Dennis Wheatley: Sixty Days to Live

'I'm sure we shall.' He extended a well-shaped, carefully manicured hand.

As she took it, Lavina was conscious of a horrible premonition that they were either going to be deadly enemies or something very much more to each other than just friends.

The Unscrupulous Ex-Minister

On May 12th Lavina and Sam were married. There had been no time to arrange the great social function which Sam would have liked to stage, in order to show off his lovely young filmstar bride to his hundreds of wealthy acquaintances; and, although Lavina, having become accustomed to the limelight during the latter part of her film career, would have raised no objection to a big show, she really preferred the idea of being married quietly from her own home in Surrey.

The initial difficulty had been the dilapidated condition of Stapleton Court and the fact that her father lived by such a narrow margin that he could not possibly afford even the few-pounds it would cost to open up the house, much less give her a reception there; and he was far too proud to allow Sam to foot the bill for him.

Yet Gervaise Stapleton was not an unreasonable man. He was delighted at the thought that his daughter wanted to be married from her old home rather than from an hotel in London, and when she pointed out that her film earnings had left her with a considerable bank balance, from which she could well afford to pay for everything herself, he readily agreed that she should do so.

For the past week charwomen, french-polishers and menders had been hard at it, scrubbing and cleaning the reception rooms —which had not been open for nearly a quarter of a century— and mending their furnishings. So that on the morning of the wedding a firm of London caterers had had a clear field to prepare for the reception.

Only about a hundred people had been invited; Sam's more intimate friends, some of Lavina's film folk and a number of neighbours who had known her since her childhood.

Derek Burroughs was there, making a gallant attempt to hide the gloom he could not help feeling. Conchita del Serilla, Rupert Brand and Fink-Drummond were among those who had motored down from London; but Mrs. Fink-Drummond was not present, as she had sailed the day before on a visit to friends in the United States.

Everyone agreed that Lavina, with her slight figure, thin, Roman-nosed, aristocratic little face and natural golden hair, made an enchanting bride; and that, in spite of his bulldog chin and greying hair, Sam did not really look old enough to be her father.

Gervaise, in an old-fashioned grey frock-coat and topper, dug out for the occasion, looked positively ducal, and Sam thought that Margery, as the only bridesmaid, looked younger and prettier than on any of the few occasions he had seen her.

Hemmingway Hughes, his pale, clever face smiling but spinx-like, made an excellent best man and, without appearing to do anything very much, saw to it with his usual efficiency that all the arrangements worked smoothly.

One guest whom Lavina was particularly pleased to see afterwards at the reception was Oliver's son, her cousin Roy. He was the bad hat of the family and had spent the best part of the last ten years roving about in the Far East, earning a precarious living in a variety of rather dubious ways; but he was a good-natured, amusing person and Lavina had always been fond of him.

When he managed to get her to himself for a moment he laughingly congratulated her upon having been clever enough to find such a good-looking millionaire for a husband.

'You're over thirty so it's time you settled down yourself, Roy,' she laughed back at him.

'No one will have me,' he grinned.

'I don't believe it.' Her glance took in his bronzed, attractive face with the fair, wavy hair above it. 'You haven't lost your looks and you always were a devil with the women!'

That's just the trouble. Each girl seems to find out about one of the others, and there's always a rumpus before I even get as far as popping the question. Besides, there aren't so many young women knocking around who have the cash and would be prepared to keep me.'

'You're still broke, then?'

'Absolutely stony. That's why I decided to come back to England. Things were getting too hot for me in the East. Too many writs flying about, and I thought I might induce the old man to kill the fatted calf and set me up in some sort of business here.'

'Poor Oliver's killed too many fatted calves for you already, my lad, and he's never had much money, so I shouldn't think you'll have any luck in that direction.'

He sighed. 'No. He was decent enough, but he's so wrapped up in his astronomy that it's almost impossible to get him to talk business. How about this wealthy husband of yours, though? He's got all sorts of interests. Think you could do me a turn, old girl, and get him to put me into something?'

Lavina smiled a little doubtfully. 'You've blotted your copybook so often, Roy, and I'd have to tell Sam the truth about you; but if you care to leave it like that, I'll ask him if he can do anything when we get back from our honeymoon.'

'Thanks. You're a darling. Always were. Don't blacken the old horse too much, though, and I really will put in man's time if you can persuade him to give me a job. You might tell him, too, that I approve the brand of champagne he's given us for this little "do". I'm going to knock off another bottle before I hit the trail for London.'

'Do, Roy. Two, if you like. And thanks for the compliment, because I chose the wine and am paying for it.'

He lifted an eyebrow lazily. 'Poor old girl. With his moneybags to draw on, you must be crackers! But you always were queer about that sort of thing. Anyhow, good hunting on your honeymoon!'

As some other guests came up he left her and, while she was talking with them, she noticed that Fink-Drummond had got Sam a little apart from the crowd, in another corner of the room.

Fink-Drummond was saying: 'Listen, Sam, I hate to drag you away from your friends at a time like this but I've a most important matter that I must tell you about before you leave England. I won't keep you long, but is there somewhere we could have a quiet word together?'

'Of course, Finkie, if it's something really urgent.' Sam glanced quickly round the room and added: 'Come along to the library. The family use it as a living-room so it's been shut up for today. No one will disturb us there.'

When they reached the library, Fink-Drummond perched himself on the corner of Gervaise Stapleton's big desk and said impressively: 'Since I lunched with you the other day I've been doing a lot of quiet thinking. You may remember it was suggested that the Government might intend to use this threat of danger from the comet that is approaching as a means of panicking the public and getting themselves home again on a snap election.'

Sam nodded. 'Yes. But you said yourself that that could not possibly be their intention because they had decided to keep all knowledge of the comet from the public as long as possible.'

'Exactly.' Fink-Drummond tapped Sam on the grey satin stock he was wearing, with a strong, slightly twisted forefinger. 'That is the whole point. If they're not going to use it, is there any reason why somebody else shouldn't?'

'I see.' Sam frowned slightly as his quick brain grasped the trend of the ex-Cabinet Minister's thoughts. 'You're suggesting that, when you've got your own followers organised, you should blow the gaff about the comet before the Government has the chance to do so? Accuse them of criminal negligence in failing to take such precautions as are possible against the danger, force a General Election and ride home to power yourself on a panic wave of popular indignation?'

'Precisely. And I'm certain it could be done.'

'Perhaps. But have you considered the risk of such a proceeding? To pull off a scheme like that you'd have to stress the danger sufficiently to create a state of national alarm. Once you do that, the masses might get out of hand. Riots, even revolution, might result from such a policy.'