Джеймс Чейз - You’re Lonely When You’re Dead

Under cover of his voice I moved forward so I could look into the room.

Mills was standing in the doorway; as if he had just come into the room. There was a sulky frown on his face and his pale eyes were hard.

‘Am I disturbing you?’ Natalie asked politely.

She was sitting bolt upright on the arm of the chesterfield, her thin hands folded on her handbag, an alert look on her face.

‘I was going to bed.’

‘Were you? It’s not very late. Is that the reason why you look so sulky?’

He came into the room and closed the door.

‘It’s not that. I don’t like you busting in like this. I might have had a guy here or someone.’

He picked up the drink he had left on the table. She watched him, her face suddenly as expressionless as the face of a shop-window dummy.

‘I didn’t think I had to ask permission to come to my own house,’ she said quietly. Although the words were hostile, her tone, if anything, was conciliatory. ‘I’ll know next time.’

Mills didn’t like this, but he didn’t say anything. He returned to his armchair and sat down. There was a long — overlong — pause.

She said lightly, ‘Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?’

He didn’t look at her.

‘This is your house. They’re your drinks. Help yourself.’

She slid off the arm of the chair and walked over to the table. I watched her pour three inches of whisky into a glass, drop a chunk of ice into it. Her narrow, thin back was straight and her hands were steady, but her lips were trembling.

‘What’s the matter, Caesar?’ she asked, without turning. She still tried to keep the light, bantering tone, but it wasn’t convincing.

‘How long do you think this is going on?’ he asked.

She turned swiftly to face him.

‘How long is what going on?’

‘You know: this—’ He waved his hand at the room. ‘How long do you think I’m going to fool outside those gates, saluting like a lackey? How long do you think I’m creeping into your bedroom, side-stepping Franklin who knows what’s going on, and pretends he doesn’t?’

‘But what else can we do?’ she asked, frowning.

‘We can get married, can’t we? How many more times do I have to say it? We can live here, can’t we? You have your own money. Cerf can’t do anything about it.’ He drained his glass and set it down angrily on the edge of the fire-kerb. ‘We can get married,’ he repeated. ‘That’s what we can do.’

‘No, we can’t.’

‘We can get married,’ he said again. ‘You can tell Cerf the truth. You don’t think he cares, do you? Maybe he cared when it happened, but not now. A guy can’t live with that kind of thing for two years without getting used to the idea. You’re kidding yourself if you think he cares anymore. He doesn’t.’

‘Yes, he does,’ she said, her eyes big in her white, pinched face.

He got up and stood with his hands thrust into his dressing-gown pockets, his head a little on one side, a faint, sneering smile on his pale lips.

‘I tell you he doesn’t,’ he said.

They both spoke quietly, but there was a tenseness about them that told me they were holding themselves in as if they knew that so long as they kept their tempers the situation was under control. And it was easy to see that because they both had something to lose, they didn’t want the situation to get out of control.

‘And I’ll tell you why,’ Mills went on. ‘Look at the way he treats you. How often does he come to see you? Twice a day.’ He broke off as she made an impatient little movement, said, ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

‘What am I thinking?’

“You think because he only sees you twice a day it’s because he can’t bear to come more often. You have a cockeyed idea that his conscience troubles him. You think every time he comes into the room and sees you sitting in your chair or lying in bed with that hurt, lonely look on your bitchy little face he gets a stab in the heart. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?’

‘There’s no need to be coarse,’ she said, and behind her back her hands clenched into fists.

‘Isn’t it?’ he repeated.

‘Yes! I know he does,’ she cried, her voice suddenly loud and harsh. ‘I know he can’t bear to see me, and I’m glad. Do you hear? I’m glad!’

‘It’s time you stopped kidding yourself,’ he said, keeping his voice down, watching her, very confident as he swayed backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. ‘It’s time you faced up to it, baby. Your racket was washed up when he married that blonde.’

‘I’m not going to talk about it!’ she cried. ‘I’ve had enough of this, Caesar. And don’t call me baby. It’s vulgar and hateful.’

‘If we don’t talk about it now, it’s the last time we talk about anything,’ he said, crossed the room to take a cigarette from a silver box on a distant table. ‘But please yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s plain enough, isn’t it? I’m handing in my nice knee boots and peak cap tomorrow. I’m through with standing outside your gate, I’m through with creeping up the back stairs to your room. That’s what it means.’

She gave a sudden harsh laugh. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

‘And I suppose you’ll give up all this?’

‘If you mean this house and all its junk, then you’re right for once, baby.’ He lit a cigarette, released a stream of smoke down his thin nostrils. ‘I quit unless we marry.’

‘I can’t marry you, Caesar,’ she said. ‘Not so long as he lives. I can’t do it.’

‘Do you think anyone will want to marry you by the time he’s dead?’

‘Why can’t we go on as we are? You have everything you want, haven’t you? You have your freedom. I don’t interfere with you.’

He walked up to her, caught hold of her wrist and jerked her to him.

‘I’m sick of being your bedroom lackey,’ he told her.

She slapped his face. The sound of her palm against his tight, brown cheek was as loud as a pistol shot.

They stood looking at each other, then he released her wrist and, with a sneering little grin, moved away from her.

She sat down abruptly as if the strength had gone out of her limbs.

‘I didn’t mean to do that,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t think I care, do you?’ he said, and laughed. ‘I had you on the raw that time, baby. It gives me a bang to see you squirm. Sooner or later this had to come to an end. Well, I guess this is the payoff. I’m through.’

‘Don’t talk like that. You don’t mean it. You’re angry. I’ll go now. We can talk about it tomorrow.’

‘You talk about it tomorrow. I shan’t be here.’

He pitched his cigarette into the fireplace. Her eyes went from him to the smouldering cigarette, and her lips tightened. When he was sure she was looking at the cigarette he put his foot on it and smeared it on the tiles.

‘Like that,’ he said softly.

‘Caesar, please...’

‘Like that,’ he replayed. ‘You and me — like that.’

There was a long, tight silence.

She said after minutes, ‘You’ll miss this house and the money. You’ll miss everything I do for you.’

‘Baby, how you love to kid yourself. Miss this house and your money? This isn’t the only house and you aren’t the only girl with money. You don’t really think that, do you?’

‘Let’s not go on with this anymore, Caesar,’ she said, clenching her fists and sitting bolt upright.

‘We’re going on with it. I can find another girl as good as you and as rich as you tomorrow. It’s easy This town is crammed with girls like you. Girls who like a guy with a little muscle to fool around with; who like to buy him suits and lend him a house and snap their fingers at him when they want him: and you know why they want him, don’t you? I don’t have to go into that side of it, do I?’ He laughed. ‘Rich, pampered girls with nothing better to do than buy a man because he’s got muscles. Well, you’re not the first, baby, and you won’t be the last. If you want to keep me, marry me. Marry me so I can get my hooks into your money, and that’s the only reason why I’d marry you.’