Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

‘I think it’s marvellous,’ she exclaimed. ‘Much better than that stuffy old place in Berkeley Square.’

‘So long as you’re pleased, Julie. But I think this is cheap and ghastly,’ Wesley said, shrugging. ‘It’s a tart’s place. Julie.’

‘I don’t care!’ she snapped, reddening. ‘I want it.’

He studied her for a moment, then shrugged.

‘All right, Julie, if you want it, have it.’

She was angry with him now. He had taken the gilt off the gingerbread by his criticism. A tart’s place! What did he know about tarts! It was lovely. The stars on the ceiling were marvellous. Lying in bed, she could imagine she was looking at the sky. Well, he wasn’t going to spoil her pleasure. She had to live in it. If he didn’t like it, he could stay away.

‘Yes, I want it,’ she said.

‘Then we’ll go back to the agents and fix it up.’

When they had left the estate agents, Wesley gave her the front door key.

‘There you are, Julie. The key to your new home. I hope you will be very happy there.’

She took the key without a word of thanks. She was still angry with him.

‘Now, I suppose I’d better get you some clothes,’ he told her. ‘Those days are over for you. No more Bridge Cafés, Harry Glebs or the Black Market for you. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘I suppose so,’ she said reluctantly. He was right. She would never again be able to meet any of the old gang. Sooner or later the word would get around that she had talked. They wouldn’t want her once they knew that.

He bought her clothes that astonished her. They were severe and plain and beautifully tailored. She didn’t like them, wanting something flamboyant, like the lovely clothes Blanche wore, but Wesley didn’t even consult her, and she had to admit when she studied herself in the mirror that she looked awfully smart and sophisticated. Wesley’s approving nod, when the fitter had gone from the room, pleased her.

But when he bought her a mink coat her rapture knew no bounds, and she immediately forgave him for his criticism of the fiat. She wanted to wear it at once, but he gave instructions for the clothes and the coat to be sent on Saturday afternoon to the Vigo Street flat.

‘It’ll be something for you to look forward to,’ he said as they left the building. ‘And now I must get back to the factory. I hope you had a nice afternoon, Julie.’

The gift of the mink coat had so thrilled her that she wanted to be nice to him. She was well aware that when a man gave a girl a costly present like that he expected payment, and she was ready to give payment.

‘Wouldn’t you like to come back to my flat, Howard?’ she asked, and gave him an inviting look.

He gave her a quick, startled glance, smiling uneasily and patted her arm.

‘Not now, Julie. I must get back to work. Good-bye,’ and he climbed quickly into the waiting taxi, which drove away, leaving her staring after it.

‘The damned stuffed shirt,’ she thought angrily. ‘All right, if he doesn’t want me, I don’t care. I won’t be so free next time. When he’s in the mood, I won’t be.’

The plain-clothes detective, who had patiently followed them all the afternoon, was relieved to see Wesley go. The afternoon had been an exhausting one, and he was anxious to return to headquarters and make his report.

‘Now I wonder what his little game is,’ he said to himself as he set off after Julie. ‘Looks as if he’s setting her up in a love nest.’ He studied Julie’s slim legs as she hurried along in front of him and sighed. ‘Can’t say I blame him. For a blind man, he’s certainly picked himself a nice piece.’

Julie, unaware she was being followed, headed for Piccadilly. The evening was before her. She felt in the mood to celebrate.

You could get a drink at the Harlequin Club at any hour of the day or night if you didn’t object to paying treble the usual price for it.

Harry Gleb had just come from Mrs. French’s office and he felt in need of a drink. The final details of the robbery had been arranged and he had left Mrs. French and Theo together to discuss the type of car to be used. The more Harry thought about the coming robbery the less he liked it.

‘I’ve got cold feet,’ he thought, as he climbed the stairs that led to the club. ‘That’s what’s wrong with me. Well, this is the last job I’ll pull; anyway for some time. I’ve had about enough of it.’

He entered the gaudy little lounge, nodded to the gimlet-eyed doorkeeper and went straight to the bar. At this hour — it was a few minutes past four-thirty — there were in the bar only tarts sitting on stools, sipping whisky, and an elderly man in a corner, reading the evening paper, a plain gin on the table before him.

The barman brightened when he saw Harry. He was bored with talking to the tarts, and hoped Harry would be more entertaining. But Harry wasn’t in a talkative mood. He ordered a double whisky, grunted when the barman tried to engage him in conversation, and moved away from the bar to sit in solitude at a table by the window.

He was thinking of Julie. All night he had thought of her, and a sleepless night didn’t agree with him. He wanted her; wanted her as he had never wanted any other woman before.

‘I was a mug to have mixed her up in this business,’ he told himself. ‘If I’d’ve kept her clear of it there’d’ve been no trouble with her. And as soon as I’d picked up the dough we could have hopped on a boat and started a nice little honeymoon in the States. Now, I’ve got my work cut out to win her round. Don’t see how I’m going to do it. We’re doing the job to-morrow, and I’ll have to keep clear of her from then on. The cops’ll be watching her night and day.’ He sipped his whisky and brooded. ‘All very well for Ma French to say leave her in the flat. But it’s cock-eyed, that’s what it is; cock-eyed. The thing to do is to take her with me; hide with her somewhere until things cool off a bit, and then slip out of the country.’ He frowned out of the window. ‘But will she come with me? If she doesn’t, what’s she going to do?’ He finished his whisky and was about to order another when he remembered that today was Julie’s afternoon off. ‘Now I wonder what she’s up to,’ he thought. ‘Mooching round the West End looking at the shops, I’ll bet a dollar. Maybe I’ll run into her if I have a look round.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘That’s what I’ll do. I’ll have a look for her. Maybe I can persuade her to see reason.’

Nodding to the barman, he left the club and, reaching Piccadilly, began to walk slowly towards Park Lane. He walked as far as Hyde Park Corner, then retraced his steps. As he was passing the Berkeley Hotel he spotted her across the street, walking towards the Circus.

‘That’s what I call a real bit of luck,’ he said to himself. ‘I knew she’d be around here somewhere. Pretty kid; looks as smart as paint.’ He grinned to himself, aware of a surge of excitement going through him. ‘Blimey!’ he thought. ‘I’ve got it bad. Wouldn’t have thought I’d ever chase after a bride like this; shows what love can do to a fella.’

He darted across the road as soon as the traffic began to slow down for the traffic lights, and hurried along behind Julie. The plain-clothes detective, who was tiring rapidly of following Julie, recognized Harry and whistled softly.

‘Now where did he spring from and what’s he want?’ he wondered and dropped behind, letting Harry go on ahead of him.

Harry was too intent on pursuing Julie to notice the detective. He overtook Julie as she waited to cross the Circus.

‘Hello, kid,’ he said, raising his hat. ‘I want to talk to you. There’s been a change of plan.’