1958 - Not Safe to be Free (5 page)

Joe replaced the receiver and edged his way through the crowd into the bar. As he pushed open the swing door, he saw the hands of the clock above the bar stood at five minutes to five.

At that hour the bar was almost empty. Joe shocked the barman by asking for a plate of ham, a roll and butter and a double whisky.

He was sure the girl was still in the suite. No point in going hungry, he told himself as he began to butter his roll. The wait could be a long one, but he was determined to see the girl leave, even if he had to wait outside the door of the suite all night.

Chapter Three

I

J
ean Thiry walked out of the cinema a few paces behind Floyd Delaney.

Delaney was talking to his business manager, Harry Stone, a big, heavily built man who wore rimless glasses and a fawn lightweight suit. Sweat beads made his baldhead glisten.

Thiry wondered if this might be the opportunity he had been waiting for to approach Delaney. If only he could get Delaney interested in Lucille, his financial troubles would be over. There were now only three more days of the Festival and then his chances of getting Delaney to sign Lucille up would be gone.

Lucille was Thiry’s one great hope. His agency had been going downhill now for the past two years and Lucille was the only promising star on his shrinking list of clients. The others were has-beens: good, efficient actors and actresses who at one time had been names, but now were too old for anything but bit parts and the commission he got from them wasn’t enough to take care of the office overheads.

Thiry glanced at his wristwatch. It was just on six. He had told Lucille to meet him in the Plaza bar at six. If he hurried on ahead of Delaney, he could fix it that he and Lucille were in the lobby when Delaney entered the hotel. As he was about to move towards the cinema exit, Delaney walked directly past him.

Grabbing at the opportunity, Thiry said, “Good afternoon Mr. Delaney.”

Floyd Delaney gave him a quick, sharp stare and then paused.

Delaney was tall and broad with blonde, wavy hair, turning white at the temples. His deeply tanned face was arresting rather than handsome. He had grey eyes, a cleft chin and a sensitive mouth. He looked a lot younger than his fifty-five years.

He frowned, trying to recall where he had seen Thiry before.

“Let’s see . . . you are . . .?”

Harry Stone moved up.

“This is Jean Thiry, Mr. Delaney. Lucille Balu’s agent.”

Delaney’s face showed sudden interest.

“Yeah, that’s right. I remember.” He offered his hand to Thiry. “You have a nice little property in that kid, Thiry. I’ve been thinking I might do something about her. How’s she fixed?”

Thiry took Delaney’s hand as if it were made of eggshells.

“She’s just finished a picture, Mr. Delaney. She’s free right now.”

“Suppose we all have a drink together?” Delaney said. “I’m not free until nine. Bring her along then. Nine in the bar, eh?”

“Yes, Mr. Delaney,” Thiry said, scarcely believing his good fortune. “We’ll be there and thanks.”

Delaney nodded and, taking Stone’s arm, hurried with him across the foyer and down to where his big Bentley was standing in the sunshine.

His heart thumping with excitement, Thiry ran down the cinema steps and started along the Croisette towards the Plaza hotel.

What a break! he was thinking. Delaney wouldn’t be wasting his time buying us drinks if he wasn’t really interested. This could be a thirty million franc contract! A ten per cent cut on that figure would be a lifesaver! He had difficulty in stopping himself from breaking into a run. What a bit of luck for Lucille too! he thought. Well, she deserved it. She had worked hard, hadn’t given herself airs, hadn’t been hard to handle, had done just what he had told her to do and now this looked as if both of them were going to reap their reward.

He pushed his way through the crowd in the Plaza lobby and entered the bar. The clock above the bar told him it was now five past six. The bar was pretty crowded. He looked around but he couldn’t see Lucille.

Not like her to be late, he thought, elbowing his way to the bar. Feeling it was a moment to celebrate, he ordered a whisky and soda, and, while he was drinking it, he leaned against the bar and watched the entrance.

Joe Kerr, sipping his third whisky, watched him.

A page put his head around the bar door and called, “Monsieur Jean Thiry, please.”

Thiry signalled to the boy, who came over and gave him a slip of paper.

Frowning and watched by Joe Kerr, Thiry read the message.

Telephone message for Mr. Jean Thiry. Received 16.45. I am spending the evening in Monte Carlo. Will see you in the morning. Lucille Balu.

Thiry stared at the message, then, as the page began to fidget, he tipped him and then moved over to one of the big windows that overlooked the Croisette.

Why in the world had Lucille gone to Monte Carlo? he wondered. Who had she gone with? She wouldn’t have gone all that way alone. He again looked at the clock over the bar. The time was now twenty minutes past six. He had two hours and forty minutes to find her and get her back to the Plaza hotel.

Well, it wasn’t impossible. Monte Carlo was a small place.

She was certain to be in the Casino.

He crumpled the message slip and tossed it from him, then he hurried from the bar, through the lobby and out of the hotel to where he had parked his shabby, overworked Simca Verdette.

Before Thiry had reached the bar door, Joe Kerr had slid off his stool and had picked up the crumpled message slip. He carried it back to the bar and carefully smoothed out the paper. He read the message and his red-raw face puckered into an expression of blank bewilderment.

Had the girl left the suite after all? Had he missed her somehow?

He put the message slip into his wallet, finished his whisky and leaving the bar, he went to the hall porter’s desk.

“Have you seen Mademoiselle Balu leave?” he asked.

“She hasn’t left the hotel, monsieur,” the hall porter returned, and, knowing the man’s efficiency, Kerr didn’t doubt him for a moment.

“None of the Delaneys been in yet?”

“No, monsieur.”

There was a side exit near the entrance to the Television Studios that was housed in the Plaza and Joe decided it would be worthwhile to check there. He hurried down the long corridor to where a couple of pressmen were sitting outside the studio, patiently nursing their cameras.

“Seen Lucille Balu go out?” Joe asked.

They shook their heads.

“She didn’t come this way.”

She must still be in Delaney’s suite, Joe told himself as he returned to the lobby. Then why the message? Had she sent it? Maybe she was planning to spend the night in the boy’s bedroom. Was that it? It seemed odd to Joe that the girl should get herself locked in the suite as early as this.

He saw Floyd Delaney and Harry Stone come into the hotel. Stone went over to the desk and got Delaney’s key while Delaney paused for a moment to have a word with Edward G. Robinson, who was passing through the lobby.

Joe heard Delaney say to Stone as Robinson moved on: “I’ll go on up. See you in the bar at nine, Harry. If we can come to terms I’d like to get this Balu girl under contract.”

Moving quickly, foe crossed the lobby and ran up the stairs to the second floor. He paused at the head of the stairs to make sure the hotel detective wasn’t still prowling around then he hurried to the alcove window and had just got out of sight as the elevator door opened and Delaney came out and crossed to the door of suite 27.

Delaney unlocked the door and entered, shutting the door behind him. He went over to the telephone and called his secretary Miss Kobbe, who had a room on the third floor.

“Come on down, will you?” he said, then dropped the receiver back on its cradle and going into his bedroom, he stripped off his clothes and put on a dressing gown.

He heard Miss Kobbe come in.

“Get Sanson,” he called. “I’ll be out in a moment,” and he went into the bathroom and took a cold shower.

When Sophia came into the suite, she found Floyd talking on the telephone. He waved to her and she went over and kissed his forehead, then went into her bedroom.

Miss Kobbe, a tall willowy girl, began to mix a batch of martinis in a silver shaker. With a speed born of long practice, she poured two drinks, put one of them on the table where Delaney could reach it and then, carrying the other, she rapped on Sophia’s bedroom door and entered.

Sophia was sitting at her dressing table. She had taken off her frock and now, clad only in panties and brassiere, she was painting her lips with a fine-haired brush.

“Thank you,” she said as Miss Kobbe put the martini on the dressing table. “Do you know if Jay is in his room?”

“I don’t think he is, Mrs. Delaney,” Miss Kobbe said. “I haven’t heard him. Do you want me to see?”

Sophia hesitated, then shook her head.

“No, it’s all right. Will Mr. Delaney be tied up for long?”

“He’s waiting a call from Hollywood. Mr. Cooper is coming up at six forty-five.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

“Mr. Delaney is meeting Miss Lucille Balu in the bar at nine. He then wants to catch the last part of the film showing tonight. You and he are having supper at half-past twelve with the van Asters at the Chateau de Madrid.”

Sophia sighed.

“When Mr. Delaney is off the phone, please tell him I want to speak to him.”

“I will, Mrs. Delaney.”

Miss Kobbe went out.

Sophia drank half the martini, then, lighting a cigarette, she slipped on a wrap and lay down on the chaise lounge by the open window.

She had been uneasy and worried since she had left Jay. His explanation about the girl in his room hadn’t satisfied her. It had been too glib: too calculated. She was sure he had been lying and she had an instinctive feeling that something was seriously wrong. The scratches on his arm, the way he had held the curtain cord, the blue bead she had found on the floor and the atmosphere and tension that had been in the room had formed a sinister impression in her mind.

The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she had become. She felt that Floyd should be told and yet she was anxious that he shouldn’t go off the deep-end, as ne so easily did. She knew he didn’t take much interest in his son and that he was inclined to be unfairly critical of him. She didn’t want to make the already big rift between the two any bigger, but she was now so uneasy in her mind that she felt compelled to shift the responsibility on to her husband. She heard the telephone bell tinkle as Floyd hung up and then, after a pause, her bedroom door opened and he came in.

“Well, honey, did you have a nice swim?”

“Yes, it was nice. Sit down, darling. I want to talk to you.”

He moved over to the chaise lounge, his half-finished martini in his hand and he sat down by her side. He put his glass on the side table and then rested his hand, under her wrap on her knee, smiling at her.

“What is it? You looked worried. I don’t like to see my baby doll worried. Is there anything wrong?”

For a moment she hesitated. Floyd was unpredictable. Was it her business to talk to him about his son? Would he be offended? Then she thought of the way Jay had moved across the room, the curtain cord in his hands and the sudden frightening feeling she had had that perhaps he meant her harm. This recollection decided her.

“Not exactly wrong, Floyd. It’s about Jay. . .”

Delaney’s smile faded and two deep lines of disapproval appeared above the bridge of his nose.

“Jay? Why should you be worrying about him?”

“Floyd, this is in strict confidence. Please. . .”

His hand slid over her knee and along her thigh and he smiled again.

“Of course. What is it?”

“He had a girl up here.”

Delaney stared at her, then took his hand away and rubbed his jaw, his eyes hardening.

“A girl? Up here?”

“Yes. When I left you, I came back here to pick up my swimsuit. I found the door locked. When I finally got in, there was a smell of perfume in the room. I knew at once someone had been in here. I asked him if he had brought a girl up here and he admitted it.”

“Well, for the love of mike!” Delaney said and got to his feet. He began to prowl around the room, his face set in a heavy frown. “Who was she?”

“I don’t know. She was in his bedroom. He said he was lonely. He met the girl in the lobby and thought she was attractive and brought her up here. Then he decided she wasn’t so attractive and was wondering how he could get rid of her when I arrived.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Delaney said, his voice suddenly harsh. “I’ll kick his tail for him! Where is he?”

“Floyd, please . . . I promised him I wouldn’t tell you. You mustn’t say anything to him, but I thought you should know about it.”

Delaney moved over to his drink, picked up the glass and finished the martini.

“There’s not much point in knowing if I can’t do anything about it,” he said impatiently. “I don’t object to him fooling around with a girl. At his age, that’s natural, but I’m damned if I’ll stand for him bringing some tart up here.”

“He won’t do it again, Floyd. We had an understanding about that,” Sophia said quietly.

Delaney ran his fingers through his hair.

“Well, then. . .”

He glanced at his watch. His mind was already beginning to move away from the subject of his son, which never interested him for more than three or four minutes at a stretch. He had a lot to do this night. The Hollywood call bothered him. He had made an offer for the new Atlantic Book of the Month choice and he had just learned that M.G.M. were also interested in the book. If his agent, Brennon, didn’t hurry up, the book might cost him more than it was worth.

“Floyd . . . Jay is a little odd, isn’t he?” Sophia said. “Ever since I’ve known him I’ve thought he was—well, a little odd.”

Delaney looked sharply at her.

“Odd? I wouldn’t say that. Perhaps he’s a bit too quiet for his age and maybe he doesn’t mix enough, but I wouldn’t say he was odd. What exactly do you mean?”