The Tide Can't Wait (16 page)

“Then we change it,” Stark said.

“No,” Barr answered. “If we do and are being tapped, then they'll be tipped off that we know about them. The fact that Price thinks he's in the clear is one of our few assets. Let's keep it that way.”

The telephone rang. It was Johnny Griggs. “Guv-'ner? I'm at the village. Price and the Corey girl are leaving.”

“Go on.”

“He came straight ‘ere, parked at the inn, and went up to see Miss Sloane.”

Barr swallowed. He'd been afraid of that. Damn Portia. The next time he saw her, he'd …

Griggs said, “About that time, Roget comes out of your place an' ducks into a woods. Later ‘e comes back an' slips into your rear door. Meanwhile, the Corey girl comes out of your place an' goes to the inn. She sees Price an' runs for ‘im like—like … well, Guv'ner, she's got it bad.”

“Yes,” Barr said. His mouth was dry.

“They go up on the ‘eadland an' talk, real close, ‘olding ‘ands an' all. Then they go to the inn an' drive off. I'm following.”

“Thanks, Johnny.” Barr dropped the receiver into place, lifted it again and dialed, placing a call to Portia. He sat waiting, his eyes fixed on nothing. Neither of the other men spoke.

He heard Portia's voice. “Hullo?”

“Portia?”

“Rob—I was going to call you. I just received a message from your Lenny Corey.”

“She isn't mine. What kind of message?”

“Handwritten,” she said. “That's what you meant, isn't it?”

“Stop playing. What did she say?”

She read it in a flat voice and added, “Night-clubbing with Tommy Price, Leon's plans maturing.”

Barr said savagely, “Put on something fancy and meet me here as soon as you can.”

“Another picnic?”

“Yes,” Barr said, “in night clubs this time. Only now I don't think Lenny will want to be rescued.”

• • •

Barr nursed his drink and looked across at Portia seated on his divan. “Tell me the truth—about Price visiting you today.”

She said in a patient voice, “I did. He drove down to get Lenny. Doddsby told him she was at my place. He came up to find her. That's all.”

Barr smoldered. What was the use. Even if she didn't lie to him, he wouldn't believe her. He didn't know what to say and he was glad when the telephone rang. It was Johnny Griggs.

“Guv'ner, they're at the club.” He coughed. “Is it getting tight, Guv'ner?”

“Damn tight,” Barr admitted.

Griggs sounded hesitant. “'Ow about a few quid then? I mean, you might not be about afterwards—always that chance. No bad luck, Guv'ner, but I got a good one I want to take a flyer on tomorrow.”

“Can do,” Barr said. Hanging up, he nodded to Portia and got his hat.

When Lenny arrived at Price's flat, he sent her to his bedroom to take a nap. She awoke to find dusk beyond the windows and the soft, uneven pecking of Tommy at his typewriter coming from his study. She lay for a moment, warm in a feeling of security and peace.

Reluctantly she drew herself out of it and slipped from the bed. A quick, cool shower washed away the last of the sleep from her mind, and when she returned to the bedroom, the fears and doubts began to come again.

She had put it all into Tommy's hands, she told herself harshly; she should let him handle the matter then. But somehow there wasn't the reassurance any more, even though she knew that there was really nothing bumbling about Tommy.

The typing had stopped. She heard his footstep and then a light tap on the door. Enveloped in a large terry-cloth beach robe she had found on the bathroom door, she called for him to come in.

A grinning face peered around the door at her. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes. Do you know that it's going on eight?”

“I didn't, but my stomach tells me you're right,” Lenny said.

“Reservation for dinner all made,” he answered. “Come into the living room and share strong drink with me before you get beautified for the evening.” His head disappeared.

Smiling, Lenny ran a comb through her hair and then padded into the living room. She could hear him in the kitchen and so she took a moment to have her first good look at the decor of the room.

Tommy's taste was solid, as she had found him really to be. Then her eyes caught the one false note and she went slowly toward the fireplace and looked at the painting above the mantel. It was a water color, a seascape showing a bit of headland in the foreground, a curve of cove, and barren headland with grass and rocks to the right as she faced the picture.

She felt the coldness inside her, the rise of suspicion. She thought angrily, “Don't be a fool, Lenny!”

But it was Portia's picture. Her signature was bold in the corner. Lenny turned away and saw Tommy coming toward her with two glasses in his hand.

She took one automatically. “Tommy, where did you get that water color?”

He followed her gaze. “Oh, the Sloane. It's very good, don't you think? Do you know, dope that I am, I didn't even recognize the place until I was at the lady's cottage today and saw the same perspective. I hope you like it. I paid pounds and pounds for it to a Bond Street gallery.”

Lenny sat down. Idiot, she told herself. Anyone with the price could buy Portia's things.

He came forward. “Lenny, are you all right? Why so pale? Here.” He took her glass and raised it.

She dutifully took a sip, set down the glass, and began to cry. She couldn't help herself. Tommy was beside her at once, sitting on the arm of her chair, holding her head against his side, uttering useless and meaningless words.

Her voice muffled against his jacket, she said, “I'm an awful little beast, Tommy.”

“You're an adorable one,” he said. “Now stop it and tell me why this sudden burst of self-recrimination.”

Lenny felt ashamed now; she didn't want to tell him. But she heard herself saying, “When I saw that picture, I was suspicious of you and Portia. I felt the same way this morning when I saw you leaving her place.”

“Sloane and I? You mean, jealous?” Putting both large hands on her shoulders, he held her away from him.

“No, suspicious.” She accepted his handkerchief and wiped at her cheeks. “Because Portia knows Leon, and Barr doesn't trust her and—I didn't know what to think.”

“You are wound up! Did you really believe that I, old T. Price, the musty scholar, was pattering about spying on you?”

“Oh, Tommy!” He made her sound so frightful.

“I'd prefer you'd been jealous,” he said lightly. “Ah, well.”

She thought,
I've hurt him awfully this time.
“Maybe I am and don't know it,” she said, trying to make up to him.

“That's a subject we'll take up later,” he said. “Now drink your drink and get dressed.”

Later, fixing her hair, she realized too vaguely to really comprehend that Tommy had not denied her half-made accusation.

• • •

They went to a place Tommy called The Club. On the way out, he spent a moment fussing with the door. “Someone broke my lock today,” he remarked quietly. “Remind me to have it fixed. I'd hate for some snoopy scholar to come up and crib my latest work.”

“Broke your lock?” She thought of Barr. But Tommy was so casual that any ideas that might have developed ebbed from her mind.

“Probably the cleaning woman,” he said. “She has a sticky key.”

She thought of the broken lock again later in the evening when, from their position on a terrace above the dance floor, she saw Barr and Portia Sloane eating quietly below. Up to that moment the evening had been a lovely one—she and Tommy had eaten well, drunk just enough, and discovered that this evening, at any rate, they danced together very well.

“Tommy,” she said, “Barr is down below.”

“I saw him,” Tommy said quietly. “He's been watching us for some time. Shall we invite him and the Sloane over?”

“Damn him! Haven't I a right even to a good time?”

“Perhaps not according to his lights. But let's invite them over and have fun.”

“Fun!”

He grinned a grin almost as wolfish as Barr's. “We'll take turns putting spokes in his wheel. And isn't it about time you put a ring in his nose about Leon?”

She said, “It is, I suppose.”

“Good. Do a good job on him.” He signaled a waiter.

When they came, Lenny successfully hid her anger at Barr. He helped by being very pleasant. Portia was her usual self, seeming no different in a black evening gown that clung to her ripe figure from the way she had been in paint-smeared slacks. She was still Portia, her hair not quite under control, her smile quick and childlike, her eyes darting everywhere, judging everything as though she were wondering if it might be worth sketching.

They talked about art after Tommy told how he had just recognized the scene of the painting he owned; they talked casually of a little bit of everything. Barr asked Lenny to dance.

She felt rebellious. “I'm not up to dancing at the moment,” she said, “but maybe Portia would like some exercise.”

Tommy took the hint, grinned, and led Portia away. Lenny looked coldly at Barr. “Go ahead and say what you came to say.”

“You're an idiot,” he told her bluntly. “What's the idea of running out on me at a time like this?”

“Maybe I don't trust you,” she said sweetly.

Barr looked almost savage. “What did Leon have to say?”

Lenny tried to smile. “He said the contact would be soon.”

“I know—tomorrow night.”

She felt deflated that he should know. “I had to work hard to get him to trust me,” she said. She outlined the first part of her talk with Leon. When she finished, he was grinning. It was an unpleasant grin.

“So. What do you do, lure me somewhere?”

“No,” Lenny said stiffly. Now that she was down to cases, she could feel the heaviness of the dinner and the wine she had drunk. Barr's eyes were demanding and frightening. She took a deep breath and plunged into what she had to say now or not say at all—ever.

“I'm not going to tell you. Not unless I get something out of this, too.”

Barr was very quiet. He picked up the glass from which he had been sipping. He set it aside. He glanced at the dance floor. Tommy and Portia were still visible there. He said slowly, “Do you mean money? We have no money to pay you.”

She wanted to slap him. “I don't mean money. I mean—myself. I don't ever want to be humiliated like this again. I want a clearance on myself. And I won't settle for less.”

Barr said, “Sure. That's understood.”

“I want it in writing.”

“You trust me, don't you?”

“No,” Lenny said. “Not the least bit.”

“Who put you up to this? Portia? Price?”

“It was my idea,” she flared at him. “No one else's—not hers or Tommy's or Leon's. And I know the plan. I know what I'm supposed to tell you and what I'm supposed to do. And unless you do as I ask, I won't tell you anything.”

“There are ways of changing your mind about that.”

Lenny glanced at her watch. “In twenty-four hours?”

“In twenty-four minutes,” Barr said.

She smiled at him. “But would you know I was telling the truth?”

“I won't, anyway,” Barr said. The music stopped and couples began coming up from the dance floor. “I'll see you at my place tomorrow just before noon. If you want to make any kind of deal, be there.” He leaned toward her. “And go back to the inn tonight. Don't stay in town.”

“I'll do as I like,” Lenny said. “Maybe I want to spend the night here,” she added angrily.

“With Price?”

“Is that your business?”

Barr leaned forward. “It's this much my business. Price is working with Leon. I can prove it. They're the same nationality. Price is the man who killed Helgos. And he'll kill you the same way!”

She was in the car by the open window, the air rushing soothingly past her face. Tommy was silent at the wheel. Lenny thought,
It isn't true—not about him.
But there were the ugly suspicions that had risen and been thrust aside.

She hated Barr, sincerely hated him at this moment.

Tommy glanced her way and, as if understanding what went on in her mind, said, “Sorry. I shouldn't have dragged him in.”

She looked fixedly out the window. “Barr is beastly.”

“What did he want, you to come back with him?”

“He wanted me to return to the inn tonight.” She swallowed. “Tommy, I …” She stopped. She couldn't just say,
Tommy, are you working with Leon? Do you mean to kill me?
She started again. “Tommy, I told him what I intended to do. What I want.”

“He got sore?”

“He agreed. He said for me to be at his place tomorrow to talk to him about it.”

“But even so, you're to go to the inn tonight. Why? To be where he can watch you, or to keep you away from me?”

Tommy was pulling into his garage and it was very dark around them. Lenny could feel the damp, chill sweat of fear start out all over her body. Tommy cut the engine. She could see nothing, but she could feel him as he turned in the seat. His hand was on her arm, lightly against the back of her neck. She could not stop a shiver.

His voice was soft and filled with concern. “Cold, Lenny?”

“A little.” Why was she such a coward?

“You didn't answer me about Barr's reason,” he said.

He knew, she thought. As Leon had known, Tommy knew, too. She said in a burst of words, “So I'd be away from you. He says you're connected with Leon.”

Tommy laughed. In the thick darkness his chuckle came out and burgeoned into a full, free laugh. But when he spoke there was no laughter in his voice. “I hate Leon, Lenny. I've hated him ever since I knew about him.”