Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

‘Very well, sir,’

‘How awful for him to be blind,’ she thought, as she went to Blanche’s bedroom. ‘He’s nice and kind. How could he have married that beastly little creature?’

When she had tidied up Blanche’s room she went into the kitchen. She didn’t know what to do with herself. It was still early, and she would have liked to have gone out but she didn’t want to go alone. Instead, she pacing up and down and worried about the future.

She thought about Harry. Before Wesley arrived she had been excited at the prospect of going to America with Harry, now she wasn’t so sure. She found herself thinking of Wesley and comparing him to Harry. It was like comparing a paste diamond to a real one. She suddenly realized that Harry was characterless and shallow, that his clothes were flashy and vulgar. Wesley was rich. Harry would never be as rich as Wesley. If he did steal the furs, how long would eight thousand pounds last? Not long, if they went to America and spent freely, and then what would happen?

‘I might as well face it,’ she told herself. ‘Harry’s a thief. Dawson warned me against him. Hewart hates him. He’s mixed up with that awful Mrs. French. Then there’s Dana. What kind of trouble shall I be letting myself in for if I do marry him?’

If she was going to marry, she ought to marry a man like Wesley. She would get what she wanted then: a big house, clothes, servants, a car, everything! But, of course, Wesley wouldn’t look at her. Besides, he was already married. But suppose she told him about the robbery? He might be nice to her; do something for her. She pulled herself up, suddenly frightened. She mustn’t think like this. It was dangerous. She remembered what Hewart had told her about the girl who had talked. She must get that idea out of her head.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft rap on the door and Gerridge came in, carrying the coffee tray.

‘Hello,’ he said with a friendly grin. ‘I thought I’d bring the tray along. That was cracking good coffee.’

‘I expect you needed it,’ she said, pleased, and took the tray.

‘I’m Tom Gerridge,’ he told her, wandering round the kitchen, hands in pockets. ‘I’m Mr. Wesley’s valet and Man Friday. We may as well get to know each other. You’ll be seeing a lot of me.’

‘Shall I?’

‘Rather. I told Mr. Wesley I thought you were a stunner.’

Julie turned away and began to put the coffee things in the sink.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘It’s true, you know.’ She giggled.

‘No. I don’t mind. But I don’t suppose Mr. Wesley was very interested.’

‘Oh, but he was,’ Gerridge assured her. ‘At least he didn’t say so, but he pricked up his ears all right.’

Julie laughed and began to wash up.

‘Mr. Wesley’s using the dictaphone at the moment,’ Gerridge explained. ‘That’s why I came along to keep you company. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No, I don’t mind.’

‘That’s fine. How do you like it here?’

‘Not very much,’ Julie said truthfully.

‘I suppose Mrs. Wesley has been up to her tricks?’

‘She has.’

‘The usual practical jokes: stuffed snakes, shutting you in the safe?’

Julie stared at him.

‘How did you know?’

‘Oh, she tries it on everyone. She’s tried it on me. I was locked in that damned safe for ten minutes. I thought I was going to die.’

‘Well, I don’t intend to stay here much longer,’ Julie said firmly. ‘She dangerous.’

‘Oh, but you must stay. You won’t mind Mrs. Wesley once you get used to her. She leaves you alone after a bit. Never bothers me now. And you’ll like Wesley. He’s a first-rate chap.’

Julie leaned against the sink, quite ready now for a gossip.

‘I can’t imagine how he could have married her,’ she said.

‘She wasn’t always like this, you know,’ Gerridge said. ‘When they first met she was the rage of London and she was really marvellous. She swept him off his feet. She knew he had bags of money, and she took advantage of him from the very start. She not only chiselled a fat settlement out of him (she’s squandered every penny of that now) but she also persuaded him to agree that if the marriage broke up she was to have another large sum of money. I think he’s pretty sick about that settlement now. As far as she’s concerned it’s heads I win, tails you lose, and she behaves just as she likes.’

‘But why doesn’t he give her the money and get rid of her?’

‘He can’t afford to. He’s working on an invention that’ll halve the cost and fitting time of pilotless flying equipment and he’s sunk every penny into the research. He just couldn’t afford to pay her off, and she knows it.’

‘I think it’s terrible,’ Julie said, shocked. ‘And to be blind as well.’

‘Yes,’ Gerridge shook his head. ‘He had a big disappointment this week. A French specialist thought he could operate successfully on his eyes. That’s why we went to Paris.’ He glanced at his watch, whistled, slid off the table. ‘I must be back. I said I’d only be away five minutes. I’ll be seeing you again.’

Later, when Julie was in bed, she heard Gerridge call, ‘Good night,’ and she started up, thinking he was calling to her. She liked Gerridge, and smiled to herself when she realized he was speaking to Wesley. She heard the front door close and it occurred to her she was now alone in the flat with Wesley.

‘Well, that’s nothing to worry about,’ she thought. ‘He’s safe. If it’d been Benton I should be scared stiff, but Wesley...’

She was dropping off to sleep when a sudden crash of breaking glass startled her awake. She listened, then jumped out of bed, slipped on her dressing-gown.

‘He must have had an accident,’ she thought, alarmed and went quickly down the passage to Wesley’s room, listened outside the door. She heard movements and she knocked.

‘Who’s there?’ Wesley asked, then, ‘Oh, come in, Julie.’

She opened the door. He was standing in the middle of the room, in dressing-gown and pyjamas, and looked helplessly in her direction. He still wore the disfiguring black-lensed glasses, and she found herself wishing he would take them off. At his feet was a smashed tumbler, the contents of which made a dark pool on the carpet.

‘Hello, Julie,’ he said, with a rueful smile. ‘Come to rescue me?’

‘I heard—’ she began, stopped short when she saw blood running down his hand. ‘Oh! You’ve cut yourself.’

‘The damn thing slipped out of my hand, and when I tried to clear it up I dug a bit of glass into my finger.’

‘I’ll get a bandage,’ Julie said, glad to help him. She quickly brought a first-aid outfit from Blanche’s bathroom. ‘If you’ll sit down I’ll fix it for you.’

‘Thanks.’ He groped about, muttered under his breath, ‘Where’s the chair? I seem to have lost my bearings.’

She took his arm and led him to a chair.

‘It’s sickening to be so helpless,’ he said as he sat down. ‘I don’t know what I should have done if you hadn’t come.’

Not knowing quite what to say, and feeling ill at ease, she remained silent. She stopped the bleeding and wound on a bandage. ‘I’ll put a fingerstall on, then you won’t have any trouble,’ she said.

‘That’s very nice of you. Were you asleep?’

‘Oh, no,’ Julie said, as she slipped a wash-leather fingerstall over the bandage and fastened the tape round his wrist. ‘Is that comfortable?’

‘It’s fine.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘Have I made an awful mess?’

‘It’s all right, but I’ll clear it up.’

She fetched a dustpan and brush, swept up the pieces of glass and wiped the stain with a cloth.