It wasn’t often Merle put anything in my way. I was pleased. “Sure,” I said. “When do you want it?”
“Can you do it today? I’ve been holding it and it’s urgent now.”
That rather spoiled the offer. What she really meant was she had been trying to get someone to write it and had so far failed. “Well, all right. Leave it with me. I’ll get Russell to bring it over first thing tomorrow morning.” I said good-bye and hung up.
Russell came in just then to clear the breakfast things.
“I have an article to do for the Digest,” I said. “Have I any dates today?”
Russell liked to be consulted about my appointments. “You promised to see Miss Selby at three, sir,” he said. “And you’re dining with Mr. and Mrs. Henry Wilbur tonight.”
“Well, Miss Selby isn’t important. She’s a damn little nuisance anyway. Tell her I’ve had to go out of town. If I have the afternoon to myself I should be able to manage. I’ll dine with the Wilburs.”
I left him pottering about the living room and went upstairs to dress. By the time I was through it was twenty to twelve. It was time to ring Eve.
The bell rang for quite a while before she answered. She sounded sleepy.
“Hello there,” I said. “Did I get you out of bed?”
“You did, Clive,” she said. “I was fast asleep.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but look at the time. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“I never get up before twelve. You ought to know that by now.”
Well, anyway, she was at least stringing some sentences together for a change.
I drew a deep breath. “Eve,” I said, “you wouldn’t like to spend a week-end with me, would you?”
There was a long pause, then she said in a flat, indifferent voice. “If that’s what you want.”
“We might take in a theatre. How about this week-end?”
“All right.”
If she should only sound just a little enthusiastic, I thought angrily. “Fine,” I said, keeping the disappointment out of my voice. “Where would you like to dine?”
“I’ll leave it to you.” There was a pause and then she said, “But it mustn’t be . . .” and she ran through a bewildering number of restaurants and hotels which left me gasping.
“But there’s nothing to choose from after that little lot’s been eliminated,” I protested. “For instance, why on earth can’t we go to the Brown Derby?”
“I just can’t,” she said. I could imagine the two furrows above the bridge of her nose deepening. “Or any of the other places I’ve told you.”-
“Well, all right,” I said, feeling that if I pressed her she would refuse to go altogether. “I’ll send you a line. Then we definitely meet on Saturday?”
“All right,” and down went the receiver before I could say how pleased I was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As I drove round the corner of Fairfax and Beverley I saw a big crowd ahead. The boulevard was blocked with cars and people. It looked as if there had been an accident so I pulled into the curb and waited; but the crowd increased.
I said, “Hell!” and jumped out of my car and went to see what it was all about.
A small roadster was crossways in the street; one of its front fenders was crumped up. Four men were pushing a big Packard over to the curb; it had a broken headlight and lot of scratches on its immaculate body and a flat tyre.
Peter Tennett stood in the middle of the group of arguing men. He was speaking to an elderly man, and I could see he was worried and angry.
“Hello there, Peter,” I said, shouldering my way through the crowd. “Anything I can do?”
His face brightened when he saw me. “Got your car with you, Clive?” he asked hopefully.
“Sure,” I said. “It’s parked over there. What happened?”
He waved his hand at the Packard. “I was pulling from the curb when our friend here cut across and hit me head on.”
The elderly man muttered something about his brakes. He looked white and scared.
Just then there came the wail of a police siren and a radio car pulled up. A big red-faced policeman got out and pushed his way through the crowd.
He recognized Peter. “What’s the matter, Mr. Tennett?” he demanded.
“I got clipped,” Peter said, “but I don’t want any trouble. I’m satisfied if this gentleman is.”
The policeman looked coldly at the elderly man, “Well, if Mr. Tennett’s satisfied, I am. Do you want to make anything of it?”
The elderly man backed away. “It’s all right with me, officer.”
Peter looked at his watch. “Will you take care of this, officer?” he said. “I’m late for the Studio as it is.”
The policeman nodded. “That’s okay, Mr. Tennett. I’ll call the Studio garage for you.”
Peter thanked him and then joined me. “Can you run me over to the Studio, or will it be out of your way?”
“Glad to,” I said, pushing through the crowd. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
Peter laughed. “Yes, but the old fellow looks bad. I hope they take care of him.”
I heard a girl who was standing nearby say to a little blonde with a bicycle, “That’s Peter Tennett, the director.”
I glanced at Peter with a grin, but he hadn’t heard.
When we were driving towards the Studio, Peter said, “Where’ve you been, Clive? I haven’t seen you for days.”
“I’ve been around,” I said. “How’s the picture going?”
Peter lifted his hands expressively. “We’re getting down to it,” he said. “The first few weeks are always the worst. It’s too early yet to say what’s going to happen.” He waved casually to Corrine Moreland, the movie star, as she passed us in a cream roadster. “I’ve been meaning to ring you, Clive. I’m damn pleased you’re working for R.G.”
I glanced at him quickly. “He told you?”
“He said he wanted you to get an angle on this idea of Carol’s, but he didn’t give me any details. What’s behind it?”
I hedged. “I’m working on it now,” I said. “It’s going to be a satire on men. I can’t tell you anything else because it’s still up in the air.”
“But is there anything really in it? R.G. usually talks to me about his plots, only this time he’s gone mysterious on me.”
“As soon as I’ve anything to show you.” I said, “I’ll let you in on it.”
I slowed down before the Studio gates. The guard opened up and touched his cap to Peter as we drove through.
“You sure I’m not taking you out of your way?” Peter said as I crawled along the palm edged drive to the Studio offices.
“I’ll drop you just here if you don’t mind,” I said, pulling up. “I’ve a whale of a lot of work . . .” and I stopped because Carol was standing by my side. “Why, hello, stranger,” I went on, taking off my hat and smiling at her.
She was wearing a dark brown shirt and brick red slacks. Round her hair she wore a flame coloured turban. She looked smart, neat and picturesque.
“Hello, Clive.” Her dark eyes were wide and serious. “Have you come to see me?”
“It’s time, isn’t it?” I opened the car door and got out. “Do you know I’ve been ringing you twice a day?”
Peter broke in. “I’ll leave you two. Thanks, Clive, for pulling me out of that mess.” He waved and disappeared into the vast glass and wooden building that housed the Studio offices.
Carol suddenly put her hand in mine. “I’m sorry, Clive,” she said with a rush. “I’ve been angry with you.”
“I know,” I said, thinking how lovely she looked. “I deserved it. Let’s go somewhere and talk. I’ve missed you.”