There was a pause, then he asked, ‘Can you give me Mr. Lamb’s address?’
‘The Bungalow, Connaught Avenue. It’s the fourth turning on the right down the main street.’
‘Thanks.’ He made a note of the address on the scratch pad on the desk. ‘How about accommodation in this town? What’s the hotel like?’
She hesitated, then she said, ‘It’s very bad. The best and the most comfortable place is where I’m staying. Mrs. Loring’s rooming-house. The food is very good and it isn’t expensive.’
Calvin realised he had made a mistake by asking her such a question. He had no wish to live where she did, but now, it was impossible for him to turn down her suggestion.
‘Sounds fine. Well, okay, let me have the address.’
‘It’s on Macklin Drive. The end house. It’s about a mile and a half off the Downside highway.’
‘I’ll find it.’ He put the keys in his pocket and stood up. ‘I guess I’ll call on Mrs. Lamb now, then I’ll come on to Macklin Drive.’ He looked curiously at her. ‘How come you don’t live with your parents?’
He saw her flinch.
‘I haven’t any,’ she said. ‘They died in a road accident five years ago.’
‘That’s too bad.’ Calvin cursed himself. He seemed to be asking all the wrong questions. He moved to the door. ‘You lock up. We’ll talk business on Monday. I’m sure we are going to get along fine together.’
It amused him to bring the painful flush to her face. He watched it for a brief moment before walking quickly down the path and along the sidewalk to the car park.
He drove to Connaught Avenue and pulled up outside Joe Lamb’s bungalow. It was made of brick and timber, showing signs of wear.
Calvin sat in the car for several minutes, looking at the bungalow. This was bank property and his possible inheritance. If Lamb died, he would have to move into this depressing box of a place.
He got out of the car, opened the wooden gate and walked up the path. An elderly woman opened the door. She was bemused and tearful. She stared stupidly at him as he introduced himself.
He spent half an hour with her in a gloomy, cramped sitting-room full of heavy depressing furniture. When he finally left, he knew she thought he was wonderful and because this opinion nattered his odd ego, he didn’t begrudge the time spent with her. He had learned that Lamb was desperately ill. There was no possibility of him returning to work for some months.
Back in the car again, Calvin drove slowly to the highway. He stopped just outside the town at a bar and asked for a double Scotch. It was not yet six o’clock and at this time the bar was empty. He sat on a stool up at the bar and rested his fleshy face between his hands, staring down at the tiny bubbles in his glass.
Months! he thought. He could be stuck in this dreary hole for months and if Lamb died, he could be permanently stuck here. He and Alice Craig would grow grey together. Even when she was fifty, she would still blush when a man looked at her. A fifteen-year jail sentence might be easier to bear. He drank the whisky, nodded to the barman and went out into the gathering darkness.
Macklin Drive was a mile further on at the cross roads. When he finally reached the roaming-house he was pleasantly surprised. This was a compact, three-storey house set in a well-kept garden with a view of the distant hills. Lights showed at the windows. The house looked solid and cheerful and completely unlike the other cheap little houses and bungalows he had seen in the town.
He left his car in the drive and walked up the four steps to the front door. He rang the bell and waited.
There was a pause, then the door swung open and a woman, her back to the light, stood looking at him.
‘I’m Dave Calvin,’ Calvin said. ‘Did Miss Craig…?’
‘Oh, yes. Come in, Mr. Calvin. Alice said you were coming.’
He entered a large hall with a table set in the middle of a fawn-coloured carpet. The lighting was pleasantly subdued. From a room at the end of the passage he could hear music from a television set.
He looked curiously at the woman who had closed the door and he felt a quickening of interest.
She was wearing a dress that had a crimson top and a black skirt. The dress looked home-made and not very well made at that. Her long legs were bare and she was wearing shabby red slippers. Her hair was anyhow and fell to her shoulders: it was brown and might have looked attractive if it had been cared for. She had rather fine features with a longish nose, a large mouth and clear glittering eyes. Her appearance meant little to Calvin, but he was immediately aware of a vital sensual quality in her that sparked off his own sensual quality.
‘I’m Kit Loring,’ she said and smiled. She had good teeth, white and even. ‘I run this place. If you would like to stay here, I would be very happy.’
Calvin switched on his charm.
‘I would be too,’ he said. ‘I have no idea how long I’ll be here, I’m taking over until Mr. Lamb gets better. He’s pretty bad from what I’m told.’
‘Yes.’ She lifted her hair off her shoulders with a quick, two-handed movement. Her breasts lifted as she raised her arms. ‘I’m so sorry for Mrs. Lamb.’
‘I’ve just come from seeing her… it’s tough.’
‘You must be tired. Come upstairs and I’ll show you the rooms. I have two vacant rooms. You can choose which one you like best.’
He followed her up the stairs. She held herself well and she moved gracefully. He watched the movement of her hips under the creased material of her skirt. He wondered how old she was… thirty-five or -six, perhaps even more: an age he appreciated. He saw the wedding ring. So she was married.
They reached the head of the stairs, and she led him down a passage with doors either side. She paused outside a door at the end of the passage, opened it and flicked on the light.
‘Pretty nice,’ he said, ‘but what’s it going to cost? Bank managers have to struggle these days to live.’
‘This is forty a week including breakfast and dinner,’ she told him. ‘The room upstairs is smaller but, of course, it is cheaper.’
‘May I see it?’ he asked and smiled at her. ‘How much cheaper?’
She looked steadily at him for a brief moment. He felt a strange creepy sensation crawl up his spine. It was something he couldn’t explain to himself.
‘Thirty,’ she said. ‘If you are going to stay some time, I could make a slight reduction.’
‘May I see it?’
The room was smaller, but as comfortably furnished as the room he had already seen. There was a double bed instead of a single one and to its right was a door. Facing the bed was a wide, curtained window.
He pointed a thick finger at the door by the bed.
‘Does that lead to the bathroom?’
‘The bathroom is the second door down the passage. This door isn’t used.’ He was aware she was now looking intently at him. ‘It communicates with my room. This is really my floor, but sometimes I don’t mind someone being up here.’
He was suddenly aware that his heart was beating slightly faster than normal.
‘I prefer this room if it’s all right with you,’ he said.
She smiled: the amused expression in her eyes wasn’t lost on him.
‘Have it by all means,’ she said, and then she looked at her wrist watch. ‘I must start dinner. I’ll tell Flo to bring up your bags.’
‘That’s okay,’ Calvin said. ‘I have only one and I’ll bring it up myself. Can I leave my car in the drive?’
‘There’s a garage around the back. Dinner is at eight. If there is anything you want, please ask.’ She smiled at him, then moving to the door, she was gone.
Calvin remained motionless for some seconds, then he walked deliberately to the communicating door and turned the handle. The door was locked.