Not My Thing

3

At 10.15, Sherman Jamison, a briefcase under his arm, came down the steps of the villa where the rented SE 350 Mercedes was parked.

Smyth was waiting and opened the door of the driver’s seat.

‘I understand, sir,’ he said, as Jamison settled himself behind the driving-wheel, ‘that you will not be back for lunch nor for dinner.’

Jamison scowled at him.

‘Then you understand wrong!’ he snapped. ‘Will Mrs Jamison be in for dinner?’

‘No, sir. She is playing at a concert.’

‘I won’t be back for lunch. I’ll be back for dinner. Bring me a tray of cold cuts to my study at eight o’clock, and tell Conklin to return this car to the Hertz people on my return.’

Smyth concealed his dismay. He would now be unable to attend the concert, nor would Conklin have a night off.

With a stiff little bow, he closed the car door.

‘Very well, sir,’ he said.

Jamison drove to his bank.

The teller behind the counter inclined his head as Jamison put the briefcase in front of him.

‘Good-morning, sir,’ he said. ‘What may I do for you?’

Jamison was the Bank’s richest and most important client. He always received the red-carpet treatment.

‘Put five thousand in one-hundred-dollar bills in the case,’ Jamison snapped, ‘and be quick about it!’

The teller took the briefcase.

‘Certainly, sir.’

He filled out a withdrawal form and gave it to Jamison to sign, then he quickly put the money in the case.

Minutes later, with the briefcase locked in the car’s trunk, Jamison drove along Sea Boulevard, turning onto the highway, and at exactly 11.00 he pulled up outside the Star Motel which was the most de luxe of the number of motels built along the beach road, facing the sea.

For the past half hour, Lucky Lucan had been standing outside his motel cabin, anxiously wondering if Jamison had changed his mind. He had taken precautions that he considered necessary should Jamison appear. Hidden, in the motel’s living-room, was a tape recorder which was activated at the sound of voices. Lucan told himself that if he was going to get involved in a murder, he must be able to prove that he was only the go-between if the operation turned sour. With a tape of the conversation, Jamison would be as deeply involved as Kling.

He was relieved, although still uneasy, when he saw Jamison pull up outside the motel.

So Jamison was playing crafty, he thought. A hired car. He still imagines I don’t know who he is.

He hurried to the car.

‘Good-morning, sir,’ he said, opening the driver’s door. ‘Please come in. We can talk quietly, and without interruption in my cabin.’

‘We will talk on the ground of my choosing!’ Jamison said, his voice harsh. ‘Get in the car!’

‘But…’

‘You heard what I said!’

Lucan walked around the car to the passenger’s door and sat by Jamison’s side. He slammed the door, venting his well concealed frustration that there would be no tape recording.

Jamison set the car in motion.

‘Well, sir, I…’

‘Be quiet!’ Jamison barked. ‘We’ll talk later.’

Man! Lucan thought, this sonofabitch is a real tough cookie. He recalled what Sydney Drysdale had said: He’s VIP and goddamn dangerous. He found the palms of his hands were damp and he wiped them on the knees of his trousers.

Jamison, his hard, rock-like face expressionless, drove along the beach road, then turned down a narrow lane, leading directly to a vast stretch of sand, sand dunes and the sea.

At the end of the lane there was a turn-around. He pulled up and got out of the car. He surveyed the deserted beach. About a quarter of a mile away where the sand was firm, there were sun-bathers and people swimming in the sea. Their distant shouts faintly reached the two men.

Jamison nodded and got back into the car.

‘Now we talk. What have you arranged, Lucan?’

Lucan again wiped his hands on the knees of his trousers.

‘I’ve found the man who will do the job, sir,’ he said.

‘Who and what is he?’ Jamison demanded, turning to stare at Lucan with his cold, hard eyes.

‘His name is Ernie Kling. He is connected with the Mafia. When the price is right, he will do private jobs,’ Lucan said. ‘I’ve asked him if he is free, and he is. Before taking this further, sir, I thought it best to consult you.’

With blunt-shaped fingers, Jamison drummed on the driving-wheel of the car while he thought, then he said, ‘Where is he?’

‘He lives down-town Washington.’

‘You telephoned him?’

‘Yes, sir, but I gave him no details. I told him a job might be coming up, and was he free for the next three weeks. He said he was. So if you want to use him, he is available.’

‘How reliable is this man?’

‘I assure you, sir, you couldn’t find a better man for this kind of job. He has worked for the Mafia for years, and there’s never been a blow-back. To my knowledge, he has done six or seven private jobs, as yours is. No blow-back. He has no police record. He is utterly reliable.’

‘What are his methods of operation?’

‘That I don’t know, sir. This is not my scene. You will have to talk to him yourself.’

Jamison stiffened.

‘I will have nothing to do with him! It is your job to find out his method of operation. You are my go-between. Understand?’

Lucan shifted uneasily.

‘It would be more satisfactory if…’

‘See this man! Tell him what needs to be done, hear what he has to say, then report to me! Is that understood?’

This was something Lucan didn’t want. He wanted to put Jamison and Kling together, pick up some money and duck out.

‘I thought that if I introduced you to him, sir,’ he said, ‘I could then withdraw. This is not my scene.’

Jamison glared at him.

‘Wrong thinking, Lucan. If you want this money, you are damn well going to earn it. Understood?’

Lucan hesitated, but his greed over-rode his caution.

‘I understand, sir. If you want me to act as your go-between, you can rely on me.’

Jamison gave him a hard, sneering smile.

‘Right. So it is agreed for two hundred thousand this man will arrange a foolproof lethal accident and you will act as my go-between.’

Here’s the crunch, Lucan thought, and licked his dry lips.

‘Well, sir, I did ask Kling what his going rate was for a perfect job.’ Lucan began to wipe his sweating hands on the knees of his trousers. ‘He said four hundred thousand, take it or leave it.’

‘You’re not trying to be tricky with me, are you, Lucan?’ The bark in Jamison’s voice made Lucan flinch. ‘If you are, you’ll live to regret it.’

‘I’m telling you what he said. Four hundred thousand and expenses and a perfect job.’

Jamison stared through the dusty windshield at the sea while he thought.

To be rid of Shannon, he wouldn’t hesitate to pay a million or even two million dollars. He thought of Tarnia. With her as his wife, giving him a son, how different his life would become!

‘What does expenses mean?’ he demanded.

‘To be a perfect job, Kling will have to stay here for two or three weeks. I would say one or two thousand would cover it.’

‘I will pay four hundred and five thousand dollars for a perfect job,’ Jamison said. ‘No more. Is that understood?’

Lucan drew in a deep breath. This would mean he would clear a hundred thousand for himself.

‘Understood, sir.’

‘How soon can you begin this operation?’

‘I will arrange for Kling to come here tomorrow. We will discuss the operation. I will have his views for you the day after.’

Jamison nodded.

‘Then the day after tomorrow, I will pick you up at your motel at eleven o’clock, and we will finalize this.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Jamison removed the car ignition keys and handed them to Lucan.

‘Unlock the trunk,’ he said. ‘You will find a briefcase. Take it. It contains five thousand dollars for necessary and immediate expenses.’

Lucan relaxed. He was about to ask for money to get Kling to Paradise City.

‘Yes, sir.’

He left the car, opened the trunk and took possession of the briefcase.

As he returned to the car, hugging the briefcase, Jamison said, ‘Now listen carefully to me, Lucan. Don’t ever attempt to play tricks with me.’ He leaned forward and, with his thumb, he smeared a gnat that was flying against the inside of the windshield. ‘I will smear you like that, Lucan, as I’ve smeared that gnat. I have a long arm. Remember that.’

Lucan stared into the bleak, cold eyes and flinched.

‘Yes, sir. There will be no problem. I assure you.’

In silence, Jamison drove Lucan back to the Star Motel.

‘The day after tomorrow at eleven o’clock,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir.’

Lucan got out of the car and walked quickly to his cabin to telephone Kling.

As Jamison drove up the sandy road that led to the Golf Club, he thought of his meeting with Lucan.

He had expected Lucan would have upped the price, and he wasn’t disappointed. In fact, if Lucan had agreed to the original offer of two hundred thousand, Jamison was going to drop him. A man who couldn’t strike a bargain was of no use to him.

Well, he thought, the first step forward. Everything now depended on what this professional killer had to suggest. If he didn’t come up with a convincing foolproof method of getting rid of Shannon, Jamison assured himself, he could still duck out. Then he thought of Tarnia. She had granted him a month. Time was pressing. He had to be free of Shannon within the month.

As he pulled into a parking slot outside the clubhouse, Jay Wilbur came over.

‘Hi, fellow!’ Wilbur exclaimed. ‘Just the right kind of day for a great game of golf.’

Jay Wilbur was the Chairman of the National & Californian Insurance Corporation. A short, rotund man of Jamison’s age, and, although not in Jamison’s wealth bracket, he was wealthy enough. He came to Paradise City in the season, mainly to play golf. He and Jamison had known each other for some years and they got along well together. Both men played to +4, and always had an even struggle on the course.

‘Hi, Jay!’ Jamison said, getting out of his car. ‘How goes?’

‘Can’t grumble.’ Wilbur grinned. ‘And you: making more money?’

‘Can’t grumble either. Suppose we have a quick hamburger and get on the course before the rabble?’

Wilbur was eyeing the rented Mercedes.

‘Hey! What’s this? Where’s your super-duper Rolls?’

‘My man is doing something to it,’ Jamison said curtly, and led the way into the clubhouse.

The bar was deserted. All the members were out on the three courses that surrounded the clubhouse.

As the two men munched their way through a hamburger and drank beer, they talked business. Both of them played the stock-market and they exchanged information.

‘We’re heading for a hell of a recession, Sherry,’ Wilbur said. ‘It’s bound to come with these new idiots spending and spending on armaments.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ Jamison said. His mind was only half concentrating on what Wilbur was saying. He told himself he would telephone Tarnia sometime in the afternoon and see if she could have dinner with him.

The two men went into the locker-room to change into golfing clothes.

‘You’ll be at the concert tonight, Sherry?’ Wilbur asked as he struggled to put on his shoes.

‘Concert?’ Jamison paused, zipping up his golf jacket.

Then he remembered Smyth had told him Shannon was playing her goddamn cello somewhere. ‘I guess not. Music doesn’t interest me. I have a desk-load to work through tonight.’

‘Meg and I are going. You know, Sherry, you have a wonderful wife. She is as good as most professionals. We love to hear her play.’

‘How’s Meg?’ Jamison asked abruptly.

He was jealous of Wilbur’s three sons.

‘She’s fine.’

‘And the boys?’

Wilbur shrugged.

‘Gary will be all right. He’s coming into the business next year. He’s great, but the other two…’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Meg tells me to be patient. After all they are only fifteen and sixteen. They do as little school-work as possible, and chase after girls. Charlie is now playing the guitar and looks like a goddamn hippy.’

Jamison picked up his bag of clubs. He thought, when I have a son, there’ll be nothing like that. I’ll mould my son in my own image. No guitar nor long hair, no chasing girls. I’ll make him worthy to take my place when the time comes!

‘You’re lucky to have three boys. I wish to Christ I had even one!’ he said with such savage, heart-felt feeling that Wilbur, startled, looked sharply at him.

‘There’s time, Sherry,’ he said. He knew about the three miscarriages. ‘Kids will turn up.’

Jamison grunted and walked out of the locker-room and to the first tee.

Wilbur shook his head as he followed him. A real tragedy, he thought. His wife and he had often discussed the Jamisons’ predicament. They were fond of Shannon. Meg had wondered if she shouldn’t suggest to Shannon that they adopt a child, but Wilbur wouldn’t hear of it.

‘You don’t make suggestions like that to the Jamisons,’ he said firmly. ‘This is not our business, Meg.’

The two men didn’t play talkative golf. They preferred to concentrate on the game. Jamison found his concentration this afternoon was lacking. He kept thinking of Lucan, and then of Tarnia. He scarcely realized that he was four down at the 9th.

Wilbur said, ‘Not on your game this afternoon, Sherry.’

‘It comes and it goes,’ Jamison snapped and, with suppressed fury, he sliced his next shot into the rough.

Wilbur, seeing how tense Jamison was, didn’t say anything. He kept quiet. On the 18th hole Jamison four-putted, and then savagely kicked his ball into a sand bunker.

‘Sorry to have given you such a rotten game, Jay,’ he said, making an effort. ‘Just not in the mood.’

‘Well, as you say, it comes and it goes,’ Wilbur said, placing his putter in his golf-bag. As he began to move off the green with Jamison, he said, ‘Just a second, Sherry. You and I have been good, close friends for sometime. It strikes me you have a big problem on your mind.’ Seeing Jamison tense, he went on quickly. ‘Anything I can do to help? Meg always says two minds on a problem are better than one.’

Jamison stared across at the golf house, his face expressionless. He wondered how Wilbur would react if he told him he was planning to have Shannon murdered and had already taken a decisive step towards this end. How shocked this fat, kindly man would be! He shook his head.

‘A business mess, Jay. Nothing you can do about it. I’ll fix it. Thanks all the same.’

‘Well, let’s go and have a Scotch.’

‘Sorry, Jay. I’ve got this desk-load. I must get back.’

The two men began walking to the clubhouse.

‘Will you be free tomorrow, Sherry? I’ve only one more week here although I’ll be leaving Meg to stay on.’

‘Sorry. No, I’m right up to my eyes. When will you be back?’

‘Oh, hell! I was hoping we’d play for at least another five days. I don’t know when I’ll be back. How long will you be staying?’

‘To the end of the month.’

‘Will you be back in September?’

‘Could be. I’ll let you know.’

By this time the two men were in the locker-room. Jamison hurriedly changed.

‘I must get moving.’ He shook hands with Wilbur. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

As he hurried away, Wilbur stared after him, a worried frown on his face. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Jamison in such a tense mood.

At exactly 13.00, Smyth, carrying a tray, containing shrimp and diced lobster salad, paused outside the door of Shannon’s practice room. He listened to the strains of her cello and nodded sad approval. What a tone! he thought. She makes that instrument sing! He tapped and entered, putting the tray on the small table.

‘Lunch is served, madam. Perhaps a glass of Chablis or champagne.’

Shannon put down the cello and came to the table.

‘No, nothing to drink, Smyth. This looks marvellous. I have a lot of work still to do this afternoon before I feel I can give a good performance.’

As she sat down, Smyth spread a napkin across her knees.

‘I understand, madam. You are a perfectionist.’

She looked at him and smiled.

‘And so are you, Smyth.’

He bowed and moved to the door, then paused.

‘I regret to tell you I will be unable to go with you to the concert.’

Shannon, who was beginning the meal, put down her fork and looked up sharply.

‘But why?’

‘Mr Jamison requires dinner tonight at eight o’clock.’

They looked at each other.

Shannon felt a cold clutch of loneliness. She had looked forward so much to having Smyth with her. To have him greet her after the concert. How good it would have been to have him drive her home and to hear his opinion of her performance.

She felt sick with disappointment: so sick the shrimp and lobster salad became repulsive to her.

‘I am very, very sorry, Smyth.’

‘I am sorry too, madam,’ and, with a bow, Smyth left the room.

Shannon got to her feet and began to move around the large, sunlit room.

This can’t go on, she thought. Sherry and I must separate. I know he hates me. I can feel it. My love for him is draining away. Oh, God! Why can’t I give him a son? We must separate!

While she was pacing up and down, Jamison was in a telephone booth, talking to Tarnia.

As usual, she sounded a little breathless, but the sound of her voice gave Jamison a great lift.

‘How about dinner tonight?’ he asked, after their greetings were over.

‘Why, yes. I’d love it.’

‘Fine! Suppose we meet at the Stone Crab at eight thirty. Would that be all right?’

The Stone Crab restaurant was a small discreet fish restaurant situated some five miles outside Paradise City where neither Jamison nor Tarnia was likely to run into people they knew.

‘I’ll be there, Sherry.’

‘Be seeing you, darling,’ and Jamison hung up. He drew in a deep breath. There was much careful thinking to be done. This would be his one and only chance to convince Tarnia that they would soon be able to get married.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in the almost deserted, comfortable lounge of the Athletic Club. He sat in a deep chair in a far corner and no one approached him. He considered his future, thought of Lucan and made up his mind what he would tell Tarnia when they met that evening. Finally, satisfied that he had his thinking right, he went into the Bridge room and played three rubbers with elderly members, playing badly while he kept thinking of Tarnia.

He returned to his villa soon after 20.00.

Smyth had seen Shannon off in her car to the concert, and had prepared a plate of cold cuts for Jamison.

Knowing how anxious Conklin was to have the evening off, Smyth said as he opened the front door for Jamison, ‘Good-evening, sir. Do you wish Conklin to return the rented car?’

‘No. Tell him to garage the car.’

‘Very good, sir. Will you be needing Conklin tonight?’

‘How the hell do I know?’ Jamison snapped. ‘Hasn’t he anything to do?’ And he started for the stairs.

‘Your supper-tray is ready, sir. Should I serve it in the study?’

‘Supper-tray I’ll be dining out!’ Jamison barked, and went up the stairs and to his bedroom.

At that moment, Smyth, furious, was about to face Jamison and give his notice. He had had enough of this selfish, inconsiderate man, then he thought of Shannon. As long as she remained, then he would remain. He suppressed his feelings and returned to the kitchen.

Changing quickly, Jamison came down the stairs to the lobby.

‘I want the Rolls!’ he shouted. ‘Hurry up!’

Smyth appeared.

‘In two minutes, sir,’ he said. ‘Will you be requiring me tonight?’

Jamison glared at him.

‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded. ‘You’re paid to give service. I may need you. Busy yourself!’

‘Very good, sir,’ Smyth said, realizing his last hope of rushing to the concert had faded.

A few minutes later, Jamison drove away in the Rolls.

At 20.50, he left the Rolls in a dark place near the Stone Crab, then entered the restaurant to be greeted by Mario, the Maītre d’hotel: a short, fat man with a constant smile. Mario immediately recognized Jamison, who had been before.

‘My great pleasure, Mr Jamison,’ he said.

Jamison nodded coldly. He didn’t believe in being familiar with maītre d’s nor waiters.

‘A quiet table for two,’ he said.

‘Certainly, sir.’

The restaurant only catered for forty people. Each table was so arranged that other diners could not observe their fellow diners.

Mario led the way to a table at the far end of the room, by the big open window, overlooking the sea.

As Jamison sat down, he said, ‘As soon as my guest arrives, serve two very dry vodka martinis.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ With a little flourish Mario went away.

From experience, Jamison knew Tarnia was always late, and that was the reason why he had also arrived late.

At 21.15, Tarnia came to the table. Jamison, seeing her coming, was standing. Their greeting was careful: just smiles and a quick handshake. If there was anyone to report their meeting, it would seem like two people on a business deal.

A waiter appeared and set the martinis before them.

‘You arrange everything so beautifully,’ Tarnia said. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again.’

Jamison regarded her. What a woman! he thought. Her white trouser suit with a touch of scarlet at the throat was so chic. Her glossy hair and her beauty seemed to light up the dimly lit restaurant.

‘And I can tell you how marvellous it is for me to see you again. I suppose you are very, very busy?’

‘As always.’ She paused as Mario presented the menus. She scarcely glanced at hers. ‘You choose, Sherry.’

‘Hungry?’

‘Hmm. I’ve been so busy. I didn’t have lunch.’

‘Then let’s start with crab and go on to the paella. It’s good here.’

‘Lovely.’

They waited until Mario had gone away, then Jamison said gently, ‘You look marvellous, Tarnia. Every time I see you, you pull at my heart-strings.’

She smiled.

‘Thank you. And you? You have a marvellous tan.’

‘Oh, golf. That’s all I seem to do, except business, and think of you.’

The dressed crab was served.

‘This looks wonderful,’ Tarnia said and began to eat.

Jamison had no appetite. He picked at the food. His mind was concentrating on the moment when he would have to talk seriously to Tarnia.

For several minutes, they ate in silence. Every now and then, Jamison glanced at her, aware that she was a little tense. He waited until the waiter had cleared the dishes, then he said, ‘Something up, Tarnia?’

‘You always know, don’t you?’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Yes. I had a telephone call this afternoon from Rome. Guiseppi has invited me to show my collection at his show. It is a marvellous opportunity. He wants me to fly there the day after tomorrow. It’s an opportunity too good to miss.’

Before Jamison could reply, the paella was served, he was grateful for the delay. His mind worked quickly. This could be the solution to the problem that had been worrying him.

‘Will you be away long?’ he asked.

‘At least two weeks. I hope you don’t mind, Sherry, but you must see I can’t miss such an opportunity. To show my designs to Guiseppi… well!’

‘It could be longer than two weeks?’ He was probing now.

‘I suppose it could. I’ll fly out with my designs. The actual show isn’t until the end of next week. There will be all kinds of things to discuss.’

‘Three weeks?’

‘Sherry, don’t try to tie me down.’ She smiled at him. ‘Yes, it could even be three weeks.’

Here was the solution! To have Tarnia in Rome when Shannon was murdered was the solution! He had been worrying that Tarnia would be in Paradise City when Shannon died.

He gave her his most charming smile.

‘Tarnia, I am delighted. You deserve it! Of course you must seize this opportunity. I’ll wait! Don’t worry about me.’ He leaned forward, smiling at her. ‘But you won’t sign a contract with this man until the end of this month? That is understood, isn’t it?’

‘I promised to give you a month to get a divorce,’ Tarnia said quietly. ‘A promise is a promise.’

‘Let’s eat. We’ll talk later.’

Jamison watched her eat hungrily, merely picking at his own food. He made small talk without really knowing what he was saying. Tarnia responded. She seemed so happy, and he could see her mind often drifted from him to her future triumph in Rome.

The meal finished, they ordered coffee. Both of them lit cigarettes.

‘Now, I have news for you, my darling,’ Jamison said.

Tarnia looked up. ‘Good news?’

‘I think so. You did say you would give me a month to be free of Shannon, and we would marry. You did say that, didn’t you? You did say that you would give up this promising career of yours to raise my children and run my homes.’ He stared at her. ‘You did say that, didn’t you?’

Did he see hesitation in Tarnia’s deep blue eyes?

‘You did say that, didn’t you?’ he repeated.

She looked at him, smiled and nodded.

Was it an uneasy, forced smile? he asked himself uneasily.

‘Yes, I did say that, Sherry.’

‘Well, here’s the good news. Shannon and I have had a long, serious talk. I have finally convinced her of my need for a son. I have told her that I am in love with another woman. Naturally, I didn’t tell her who you are, and she didn’t ask.’ He paused, smiling at Tarnia who had stiffened, and was listening intently. ‘I said I understood how she felt about granting me a divorce, but couldn’t she see my problem?’ He paused to sip his coffee, not looking at Tarnia. ‘Then unexpectedly, she told me she would give me a divorce. I hadn’t much hope, but that was what she said. She said she might be able to arrange it after she had talked to her priest. In fact, she said, it would be all right. When you return from Rome, my darling, I am absolutely confident our problem will be solved. Be patient. In six months’ time, we will be married.’ Again he smiled at her. ‘But in the meantime go ahead with your work. All I ask you to do is not to sign a long-term contract with Guiseppe. What do you think?’

Tarnia stared down at her untouched coffee. She remained silent while she thought. She loved this man. She wanted to give him a son. Yet, she reminded herself, she was throwing away a remarkable talent if she did marry him. She was excited and elated at the thought of working with the best couturier in Rome. But, she wondered, for how long? With Sherry, her future would be secure.

‘Suppose we wait and see,’ she said, and smiled at him. ‘If and when the divorce comes through, then we can make plans.’

‘But, Tarnia, we already know our plans. As soon as I am free, we marry,’ Jamison said curtly.

Tarnia looked away from him, then stiffened.

‘Do you see who has just come in?’ she asked softly.

Jamison, frowning, looked across the restaurant to see Sydney Drysdale of the Paradise City Herald lumber in. He was greeted with bows from Mario and led to a table away from Jamison’s table.

Drysdale had completed his column and had left it on his desk. Apart from muck-raking, his only other interest was good food. He had decided to have a crab dinner, and what better choice than the Stone Crab restaurant?

‘Lots of crab, Mario,’ he said, ‘and beer.’

‘Certainly, Mr Drysdale.’ Mario bowed and went away.

Drysdale, his little eyes quizzing, peered at the half concealed tables, always on the look-out for that extra piece for his column.

He saw Tarnia and Jamison and, as he sat down, he thoughtfully picked his nose. Hey! Hey! he thought, well what do you know?

‘You don’t have to worry about that fat creep,’ Jamison said. ‘I have him where I want him. Once he printed a smart piece about me. One of his ‘a little bird tells me…’ I fixed him good. My attorney told him if he ever mentioned my name again in his rag, he would lose his job. Don’t worry about him.’

‘He could mention me,’ Tarnia said, agitated. She reached for her sling-bag, opened it and took a number of papers from it which she spread on the table. They were receipts and customs papers. ‘We are here on business, Sherry. I can’t afford any scandal.’

Irritated, Jamison nodded, he picked up some of the documents and pretended to study them, aware Drysdale was watching.

‘I’ll go,’ Tarnia said. ‘We shake hands. Stay here for a little while. This must appear to be a business dinner.’

Jamison folded the papers and handed them back to Tarnia.

‘Just relax. He won’t dare to print a thing about us. I’ll telephone you tomorrow. In six months’ time, we will be married.’

Tarnia stuffed the papers back into her bag. She didn’t seem to have heard what he had said. He could see her one thought was to get away from the restaurant. She stood up, offering her hand.

A quick, business-like hand-shake. The touch of her hand sent a tingle through Jamison, but he kept his face expressionless.

‘Tomorrow,’ he murmured, then she gave him a quick, impersonal smile and walked out of the restaurant. He sat down and signalled to Mario, who came hurriedly to the table.

‘A cognac, Mario,’ Jamison said, and lit a cigarette.

Drysdale watched this performance. He was too experienced a muck-raker to be conned.

Well, well, he thought. So S.J. is having it off with the Lawrence piece. Lucky guy! Business dinner! A joke!

Three beautifully dressed crabs were set before him. As he began to eat, he continued to think. Nothing here for me. This rich bastard is too dangerous to write about.

All the same, he told himself, there’ll come a time when I’ll fix him!

As he finished his first crab and sipped a cold beer, Jamison called for the check, paid, left a handsome tip and walked past Drysdale’s table without looking at him, and out to his parked Rolls.

Ernie Kling replaced the telephone receiver and hoisted himself out of the lounging-chair. He walked into the kitchen where Ng was standing over a saucepan which produced an aroma that made his nose twitch.

‘Smells great,’ he said, leaning up against the door frame of the kitchen. ‘What is it?’

Ng smiled at him.

‘I think you will like this, sir,’ he said. ‘It is a national dish which my mother taught me to cook. Saffron rice, tender beef, green peppers and many other herbs.’

‘If it tastes as good as it smells, it is okay with me,’ Kling said.

‘Thank you, sir. I am sure you won’t be disappointed.’

Relaxing against the door frame, Kling watched Ng as he stirred the contents of the saucepan. Man! he thought, was I lucky to find him!

‘A job’s just come up, kid,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you with me. You’ll have fun. We’re going to Paradise City, Florida. Loads of sun, sea, swimming. It’ll be a real vacation for you, and, maybe, you could help out. Like the idea?’

Ng began to serve the savoury-smelling food onto two plates.

‘I am always at your service, sir,’ he said.

‘Sure… sure. But I want you to have a vacation. I want you to enjoy yourself.’

‘When I am with you, sir,’ Ng said quietly, ‘I always enjoy myself. Are you ready to eat?’

Carrying the two loaded plates, Ng went into the living-room and set them on the table.

A real character, Kling thought. He shrugged, then joined Ng at the table.