1958 - Not Safe to be Free (6 page)

What exactly did she mean? Sophia wondered. She really had nothing to go on except this instinctive feeling the boy wasn’t entirely normal.

“It’s a feeling I have.” She hesitated, then went on. “Sometimes I think he’s a little sinister. Why does he always wear those dark glasses? It’s as if he is hiding away his real thoughts from everyone. There’s an atmosphere about him. . .”

Delaney was suddenly bored with all this. His mind was too absorbed in his own affairs to be bothered with abstract impressions.

“For heaven’s sake! Jay, sinister? You’re imagining things. There’s nothing sinister about the boy . . . nothing at all.”

Again Sophia hesitated, then, compelled to go further because of her genuine alarm, she said quietly, “His mother was a little queer, wasn’t she, Floyd?”

Delaney’s face hardened.

A little queer was an understatement.

Harriette would have been certified as insane had she not thrown herself out of a tenth-floor window of a hotel in Los Angeles. Although it was now twelve years since that fatal day, the thought of it still made Delaney flinch. His mind shied away from the memory of the years he had spent with Harriette. Admittedly the first year had been enchanting. She had been breathtakingly beautiful, vivacious, wealthy and exciting. But from the very first, she had been eccentric, but amusingly so. To anyone with any insight the hint of mental instability was there but Delaney had no insight.

Her fits of crying, her outbursts of violent temper and her sudden hysterical elation made her to him interesting and unpredictable. Her passion for dangerously fast driving, her long periods of sulky brooding and her restlessness were things that Delaney shrugged off as part of her personality.

Jay was born a year after the marriage and Harriette gave the boy over to a nurse, taking no interest in him. As the years went by, she developed such an active dislike for him that Delaney sent him to boarding school and during the vacations arranged that Jay didn’t come home.

Harriette’s mental condition slowly deteriorated. Although Delaney’s friends had long realized that she was mentally sick, Delaney himself, absorbed in his work, was still unaware that there was anything seriously wrong with her. His married life was no longer happy. Whenever they were alone together, which was seldom, they invariably quarrelled, but this he shrugged off as inevitable.

Then one night something happened that brought the facts brutally home to him.

The memory of that night, although now twelve years ago, still had the power to increase his heartbeat whenever he allowed himself to think of it.

He had returned from the Studios late to his luxurious home in Beverley Hills and had settled down to read the script of a film he was planning to produce.

Harriette sat away from him, silent and brooding. He had spoken to her, but she hadn’t replied, and, mentally shrugging, he put her out of his mind and concentrated on the script.

He had read for about an hour, then suddenly he had become aware of an extraordinary tension in the room. He had looked across the room to where Harriette had been sitting, but she had left the chair and had moved behind him out of sight. There was a mirror on the wall facing him and he had glanced at it. What he saw reflected there gave him the shock of his life.

Harriette was creeping up behind him, a carving knife in her hand and an expression on her face that still haunted his dreams. He realized in those brief seconds as he stared at her in the mirror that she was insane and the shock momentarily paralysed him.

It was only when she was within a few feet of him and had lifted the knife that he threw aside the script and jumped to his feet. She had come at him with the ferocity of a wild cat and he had been appalled by her strength. Before he had managed to get the knife away from her, she had slashed his arm and inflicted a long, deep scratch down the side of his face. She had broken away from him and before he could stop her, she had run out of the house.

That was the last time he had seen her alive.

She had taken his car, driven to a hotel in Los Angeles, taken the elevator to the tenth floor, entered an empty bedroom and had thrown herself out of the window.

Yes, ‘a little queer’ was an understatement and Delaney was irritated that Sophia should revive such a painful memory.

“Yeah, I guess she was,” he said frowning, “but that doesn’t mean . . .”

He broke off as he heard the telephone bell ring.

“That’s my call. Look, honey, forget it. There’s nothing to worry about. Jay’s all right. Damn it! I’ve lived with him for twenty-one years. I know he’s all right.”

Miss Kobbe put her head around the door.

“Mr. Brennon on the line, Mr. Delaney.”

“I’m coming.”

Delaney patted Sophia’s cheek, then went into the other room, closing the door behind.

Sophia stared up at the ceiling, frowning.

She again thought of Jay, picturing him as he had moved towards her, the scarlet cord between his fingers, his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses and she moved uneasily.

Where was he? What was he doing? Who had been the girl he had brought up to the suite?

Miss Kobbe looked in.

“Another martini, Mrs. Delaney?”

Sophia nodded.

“Yes, perhaps I will. Has Jay got back yet?”

“Not yet, Mrs. Delaney.”

A sudden impulse made Sophia get to her feet and walk into the lounge.

Delaney was talking on the telephone. His assistant producer, Jack Cooper, sat on the arm of a lounging chair, smoking.

He smiled at Sophia as she crossed over to Jay’s bedroom door.

She nodded to him as she turned the handle and entered the room.

Shutting the door, she leaned against it and looked around. The hotel maid had been in. She had turned down the bed, put Jay’s blue pyjamas on the bed and had half lowered the blinds.

The smell of perfume was noticeable still in the room.

A photograph in a silver frame of Harriette, looking very lovely and very innocent, stood on the dressing table. Sophia studied the photograph. She could see how like Harriette Jay was. They had the same mouth and the same facial bone structure and the same beguiling innocence.

From the photograph she looked at the big cupboard against the wall and noticed the key wasn’t in the lock. She crossed to the cupboard and tried to open it, but found the doors locked.

Then suddenly, for no reason at all, she felt an urge to get out of the room. The same sharp feeling of fear she had experienced when Jay had moved towards her, the scarlet cord in his hands, took hold of her.

She stepped away from the cupboard, her heart beating fast. She paused by the door, staring at the cupboard, trying to control this inexplicable feeling of panic. Then she jerked open the door and walked into the lounge.

She came to an abrupt standstill when she saw that Jay was in the room. He was standing by one of the big windows looking towards her. She could see herself, very tense and still reflected in the dark surfaces of his sunglasses.

Delaney was saying over the telephone: “Fine Ted, get the contract signed and fast. Get it done tonight. He seemed oblivious of the tight, strained atmosphere.

Sophia moved quickly to her room. She felt Jay s hidden eyes on her as she pushed open the door. She looked back at him and he smiled at her. It seemed to her it was a sinister, threatening smile and it sent a chill crawling up her spine.

II

J
ay leaned against the polished bar, a tomato juice in his hand He watched the small group of men standing a few feet from him. There was his father, Harry Stone and Jack Cooper, all in tuxedos. They surrounded Jean Thiry, who was wearing a beach shirt, fawn slacks and sandals. He looked hot and tired and bothered. The gay beach shirt stuck to his back in black patches and his face was shiny with sweat.

He was saying: “I’m sorry, Mr. Delaney, I don’t know where she’s got to. I’ve hunted everywhere. She left a note saying she was spending the evening in Monte Carlo, but there’s no sign of her there. I’ve only just got back.”

Jay sipped his tomato juice. He listened and watched with concentrated interest.

Floyd Delaney snapped his fingers impatiently.

“Well for heaven’s sake! Don’t you take care of that girl better than that? Okay, if she’s not here, she’s not here.” He turned to Stone. “Handle this, Harry. I want to catch the film.”

“Yes, Mr. Delaney,” Stone said.

“I’ll see she’s here for you tomorrow any time, Mr. Delaney,” Thiry said miserably. “It’s just one of those things. Someone must have invited her . . .”

But Delaney wasn’t listening. He moved away from Thiry and walked over to where Jay was standing.

“You come along with me,” he said. “I want you to see this movie.”

Startled, Jay groped for an excuse. He was surprised to see how hostile his father’s eyes were. Had Sophia told him? She had promised not to, but she might have changed her mind.

Why had she been in his room? That was a question that had puzzled and disquieted him all the evening. He was thankful he had thought to lock the cupboard and take the key away with him.

“And, look, take those glasses off,” his father went on. “You don’t have to live in them, do you?”

Jay took the glasses off and tucked them into his top pocket.

“I’d rather not see the movie, father,” he said. “I’m not dressed. I was thinking of going over to the Eden Roc for a swim.”

Delaney’s face tightened.

“I want you to see this movie. I want your opinion. What’s the matter with you? You’ll be coming into the Studio next year. How the hell do you expect to get anywhere if you don’t show some interest in your career?”

“All right,” Jay said meekly. “If you really want my opinion, of course I’ll see the film. I’ll go up and change.”

“Yeah, do that.” Delaney’s face relaxed and he grinned, slapping his son on the shoulder. The kid was okay: a little lazy perhaps, but, if you handled him right, he was cooperative. Sophia had said he was odd. That just showed you. Women were always going off at half-cock. Odd? Nonsense!

“I’ll tell the guy at the door to keep you a seat next to me. Snap it up, boy. It’s due to start in twenty minutes. See you,” and leaving Jay and ignoring Thiry, he walked fast from the bar, waving to right and left to people he knew.

As soon as his father was out of sight, Jay put on his glasses again. He finished his tomato juice and edged a little closer to where Thiry and Stone were standing. He heard Stone say, “You can take it or leave it. She hasn’t any name in the States.”

Jay was tempted to tell Stone he was wasting his time. He thought of the girl lying in his cupboard and he felt a little trickle of excitement crawl up his spine. He had still six hours before he could attempt to move her. He might just as well sit in the cinema as wander about waiting for the time to pass. Leaving the two men still talking, Jay left the bar, crossed the lobby to the elevator.

He said casually to the elevator attendant: “What time does the elevator go on automatic?”

“Three o’clock, sir,” the attendant told him.

Jay nodded.

It was as he had thought. He would need the elevator when he moved the girl. The thought that, within six hours, he would have to get her out of the cupboard, across the lounge, across the corridor and into the elevator, made his heartbeat quicken. There was a risk that Sophia or his father would hear him take her across the lounge. There was a risk someone would see him cross the corridor. He was ready to take the risk: it was all part of this intense excitement he had to have.

He was a little startled to find the door to suite 27 unlocked and he opened it cautiously and looked into the lounge. The lights were on and he heard movements in Sophia’s room. He moved silently to his room, opened the door and stepped into the room, shutting the door before he turned on the light.

Sophia would be going to the movie. She would be leaving in a minute or so. He took the cupboard key from his pocket, unlocked the door and opened it. The dead girl lay exactly as he had left her. He stared at her for a moment, then he reached down and touched her bare arm. The flesh felt cool and hard and he grimaced. She would be awkward to handle unless by the time he was ready to move her the rigor had passed off. He vaguely remembered reading somewhere that rigor did pass off after some hours, but just how long he couldn’t recall.

He took his tuxedo from the cupboard and tossed it on the bed, then, unable to wait, impelled by the urgent need to know for certain, he took hold of the dead girl’s arm and experimented in trying to pull her upright.

He was shocked by her weight and awkwardness. He felt a doubt that perhaps he wouldn’t be able to get her from his room to the elevator. He put his hands under her armpits and, straining, he managed to lift her upright. Then, as he propped her up against the wall of the cupboard, he heard a knock on his door.

His heart gave a painful little kick, then began to thump so violently he had trouble in breathing. He heard the handle of his bedroom door turning. Letting go of the girl’s body, he slammed the cupboard doors shut as his bedroom door swung open.

He turned, feeling cold sweat on his face.

Sophia stood in the doorway. She was wearing a flame-coloured evening dress, cut low and tight in the bodice and flaring out at the skirt. There was a large diamond brooch in her hair and diamonds around her slender throat.

They stood staring at each other.

Sophia hadn’t expected to find him in his room. Her uneasiness had increased while she had been dressing and imagining she was alone in the suite, she had decided to take one more look at Jay’s room in the hope of finding something that would either reassure her or confirm her suspicions that something was badly wrong.

Seeing Jay, motionless, white-faced and so obviously frightened, she knew she had caught him in some guilty act.

She watched him take hold of himself.

“Hello,” he said and there was a slight quiver in his voice. “I was just going to change. Father wants me to see the movie tonight.”