Dennis Wheatley: Sixty Days to Live

SIXTY DAYS TO LIVE

BY DENNIS WHEATLEY

for JOHN AND HILDA GARDNER

Because they are my oldest friends, because of the many happy hours I have spent with them and because, by a strange coincidence, John suggested that I should write a 'Comet' story one day last autumn when that very morning I had decided to write one myself.

An Offer of Marriage

Lavina Leigh paused for a second in the entrance of the Savoy Grill. The maitre d'hotel smiled, bowed and moved forward, upon which she made her entrance.

Lavina was good at making entrances. She was slim, very fair and, although she was not tall, her film work had taught her to make the best of her inches and she carried herself like a Princess.

Even in that sophisticated supper-time crowd, heads turned as she swept forward. Ace director Alfred Hitchcock, perched like Humpty Dumpty on the edge of a chair, gave her a little wave of greeting from one table; and B.B.C. chief Val Gielgud, looking very Russian with his little pointed beard, smiled at her from another.

The man who followed Lavina was in his late forties. He had a square face with a bulldog chin, but his features were redeemed from coarseness by pleasant brown eyes, a fine forehead and a touch of grey in his dark, smooth hair, over either temple.

Sir Samuel Curry was used to appearing in public with good-looking women. He was very rich and decidedly a connoisseur, but even so, on this night towards the end of April he was conscious of a little glow of pride in his glamorous companion as he followed her to their table and they settled themselves at it.

He did not ask her what she would have to eat but ordered for her, as they had been friends for some months and he knew all her favourite dishes. In less than a minute the waiter had departed to execute Sir Samuel's clear, decisive orders.

'You know,' he said, 'I never come here except with you. 1 much prefer the Restaurant.'

She shrugged. 'Don't be difficult, Sam dear. I know you millionaires always congregate there but the Grill's so much more interesting. Look, there's Gilbert Frankau and his pretty wife, with Leon M. Lion; and at that other table Doris Zin-keisen and her husband, Grahame Johnstone. You saw "Hitch", too, as we came in. The big man with him is Henry Sherek and the little woman is "Hitch's" clever wife who vets most of his scripts for him. Besides, all the big boys on the Press come here and that's immensely useful.'

Sam Curry smiled a little ruefully. 'Yes, I suppose it's part of your job to keep in touch with all these people, but I wish to goodness you'd be sensible and chuck it. You'll never make a film star.'

Her small, beautifully-shaped mouth opened on an exclamation of protest, but she suppressed it and lit a cigarette before she replied with calm aloofness: 'I am one already.'

'Oh, no, you're not,' he mocked her. 'You're only a starlet. No one's a real star until they've been given a Hollywood contract.'

Lavina lifted her heavy eyelids lazily. 'That doesn't apply any more, Sam.'

But in spite of her denial she knew that he was right. In three years she had done very well and, as she was only twenty-three, she still had a good film life before her. But, at times, she was subject to horrid doubts as to whether she would get much further.

Her acting was sound; she had a personality that attracted every man with whom she came in contact and, physically, she was about as nearly perfect as any woman could be, but, all the same, she knew quite well that her beauty was not of a kind best suited for motion-pictures.

It was of that fine, aristocratic type which is based on bone-formation and ensures for every woman who has it the certainty of still being lovely in old age. Her small, perfectly-chiselled Roman nose and narrow, oval face gave her great distinction; but her nose had proved an appalling handicap in her work, as in all but the most carefully selected angles it threw a tiresome shadow when she was being filmed under the glare of the arc-lamps. That one factor had already robbed her of several good parts and might well prevent her from ever achieving real stardom, unless she was willing to have her nose broken and remodelled—which she was not prepared to do.

While they ate their bligny and the stuffed quails which followed they talked of the people round about them. One waiter refilled their glasses with Roederer '28. Another brought them fresh peaches. After he had peeled them and moved away, Sana Curry said:

"When are you going to present me to your people, Lavina?'

Little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, which came from frequent laughter, creased up as she parried: "Why this sudden question?'

'Because I'm old-fashioned enough to want to observe the custom of meeting your relations before I marry you.'

Her blackened eyelashes lifted, showing the surprise in her blue-grey eyes. 'Surely you don't mean that you would walk right out of my life if they disapproved of you?'

'Of course not. It's just a courtesy.'

'But I haven't said that I will marry you yet.'

'You're going to, as sure as my name's Sam Curry.'

She shook her golden head in silent mockery.

'Listen, Lavina,' he went on. 'Even if you could become a real film star, it's a dog's life, and you know it. On the set at eight o'clock or earlier most mornings; often working the whole night through; and what little leisure you do get is wasted in acting a part all the time: opening bazaars, posing for photographers, endless fittings at dressmakers', showing yourself off in places like this because it's vital to get continuous publicity if you're to keep in the swim at all.'

'I like it,' she shrugged.

'Maybe. But in ten years, at the outside, you'll be worn out, finished, and no good to anyone. Already you're losing your eye for make-up and, if you go on this way, you'll become a hag before you're thirty. Get some of that paint off your face and look twice as beautiful. Cut out this film business and enjoy yourself, my dear, while you're still young and healthy.'

'I should be bored to tears doing nothing all day.'

'But you wouldn't be doing nothing,' he persisted. 'I've made enough to take things easy now, and we could travel. You'd like that, wouldn't you? There's the house in London. And we'd have another in the country; a big place where we could entertain. Think what fun it would be for you, with your artistic flair, to furnish and decorate it. Besides, you could do an immense amount of good with my money. I've been too busy to think of other people while I've been making it, but you must have lots of pet schemes you'd like to foster; and if running a couple of big houses, with frequent trips abroad, isn't enough, you'd find plenty to occupy you in really worth-while charities.'

'You think I'm a much nicer person than I really am. Actually, I'm extremely selfish and rather lazy.'

He looked her straight in the eyes. 'That's just one of your poses, Lavina, and if you stick on in the film game, it may become a permanent part of your nature. Instead, you're going to marry me and remain your own sweet self, and I suggest that as a first step you should introduce me to your people.'

'I've never confessed to having any.'

'True. You always pose as a "mystery woman", but I'll bet you've got some relatives tucked away somewhere. Of course, if they gave you a rotten deal, we'll leave it at that; but the chances are that they follow your career through the papers with tremendous pride, so it would be the decent thing to do just to go and see them before you get married.'

'As a matter of fact, they're very fond of me. But you might not like them.'