Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

Blanche was wandering about amid overwhelming luxury and confusion. The walls of the room were covered with pale blue quilting. Arm-chairs, a quilted chaise-longue and a blue and white leather pouf were dotted about on the thick, white carpet. The ornate dressing-table was covered with spilt powder, oozing tubes of grease paint, and overturned bottles. Clothes lay about the floor, on the chairs, and over the foot of the bed. Shoes lay in corners where they had been carelessly thrown. A straw hat, almost the size of a sunshade, hung from one of the electric light brackets.

‘What a time you’ve been,’ Blanche said, crossly. ‘You’ll have to be a little quicker than this if we’re to get along together.’ She peered at Julie, went on, ‘Oh, you’ve changed. Why, you look quite nice. What a pretty uniform.’ She pointed to a bedside table. ‘Put the tray down and leave me. Perhaps you’d like to tidy the bathroom, then we’ll have a talk. It’s through there. I’ll be ready for you in a minute or so.’

The bathroom made Julie envious. There was a shower cabinet, a sunken bath, a dressing-table, a massage machine, a Turkish bath cabinet, and a hair dryer: everything an idle, spoilt woman could wish for. And, like the bedroom, this room was also in confusion. The bath hadn’t been emptied. A towel floated on the milky water. Powder was scattered over the floor, and bath salt crystals crunched under Julie’s shoes as she moved about, picking up cleansing tissues and hand towels sticky with cold cream.

Working as quickly as she could, she tidied the room, emptied the bath, wrung out the towel and wiped over the floor with it.

Blanche was still pacing up and down when she returned to the bedroom. On the dressing-table, partly concealed by a powder bowl, was a tumbler half-full of brandy.

‘There you are,’ Blanche said, and smiled. She looked brighter now and more amiable. ‘Did I ask your name? I don’t believe I did.’

‘Julie Holland, madam.’

Blanche dropped in an arm-chair, closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up and gave Julie a long, searching stare.

‘Did you say Mrs. French sent you? I never seem to remember anything these days.’

‘Yes, madam.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose you must be all right. You’ve got references, I suppose?’

Julie handed over the two envelopes.

‘That woman’s so efficient,’ Blanche said a little crossly as she ripped open the envelopes. She glanced at the references, tossed them on the dressing-table. ‘She told you the wages, I suppose?’

‘Yes, madam.’

‘Well, you’d better consider yourself engaged.’ She leaned forward to peer into the mirror. ‘Well see how we get on together. That was very good coffee you made. So long as you keep the place tidy and help me when I want help that’s all I shall expect from you. Your room’s at the other end of the passage. It’s a nice room. I believe in making people comfortable. You can begin at once?’

‘Yes, madam.’

Blanche picked up a comb and began to run it through her blonde curls.

‘I shall be away to-night. I would like you to move in immediately. I don’t like the flat left empty if I can help it. Do you think you can manage that, or don’t you?’

‘Yes, madam.’ Julie was getting tired of standing before this glamorous little doll.

‘And you won’t mind being left alone here for the night?’

Julie showed her surprise.

‘Oh, no, madam. I don’t mind at all.’

‘How brave of you,’ Blanche said languidly. ‘I hate being alone here. Mr. Wesley has been in Paris for the past fortnight and I’ve been terrified. You never know when someone’s going to break in. There are so many burglaries these days and you do hear the oddest noises at night. I sometimes think the place is haunted. But I suppose you don’t believe in ghosts?’

‘No, madam,’ Julie said firmly.

‘It must be nice to have no imagination,’ Blanche said, patting her curls. ‘I’m so sensitive and nervous. There are times when I’m quite positive someone creeps up and down the passage. I suppose it’s because I’m highly strung.’

‘Or tight,’ Julie thought, wanting to laugh. She said, ‘Shall I run your bath, madam?’

‘I suppose you’d better. And then there’s a bag to be packed. I shan’t be back until tomorrow evening. I expect Mr. Wesley about the same time. There’ll be plenty for you to do. All my things want tidying. I’ve had absolutely no one for days and everything gets in such a mess. I don’t know why. Do be a nice girl and open that cupboard. That’s right. You see each of my dresses has a number. It’s on the hanger.’

The room was fitted with three enormous cupboards with sliding doors. The cupboard that Julie opened contained two long rows of dresses, coats, frocks and evening gowns.

‘Each dress has a hat, underwear, gloves and bag to go with it, and, of course, shoes,’ Blanche explained in a tired little voice. ‘It’s my own system. Everything is numbered and it’s simply a matter of keeping the numbers together. Do you think you can manage?’

‘Oh, yes, madam.’

‘There’s a safe over there. You can’t see it. It’s hidden behind the wall. I look after that myself. I keep my furs and jewellery in it. Now I think you’d better run my bath. I simply must catch the five-twenty and time’s getting on.’ She added this as if it were Julie’s fault.

While Blanche was in the bathroom Julie did her best to tidy the bedroom, and as she worked she wondered what she was going to do with herself that evening. She hadn’t expected an evening to herself so soon. If she could only get hold of Harry they might go to a movie together. But how could she get in touch with him? The only hope was Mrs. French. Harry had said she would pass on a message. It was worth trying.

Getting Blanche off was a maddening and exhausting operation. Twice her suitcase had to be unpacked because she changed her mind about what she intended to take with her: then, when all seemed ready and Julie was about to telephone for a taxi, Blanche became fretful and decided not to go.

‘I really don’t think I can be bothered,’ she said, flopping into an arm-chair. Dressed and made up, she was startlingly beautiful: like a painted, irresistibly attractive doll. ‘It’s not as if I like the people. They are too frightful for words. And besides, I don’t feel well. I won’t go... that settles it. You’d better unpack before everything is creased.’

At the best of times Julie loathed packing. She had packed, unpacked, repacked and unpacked again and again packed. Each operation had been supervised by Blanche who had criticized, scolded, and made useless suggestions. Now she was telling her to unpack for the third time. She nearly lost her temper, and longed to throw the suitcase at Blanche, but she managed to control herself and with unsteady hands she once more began to empty the suitcase. When it was nearly unpacked, Blanche suddenly gave an exclamation and beat her hands together.

‘What am I thinking about?’ she cried in apparent anguish. ‘My poor Julie. Of course I must go. I was forgetting Buckie would be there. And I simply must see him. Do hurry and pack again. I’ll miss the train if you don’t hurry. I can’t say how sorry I am to give you all this extra work.’

Julie was at boiling point and near tears. She began to slam the various articles back into the suitcase.

‘Oh, no, Julie, don’t close it yet,’ Blanche went on as Julie was about to slam the lid shut. ‘It’s not very well packed, is it? There was something... of course. I don’t think I want that mauve thing. It’s somewhere at the bottom. You know the thing I mean. It makes me look like death.’