I hedged.
‘Why should he?’
‘I’ve been thinking about her: the set-up puzzles me. I remember Doctor Rappach, a friend of mine, told me that very often glamorous looking women like Mrs. V. are frigid. Rappach knows what he is talking about. He uses hypnotism in his work.’
I stared at him.
‘You didn’t tell him about Mrs. Vidal?’
He looked shocked.
‘Good God, no! I may be curious, but I don’t gossip. He told me an odd story about a man who had hypnotic powers. His wife was frigid and he used to hypnotise her to release her when they had sex. It was a great success. She didn’t even know she had sex with him but after a while she became neurotic and Rappach had to talk seriously to the husband. I’m only guessing, of course, but it is possible that Mrs. V. isn’t all that satisfactory bed — wise and Tiny releases her.’
I turned cold and sick.
Could this be happening to Val?
I won’t let him make love to me. Her voice echoed in my mind, and her despairing whisper, horrible, horrible.
‘You look bad,’ Dyer said with concern. ‘Why don’t you go home? I can see you’re really upset.’
I drank some more of the whisky.
‘I guess I am. When she hit her head... I thought she had killed herself.’
‘You go home.’
‘No, I won’t do that. I’ll get back to my desk. I still have a lot of work to do.’
‘Don’t forget to tell the quack to contact Tiny.’
I was lucky to meet Dr. Fontane as he came down the stairs. He was like a stork: tall, thin with a hooked nose and small beady eyes.
I introduced myself.
‘How is she, doctor?’
‘She has a nasty cut at the back of her head. Nothing serious. It would be better for her to stay in bed for a few days.’
‘Mr. Vidal should be informed.’ He smiled sourly.
‘I have already spoken to him.’ Nodding, he went down the steps to his car.
I returned to my office and closed the door. My mind was seething. As I sat down at my desk, the telephone bell rang.
I had an instinctive feeling it was Vidal calling and I hesitated, then, my heart beating violently, I lifted the receiver. ‘Burden?’ His squeaky voice jarred my nerves.
‘Yes Mr. Vidal.’
‘What happened? That fool of a doctor said Mrs. Vidal fainted and hit her head. I’ve never known her to faint. You were there. What happened?’
I licked my dry lips.
‘I don’t know, Mr. Vidal. I was on the telex. My back was turned. I heard Mrs. Vidal get up, then the sound of her fall.’
‘Do you think she fainted?’
‘I think she must have.’
There was a pause, then he gave his short, barking laugh.
‘Women!’ Again a pause, then he asked, ‘How is she getting on with the work?’
‘All right, Mr. Vidal.’
‘Burden! Remember what I said! Always tell me the truth!’ The snap in his Voice made me stiffen. ‘I will repeat the question: how is my wife getting on with the work?’
I was about to repeat my answer when I remembered that within an hour or so he would get the schedule, crammed with typing errors. He would know who had typed it. I couldn’t afford to be caught in a he if I was to remain close to Val.
‘Well, of course, she is a little out of practice,’ I said. ‘That’s to be expected after a six year layoff.’
‘Is she being efficient?’
‘She doesn’t have to be efficient. That is my prerogative, Mr. Vidal.’
He laughed.
‘A tactful man. The doctor tells me she should stay in bed for a few days. Get yourself a secretary Burden. My wife will soon get tired of office routine. I know women. They like to talk about work, but when it comes to the crunch they start throwing faints.’
I was now hating him so violently that if he had been in the office I would have struck him.
‘I’ll do that Mr. Vidal,’ I said.
‘I want an efficient service Burden. See to it,’ and he hung up.
As I replaced the receiver, I looked at the briefs still to be done. There was no time now to think about what had happened, what Dyer had said. I had to get these briefs cleared.
I called the Employment agency and asked them to send me a top class secretary on a temporary basis.
‘This is an emergency,’ I said. ‘Put her in a taxi and get her to me as quickly as you can.’
When I mentioned Henry Vidal’s name, the woman in charge said a girl would be with me in half an hour.
‘I’ll send you Connie Hagen. She is exceptionally good. Will you need her long?’
‘A week, maybe two weeks. I’m not sure.’
‘All right, Mr. Burden. She’ll be along.’ She then asked, ‘Did that boy show up... the messenger you wanted?’
I had forgotten about him.
‘Not yet.’
‘He’ll be along any moment. I told him to have his lunch first.’
Within ten minutes, the boy arrived. His name was Ray Potter, a gangling, long haired, amiable type who seemed painfully anxious to please.
I explained about how to obtain visas, gave him the passports and the addresses of the various consulates and sent him on his way.
I then got down to the briefs. What with telexing and telephoning and checking my reference books, I had no time to think of Val.
Connie Hagen arrived. She was around eighteen or twenty years of age, and the fattest girl I have yet seen which is saying something in this county of grossly fat women. Her round face revealed efficiency, humour and kindness. I liked her on sight. As with most fat girls, she wore skin tight trousers and a blouse that scarcely held under the pressure of her enormous breasts.
I gave her three schedules to type. The moment her fat little fingers dropped on to the keyboard, I knew I had found the support I needed.
The three schedules were finished in a quarter of an hour. A quick look at them showed perfect typing. I then gave her a list of flights to book and left her to it.
We worked at top pressure until 17.45. Potter returned with the visas. I gave him four of the schedules to deliver to various hotels, assuring him he wouldn’t have to work this hard tomorrow.
‘I don’t mind work, Mr. Burden,’ he said, grinning. ‘I just want to earn what I’m being paid.’
When he had gone. Connie opened her handbag and took from it a paper sack.
‘Like a bite, Mr. Burden?’ she asked. ‘I always like a little bite before supper. Liver sausage on rye.’
‘No, thanks. We’re nearly through.’ I looked with unbelieving eyes at my now empty desk top.
She took a big bite out of the sandwich, munched and nodded her satisfaction.
‘I can’t get over me working for Mr. Vidal,’ she exclaimed. ‘Gosh! And in this marvellous house! Won’t I bend my boyfriend’s cars tonight! I’ll have you know Mr. Burden, it is a real privilege to work for Mr. Vidal.’
This remark turned my mood sour. Up to now. I had been too occupied with Val and Vidal had gone out of my mind.
‘Well, let’s finish,’ I said curtly. ‘It’s getting on for six.’
At 18.10. I had cleared the last schedule. Connie, still rating, put the cover on the I.B.M.
‘What time tomorrow, Mr. Burden?’
‘Nine o’clock, please.’
‘I’ll be here. Nightie-night,’ and away she went, swinging her massive hips, as light as a thistledown on her fat little feet, apparently without a care in the world.
There was no rush for me to get home. I had warned Rhoda that I might be late. I had much thinking to do and concentration would be impossible with her fussing around.