1951 - But a Short Time to Live (21 page)

"Is that all you have to say?" Harry said, controlling his voice with an effort "Why, no, certainly not. I haven't started yet. I just thought you'd be interested to know how she got the job at the night club. She rolls in the hay with Lehmann too. Not that I blame her. Once you've done that sort of thing for a living you don't look on it as anything out of the way."

"I'm not going to listen to any more of this," Harry said, getting to his feet. "If you don't get out, I'll throw you out!"

Brady laughed.

"Don't be absurd. Why shouldn't I tell you this? Don't you want to know? Of course you do. A man likes to know how his girl provides for him. There's a name for a man like you. It's not a pretty one, and it carries a six-months' sentence."

"Get out!" Harry said, angrily. "I won't tell you again! Get out!"

"But I have every right to tell you," Brady said calmly. "I'm her husband, too."

Harry felt as if he had received a blow in the face. He took a step back, tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come.

"So she didn't tell you? Well, well, how odd of her," Brady said, smiling. "Odd too she should have married you. I imagined you wouldn't have objected to living on her without marriage."

"Did you say you were her husband?" Harry managed to get out

"Certainly. I've been her husband for more than five years."

"You're lying!"

"Do you think so? A pity. Of course we didn't live together after the first year. I have no idea why we did marry. We must have been drunk at the time. It was during the blitz, and while the bombs fell she was seldom sober; nor was I for that matter. It wasn't much fun for her to walk the streets with bombs and shrapnel coming down. The only thing that kept her going was booze." His fat finger tapped more ash on to the carpet. "If you don't believe me, you can always go to Somerset House and check the records. She called herself Clair Selwyn then. Her mother's name, I believe."

"I don't believe a word of it!" Harry burst out. "She'd never marry a swine like you. Get out! If you come here again I'll tell the police!"

"My poor fellow," Brady said, smiling. "If I remember rightly the sentence for bigamy is about two years. Imagine how she'd hate that after all this luxury. I think we'd better leave the police out of this, don't you?"

Harry went to the door and threw it open.

"Get out!"

Brady finished his drink and stood up. He was completely unruffled.

"There's no point in staying any longer," he said and picked up his hat. "But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Tell her to expect me. I want money, of course. So long as she pays I'll keep quiet. That car of hers is fascinating, isn't it?" He looked round the door admiringly. "Yes, she's done remarkably well. I should be able to shake her down for quite a bit." He moved to the door. "Bad luck for you, my friend. By the time I've finished with her there won't be a lot left for you."

He walked through the doorway, opened the front door, glanced over his shoulder to nod to Harry, then went away, whistling softly under his breath.

chapter twenty-five

C
lair came into the room, bringing with her a breath of cold air, and her fur coat sparkled with rain.

"Why, Harry! You still up? Why aren't you in bed?" She paused, sniffed, looked quickly at him. Have you been smoking a cigar?"

Harry was sitting before the fire. Innumerable cigarette butts lay in the hearth. A cigarette burned between his nicotine-stained fingers.

"Brady's been here," he said, not looking at her.

She was moving to the fire, stripping off her gloves as he spoke, and his words brought her to an abrupt standstill.

"Here?" she said, and her face stiffened into an expressionless mask.

He faced her and the sight of the hard, stony face, the bleak set of the painted mouth, the still, glittering eyes shocked him. He had told her a long time ago that he knew a tart when he saw one. He had said she wasn't like one in any way, but she was now. There was no mistaking the look he had seen so often on the faces of the women of the West End: that strange blend of wooden hardness and callousness that make them look subhuman.

"Yes," he said, and looked away.

Slowly, as if she wasn't aware what she was doing, she put her hat, gloves and handbag on the table. Then she opened the cedar-wood box, took out a cigarette and lit it "What did he want?" she asked. Even her voice sounded wooden and harsh.

"Can't you guess? Come and sit down. He's going to make trouble."

Instead of sitting down, she went to the cellaret, brought a glass and poured herself a drink from the bottle of whisky that still stood on the table. Although he wasn't looking at her he could tell how unsteady her hand was by the rattle of the bottle neck against the glass.

"He said you married him about five years ago," Harry went on. "Is it true?"

She came slowly to the fire and sat in the easy chair opposite Harry's.

"Is it true?" he repeated after a long silence.

"Yes, it's true," she said. "I heard he had gone to America. I thought I'd never see him again." She drank some of the whisky and put the glass on the hearth kerb. "I'm sorry, Harry. You wanted it so badly. I didn't want to disappoint you."

"I see," Harry said, and stared in the fire for a long moment. "Oh, well, it's too late to be sorry about it. I understand, of course. It was my fault for pressing you. I wish you had told me, Clair. Couldn't you have trusted me?"

"I didn't want to lose you," she said sullenly.

"He wants money. He's coming to see you tomorrow afternoon."

She didn't say anything and he glanced at her. She was staring into the fire. She looked old and worn, somehow shop-soiled, as if her bright, glittering veneer had been stripped away to show what was really underneath.

As she remained silent, he said, "It's blackmail, of course. We could go to the police."

"Let me think a moment," she said sharply.

They remained silent for what seemed to Harry to be a long time. She sat rigid, her cigarette in her lips, the smoke curling in a steady spiral to the ceiling. Only her eyes moved; they shifted continuously, like those of an animal in a trap.

"I want to know exactly what happened," she said suddenly. "Tell me everything. I'm sure he said a lot of filthy things about me, but I want to know everything."

In a cold, flat voice, Harry told her.

"He's been watching you," he concluded. "He says you go quite often to Simpson's flat."

She half-started out of her chair.

"That's a lie, Harry! You don't believe it, do you?"

He looked straight at her, and her eyes shifted.

"I don't want to believe it," he said. "He also said you and Lehmann . . ." He broke off, seeing the trapped expression on her face. "Is it true?"

"I warned you, didn't I?" she said harshly. "I told you I was rotten. Well, I am. I don't make any bones about it. They mean nothing to me. Nothing! All right, I won't lie to you, Harry. I do go to their flats." She reached for another cigarette.

"How could you, Clair?" He got to his feet and began to walk aimlessly about the room. Haven't you any thought for me? I have to mix with them. Why did you do it?"

"How else do you think I got the Regent job? But don't you see, Harry, they can't mean anything to me! You are the only man in my life. Ever since I met you I've wanted to do things for you, but I've only succeeded in making you unhappy. I couldn't help it It was so easy. I knew if I went with them I could handle them."

"You put money before everything," Harry said. "That's where you go wrong. Oh, Clair, why did you do it? We could have been happy if you had left the money side to me. We wouldn't have had a great deal, but we wouldn't have been in this mess."

"I suppose you hate me now," she said in a hard, flat voice. "Well, I don't blame you. What are you going to do? Are you going to walk out on me?"

He went to the window, pushed the curtain aside and stared down into the rain-swept street.

"Harry!" She got up and went to him, putting her hand on his arm. "What are you going to do? Are you going to leave me?"

He shook his head.

"It's all right," he said, not turning. "We'll forget about everything for now except Brady. When we've dealt with him we can tackle our own problem, but not before."

"Does that mean you're going to leave me — in a little while? I must know, Harry. I can't stand the uncertainty. Can't you see a man like Simpson couldn't mean anything to me except what I could get out of him? It's you I love. My whole life's centred around you. All I've done — this place, the car, the money I've made is for you if only you'd accept them. If you're going to leave me, tell me now."

Harry turned and looked helplessly at her.

"How I wish you hadn't done any of this. It's all right, Clair. I'm not going to leave you. I'd be lying if I said it won't make a difference; it will, but I still love you, and if you'll try to change — give up this horrible thirst for money, we'd be so much happier. Can't you see that? Give up the stage, Clair. Let's make a fresh start. What does it matter if we're hard up? Isn't it better to be hard up than in a mess like this?"

"Do you think Brady will let me give this up now?" she asked. He'll want money, and I'll have to earn it. He's like a leech. He'll cling on and suck me dry."

"We'll go to the police. It's the only way to deal with a rat like him."

"The police? I've committed bigamy," Clair said, her voice rising. "How can we go to the police? Do you think I want to go to prison again?"

"But you're not going to give him money, are you?" Harry said, anxiously. "He'll never leave you alone once he knows he can get it out of you. They never do."

"I know I'm not going to prison. I'd kill myself first'

"Clair . . . please—"

"I would! I'd kill myself. I'd rather die than spend a week in prison. You don't know what it's like. It was awful. Worse than I ever imagined. Hellish! Shut away from everything. Made to do beastly chores. Nagged and bullied. Shut up behind bars like an animal. No, that'll never happen to me again. I'm ready this time. I'll kill myself!"

"You mustn't talk like that, Clair," Harry said, shocked. "We haven't the right to end our own lives."

She gave a hard, sneering little smile.

"It's my own life to do what I want with. I know I'll never go to prison again." She turned away.

"Come on, Harry, let's go to bed. It's late and I'm tired." She picked up her hat and gloves and walked into the bedroom. Her shoulders drooped and she walked listlessly. Watching her, Harry felt a pang of pity for her. It was all partly his fault, he thought, following her into the bedroom. He had been weak. It was too late for regrets. Brady now controlled the situation. Unless they could think of some way out, she would either have to go to prison or pay.

"Do you want to sleep with me?" Clair said abruptly. "I'll understand if you don't."

He knew it was no time to pity himself or to be outraged. She had done what she had done as much for him as for herself. He knew that. He was quite sure in his mind that neither Simpson nor Lehmann meant anything to her. It was horrible that she could have behaved like that, but her background and upbringing set her aside from other women. She was in trouble. This was the time to be generous. He went to her and took her in his arms.

"It's all right, darling. Let's forget about it. We'll see this thing through together. I don't know how it will end, but whatever happens I'll be with you."

chapter twenty-six

T
he following afternoon, punctually at three o'clock, the front door bell rang.

Clair started at the sound, scattering cigarette ash over her skirt. As she made to get up, Harry stopped her.

"I'll go. Don't let him rattle you," he said.

She had wanted to see Brady alone, but Harry wouldn't hear of it.

"He may as well know I'm in this with you," he had said. "I'm not leaving you. I said we'd see this through together and we're going to."

They had been sitting on the settee, waiting, since lunch, both smoking, both nervy, and it was a relief to Harry when the bell rang. He crossed the room to the front door.

Brady stood in the passage, expansive, smiling, immaculate and pig-like. Behind him was another man: short, square-shouldered with a mop of tow-coloured hair, a square chin, cold, steady grey eyes and a mouth which was fixed in a perpetual and humourless grin.

Harry recognised the hair at once. This was the man who had hit him with the bicycle chain and who had maimed Ron.

"Ah! So you're here too?" Brady said, showing his gold-capped teeth in an expansive smile. "Excellent! I wanted a word with you. And Clair? She's here? A party, eh? Splendid! This is Ben Whelan. You've met him before, I believe?"

Whelan looked at Harry and his grin widened. He had small even teeth: very white and strong looking, the teeth of a professional boxer.

"Hallo, chummy," he said.

Harry stood aside; his mouth dry and his heart hammering.

Brady walked past him into the sitting-room.

Whelan motioned Harry to follow.

"Go ahead, chummy," he said. "I'm keeping an eye on you."

As Harry entered the sitting-room, Brady was saying, "How are you, Clair? You look a little peeked, but I expect that's the excitement of seeing me again. Here's Ben. He's been looking forward to this. You were always his favourite brunette."

“Hallo, baby," Ben said, sauntering in behind Harry. "How did you get on in quod?"

Clair was standing with her back to the mantelpiece. She was pale and her face was set, but she seemed to have lost her nervousness. There was a wary hardness about her now that surprised Harry.

"It wasn't a holiday," she said shrugging. "But then it didn't cost me anything."

Brady laughed.

"You always did look on the bright side of things," he said, dropping his hat on the table. "What do you think of the layout, Ben? Have a look round. She won't mind."