‘And you?’ She half turned her head so she could look at me, her black eyes remote. ‘You are interested in his money, aren’t you Keith?’
This startled me, but I kept my face expressionless as I said, ‘I am interested in money . . . any money.’
She gave a malicious little laugh.
‘Well, he hasn’t got it yet. So no one, including you and including me, need to get interested.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ I told her about the Planning committee and how I had become involved and that I was playing along with them and that I was seeing them on Friday evening.
She listened while she stared up at the ceiling.
‘By playing along with them,’ I went on, ‘it gives me a legitimate excuse to be with you if we are seen together. There are eyes everywhere, Beth.’
‘Hmmm.’ She stretched her long legs. ‘You can tell them Frank won’t give them a cent. He hates Wicksteed. If he died, I wouldn’t give them a cent either.’
‘I won’t tell them that. That’s not the way to handle it if we’re going to go on seeing each other.’
She shrugged her naked shoulders.
‘Tell them what you like, but you now know not one cent of old Mrs. Fremlin’s money will ever be spent on this stinking little town . . . that’s for real: neither by Frank nor by me.’
She rolled over to stub out her cigarette. She had a long, lean beautiful back right down to the cleft of her buttocks.
‘Keith . . . don’t underestimate Frank. No one . . . repeat no one . . . will get anything from him. He may be a drunk, but he still remains smart. Don’t make any plans.’
I stiffened, staring at her.
‘Plans?’
She didn’t look at me. Her eyes were half closed, her lips parted in a half smile.
‘I’m not with you, Beth. What do you mean. . . plans?’
‘There isn’t one man nor one woman in Wicksteed who isn’t hoping to grab some of the money when that old woman dies.’
Her smile twisted cynically. ‘And you are no exception.’
‘And neither are you,’ I said.
Again the malicious little laugh.
‘I’ll get the lot anyway if he dies. He is years older than I am and he is drinking himself to death. I can wait.’
‘Are you sure he is leaving the money to you?’
She nodded.
‘I’m sure. I have seen his will.’
‘He could change his mind.’
‘Not now. . . his mind isn’t capable of changing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He drinks. He has set ideas. He’s made a will. I’ve seen it. He won’t be bothered to make another. Why should he care anyway? He can’t use the money when he’s dead.’
‘What would you do if he died and you got all this money?’
She drew in a long slow breath. Her hands moved over her tiny breasts and caressed them.
‘Do? I would go back to Frisco where I was born. A woman with a million dollars can have a ball in Frisco.’
‘Alone?’
She looked at me, her black eyes suddenly glittering and she dropped her hand on mine.
‘You are never alone with a million dollars, but would you want to come along?’
Would I want to?
‘I would want to come along, Beth, without the million dollars.’
Her fingers tightened on mine.
‘That’s a pretty speech.’ She smiled at me, her eyes remote again. ‘But, Keith, no man on earth could take me away from Frank while he is alive.’
Somewhere below, a clock struck six.
I remembered where I was and that I had a half hour drive back to Wicksteed.
‘I must go. If I’m late for dinner there will be gossip.’ I swung off the bed and began to dress. ‘The same time tomorrow?’
‘Hmmm.’
We looked at each other, then I bent and kissed her. Her lips felt dry and they didn’t move undermine.
‘Then tomorrow. . .’
As I reached the door, she said quietly, ‘Keith . . .’
I paused and looked at her, lying flat on her back, naked, her long legs tightly together, her black silky hair spread on the pillow, her lips parted in a strange little smile, ‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Don’t make any plans without me.’
I stared at her, again feeling that spooky feeling.
‘Plans?’
‘You know. You want his money and so do I.’ She lifted her hair and resettled it on the pillow. ‘Both of us, Keith. . . both of us together.’
The clock chimed the quarter hour.
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ I said.
Leaving her, I walked down the stairway and to my car. As I drove down the dirt road, I thought of what she had said.
There was something about her that made me uneasy. There was something fatal about her. Fatal? An odd word, but the only word that seemed to fit her.
How had she guessed? Intuition?
You want his money.
Then she had said: ‘Don’t underestimate Frank. No one. . .repeat no one . . . is going to get the money when he gets it.’
A warning?
Then she had said: ‘Don’t make any plans without me.’
Unless I was reading her wrong, and I was sure I wasn’t, this was a plain invitation to join her in some plan to get his money.
As I edged into the traffic on the highway, I decided I would have to play it by ear. I had time, I told myself. The old lady was still alive. Tomorrow, I would talk again to Beth and there must be no more hints, no more hedging.
Leaving the car in Mrs. Hansen’s garage, I walked into the hall and started up the stairs to my room. Mrs. Hansen came out of the living room, a handkerchief in her hands, her eyes red from crying.
‘Oh, Mr. Devery, I do apologize. . . your dinner will be late.’
I paused, staring at her.
‘That’s okay, Mrs. Hansen. Has something happened?’
‘My dear friend . . . Mrs. Fremlin . . . passed away an hour ago.’
My heart skipped a beat, then began to race. Somehow, I forced the right expression on my face.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Devery. It was inevitable, but it is still a great shock and a great loss to me.’
I said all the things one should say on such an occasion. I said not to bother about dinner. I would eat out. I even patted her shoulder.
As I walked back to the garage, all I could think of was that Marshall was now a millionaire and the time I had thought I had now had run out.
On the way down town, I stopped off at a call booth.
‘She’s dead,’ I said when Beth came on the line.
I heard her catch her breath.
‘Say that again!’
‘She died an hour ago. It’ll be all over the town by now.’
‘At last!’ The note of triumph in her voice gave me that spooky feeling again.
‘You are now the wife of a millionaire,’ I said.
She didn’t reply, but I could hear her quick breathing over the line.
‘I must talk to you, Beth . . . about plans. I’ll come up tonight when it is dark.’
She reacted immediately.
‘No! As soon as he knows, he’ll be back. He’s probably on his way now. No, you must keep away from me!’
Standing in the hot call booth, I suddenly realized that there would be no more driving lessons. Marshall could afford a chauffeur. There would be no more rolling in the hay with Beth. Marshall would give up his real estate business in Frisco and do his drinking at home.
‘When do we meet, Beth?’ I asked, suddenly anxious.
‘I don’t know.’ Her voice sounded remote. ‘I’ll arrange something. Keep away. I’ll call you.’
‘Now listen, Beth, this is important. We’ve got to meet somewhere and soon. We . . .’ I stopped talking, realizing she had hung up.
Slowly, I replaced the rece
iver, pushed open the booth door and walked back to my car.
This woman had really thrown a hook in me. As I sat in the car, staring through the dusty windshield, I realized that even if she hadn’t been the wife of a millionaire, even if she had been working in a restaurant, I would still want her. Closing my eyes, I could hear her wild cry as she had reached the top of the hill. No woman I had ever been with had reacted to my thrusts as she had and this truly hooked me. Now this sudden bleak outlook. It had, of course been too easy. I had stupidly imagined that I could drive up to that house every day with the pretext of teaching her to drive but instead, get her on the bed.
Well, she had said she would arrange something. I would have to wait. I had always been patient, but waiting for Beth was something else beside.
I started the motor and drove towards Wicksteed.
I returned to my room soon after 21.00. To avoid running into any of the Planning committee, I had eaten at a cheap restaurant off Main Street, but even there, everyone was talking about Mrs. Fremlin’s death.
I sat at a corner table and chewed through a tough steak and listened.
The conversation floated around me.
I bet old Frank will drink himself to death now he’s getting all that money.
It wouldn’t surprise me now he’s collecting that money that he left Wicksteed.
Joe Pinner had great hopes that Frank will put up some money. The amusement park idea is great. We’ll all benefit. . .and so on and so on.
A newcomer came in: a big, fat man, shabbily dressed, who joined the other six men at a table near mine.
‘I’ve just seen Frank,’ he said. ‘Just came off the train. He’s drunker than a skunk.’ He gave a bellow of laughter. ‘Tom Mason was there and drove him home. Tom’s no fool. He has his eye on Frank’s money.’
And he’s not the only one, I thought, paid my check and went out to my car.
Groups of people were standing around, talking. There was only one topic of conversation in Wicksteed this night.
Back in my room, I turned on the TV set and sat down. After three or four minutes, I got up, turned the set off and began to prowl around the room.
I had Beth on my mind.
Lust for her moved through me like a knife thrust.
When was I going to see her again?
She was in my blood now like a virus. I’ll arrange something.
But what? How long would I have to wait? I thought of Marshall. Several times while Beth had talked she had said: When he dies: if he dies: when he is dead.
With Marshall out of the way, she would have his money.
Don’t make any plans without me, Keith.
Lighting a cigarette, I continued to prowl around the room. Death, I thought, solved so many problems. If Marshall died . . .
I paused to stare out at the moonlit beach.
I couldn’t walk up to him, tap him on his fat chest and say, ‘Do me a favour - drop dead.’ I couldn’t do that, but that was now my thinking. If he did drop dead, it would be more than a favour. I could have Beth and also his money.
A gentle tapping on my door snapped me out of this thinking. I opened up.
Mrs. Hansen said, ‘You are wanted on the telephone, Mr. Devery. It’s Mr. Marshall.’
I stared at her, feeling spooked.
‘Mr. Marshall?’
She nodded. Her eyes bright with excitement.
‘Thank you.’
I moved by her and went down the stairs.
‘Is that you, Keith?’ There was no mistaking Marshall’s booming voice. ‘Have you heard the news?’
‘Who hasn’t? My condolences and my congratulations.’
He laughed. I could tell by his laugh, he was pretty drunk.
‘It comes to us all, and it wasn’t too soon. Listen, Keith, suppose you come up here? I want to talk to you.’
This was so unexpected, I stared blankly at the wall for a long moment, then I said, ‘You mean right now?’
‘Why not? Let’s make a night of it. How’s about it?’
‘Fine . . . I’m on my way.’
‘I mean a night of it, Keith. Bring a toothbrush. We’ve plenty of spare beds,’ and he hung up.
Aware Mrs. Hansen was still hovering, I said, ‘He sounds a little drunk. He’s asking me to spend the night with him.’
Not giving her a chance to comment, I went up to my room, threw my shaving and wash kit into a holdall, added a clean shirt and pyjamas and then hurried down to the hall.
Mrs. Hansen was still hovering. I waved to her, knowing for sure, the moment she heard my car drive away, she would be on the telephone to her brother, spreading the news.
I had this feeling of fatality which I had had ever since I had met Beth. I now accepted the fact that she meant more to me than money. And now, for no reason I could think of, Marshall had invited me to spend the night in their house. Why? Again fatality?
Parking the car outside the house, I thumbed the bell push.
Lights were on in the living room. As I stood in the moonlight, my heart beating unevenly, I heard heavy footfalls. The door jerked open and Marshall stood there, his fat, red, smiling face shiny with sweat.
‘Come on in and join the big shot,’ he said, lurched a little, grabbed hold of my arm and led me into the living room.
I looked quickly around. There was no sign of Beth.
‘Have a drink.’ He waved to a half empty bottle of Scotch.
‘There’s plenty more.’ Lurching by me, he poured a big drink, slopped in charge water, then thrust the glass into my hand. He then lurched to an armchair and collapsed into it. ‘I guess I’ve tied one on, Keith,’ he said. ‘Who wouldn’t? A million dollars! At last! Something to celebrate huh?’
I sat opposite him.
‘Congratulations, Frank.’
He squinted at me.
‘Yeah.’ He paused, screwing up his eyes then went on. ‘You know something, Keith? I like you. You are my kind of people. You’re not like these creeps who are after my money. I like you.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Don’t pay too much attention to what I’m saying . . . I guess I’m drunk, but I’m telling you for a fact, I like you.’
‘Thanks, Frank,’ I said. ‘People meet . . . people take to each other. It happens.’
He peered drunkenly at me.
‘Do you like me, Keith?’ There was a pleading, unhappy note in his voice.
Do me a favour. . . drop dead.
But I wasn’t going to say that to him. Instead, I lifted my glass in a salute.
‘You are my kind of people too, Frank.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘I felt it. When you drove me back here and then walked all that way back, I told myself you were my people.’
I wondered how much longer this stupid, drunken talk could continue. I wondered where Beth was.
‘Coming back in the train, Keith, I got thinking,’ he went on, ‘I’m going to be busy. I’ve got to wind up my estate business. I’ve got all kinds of plans.’ He rubbed his hand over his sweating face and peered at me. ‘Tell me something, how did you get on with my wife. . . with Beth?’
This was so unexpected, I sat still, staring at him.
‘Huh?’ He frowned, trying to focus me. ‘How did you get on with her?’
‘Fine.’ My voice was husky, ‘but she isn’t easy to teach.’
He laughed: his great bellowing laugh.
‘Between you and me, Keith, she is conning you. I know she can handle a car as well as you can, but she doesn’t want to drive me.’ He lifted his heavy shoulders in a shrug. ‘I don’t blame her. I’m a drunk. These creeps in this town stare and yak.’ He closed his eyes, shook his head, opened his eyes as he said, ‘She is a very special woman, Keith. That’s why I married her.’ He blew out his cheeks, then went on, ‘I met her at a restaurant off the Frisco highway. I went in there for lunch and there she was. She hooked me. There was that something about her. . .’ He shook his head. ‘Something very special. I’ve screwed arou
nd in my day, but this woman . . . something very special, Keith.’
As if I didn’t know. I just sat there, listening.
‘I went in there every day for a week and the more I saw her the more I got hooked. She seemed to like me and when she told me she had had enough of the restaurant, it was my chance. So we got married. Then I found out she was a real loner.’ He grimaced. ‘Well, we all have our kinks. I don’t give a damn. She runs the house, cooks well, looks after the garden. . . so why the hell should I care?’ He pointed a shaking finger at me. ‘She’s reliable, Keith. That’s what I like about her. I know when I get back from work, she’ll have a good dinner for me. I know I’ll get a clean shirt when I want one. I know there’ll always be whisky in the house . . . that’s what she is . . . reliable.’
I continued to listen, watching him as he picked up his glass, stared at it, then finished the drink ‘Now what was I saying?’ He frowned, shook his head, then peered at me. ‘Yeah. I was telling you. . .coming back in the train, I got thinking.’ He held out his glass. ‘Let’s have another, Keith.’
I got up, took his glass and fixed him a whisky and soda that would have knocked out a mule.
‘Thanks.’ He took the glass, drank, sighed, nodded, then went on, ‘How much is Ryder paying you?’
‘Two hundred.’
‘That’s not much. Look, Keith, I’m going to be busy. I can’t drive a car. I want someone to take me around.’ He leaned forward. ‘I thought of you. How would you like to be my chauffeur? How’s about it?’
Again this was so unexpected, I just sat there, staring at him.
He waved his glass at me, grinning.
‘How do you like the idea?’
I drew in a long, slow breath.
‘Just what would you want me to do, Frank?’
He nodded approvingly.
That’s a good question. You would have to live here, take me to the railroad station, meet me, take me around and maybe help around in the house.’ He raised his hand. ‘Now don’t think this is a pissy little job I’m offering you. Okay, maybe it looks like it, but it is only until I get the money and get my driving licence back. I’m asking you to help out until I’m fixed. As soon as I get the money, Keith, I’m getting out of this god-awful town. I’m planning to buy a house in Carmel. Have you ever been to Carmel? It’s a great little place. I’ve got my eye on a house that is coming into the market: really something with ten acres, a big swimming pool, you name it, it’s got it. Beth won’t be able to handle it, but you can. I would want you to handle the staff, look after the entertaining.’ He belched, shook his head, took a drink, then went on, ‘Money makes money. A guy worth a million bucks has to circulate. Now look, Keith, I’ll pay you right now seven hundred against Ryder’s two hundred, but when I’m fixed, you’ll get a damn sight more. What do you say? How’s about it? You would have to live here . . . maybe help around the house.’
1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead Page 8
