1977 - My Laugh Comes Last

by James Hadley Chase

  So at the beginning of our fourth year, we moved to even bigger offices and employed a staff of fifty. We had become big fish in a big pond.

  Although I worked nine hours a day at the office, and took work back to my apartment, I kept my Sundays free for golf. I joined the Country club, and every first Sunday in the month, Brannigan drove up and we played golf. I had no trouble in finding a partner for the remaining Sundays, Everyone at the club was friendly, and playing golf with Brannigan gave me a status symbol.

  But the seeds of disaster sown on that June Sunday four years ago had germinated, and during my four years of success, they grew fast into this nightmare of blackmail and murder.

  On this Sunday, an equally hot June morning, the evil fruit was ripe to be picked. I was getting ready to leave for the golf course when Brannigan telephoned to say his car had broken down.

  'God knows what's happened to the goddamn thing, but it won't start. I've called the garage, but it's Sunday. By the time I get someone up here, it'll be too late.'

  I decided to play golf anyway and take potluck in finding a partner. I arrived soon after 08.15, and asked the pro, not too hopefully, if anyone was wanting a game.

  'There's a young lady on the putting green, Mr. Lucas, who is looking for a game. She's a stranger here, but watch it!' He grinned. 'She looks like a golfer to me.'

  That's how I met Glenda Marsh: a tall, slim redhead with big green eyes and a personality that was electric. She made a big impact on me as I introduced myself.

  'Imagine!' she exclaimed as she shook hands: a good, firm grip. 'I was going to call on you tomorrow.' she went on to explain that she was a freelance photographer and was here to do a photographic reportage on Sharnville. 'I was told you are the electronic wonder man, and I hope to get shots of your setup and you.'

  This was flattering when she told me she had been commissioned by The Investor, an important financial monthly with a big circulation.

  Remembering I had a heavy programme for the following day, I said if she liked to come to my office at 18.00, I would be happy to see her. She said she would.

  We played a round of golf together, and she was good. I had to work at it to beat her. As we played, I kept looking at her, and the more I looked, the more I liked what I saw.

  She was really some woman!

  I had fooled around with a lot of girls, but during the past j few years I had had no time for fooling. Now, not working j under such pressure, I was ripe for a woman. I wondered about her as we walked side by side down the fairway. There f was something about her that warned me she was no easy, casual lay. She had a 'hands-off' air about her that made her much more intriguing to me than any other girl I had known.

  After the game, I suggested we went to the clubhouse for a drink, and I would introduce her to some of the important I members, but she shook her head.

  'Thank you, but I have a date. Thanks for the game, Mr. Lucas. I'll see you tomorrow.' Smiling, she left me.

  I watched her walk to her Mini-minor.

  While I had been with her, this day had been in technicolour, now it turned to black and white as she drove away.

  chapter two

  That’s it,' Glenda said, 'and thank you. I hope I haven't taken up too much of your time.'

  She had arrived at my office at 18.00 and it was now 19.35.

  She had taken shots of our showroom, our small factory, with close-ups of our four engineers who smirked happily while they worked at their benches. She had taken some twenty shots of me at my desk. She had been efficient and impersonal, but now, as she put her Nikon into her camera bag, she relaxed and gave me that friendly, dazzling smile.

  'No problem,' I said, getting to my feet. 'I had cleared my desk before you came. I hope you have what you want.'

  'Not quite: I would like some personal information about you, but perhaps you would like to set up another date. I understand Farrell Brannigan gave you your start. I would like to hear about that. It would make a great story.'

  'Suppose we go into that over dinner?' I said. There was something about her that hooked me. I wanted to keep her with me as long as I could. 'There's a place down the street that serves a decent meal.'

  She nodded.

  ‘Let's do that.'

  After our game of golf, and after she had driven away, I had had her on my mind. Usually, I had a snack at the clubhouse and mixed with the other members, but this time, I wasn't in the mood, and had driven down to the beach, had a swim, then lay alone in the sun and had thought about her.

  There is some mysterious chemistry that no one has yet explained that takes place when a certain man and a certain woman meet. Some call it love at first sight. Whatever it is, it is a sudden fusion, and being an electronics man, I saw it as getting the right electrical connection and turning on a switch.

  This had now happened to me. Glenda Marsh, at first sight, had become the woman I really wanted. Fate, destiny, call it what you like, had brought us together, and the switch, for me, had been turned on.

  But had the turned-on switch done anything for her?

  Maybe her chemistry hadn't responded as mine had. This was something I had to find out.

  I had walked with her to the Mirabeau restaurant where I often dined. She was one of those rare women who didn't dither when studying a menu. She took one brief glance, then said she would like the clam chowder. It was a good choice. I went along with it.

  'Now tell me about yourself,' she said, resting her elbows on the table and regarding me with those big green eyes.

  So I told her about my father, my golf, B.E. & C. and Brannigan. We had nearly finished the meal by the time I had finished my life story.

  'Are you married, Mr. Lucas?'

  'No.' I smiled at her. 'But as soon as the pressure is off, I want to get married.'

  'Any particular girl?'

  'There is a vague chance I have found one, but I'm not sure yet.'

  She regarded me, then looked away. Her lips curled into a little smile. I had the idea she got the message.

  While I was ordering coffee she lit a cigarette, and when the waiter had gone, she said, 'A real success story, Mr. Lucas. Congratulations.'

  'It happens. I had the knowledge, but then I had luck.'

  'But you had to have the knowledge. Tell me . . . is it a fact that the Sharnville bank is the safest bank in the world or is that just a publicity stunt?'

  'It is the safest bank in the world. I should know: I installed all the security equipment... it is no publicity stunt.'

  She looked impressed.

  ‘It would make a great news story. Tell me about it.’

  'Sorry, that's not for me to talk about. Before I got the job, I had to sign a paper not to talk. If you want the story, talk to Alec Manson who runs the bank, but I don't think he will tell you much. The bank's security is top secret.'

  ‘Well, I can try.' She smiled her dazzling smile. ‘Would you give me an introduction to Mr. Manson?'

  'No problem. Now, tell me something about yourself. Where are you staying in Sharnville, and how long will you be here?'

  'At the Excelsior, and I'll be here at least a month.'

  'Do you like the Excelsior?'

  She grimaced.

  ‘Does anyone like staying in a hotel?'

  'Would a two-room furnished apartment with a kitchen interest you?'

  Her green eyes sparkled.

  'Would it not! That would be marvellous!'

  'Then I can fix it for you. There's an empty apartment in my complex. I can fix it for you to have for a month.' I signalled for the cheque. 'Like to see it?'

  'Why, thank you, Mr. Lucas.'

  I looked directly into the big green eyes.

  'Make it Larry, Glenda,' I said. 'We are going to be neighbours. My apartment is across the corridor.'

  The following morning, she had moved into the apartment. I called Alec Manson and told him about her, explaining she was doing a reportage on Sharnville for The Investor, and
she would like to talk to him.

  In his dry, clipped voice, he said she could come any time, so I called Glenda and told her to go ahead, and if she had nothing better to do, why not let us have dinner together this evening?

  This time I took her to a seafood restaurant. While driving her along the coast road, I asked how she had made out with Manson.

  She raised her slim hands and let them drop, in her lap.

  'Like interviewing an oyster. He allowed me to shoot the outside of the bank and the lobby. When I asked him about the security, he stayed dumb. I have no story, Larry.'

  'I warned you. After all, Glenda, if he let you into the secrets of the bank security, it would no longer be the safest bank in the world, would it?'

  She laughed.

  ‘You have a point, but what a story!' She looked at me.

  'But you can tell me.'

  'I could, but I won't. Brannigan has plans to open four more banks along the coast, and I get the security job. I want that contract. Brannigan is a very smart cookie. He would know at once I had been talking. Sorry, Glenda.'

  'Oh, well!' She shrugged.

  We arrived at the restaurant and settled at our table. After consulting the menu, we both settled for lobsters.

  While waiting, she asked. 'What is crime like in Sharnville?'

  'That's something I know nothing about. You talk to Sheriff Joe Thomson. He'll be glad to give you a rundown. I play golf with him from time to time. He's a smart cookie.'

  While we were eating, I thought it time to get to know something about her personal life.

  'You've quizzed me, Glenda. It's my turn. Are you married?' I asked this question with trepidation.

  'Yes . . . it didn't work out.' She pulled a little face. 'I'm a working woman. He was an auto salesman. He just sat around and did nothing. I made a mistake.'

  'We all make them.'

  'I guess.' She looked at me and smiled. 'But I'll confess, I get tired sometimes of this job: it's all race and chase: living in hotels, motels. It pays off, but . . . ' She shrugged.

  'Ever thought of trying marriage again?' I asked, looking directly at her.

  She stiffened, and those green eyes lost their sparkle.

  'There is nothing to stop anyone thinking, is there?' She pushed her plate aside. 'That was good.'

  'Coffee?'

  She nodded.

  There was a long pause as we both regarded the ocean, shimmering in the moonlight. I longed to rush it, but knew it would be a mistake. I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell her I had lots of money, could give her a home and wanted her to be with me for the rest of my life, but I told myself I had to wait to get some sign from her. I had to be patient. I had a month.

  Back at my complex, we rode up in the elevator to the tenth floor, and we paused outside her door.

  'Thank you, Larry. It has been a lovely evening.'

  'Let's do it again tomorrow night.'

  She regarded me thoughtfully, then shook her head.

  'No. Come and have dinner with me. I'll cook for you.’

  Then she smiled. 'It's odd how people meet.' She put her hand on my aim. 'Tomorrow at eight,' and leaning forward, she brushed my cheek with her lips, smiled and disappeared into her apartment, gently shutting the door. I stood for a long moment, staring at the door, knowing now our chemistry had fused, and scarcely believing it.

  ***

  We sat side by side on the settee. The single lamp cast shadows. We had eaten the best meal I had ever had: crab soup, and the breasts of duck in rice with soya sauce. We had had three large gin martinis each, and had shared a bottle of Beaujolais. I had never felt more relaxed nor more contented.

  Very softly, Bing Crosby sang The Blue of the Night from a cassette she had put on.

  Having her by my side, the atmosphere, that golden voice singing, the food and drink was my moment of truth. I felt I couldn't ever be so happy, so relaxed. This was a memory to hold on to and to remember.

  I didn't want to talk. I didn't want her to talk. I just wanted to sit there, slightly drunk, listening to that voice, looking at her as she lay back, her eyes closed, the shadows from die lamp, making her face even more beautiful than it was.

  The song came to an end, and there was a sudden emptiness in this rather shabby, but comfortable room.

  She opened her eyes and smiled at me.

  'Everything finally comes to an end.’ She reached out and switched off the recorder.

  'That was marvellous,' I said. The meal was marvellous.' I looked at her. 'You are marvellous.'

  She reached for a cigarette, lit it, then lay back, but away from me.

  'Last night, you asked me if I ever thought of trying marriage again. I want you to know about Alex, my husband.'

  My mind came to attention.

  'Your ex-husband?'

  'I'm still married to him.'

  My feeling of utter relaxation left me. I sat up and stared at her.

  'You are still married to him? I thought you were divorced.'

  'I wish I was.' She stared at the burning ember of her cigarette. 'God! How I wish I was!'

  'But why not?' I was now leaning forward, my hands into fists. 'What's the problem?'

  'You don't know Alex. With him, there is always a problem. He won't give me a divorce.'

  'I don't understand, Glenda. Did he leave you or did you leave him?'

  'I left him. I couldn't stand him any longer. He's not interested in women. He isn't interested in anything except money and himself.'

  'When did you leave him?'

  'About six months ago.'

  ‘There must be some way you can get rid of him.'

  She shrugged.

  'I can buy him off. For twenty thousand dollars, he will give me a divorce. It is as shabby and as sordid as that.'

  'You mean for twenty thousand dollars you can be free of him?'

  ‘Why talk about it?' She moved impatiently and flicked ash into the ashtray. 'I wanted you to know Larry, because I am falling in love with you.' She put her hand on mine. 'I thought I could go through life alone, but now I have met you, my ideas have changed. It's odd, rather frightening, how a woman meets a man, then something happens. This must be our last meeting, Larry, and I mean that. I know you have money, and I know you love me, but I will not be bought!' She looked directly at me. 'You are not to say you will give Alex the money to free me. That would be un-acceptable to me! I am working and saving. In another two years, I hope to pay him off, but I won't have you waiting all that time.'

  'I'll lend you the money, Glenda! I won't give it to you, I'll lend it, and when you can, you can pay me back.'

  'No!' She stood up. 'It is getting late.'

  I got to my feet and put my arms around her and pulled her against me.

  ‘Yes,' she said, her face against mine. 'Just this once, Larry. I long for you.' Her body pressed against mine.

  Then the front door bell rang.

  The sound of the bell was like an electric shock. We jerked apart and both looked towards the front door which opened directly into the living room.

  'Don't answer it,' I whispered.

  'I have to.' She gestured towards the uncurtained window.

  'Whoever this is knows I'm here.'

  'I'll get out of sight.' I was in a panic, and this needs explaining. I was now regarded in Sharnville as one of their leading citizens. I was on equal terms with all the big shots at the Country club. To be caught in the apartment of a married woman photographer would cause a buzz of gossip that would tarnish my present image.

  'No!' she said curtly.

  Stiff with apprehension, my heart thumping, I watched her cross to open the front door.

  The last man I wanted to see stood in the doorway: Sheriff Joe Thomson.

  As I had told Glenda, I had often played golf with Thomson. We got along well enough together, but talking to him as we walked the fairways, I came to realize this man was a dedicated cop. He was around forty-five years of
age; tall, lean, tough, and had been in police business for some twenty years. He had the face of a hungry eagle: small cop eyes, a hooked nose and paper-thin lips. When playing golf, he seemed relaxed, but there was no humour in him. He took golf seriously, and I had the impression he could be utterly ruthless when the chips were down.

  He looked into the dimly lit room. His small eyes rested on me, and his eyebrows shot up. Then he looked at the dining table with the unmistakable evidence that Glenda and I had been eating together.

  He took off his Stetson hat.

  'I apologize, Mrs. Marsh, for this late call. Seeing your light on, I thought I'd drop in and give you the data of our crime record as you wanted it so urgently.' Then raising his hand, he saluted me. 'Hi, citizen.'

  'Hello there, Joe,' I said, my voice husky.

  'How kind of you, sheriff,' Glenda said, completely at ease. ‘Do come in. Mr. Lucas is just leaving. He has been telling me interesting stories about Sharnville.'

  'Is that right?' The cop eyes went to me, then back to her, 'Larry certainly knows this town. You could call him a founding member. I won't come in. My lady has dinner waiting for me.' He offered an envelope. 'You'll find all the dope here, Mrs. Marsh. If you want any further information, you know where to find me.' He waved to me. 'See you, citizen," then putting on his Stetson, he walked away to the elevator.

  Facing each other, we stood motionless until we heard the elevator door shut, then we looked at each other. The spell had been broken.

  Not three minutes ago, I had been aching to make love to her, and she had been aching for me, but not now. .

  'I must go,' I said, my voice unsteady. 'He keeps a finger on the pulse of this town. We'll have to be much more careful from now on, Glenda.’

  She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair and let them drop.

  'For a moment I thought. . .’ She turned away. 'Nothing ever works out for me . . . nothing!'