Dennis Wheatley: Black August

For a time she sat alone in the lengthening shadows debating with herself the advisability of taking Gregory's advice and scuttling back to Orford the next day, but there was her job to be considered; supposing all this pessimism proved a false alarm? there had been isolated acts of violence and occasional rioting for the last eighteen months. If she once cleared out she could hardly expect her firm to take her back besides she was going to see Kenyon again that evening! And unless he proved disappointing at this second meeting, she somehow felt that she would not want to leave London for the present. Still undecided, she went up to dress.

An hour later, as she was being carried swiftly towards Charing Cross in the Underground, she wondered why Kenyon had asked her to meet him at nine o'clock. It seemed absurdly late to her yet his letter had clearly said dinner. She wondered, too, how he would be dressed tails or a dinner jacket. Most of the young men she knew could not afford two sets of evening clothes, and favoured the latter as more economical for their laundry bills. She assured herself that it did not matter two pence really, but as he had suggested the Savoy it meant dancing afterwards, and she preferred not to go to pretentious places unless her escort was properly dressed.

At Charing Cross she hopped into a taxi, since she had no intention of arriving at the Savoy on foot. As she walked through the lounge of the hotel she found that she had timed her arrival admirably, the clock showed two minutes past nine, and there at one of the small tables below the stairs Kenyon was waiting to greet her.

In one swift glance she saw that no woman could cavil at his appearance. White tie, and a double breasted waistcoat making a sharp line across his trousers top, his rebellious hair brushed smoothly back, and a flower in his buttonhole. 'Really,' thought Ann as she walked towards him, 'he looks terribly distinguished, almost as though he wore dress clothes every evening.'

He rose as she came up. 'My dear, you're looking ravishing; have a cocktail?'

'Thanks, I'd love one,' she smiled serenely as she settled herself in the chair he held for her.

So he thought her ravishing what fun and really, she had never felt better than she did tonight. How fortunate that she'd decided to blow the extra twenty five bob and have the prettier frock it had seemed a horrible extravagance at the time but now she had no regrets. Ann's face flushed to a delicate pink, her eyes bright with excitement as she raised her glass in response to him across the little table.

'Your friends the Communists are making a fine to do about the shooting in Glasgow,' he remarked with a grin, 'threatening all sorts of reprisals against the Government.'

Ann reddened; somehow her Socialistic theories seemed rather futile and childish in the atmosphere of this luxury hotel. It ought, she knew, to have strengthened her conviction in the rightness of her cause. But being honest with herself, she knew that she was enjoying every minute of it; so she shrugged her rather plump little shoulders under the flimsy frock, and smiled, 'Shall we give politics a miss this evening just pretend we're living in normal times I wish you would?'

'Why rather I'd love to. What about another cocktail?'

'Yes, er that is…" She hesitated a second, used as she was to practising consideration for young men's pockets. 'Don't think me rude but can you really afford this sort of thing?'

'You stupid child, of course I can,' he laughed, 'still it's sweet of you to think of it. Waiter two more Forlorn Hopes.'

Ten minutes later as he followed her down the broad, shallow stairs towards the restaurant, his thoughts were chaotic. What a skin she's got and those little dark curls on the nape of her neck… I'd love to kiss them… By jove I will, too. There's not a girl to touch her in this place… I'm thundering glad I wrote to her after all… but that was a little queer, thinking I might not have the price of a second cocktail. Damned decent though… and how refreshing!'

'How goes the job?' Ann inquired, after he had ordered what she considered to be an almost criminally expensive meal.

'I think it will be all right, but I shan't know for about a fortnight.'

'I do hope you get it; would they give you a decent screw to start with?'

'Oh, not too bad, about eight quid a week. Here's to it!' he added, lifting his glass; 'and long life and happiness to Mistress Ann Croome.'

'Thank you,' she smiled quickly as the bubbles of the champagne tickled her tongue. 'Well, eight pounds a week is nice, but not a fortune,' she was thinking, and if they were going to be friends she meant to teach him to be economical. It was terribly nice of him to give her such a marvellous evening, and perhaps it was excusable just this first time, but there must be no more dinners at places like the Savoy.

'Of course I get an allowance from my father,' he cut in, almost as if he had read her thoughts.

'I see,' she coloured slightly, 'and is he a civil servant too?'

'Well, hardly,' Kenyon's blue eyes shone with sudden humour, 'he's a farmer really although fortunately he has a few investments as well.'

'Investments are so uncertain these days, aren't they?'

'They are, indeed did you hear that Vibro Magnetic crashed this afternoon?'

'No! That means another slump in the city, I suppose?'

He nodded. 'Bound to, they're such a tremendous concern, and they'll bring down dozens of smaller people with them, so goodness knows how many more poor devils will be hammered on the Stock Exchange next settling day.'

'If things go on like this there won't be any Stock Exchange left.'

'Not unless the Government decide on a moratorium, they've been talking about it for the last week.'

'What effect will it have if they do?'

'No one will have to pay anyone else except for a new transaction.'

'I hope they do then it would give all the firms that are in difficulties a chance to carry on.'

’Perhaps but it almost means an end of credit. People wouldn't be able to get any more goods unless they were in a position to pay for them.'

'Well, it would keep my firm from going under I'm terrified every day that they'll close down and that I shall lose my job.'

'Ann,' he said gravely; 'why did you come back to London? delighted as I am to see you, I did write and warn you not to. There's going to be real trouble, here very soon.'

'I thought it terribly sweet of you to write as we'd only met just that once would you really like to know why I came back?'

'I would.'

She leaned a little forward across the table, a mischievous smile lurking in the depths of her golden flecked eyes.

'Then I'll tell you!… It was because I wanted to see you again!'

'Really! Do you mean that?' he bent eagerly towards her, stretching out one of his large, freckled hands to take hers, but she laughed and shook her curls.

'No, not really,' she mocked, then seeing the sudden look of disappointment that clouded his face, she added quickly: 'At least… I did want to see you again, but the principal reason was my job.'

He nodded to a waiter who held a roast Aylesbury duckling for his inspection, then he turned back to her: 'You hadn't quite forgotten all about me when you got my first letter?'

'No I'd thought about you quite a lot.'

'Had you?'

'Of course if I'd been anywhere but Orford I should never have given you a second thought but in a place like that there is so little to think about at all!' The dark fans of her lashes fell demurely on her cheeks.

'Ann! you're a perfect little beast!'

She glanced up swiftly. 'Have you only just discovered that? Most of my young men find me out at once… and they all find me disappointing when they get to know me better!'