There was silence on the line for a second, then she said quietly, “What happens next?”
“He’ll probably phone and tell me his price.”
“Will you — pay it?” she asked hesitantly.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t want to think, I want to know. Tell me the truth.”
“Of course I’ll pay. You know what would happen if Stella ever got hold of the picture. She’d be worse than any blackmailer. She might even refuse to give me the divorce.”
“No!”
“She’s that kind of a woman,” Bennett said. “Just so long as she gets what she wants, she doesn’t give a damn about anybody else.”
“But why would she want to hold you? She doesn’t love you, she’s never loved you.”
“I’ve told you before. Because she loves my money. It’s as simple as that. She hates my insides, but she loves my money. That’s the reason I’ll have to pay the blackmailer’s price, no matter how much it is.”
A short time later he hung up and looked at the envelope again. It was cheap, the dime-store variety, impossible to trace. And his name and address were in block lettering. Everything had the professional touch. It was obvious that he was dealing with someone who knew what he was doing.
Now there was nothing to do except wait for the phone call. And he had the feeling that it would not come too soon. The blackmailer would want to build up suspense and stretch his nerves thin. But he swore he would not let it get him. He knew what he was going to do, so there was no reason to worry, no reason to make things worse than they already were.
But suppose he wasn’t in his office when the call came? The blackmailer might think he was refusing to play ball, and that could be rough. If he wasn’t in the market, Stella would be. But definitely. She would give anything or promise anything to get her filthy hands on that picture. He could almost see the way she would gloat in satisfaction. God, but she’d love it!
Despite the promise he’d made to himself, fear shot into Norman Bennett so strongly his mouth was full of its coppery taste. He pressed the button on his intercom set.
“Yes, Mr. Bennett?”
“Miss Madison,” he said shortly, “I’ll take all calls that come for me today. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” But it was obvious that she did not understand.
“And don’t bother asking for names. Just put them through.”
“Yes, Mr. Bennett.”
He took the picture from the envelope again, and this time his fingers were trembling. How could anybody be so depraved to take such a picture? How low could a person sink? But more important, how had it been taken? That was the damnable part. How the hell had it been taken?
He couldn’t tell which time it had been. He and Gloria made love almost every time they were together. But the lights were never on. If there was any light at all, it was just a dim glow from the hallway. Still, the picture was clear and sharp, as if it had been made in broad daylight or under bright floods.
That meant the photographer had used infrared. Which also meant he’d even known that Gloria insisted on having the lights off. And it followed that if he knew that much, he must have seen them making love before — not once, but several times!
The phone rang.
“Hello,” Bennett said quickly, snatching it up. “Who is it?”
Tom Ewing, a business acquaintance. Bennett tried to keep his voice normal, rational, tried to disguise his tenseness. Ewing asked if he was all right and he said he was fine, except for a slight headache. Nothing to worry about, just something he had eaten that didn’t agree with him. It would pass. A couple of aspirin would do the trick.
He hung up, and the intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Miss Madison, what is it?” he growled in exasperation.
“Mrs. Bennett to see you, sir.”
Stella? What the hell did she want? They hadn’t lived together, hadn’t even seen each other except in his lawyer’s office, ever since he’d found out that she married him strictly for his bank account.
“Tell her I’m not interested,” he said. Then, quickly, “No, send her in. I’ll see her for a few minutes.”
Stella always looked like something out of the fashion magazines: prim and precise, perfectly coiffed, a walking mannequin as cold and chiseled as a marble statue. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met or even seen. That was something he couldn’t take from her. But she was cold, impenetrable, immovable. A complete bitch.
She came through the door in a little number whipped up by Ceil Chapman, a beautiful but frigidly impersonal smile on her lips.
“Hello, Norman. I hope you don’t mind my coming up without an appointment.”
“If it matters,” he said, “I do. What do you want?”
She sat down in the club chair opposite his desk, crossed her legs, smoothed the dress over her lovely knees. “You don’t have to be so abrupt. Aren’t you surprised to see me?”
“I’m surprised, but not overjoyed. What do you want?” he asked again.
“I thought we might talk for a few minutes.”
“About what? We’ve said everything that needs saying.”
“Have we?” She opened her handbag and took out a package of cigarettes. An imported brand, of course. Stella did not believe in having anything common. Her smile stretched a bit wider and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “Suppose I told you we’ve got a lot to talk about, a lot more than you could possibly realize.”
Bennett said nothing, but his mind worked feverishly. Was it possible that Stella had mailed him the picture and was working up to it gradually? That was just the kind of thing she would do, it was just the kind of conniving trick she would pull.
“Suppose I told you that I’ve had a detective following you,” she went on. “Suppose I told you I know you’ve been seeing another woman. A cheap trollop named Gloria Meade.”
“All right,” he said quickly, “suppose I have? You and I haven’t been together for months, and I couldn’t just hibernate. This may come as a shock to you, but I’m human.”
Stella lighted her cigarette, inhaled deeply, let a thin trickle of smoke drift from her nostrils. Her face was inscrutable. “Are you in love with her?”
“Yes,” he said. “I love her the way I thought I loved you. Only this time there’s no mistake. She loves me too, and she’s a fine and decent girl.”
“Are you sure of that?”
He looked at her steadily, his eyes cold. “Get to the point, Stella. I’m not in the mood for games.”
Her smile suddenly vanished. “You’re a fool to think you could keep a thing like that secret.” Her voice was like iced satin. “It’s going to cost you another twenty-five thousand dollars, or I’ll enter a countersuit and name her as corespondent.”
He breathed silently in relief. Stella hadn’t had anything to do with the picture. If she had, she wouldn’t be talking in what to her were small figures. She would have demanded everything and wouldn’t have settled for less.
“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll tell my lawyer.”
She shook her head slowly, the smile returning, her eyes gleaming in satisfaction. “You won’t tell anybody, Norman. I don’t want any income tax problems. I want this in cash, with no records anywhere on your books. Understand?”
He nodded in agreement, trying to indicate defeat when he actually felt elation. “All right. In cash.”
She mashed out her cigarette in an ashtray and stood up. “You realize you’re getting off easy,” she said. “I could have made you pay a great deal more.”
“I know,” he said. “You’re a wonderful girl, Stella. Everybody knows how generous and thoughtful you are.” He said it straight, but he knew she was shrewd enough to feel the sarcasm.