suit and went down to the bar.

An hour later, as I was on my second Scotch and was trying to get some news of interest out of the New York Tribune. Henry Vidal bounced into the bar.

Although I had been prepared by Bill Olson what to expect, I realised as Vidal came bustling towards me that no description of him would ever be adequate.

As Olson had said, Vidal was scarcely four foot ten inches high. He had massive shoulders, the shoulders of a wrestler, his short legs were thick and his feet small. He was wearing an open neck scarlet linen shirt, black trousers so tight they appeared to be painted on him and round his thick waist, a broad white belt with a gold buckle.

He wore his greying hair long to his collar. He was completely bald on the top of his head. His baldness emphasised his massive forehead. His beard, also greying, was wiry and thick, but it was his small, glittering eyes that held my attention. As Olson had said, they were hypnotic eyes, penetrating pale blue windows that revealed arrogance, confidence and power.

I got to my feet as he reached me.

‘You are Clay Burden? Of course you are.’ His voice was high pitched, almost squeaky. He caught my hand in a bone-crushing grip, shook it and discarded it.

The barman was at his side.

‘Fruit punch,’ Vidal said. ‘Be careful with the grenadine. It was too heavy last night.’ He turned to me. ‘Sit down.’ He took a chair opposite. ‘What are you drinking? Scotch?’ He wrinkled his thick nose. ‘I never touch alcohol. Never have. Smoking and drinking ruins a mind for business. You like your work? You must or you wouldn’t do it. I hear you are reliable. That is good. I insist on having reliable people around me.’ His squeaky voice rattled around my ears like machine gun bullets. ‘Dyer arranged for you to amuse my wife while I am busy. I am sure you can do it. She had to come with me. I warned her what to expect, but women are so obstinate once they have made up their minds.’ He gave a short barking laugh. ‘San Salvador is a filthy hole: badly run, no organisation. The Indians will revolt one of these days. You saw all the filth and poverty on the way from the airport? Of course you did. Disgraceful way to live.’

The barman set down a pint glass full of cracked ice and fruit juices. Vidal drank half the punch at a gulp.

‘Better. Still too much grenadine.’ He turned to me. ‘Mrs. Vidal has gone to bed. She says she is tired. I can’t understand her. I am never tired. I don’t know the meaning of the word. Women always have headaches or they are tired. You married? I can see you are. You look responsible. I have no time for a man who isn’t responsible. I am sure your wife gets tired too. They all get tired. It is an excuse.’ Again he laughed and finished his drink. ‘I must change. I have a business dinner.’ He jumped to his feet. As I stood up, slightly dazed, he went on, ‘Don’t disturb yourself. You know what to do tomorrow? I’m sure you do. There’s not much to see in this hole but that’s her look out. She had to come. Do your best.’ He crushed my hand again and bounced out of the bar.

I dropped into my chair, finished my drink and signalled to the barman for a refill. I needed it. Olson had said Vidal was a dynamo: that was an understatement. To have to spend a whole evening with him would have reduced me to a nervous wreck.

I thought of his wife and wondered. Did he treat her as he had treated me? If he did, she must be an extraordinary woman to survive.

A heavily built American tourist wandered into the bar. He looked around, spotted me and came over.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he said, sitting down and waving to the barman. ‘My wife tells me it is a bad habit to drink alone,’ and he gave me a cheery wink.

I was glad to have company. We talked of this and that for an hour or so, then he heaved himself to his feet.

‘I guess the little lady is dressed by now,’ he said. ‘See you around, friend,’ and nodding he ambled out.

I decided to have dinner, then go to my room with a book.

There didn’t seem anything else for me to do. I went to the kiosk and found a lurid covered paperback. As I was paying for it, Henry Vidal came bouncing out of the elevator. He was wearing a black silk suit, white shirt and a sky blue tie. He hurried across the lobby without noticing me and climbed into a waiting Mercedes.

I turned and headed for the Coffee shop.

‘ Señor Burden?’

The hall porter had come from behind his desk.

‘Yes?’

‘A message. Will you please go to suite seven on the fourth floor. Señora Vidal wishes to speak to you.’

I stared at him.

‘You mean Mrs. Vidal?’

He nodded.

Surprised, I stepped into the elevator and pressed button 4. As the cage ascended, it occurred to me that the evening might turn out better than I had anticipated. I was more than interested to see the kind of woman Vidal had married.

I walked down the corridor and paused outside room 7. I knocked.

‘Come in.’

The low voice, for no reason I could think of, set my nerves tingling.

I opened the door and walked into a big, comfortably furnished sitting room that contained so many flowers it looked like a florist’s shop.

The tall, dark haired, slim woman in a long white wrap was standing by the window.

Although six years had passed since I last saw her, I knew her immediately. My heart gave a little lurch. She was more beautiful now, more poised, more worldly, but still the woman I had never ceased to love.

‘Val!’ I stood staring at her. ‘It can’t be you! Val!’

‘At last,’ she said. ‘Darling Clay.’

She came to me, sliding her arms around my neck, her full breasts hard against my chest, her lovely mouth raised to be kissed.

The rising moon sent a pale band of light across the bed. Val lay on her back, her eyes half closed, her hands covering her breasts. I lay by her side, looking at her. I still believed I was dreaming as I had dreamed of her so often during the past long years.

We had both thrown away caution and conscience during the first kiss. We had found ourselves on the bed, naked and straining for each other.

I was aware as I watched her of an almost weightless feeling and being more relaxed than I had ever been, but also aware that my love for her was ever more acute.

She pressed her hands to her face.

‘Darling Clay, you don’t know how dangerous this is,’ she whispered. ‘We shouldn’t have done it. I should have kept away from you. I planned it all. You can’t imagine the trouble I’ve had. When I heard you had come to Paradise City, I couldn’t resist seeing you. There is so much to talk about.’ She turned her head swiftly and looked at the bedside clock. ‘But not now. Get dressed. We have five days in which to talk.’

The time was 20.40.

‘Let’s talk now,’ I said. I longed to hear what had been happening to her during the past six years. ‘It’s early still.’

‘No! Get dressed!’ The urgency in her voice made me reach for my clothes. ‘You don’t know what he is like. If he ever even suspected what has happened, he would ruin you. He is so vindictive and vicious and there’s nothing he can’t do once he has set his mind to it. He would keep after you so you would never be able to work again. I mean it Clay. You must believe me.’