Not My Thing

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘Hi, Jay!’ Jamison said, getting out of his car. ‘How goes?’

  ‘Can’t grumble.’ Wilbur grinned. ‘And you: making more money?’

  ‘Can’t grumble either. Suppose we have a quick hamburger and get on the course before the rabble?’

  Wilbur was eyeing the rented Mercedes.

  ‘Hey! What’s this? Where’s your super-duper Rolls?’

  ‘My man is doing something to it,’ Jamison said curtly, and led the way into the clubhouse.

  The bar was deserted. All the members were out on the three courses that surrounded the clubhouse.

  As the two men munched their way through a hamburger and drank beer, they talked business. Both of them played the stock-market and they exchanged information.

  ‘We’re heading for a hell of a recession, Sherry,’ Wilbur said. ‘It’s bound to come with these new idiots spending and spending on armaments.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Jamison said. His mind was only half concentrating on what Wilbur was saying. He told himself he would telephone Tarnia sometime in the afternoon and see if she could have dinner with him.

  The two men went into the locker-room to change into golfing clothes.

  ‘You’ll be at the concert tonight, Sherry?’ Wilbur asked as he struggled to put on his shoes.

  ‘Concert?’ Jamison paused, zipping up his golf jacket.

  Then he remembered Smyth had told him Shannon was playing her goddamn cello somewhere. ‘I guess not. Music doesn’t interest me. I have a desk-load to work through tonight.’

  ‘Meg and I are going. You know, Sherry, you have a wonderful wife. She is as good as most professionals. We love to hear her play.’

  ‘How’s Meg?’ Jamison asked abruptly.

  He was jealous of Wilbur’s three sons.

  ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘And the boys?’

  Wilbur shrugged.

  ‘Gary will be all right. He’s coming into the business next year. He’s great, but the other two…’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Meg tells me to be patient. After all they are only fifteen and sixteen. They do as little school-work as possible, and chase after girls. Charlie is now playing the guitar and looks like a goddamn hippy.’

  Jamison picked up his bag of clubs. He thought, when I have a son, there’ll be nothing like that. I’ll mould my son in my own image. No guitar nor long hair, no chasing girls. I’ll make him worthy to take my place when the time comes!

  ‘You’re lucky to have three boys. I wish to Christ I had even one!’ he said with such savage, heart-felt feeling that Wilbur, startled, looked sharply at him.

  ‘There’s time, Sherry,’ he said. He knew about the three miscarriages. ‘Kids will turn up.’

  Jamison grunted and walked out of the locker-room and to the first tee.

  Wilbur shook his head as he followed him. A real tragedy, he thought. His wife and he had often discussed the Jamisons’ predicament. They were fond of Shannon. Meg had wondered if she shouldn’t suggest to Shannon that they adopt a child, but Wilbur wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘You don’t make suggestions like that to the Jamisons,’ he said firmly. ‘This is not our business, Meg.’

  The two men didn’t play talkative golf. They preferred to concentrate on the game. Jamison found his concentration this afternoon was lacking. He kept thinking of Lucan, and then of Tarnia. He scarcely realized that he was four down at the 9th.

  Wilbur said, ‘Not on your game this afternoon, Sherry.’

  ‘It comes and it goes,’ Jamison snapped and, with suppressed fury, he sliced his next shot into the rough.

  Wilbur, seeing how tense Jamison was, didn’t say anything. He kept quiet. On the 18th hole Jamison four-putted, and then savagely kicked his ball into a sand bunker.

  ‘Sorry to have given you such a rotten game, Jay,’ he said, making an effort. ‘Just not in the mood.’

  ‘Well, as you say, it comes and it goes,’ Wilbur said, placing his putter in his golf-bag. As he began to move off the green with Jamison, he said, ‘Just a second, Sherry. You and I have been good, close friends for sometime. It strikes me you have a big problem on your mind.’ Seeing Jamison tense, he went on quickly. ‘Anything I can do to help? Meg always says two minds on a problem are better than one.’

  Jamison stared across at the golf house, his face expressionless. He wondered how Wilbur would react if he told him he was planning to have Shannon murdered and had already taken a decisive step towards this end. How shocked this fat, kindly man would be! He shook his head.

  ‘A business mess, Jay. Nothing you can do about it. I’ll fix it. Thanks all the same.’

  ‘Well, let’s go and have a Scotch.’

  ‘Sorry, Jay. I’ve got this desk-load. I must get back.’

  The two men began walking to the clubhouse.

  ‘Will you be free tomorrow, Sherry? I’ve only one more week here although I’ll be leaving Meg to stay on.’

  ‘Sorry. No, I’m right up to my eyes. When will you be back?’

  ‘Oh, hell! I was hoping we’d play for at least another five days. I don’t know when I’ll be back. How long will you be staying?’

  ‘To the end of the month.’

  ‘Will you be back in September?’

  ‘Could be. I’ll let you know.’

  By this time the two men were in the locker-room. Jamison hurriedly changed.

  ‘I must get moving.’ He shook hands with Wilbur. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  As he hurried away, Wilbur stared after him, a worried frown on his face. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Jamison in such a tense mood.

  * * *

  At exactly 13.00, Smyth, carrying a tray, containing shrimp and diced lobster salad, paused outside the door of Shannon’s practice room. He listened to the strains of her cello and nodded sad approval. What a tone! he thought. She makes that instrument sing! He tapped and entered, putting the tray on the small table.

  ‘Lunch is served, madam. Perhaps a glass of Chablis or champagne.’

  Shannon put down the cello and came to the table.

  ‘No, nothing to drink, Smyth. This looks marvellous. I have a lot of work still to do this afternoon before I feel I can give a good performance.’

  As she sat down, Smyth spread a napkin across her knees.

  ‘I understand, madam. You are a perfectionist.’

  She looked at him and smiled.

  ‘And so are you, Smyth.’

  He bowed and moved to the door, then paused.

  ‘I regret to tell you I will be unable to go with you to the concert.’

  Shannon, who was beginning the meal, put down her fork and looked up sharply.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Mr Jamison requires dinner tonight at eight o’clock.’

  They looked at each other.

  Shannon felt a cold clutch of loneliness. She had looked forward so much to having Smyth with her. To have him greet her after the concert. How good it would have been to have him drive her home and to hear his opinion of her performance.

  She felt sick with disappointment: so sick the shrimp and lobster salad became repulsive to her.

  ‘I am very, very sorry, Smyth.’

  ‘I am sorry too, madam,’ and, with a bow, Smyth left the room.

  Shannon got to her feet and began to move around the large, sunlit room.

  This can’t go on, she thought. Sherry and I must separate. I know he hates me. I can feel it. My love for him is draining away. Oh, God! Why can’t I give him a son? We must separate!

  While she was pacing up and down, Jamison was in a telephone booth, talking to Tarnia.

  As usual, she sounded a little breathless, but the sound of her voice gave Jamison a great lift.

  ‘How about dinner tonight?’ he asked, after their greetings were over.

  ‘Why, yes. I’d love it.’

  ‘Fine! Suppose we meet at the Stone Crab at eight thirty. Would that be all right?’

  The Stone Crab resta
urant was a small discreet fish restaurant situated some five miles outside Paradise City where neither Jamison nor Tarnia was likely to run into people they knew.

  ‘I’ll be there, Sherry.’

  ‘Be seeing you, darling,’ and Jamison hung up. He drew in a deep breath. There was much careful thinking to be done. This would be his one and only chance to convince Tarnia that they would soon be able to get married.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon in the almost deserted, comfortable lounge of the Athletic Club. He sat in a deep chair in a far corner and no one approached him. He considered his future, thought of Lucan and made up his mind what he would tell Tarnia when they met that evening. Finally, satisfied that he had his thinking right, he went into the Bridge room and played three rubbers with elderly members, playing badly while he kept thinking of Tarnia.

  He returned to his villa soon after 20.00.

  Smyth had seen Shannon off in her car to the concert, and had prepared a plate of cold cuts for Jamison.

  Knowing how anxious Conklin was to have the evening off, Smyth said as he opened the front door for Jamison, ‘Good-evening, sir. Do you wish Conklin to return the rented car?’

  ‘No. Tell him to garage the car.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Will you be needing Conklin tonight?’

  ‘How the hell do I know?’ Jamison snapped. ‘Hasn’t he anything to do?’ And he started for the stairs.

  ‘Your supper-tray is ready, sir. Should I serve it in the study?’

  ‘Supper-tray I’ll be dining out!’ Jamison barked, and went up the stairs and to his bedroom.

  At that moment, Smyth, furious, was about to face Jamison and give his notice. He had had enough of this selfish, inconsiderate man, then he thought of Shannon. As long as she remained, then he would remain. He suppressed his feelings and returned to the kitchen.

  Changing quickly, Jamison came down the stairs to the lobby.

  ‘I want the Rolls!’ he shouted. ‘Hurry up!’

  Smyth appeared.

  ‘In two minutes, sir,’ he said. ‘Will you be requiring me tonight?’

  Jamison glared at him.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded. ‘You’re paid to give service. I may need you. Busy yourself!’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Smyth said, realizing his last hope of rushing to the concert had faded.

  A few minutes later, Jamison drove away in the Rolls.

  At 20.50, he left the Rolls in a dark place near the Stone Crab, then entered the restaurant to be greeted by Mario, the Maītre d’hotel: a short, fat man with a constant smile. Mario immediately recognized Jamison, who had been before.

  ‘My great pleasure, Mr Jamison,’ he said.

  Jamison nodded coldly. He didn’t believe in being familiar with maītre d’s nor waiters.

  ‘A quiet table for two,’ he said.

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  The restaurant only catered for forty people. Each table was so arranged that other diners could not observe their fellow diners.

  Mario led the way to a table at the far end of the room, by the big open window, overlooking the sea.

  As Jamison sat down, he said, ‘As soon as my guest arrives, serve two very dry vodka martinis.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ With a little flourish Mario went away.

  From experience, Jamison knew Tarnia was always late, and that was the reason why he had also arrived late.

  At 21.15, Tarnia came to the table. Jamison, seeing her coming, was standing. Their greeting was careful: just smiles and a quick handshake. If there was anyone to report their meeting, it would seem like two people on a business deal.

  A waiter appeared and set the martinis before them.

  ‘You arrange everything so beautifully,’ Tarnia said. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again.’

  Jamison regarded her. What a woman! he thought. Her white trouser suit with a touch of scarlet at the throat was so chic. Her glossy hair and her beauty seemed to light up the dimly lit restaurant.

  ‘And I can tell you how marvellous it is for me to see you again. I suppose you are very, very busy?’

  ‘As always.’ She paused as Mario presented the menus. She scarcely glanced at hers. ‘You choose, Sherry.’

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Hmm. I’ve been so busy. I didn’t have lunch.’

  ‘Then let’s start with crab and go on to the paella. It’s good here.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  They waited until Mario had gone away, then Jamison said gently, ‘You look marvellous, Tarnia. Every time I see you, you pull at my heart-strings.’

  She smiled.

  ‘Thank you. And you? You have a marvellous tan.’

  ‘Oh, golf. That’s all I seem to do, except business, and think of you.’

  The dressed crab was served.

  ‘This looks wonderful,’ Tarnia said and began to eat.

  Jamison had no appetite. He picked at the food. His mind was concentrating on the moment when he would have to talk seriously to Tarnia.

  For several minutes, they ate in silence. Every now and then, Jamison glanced at her, aware that she was a little tense. He waited until the waiter had cleared the dishes, then he said, ‘Something up, Tarnia?’

  ‘You always know, don’t you?’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Yes. I had a telephone call this afternoon from Rome. Guiseppi has invited me to show my collection at his show. It is a marvellous opportunity. He wants me to fly there the day after tomorrow. It’s an opportunity too good to miss.’

  Before Jamison could reply, the paella was served, he was grateful for the delay. His mind worked quickly. This could be the solution to the problem that had been worrying him.

  ‘Will you be away long?’ he asked.

  ‘At least two weeks. I hope you don’t mind, Sherry, but you must see I can’t miss such an opportunity. To show my designs to Guiseppi… well!’

  ‘It could be longer than two weeks?’ He was probing now.

  ‘I suppose it could. I’ll fly out with my designs. The actual show isn’t until the end of next week. There will be all kinds of things to discuss.’

  ‘Three weeks?’

  ‘Sherry, don’t try to tie me down.’ She smiled at him. ‘Yes, it could even be three weeks.’

  Here was the solution! To have Tarnia in Rome when Shannon was murdered was the solution! He had been worrying that Tarnia would be in Paradise City when Shannon died.

  He gave her his most charming smile.

  ‘Tarnia, I am delighted. You deserve it! Of course you must seize this opportunity. I’ll wait! Don’t worry about me.’ He leaned forward, smiling at her. ‘But you won’t sign a contract with this man until the end of this month? That is understood, isn’t it?’

  ‘I promised to give you a month to get a divorce,’ Tarnia said quietly. ‘A promise is a promise.’

  ‘Let’s eat. We’ll talk later.’

  Jamison watched her eat hungrily, merely picking at his own food. He made small talk without really knowing what he was saying. Tarnia responded. She seemed so happy, and he could see her mind often drifted from him to her future triumph in Rome.

  The meal finished, they ordered coffee. Both of them lit cigarettes.

  ‘Now, I have news for you, my darling,’ Jamison said.

  Tarnia looked up. ‘Good news?’

  ‘I think so. You did say you would give me a month to be free of Shannon, and we would marry. You did say that, didn’t you? You did say that you would give up this promising career of yours to raise my children and run my homes.’ He stared at her. ‘You did say that, didn’t you?’

  Did he see hesitation in Tarnia’s deep blue eyes?

  ‘You did say that, didn’t you?’ he repeated.

  She looked at him, smiled and nodded.

  Was it an uneasy, forced smile? he asked himself uneasily.

  ‘Yes, I did say that, Sherry.’

  ‘Well, here’s the good news. Shannon and I have had a long, serious talk. I have fi
nally convinced her of my need for a son. I have told her that I am in love with another woman. Naturally, I didn’t tell her who you are, and she didn’t ask.’ He paused, smiling at Tarnia who had stiffened, and was listening intently. ‘I said I understood how she felt about granting me a divorce, but couldn’t she see my problem?’ He paused to sip his coffee, not looking at Tarnia. ‘Then unexpectedly, she told me she would give me a divorce. I hadn’t much hope, but that was what she said. She said she might be able to arrange it after she had talked to her priest. In fact, she said, it would be all right. When you return from Rome, my darling, I am absolutely confident our problem will be solved. Be patient. In six months’ time, we will be married.’ Again he smiled at her. ‘But in the meantime go ahead with your work. All I ask you to do is not to sign a long-term contract with Guiseppe. What do you think?’

  Tarnia stared down at her untouched coffee. She remained silent while she thought. She loved this man. She wanted to give him a son. Yet, she reminded herself, she was throwing away a remarkable talent if she did marry him. She was excited and elated at the thought of working with the best couturier in Rome. But, she wondered, for how long? With Sherry, her future would be secure.

  ‘Suppose we wait and see,’ she said, and smiled at him. ‘If and when the divorce comes through, then we can make plans.’

  ‘But, Tarnia, we already know our plans. As soon as I am free, we marry,’ Jamison said curtly.

  Tarnia looked away from him, then stiffened.

  ‘Do you see who has just come in?’ she asked softly.

  Jamison, frowning, looked across the restaurant to see Sydney Drysdale of the Paradise City Herald lumber in. He was greeted with bows from Mario and led to a table away from Jamison’s table.

  Drysdale had completed his column and had left it on his desk. Apart from muck-raking, his only other interest was good food. He had decided to have a crab dinner, and what better choice than the Stone Crab restaurant?

  ‘Lots of crab, Mario,’ he said, ‘and beer.’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Drysdale.’ Mario bowed and went away.

  Drysdale, his little eyes quizzing, peered at the half concealed tables, always on the look-out for that extra piece for his column.