‘I don’t want it. It’s a painting that could get any dealer into trouble.’
‘And the rest?’
‘Nothing impressive, but if you want to get rid of all the paintings, I would offer ten thousand I’m sorry to offer so little, but these paintings are just decorations... they have no value.’
Elliot hesitated, then shrugged.
‘Okay... give me a note for thirty thousand to be paid in cash and the stuff’s yours.’
Ackland gave him the note. When he had gone, Elliot did some thinking. Maybe, he thought, Claude didn’t know the Chagall was a fake. He hesitated for a long moment, then he rang Kendrick’s gallery.
Louis answered.
‘Give me Claude,’ Elliot said.
‘It’s Mr. Elliot?’
‘Yeah.’
‘A tiny moment.’
Then Kendrick came on the line.
‘If you want the Chagall you can have it,’ Elliot said ‘My dear boy... what a nice surprise. From what Louis told me you were cross with me,’ Kendrick said, startled to get this call.
‘Never mind that. What will you give me for the Chagall before I offer it to Winston Ackland?’
‘Ackland? You mustn’t do that, dear boy! He would give you absolutely nothing! He’d probably tell you it’s a fake. Ackland is really rather horrid.’
‘What do you offer?’
‘I would rather take it on commission, dear Don. I could get you...’
‘I want cash... remember? How much?’
‘Thirty thousand.’
‘I paid a hundred thousand.’
‘I know, but these are dreadful times.’
‘You can have it for forty-five: immediate cash.’
‘Forty, my dear boy. That’s absolute top.’
‘Send Louis with your note to be paid in cash and he can take it away,’ Elliot said and hung up.
Kendrick replaced the receiver and beamed at Louis.
‘The poor stupid dear has sold us the Chagall for forty. Imagine! That silly Mrs. Van Johnson is aching for a Chagall. If I don’t get a hundred thousand out of her, I’ll eat my wig!’
‘Watch it, Claude,’ Louis said. ‘If she has it checked...’
‘Of course she won’t have it checked as Elliot didn’t have it checked.’ Kendrick sat back, his fat face wreathed in smiles. ‘My word is their guarantee.’
By 15.00 that afternoon, Elliot had seventy thousand dollars in cash. He had cashed Ackland’s note and Kendrick’s note at another bank, not his own. He knew if he had tried to cash these notes at his own bank the dreary question of his overdraft would have come up.
As he locked the money away in his desk drawer, he felt he had gained breathing space. He could pay his staff and use the rest of the money to continue his way of life for a few more months. For the first time in weeks, he felt relaxed.
Then the telephone bell rang.
Frowning, Elliot snatched up the receiver. The caller was Larry Kaufman, the Rolls Royce agent.
‘Mr. Elliot?’ Kaufman’s voice sounded sharp and hostile. ‘I’m asking you to settle for the Rolls. My people are pressing me. You’ve had the car over two months now. They’re insisting on immediate settlement.’
Elliot hesitated, but only for a moment He still had the Alfa which was paid for and he would be out of his mind to part with thirty thousand no matter how much he loved the Rolls. He knew he must now hang on to every dollar he could lay his hands on.
‘You can take it back, Larry. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want it.’
‘You don’t want it?’ Kaufman’s voice shot up.
‘That’s what I said.’
‘I can’t take it back just like that... damn it! It’s a second hand car now!’
‘Well, okay, so take it back as a second hand car. What am I bid?’
‘You’re sure you want to do this, Mr. Elliot?’
‘What am I bid?’
‘I’ll give you an honest deal as I can sell the car the moment I have it. Suppose you owe me three thousand?’
‘You think that’s honest.’
‘It is honest and you know it, Mr. Elliot.’
‘Okay... okay. Come and get it. I’ll have a cheque ready for you.’
Elliot tried to be indifferent about this, but it gave him a pang to see Kaufman drive the Rolls away with a cheque for three thousand in his pocket. Elliot wondered if the cheque would bounce. He hoped his bank manager would extend his overdraft. Anyway, he thought, it was worth a try.
After lunch, as he was settling down on the patio for a nap, his bank manager called.
‘Don... Kaufman has just been in and presented your cheque for three thousand. I’ve honoured it because you and I are good friends, but this is the last time. You have to do something about this overdraft. No more cheques, Don. Understand?’
‘Sure... sure... I’ll sell some stock,’ Elliot said glibly. ‘By the end of the week I’ll have fixed it.’
The wolves were closing in, he thought. Well, at least he had seventy thousand in cash in his desk drawer. It might be an idea to get in the Alfa and go to Hollywood, stay at a motel for a couple of weeks and let his debts take care of themselves. The more he thought about this, the better he liked the idea, but this wasn’t his day. As he got up with the intention of packing a bag and getting out, his majordomo came out on to the patio.
‘There’s a gentleman...’
A tall, hard faced man, carrying a briefcase, stepped around the majordomo and came up to Elliot.
‘I’m Stan Jerrold, Mr. Elliot.’ He paused until the majordomo had left them, then went on. ‘I’ve been briefed by Luce & Fremlin and Handcock & Ellison to collect two outstanding debts. I’ve been instructed to issue you with a summons to be returned at the Courthouse at the end of the month if I don’t get a certified cheque right now.’
‘Is that right?’ Elliot forced a grin. Once a summons was issued all the wolves would rush in. ‘How much is it for?’
‘Sixty-one thousand dollars.’
This jolted Elliot but he managed to retain his grin.
‘As much as that?’ He knew he couldn’t afford to be served with a summons. ‘I’ll give you cash.’
Ten minutes later, Jerrold left, his briefcase bulging and Elliot’s cash assets had abruptly shrunk to nine thousand dollars.
He lit a cigarette and leaning back in his desk chair, he considered his future. It looked bleaker than ever before. He knew the word would get around that he was paying his debts. In a day or so his other creditors would come knocking on his door. It was time to get out and get out fast. He would drive to Hollywood and when his nine thousand dollars had run out, he would take enough sleeping pills to make headlines for the last time.
Going into his bedroom, he packed a suitcase, selecting the best of his wardrobe, conscious that none of the clothes he was putting into the suitcase had been paid for. He included a bottle of Scotch and a carton of two hundred cigarettes.
He took three hundred dollars from his diminishing roll and went in search of his majordomo. Finding him in the kitchen, he explained he was going away and gave him the money. ‘This should hold you until I get back. I’m going to see Mr. Lewishon.’
The majordomo bowed and gave Elliot a sad, searching stare as he took the money. The stare told Elliot the old man was aware of the mess he was in.
‘I’ll write if I stay away longer than a week,’ Elliot said, uncomfortable at the searching stare and the sadness on the old man’s face. He returned to his bedroom, paused to look around, feeling sure this would be the last time he would call this room his own. Then shrugging, he picked up the suitcase and walked down to the garage.
As he was getting into the Alfa Romeo, he saw a girl walking slowly up the drive: a blonde, wearing a white sweatshirt and scarlet shorts.
‘Cindy Luck!’ he thought, surprised and he drove down, pulling up beside her. ‘Hello.’ He smiled. ‘What brings you here?’