1945 - Eve by James Hadley Chase

Author:James Hadley Chase [Chase, James Hadley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

chapter thirteen

I had forgotten Harvey Barrow. He had seemed to me to be such a cheap, insignificant creature that I had dismissed him from my mind after I had driven him from Three Point. It did not occur to me that he would again associate with Eve. She had treated him so ruthlessly and I had so humiliated him before her that it was inconceivable that he could ever again face her. Yet there he was, going to her, sharing her with me, and bringing me down to his own sordid level.

I was still feeling shocked and depressed as I opened my front door. Russell came down the passage to meet me. One look at his worried face told me that more trouble was on the way.

“Miss Bensinger’s waiting to see you, sir,” he announced.

I stared at him. “Waiting to see me?” I repeated. “How long has she been here?”

“She has only this moment arrived. She said it was urgent and she would wait ten minutes.”

I wondered why Merle Bensinger had come all the way from her office to see me. It must obviously be urgent and important as she scarcely ever left her desk.

“All right,” Russell,” I said, handing him my hat. “I’ll see her at once.”

I walked into the sitting room. “Hel-lo, Merle,” I said, going to her. “This is a surprise.”

Merle Bensinger was big, red haired and tough. She carried her forty years well and there was no smarter business woman in Hollywood. She had planted herself before the empty fireplace and she looked at me with stormy eyes.

“If this is a surprise you’d better get yourself some brandy,” she said, ignoring my hand and sitting down on the arm of the settee, “because you’ll certainly need it.”

“Now look, Merle,” I began, “I’m sorry about the Digest article . . .”

“Never mind the Digest article,” she snapped. “You’ve enough grief without bringing that up.” She fumbled in her handbag and produced a battered packet of Camels, “I haven’t much time, so we’ll get right down to business. Just tell me one thing . . . did you punch Frank Imgram?”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “Suppose I did? What’s it to you?”

“He asks what’s it to me?” Merle raised her eyes beseechingly to the ceiling. “That’s a laugh. He socks the biggest money making proposition in Hollywood, breaks his bridgework, and asks what’s it to me?” She regarded me, her green eyes almost savage. “Listen, Thurston, you’ve been dumb. You’ve been so goddamn dumb that I can’t imagine what kind of parents produced you. The Digest was pretty bad, but this . . . well, it’s murder!”

“Come on,” I said impatiently, “just how bad is it?”

She threw her cigarette away and walked over to the window. “Couldn’t be worse, Thurston. You’re up against the biggest toughest guy in pictures . . . Gold. He’s out to break you and he’ll do it. Between you and me and my dog’s fleas you might just as well pack your bag and skip.

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