Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

Chapter Three

Joe Pinner’s scheme to protect Marshall from a drink-drive charge exploded as I walked into the hall of Mrs. Hansen’s house.

She came fluttering out of the living room, obviously in distress.

‘Oh, Mr. Devery, I’m so glad you’re back!’ she exclaimed. ‘Mr. McQueen is trying to contact my brother. There is no telephone in the church. Could I ask you to help?’

‘Why, sure. What is it?’

‘It’s Mr. Marshall. He has had a car accident.’

Here it is, I thought. The drunk has dropped into the grave he has been digging for himself.

‘Is he hurt?’

‘No... I don’t think so, but he is under arrest. Mr. McQueen said it will be a drink-drive and assault charge and my brother should be there. Isn’t it terrible?’

‘Where is the church, Mrs. Hansen?’

‘It’s on Pinewood Avenue. The first turning on the left at the end of this road.’

‘I’ll get your brother.’

I ran up the stairs, threw on a sweatshirt and slacks and then pounded down to my car.

I found Olson coming from the church, surrounded by kids.

When he saw me, he waved the kids away and joined me as I got out of the car.

‘Sheriff McQueen is asking for you, Mr. Olson,’ I said. ‘Marshall is in trouble... a drink-drive and assault charge. He’s now at the station house.’

For a brief moment, Olson lost his cool. His eyes popped wide open, then he recovered himself and became all lawyer.

‘Thank you, Mr. Devery. How unfortunate.’

This, I thought, was the understatement of the week.

‘It sure is,’ I said.

‘I’ll go at once.’

I watched him drive away, then seeing a call booth by the church, I went in, found Joe Pinner’s number in the book and called him.

‘This is Devery,’ I said when he came on the line. ‘Marshall is in trouble. He’s facing a drink-drive and assault charge. He’s at the station house right now and Olson is on his way.’

‘Sweet suffering Pete!’ Pinner moaned. ‘I’ll get over there. Thanks, Devery,’ and he hung up.

It occurred to me that it wouldn’t do me any harm to spread the news further. So I looked up Tom Mason’s home number and broke the news to him.

He reacted the same way as Pinner had done.

‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll get down there right away. Will you join me, Keith?’

I played it modest.

‘Why, sure, if you think I can be of use.’

‘All Frank’s friends should be there,’ Mason said. ‘This is serious.’

Yet another great understatement.

I said I would be there.

When I arrived outside the station house, a big crowd was milling around. Three newsmen and four photographers were on the scene like vultures waiting for a meal.

Joe Pinner, a cigar stuck in his face, was standing by his black Caddy. I walked over to him.

‘What goes on, Mr. Pinner?’ I asked.

He pushed his Stetson to the back of his head.

‘Olson is handling it.’ He dragged at his Mark Twain moustache. ‘What a goddamn mess just when we thought we had it organized! Tom is in there, talking to McQueen.’ He paused, rolled his cigar around in his mouth, then added, ‘Tom is McQueen’s cousin. He has a pull.’

We stood around as the crowd built up.

‘This is a hell of a thing,’ Pinner said after a while. ‘The press will give it a spread and the publicity could sink our loan.’

Never mind Marshall, all he was worrying about was the loan.

Tom Mason came through the crowd and joined us. The newsmen surged forward and flashlights popped. There was a yell for a statement. Obviously enjoying his moment of importance, Tom waved them away.

‘You guys talk to the Sheriff. I’ve got no comment.’ He caught hold of Pinner’s arm and pulled him towards Pinner’s car. I drifted along with them.

‘That was real good of you, Keith, to have called me,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s get in and I’ll give you the set-up.’

We got in the car. Pinner turned on the air conditioner and wound up the windows. A small crowd milled around, staring in at us.

‘How bad is it?’ Pinner asked as he settled his bulk behind the driving wheel. I was sitting at the back.

‘Couldn’t be worse,’ Tom said. ‘This afternoon, Frank drove to the hospital to see his aunt. According to him, he was so upset by her condition, he had to have a little drink. You know what that means. He probably knocked back half a bottle. Anyway, that sonofabitch Ross was waiting for him. I guess Frank lost his head and he took a poke at Ross. He knocked out a couple of teeth.’

‘Sweet grief!’ Pinner moaned.

‘You can say that again.’ Mason shook his head. ‘Olson is trying to fix it with Sam, but it’s tricky because Ross is yelling blue murder. He wants Frank in jail.’

‘They wouldn’t do that?’ Pinner looked horrified. ‘If Frank goes to jail, the loan is sunk.’

‘Yeah, and Sam knows it. He’s as interested as we are. The way he is talking to Olson, I reckon there’s going to be a fix. I guess the worst that can happen is Frank will lose his licence to drive.’

‘Who the hell cares?’ Pinner snapped. ‘But you’re sure he won’t go to jail?’

‘If Sam can take care of Ross, he won’t, but it’s not going to be easy.’

There came a tapping on the car window. A cop was beckoning to me. I stared at him, then lowered the window.

‘You Devery?’ he demanded.

‘Yes.’

‘Mr. Olson wants you.’

I looked at Pinner and then at Mason who were staring at the cop.

‘What goes on?’ Pinner demanded, lowering his window.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ the cop said indifferently. ‘Mr. Olson said to fetch this guy and that’s what I’m doing.’

‘You’d better go, Keith,’ Mason said.

‘Sure.’

I got out of the car and walked with the cop to the station house. I had to shove my way through the gaping crowd, the newsmen and through a barrage of flashlights.

I was led into the Sheriff’s office where Olson, McQueen and Marshall were sitting around a desk.

After a quick look at Olson and McQueen, I turned my attention to Marshall. He was dozing and I could see he was pretty drunk.

Olson said, ‘Frank... Mr. Devery is here.’

Marshall shook his head, opened his eyes, peered at me, shut them, opened them again and then grinned.

‘Hi, Keith! I want you to drive me home.’

I looked from him to McQueen who gave a resigned nod. Then I looked at Olson who also nodded.

‘If you would be so kind, Mr. Devery,’ Olson said. ‘I have taken care of the formalities.’ Turning to Marshall, he went on, ‘All right, Frank, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Unless I see you first,’ Marshall said and heaved himself to his feet. He staggered, then grabbed hold on my shoulder. ‘Screw the lot of you,’ he said, then to me, ‘Come on, pal. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

I went with him into the hot sun. The moment we appeared, the newsmen surged forward, and there was a murmur from the crowd.

Marshall was impressive. He was like a whale among the minnows. Shoving his way through the crowd, muttering four-letter words, he reached my car and got in. I could see Pinner and Tom Mason gaping. I slid under the driving wheel, started the motor amid blinding flash explosions.

I drove away and headed towards Marshall’s house. I kept checking my driving mirror, but no one was following us.

Marshall slumped against the off-side door and every now and then he snored.

When we finally reached the bottom of the dirt road leading to the house, he came awake.

‘Anyone following us, Keith?’

I checked my driving mirror.

‘We’re on our own.’

‘Let’s stop.’

I swung the car to the grass verge and cut the motor.

‘I’m in trouble, Keith. They are going to take my driving licence away... the creeps can’t do anything else.’ He rubbed his hand over his sweating face. ‘At least, I hit that bastard. He had it coming. The joke is they’re scared to do anything about that.’ He closed his eyes and nodded off. I sat behind the driving wheel and watched him. After a few minutes he yawned, stretched and then looked at me.

‘Until that old bitch dies,’ he said, ‘and she’s taking a hell of a time doing it, I’ve got to earn a living. If I can’t drive, I’m in trouble.’ He leaned back, puffed out his cheeks and then went on, ‘It’s time Beth — that’s my wife — did something for me.’ He turned his head and squinted at me. ‘Will you teach her to drive?’

This was just too easy.

‘That’s my job, Frank... teaching people to drive.’

He dropped a sweaty hand on my wrist.

‘That’s right. So... you teach her to drive, so she can get me to the station.’ He wiped his face with his handkerchief, then said, ‘Excuse me,’ and opening the car door, he lurched out and vomited on the grass verge. I watched him. To me he represented a million dollars. Why should I care if he behaved worse than an animal?

After a while, he staggered back into the car, wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve.

‘I guess I had one drink too many.’ He sank back in the seat, then he patted my arm. ‘When I get that money, I’m going to be the big shot around here and I’ll remember my friends.’ He blew out his cheeks, then went on, ‘Let’s get home.’

I drove up the dirt road and parked outside the front entrance of the house. He heaved himself out of the car and stood swaying, while he looked at me through the open window.

‘I’m still a bit drunk, Keith, but tomorrow I’ll call you.’ He waved. ‘Thanks, pal.’

I watched him stagger up the steps to the house, lurch against the front door, then pushing it open, walk in. The front door slammed behind him.

I looked up. A curtain covering a second-storey window moved. She was up there, watching... the mysterious Mrs. Marshall.

When I got back to Mrs. Hansen’s house, I found Olson, Pinner and Tom Mason on the patio.

Mrs. Hansen came out of the living room as I started up the stairs.

‘Oh, Mr. Devery, do come and have a drink. My brother...’

I guessed they were burning to know what had happened between Marshall and myself so I joined them on the patio.

I picked up the hostile, suspicious atmosphere as Pinner shoved a chair towards me with his foot. I could understand their attitude. They were thinking: here’s a complete stranger who walks into our town and suddenly becomes the favourite of the coming millionaire.

‘Seems Frank has taken a liking to you,’ Pinner said.

I accepted the whisky and soda Olson offered me.

‘Drunks are like that,’ I said. ‘He tells me he is losing his licence and he can’t afford a chauffeur. He wants me to teach his wife to drive.’

There was a long pause while the three men absorbed this, then I saw their faces brighten. Maybe this guy, they were probably thinking, wasn’t sucking up to the man who they hoped was going to put Wicksteed on the tourist map.

Pinner stroked his moustache.

‘Are you going to help out, Keith?’

‘That’s my job.’

A long pause, then he said, ‘He didn’t by chance mention anything about our planning scheme?’

‘Not a thing.’

The three looked at each other, then Mason said, ‘He seemed a little hostile when he left with you.’

‘He was drunk,’ I said.

‘Yes.’ Olson nodded. ‘He didn’t mean what he said.’

Who was kidding who? I thought and finished my drink. I saw no point in sitting around with these three, mulling over Marshall’s future.

Getting to my feet, I said I wanted to catch the ball game on TV and would they excuse me?

We shook hands all round and I left them.

Up in my room, I heard them talking. The low rumble of their voices didn’t worry me.

Tomorrow I would finally meet Mrs. Beth Marshall.

Beth!

I liked the name.

As she put the breakfast tray on the table, Mrs. Hansen said, ‘I brought up the paper. I thought you would like to see it.’

I thanked her and had to restrain myself from grabbing it until she had left the room.

The Wicksteed Herald had done a fine snow job on Marshall.

The report written by the Editor himself, began by giving Marshall a big build up. Quote: Mr. Marshall is one of our most liked citizens who has always had the interests of Wicksteed close to his heart. Then, after more blah: it is common knowledge that Mr. Marshall has been for some time under considerable strain due to his aunt’s distressing illness. His aunt, Mrs. Howard T. Fremlin, has been and will always be our most important citizen. Mr. Marshall frankly admitted that after visiting her at our fine hospital, he was so upset, he took a drink. We think it is unfortunate that Deputy Sheriff Ross (a new recruit to our town) felt it necessary to arrest Mr. Marshall when he was about to drive home. Mr. Marshall mistook Deputy Sheriff Ross’s intentions and pushed him so Deputy Sheriff Ross fell against Mr. Marshall’s car and slightly injured his mouth. After consulting with his attorney. Mr. Yule Olson, Mr. Marshall agreed that it was only fair that he should lose his driving licence for a few months. Smiling, Mr. Marshall told our reporter: ‘It’s tough, but there are so many kids around here who drink-drive, I want to set them an example.’

To me, this was the most vomit making reportage I had ever read. I tossed the paper aside and wondered how Deputy Sheriff Ross was reacting.

I had just finished my breakfast when Mrs. Hansen came tapping on my door.

‘A telephone call for you, Mr. Devery. It’s Mr. Marshall.’

I could tell by the way her eyes were popping how excited she was. I went down the stairs and took the call.

‘Is that you, Keith?’ Marshall’s booming voice came over the line.

‘How are you Frank?’

‘I could be worse. Listen, I’ve talked to Beth and she’s willing to learn to drive. Is that okay with you?’

‘It’s my job, Frank.’

‘Yeah.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘Could you come up to the house? She doesn’t want to go down to the town. Could you do that?’

To meet Mrs. Beth Marshall, I would have done a moon shot.

‘No problem, Frank.’

‘Well, thanks. Right now I’ve a taxi waiting to take me to the station. Would eleven o’clock be okay?’

‘Why, sure.’

‘Get her driving fast, Keith. This taxi business is costing me money.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

A long pause, then he asked, ‘Did you see the paper this morning?’

‘I saw it.’

‘Nice job, huh? Elliot — he’s the Editor — would kiss my prat if I told him to.’ He gave a great bellow of laughter. I got the impression that he was a little drunk. ‘Then you come here at eleven... right?’

‘I’ll be there.’

He hung up and I hung up. Then seeing Mrs. Hansen hovering in the living room, all ears, I told her I was going to Marshall’s home to teach Mrs. Marshall to drive.

‘That should be very interesting, Mr. Devery,’ she said, her mouth prim. ‘You will be the first of us to meet Mrs. Marshall.’

‘I’ll tell you how I find her,’ I said.

‘I’m sure everyone will be interested.’

Returning to my room, I put on swim trunks, took a towel and was starting down the stairs when the telephone bell rang.

Mrs. Hansen called to me as I reached the front door.

‘Mr. Pinner is asking for you, Mr. Devery.’

It seemed I was becoming an important citizen in this one horse town.

‘Have you any news from Marshall?’ Pinner asked as I picked up the telephone receiver.

I told him Marshall had asked me to give his wife driving lessons.

He grunted, then said, ‘No one in town has met Mrs. Marshall. We’ll be interested to hear what you think of her.’ A long pause while I imagined he was stroking his moustache. ‘You remember what I said about her being as important to this town as Frank?’

As if I could have forgotten! I said I remembered.

‘Yeah. When will these driving lessons be finished?’

‘I wouldn’t know. It depends how she makes out.’

‘That’s right.’ Another pause and probably more moustache stroking. ‘Well, suppose we get together at Joe’s bar at six tonight, huh? I expect Tom will join us and maybe Yule if he can spare the time. Suppose I buy you a drink, Keith?’ and he laughed.

‘That’s fine with me, Mr. Pinner.’

‘Hey! Cut that mister stuff. I’m Joe to my friends.’

‘Why, thanks, Joe, I appreciate that.’ Knowing he couldn’t see me, I grinned. ‘I’ll see you at six.’

‘That’s it. We’ll be interested to hear what you think of Mrs. Marshall.’ His laugh, as sincere as a politician’s promise, boomed in my ear. ‘And Keith, you could probe — you know what I mean? It would be constructive from our point of view to find out what she thought of our town and if...’ He stopped short. It probably occurred to him he was shooting his mouth off too much. ‘Well, you know, Keith... we regard you as one of our friends.’

‘Thanks, Joe. I know what you mean.’

‘Fine.’ If he could have reached down the line and slapped me on the back, he would have done it.

He wasn’t fooling me, but I was pretty sure I was fooling him.

The clock on the dashboard of my car registered exactly 11.00 as I pulled up outside Frank Marshall’s big, lonely house.

I had had a swim. I was wearing a blue sports shirt and white slacks and although looking my best, I wasn’t feeling my best. This meeting with the mysterious Mrs. Marshall somehow bothered me. I had a thumping pulse I hadn’t before experienced.

Remaining in the car, I looked at the front door, expecting it to open, but it didn’t. I waited for some moments, then was forced to the conclusion that Mrs. Beth Marshall wasn’t peeping through a curtain. So I got out of the car. Leaving the driving door hanging open, I walked up the steps and thumbed the bell.

Somewhere inside the house, I heard the bell ring. I waited, sweating in the heat, then just as I was about to ring again, the door swung open.

While driving up from Wicksteed, I had tried to imagine what Mrs. Marshall would look like. Hopefully, my first thought was she could be a second Liz Taylor, but I put that image out of my mind, telling myself it would be my bad luck for her to be dumpy, deadly dull and possibly kittenish. After milling over that image, I found it so depressing, I rejected it At best, I hoped she would be young, pretty and perceptible to male charm: my charm in particular.

The woman who stood in the doorway gave me a jolt of surprise. Around thirty-three, she was almost as tall as myself and she was thin: too thin for my liking. I prefer women with bumps and curves. Her features were good: a long, thin nose, a big mouth and a well sculptured jaw line. Her eyes gave her unusual face its life: black glittering eyes, steady and coldly impersonal. This wasn’t a woman with whom you took liberties: strictly no fanny patting.

She was wearing a shapeless dark blue dress that she must have run up herself. I was sure no dress shop would have owned to it. Her black, silky hair, parted in the middle, fell to her shoulders.

During my short stay in Wicksteed, I had had the opportunity to survey some of the female scene. Comparing what I had seen, Mrs. Beth Marshall was a lioness among the roebucks.

‘You will be Mr. Devery and you have come to teach me to drive,’ she said in a quiet, deepish voice.

That took care of the introductions.

‘Yes, Mrs. Marshall,’ I said.

Her black eyes flickered over me, then she walked down the steps and as she passed me, I got a smell of her: a very faint, sexy body smell that was so faint I could have imagined it, but I knew I hadn’t.

I remained on the top step and watched her because I wanted to see her walk. The dress, of course, did nothing for her, but it couldn’t hide her elegant legs and the hint of an exciting body that moved with confident arrogance. Mrs. Beth Marshall, I decided, would be a hell of a woman when stripped off.

As I started after her, she was already in the driving seat so I went around, opened the off-side door and slid in beside her.

She was looking at the controls.

‘Don’t tell me,’ she said curtly. She turned the ignition key and pressed down on the gas pedal. The motor fired. Before I could stop her, she had shifted into drive and the car surged forward. I managed to yank on the handbrake before we hit a tree.

‘I should have gone into reverse,’ she said as if to herself. ‘I’ll try again.’

I reached over her, my arm brushing against a small breast. I turned off the motor and removed the ignition key.

‘I’m hired to teach you to drive, Mrs. Marshall,’ I said, turning to look at her. ‘I’m not here to watch you make dangerous experiments.’

‘Dangerous experiments?’ She continued to examine the controls. ‘Any idiot can drive... look at the idiots who are driving.’

‘And you are no idiot,’ I said.

She turned her head slowly and her black, glittering eyes surveyed me. A spooky feeling, like a cold dead finger crept up my spine as we looked at each other.

Leaning forward, she took the ignition key from me.

‘I haven’t driven for over a year,’ she said. ‘Do me a favour, will you, please? Fold your teaching tent, and let me do my thing.’

What kind of language is that? I asked myself, but that cold, dead finger still moved up my spine. The car was insured and I could jump out if it came to a crunch and she seemed very sure of herself so I said, ‘Okay. We can always die together.’

This was a joke that wasn’t appreciated. She gave me a cold, hostile stare, then started the motor, shifted into reverse, backed out onto the dirt road without knocking down the gatepost, braked, shifted into drive and away we went: a shade too fast for safety, but not so fast as to make my hair ends rise.

At the end of the dirt road that led directly to the highway, she stopped the car and sat staring through the windshield while her long, slim fingers played a muted tune on the steering wheel.

I waited.

Finally, she said in that deep, sexy voice, ‘I’m not driving into Wicksteed so all those jerks can stare. I haven’t been to Frisco in years. That’s where we’ll go.’

‘Look, Mrs. Marshall,’ I said, knowing I was wasting my breath.’ I think you should have a little more practice...’

She could have been deaf. She shifted into drive and we were out on to the highway.

At this hour the traffic was as congested as a kicked over ant hill. I sat still, sweating, as she moved the car into the fast lane. Then, just keeping within the legal speed limit, she held her own with the outgoing cowboys.

I said nothing. She said nothing. From time to time, I looked at her. There was a faint, amused smile hovering around her mouth. Although I expected at any moment to shut my eyes, shove my foot through the floorboards, perhaps even scream, I didn’t.

Approaching the outskirts of Frisco, she moved into the slow lane and leaving the highway, she filtered expertly to a secondary road.

I came to the conclusion that there was nothing I could teach her about handling a car. If her driving had ever been rusty, the rust had now gone.

She seemed to know where she was going which was more than I did. After a ten-minute drive, she slowed and pulled into a parking lot of a restaurant-cum-motel. She drove into a vacant parking bay and stopped, then she turned and regarded me.

‘After that experience, Mr. Devery, you could use a drink.’

I shook my head.

‘The first half hour was scarey, but after that, I enjoyed it. All the same I could use a hamburger or something. Could you?’

She nodded. We got out of the car and walked over to the restaurant. As we approached the swing door, she said, ‘I used to work here,’ then leading the way, she walked into the big, airy restaurant, across to the bar where a short fat man, wearing a chef’s hat, was making sandwiches. When he saw her, he stiffened, dropped his knife and his eyes popped wide open.

‘For God’s sake! Beth!’ he exclaimed.

‘It’s been quite a time, Mario,’ she said, her voice impersonal. ‘We were passing. This is Mr. Devery. He is teaching me to drive.’

The fat man’s eyes swivelled to me and he offered his hand. I shook hands with him.

‘Teaching her to drive?’ he said blankly.

‘She doesn’t need much teaching,’ I said.

He burst into an uneasy laugh.

‘You can say that again.’

‘We’re pressed for time, Mario. What’s the special for today?’ There was a cutting edge to her voice that wiped the smile off Mario’s fat face.

‘Tenderloin and it’s good.’ His voice had become servile.

She looked at me.

‘Okay?’

‘Fine.’

‘Then let’s have that, Mario.’

‘Sure. Pronto. Beers?’

Again she looked at me.

‘Fine.’

She nodded to him, then walked across to a table away from the bar and sat down. I took the seat opposite her and looked around. It was early, but there were some twenty people already eating. None of them paid us any attention.

‘Well, Mr. Devery, do you think I can drive?’ she asked.

‘Have you a driving licence?’

‘I have it.’

‘Then you don’t need lessons from me. You can drive your husband to the station tomorrow.’

She opened her handbag and took out a pack of cigarettes. She shook out a cigarette, lit it and blew smoke towards me.

‘And suppose I don’t want to drive him to the station, Mr. Devery?’

Again the spooky cold dead finger.

‘Then, unless you want to make him mad at you, you’ll have to have more driving lessons.’

She nodded.

‘That’s what I was hoping you would suggest. That’s why I agreed to take lessons.’

‘He doesn’t know you can drive?’

‘No.’

Mario came over with two plates of food. He set them before us and stood back, looking anxiously at her.

‘How’s that, Beth?’

She regarded the food, touched her plate and shrugged.

‘You don’t improve, Mario.’

He lifted his hands helplessly.

‘The meat’s the best.’

‘That’s something. Where’s the beer?’

‘Pronto.’

As he hurried away, I said, ‘You’re a little rough with him, aren’t you? This looks good.’

‘Eat it before the fat congeals.’

So we ate.

Mario brought the beers, smirked at me and went away.

She was right. Before we were half-way through, the plates were a mess of white fat. We both pushed them away and both lit cigarettes.

‘Some people never learn. I’ve told him, shown him, yelled at him, but he never will learn that hot plates are as important as good cooking. He’ll never learn. Still, we’re not poisoned. Coffee?’

‘Sure.’

She snapped her fingers and Mario, back to cutting sandwiches, nodded.

There was a pause, then he came hurrying over with two cups of coffee. He looked at the half-finished meal, grimaced, gathered up the plates and went away.

‘That false start you made when you went into drive instead of reverse was an act?’ I said as I stirred sugar in my coffee.

She half smiled.

‘I like men with quick reactions. You were very quick.’

‘I earn a living as a driving instructor. I have to be quick.’

She studied me for a long moment, her black eyes remote.

‘Have you always been an instructor, Mr. Devery?’

‘I am what Mr. Olson calls a rolling stone. Do you know Mr. Yule Olson?’

‘My husband’s attorney. I haven’t met him.’

We sipped the coffee which was surprisingly good.

‘So you once worked here?’ I looked around and nodded approval. ‘Quite a lay out.’

‘Turn a stone and find a worm.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not bad.’ She flicked ash on the floor. ‘I met my husband here.’

This interested me, but I was careful not to let her see that ‘And you don’t want to drive him to the station?’

‘No.’

‘He’s lost his driving licence for three months. He has hired me to teach you to drive. Okay, I could give you six or maybe ten driving lessons and if you’re not driving by then it will make me look a lousy instructor.’

She stubbed out her cigarette.

‘I don’t think so. It’ll make me look like an idiot.’

‘And he knows you are not.’

Aware we were embarking on a conspiracy, I felt my pulse rate increase.

‘I am not going to drive my drunken husband to the station every morning and I am not picking him up at the station every evening. That’s for real!’

Looking at her, I saw her black eyes were glittering.

‘Why not tell him driving scares you? I could tell him for you.’

She considered this, frowning.

‘Yes, that could be a solution, but I wonder...’ She paused.

‘What do you wonder?’

She pushed back her chair and stood up. That sexy body smell came distinctly to me.

‘I want to talk to Mario for a few moments. His wife is a good friend of mine. Would you mind waiting, Mr. Devery?’

I watched her walk across to the bar where Mario was polishing glasses. I lit another cigarette.

Her talk with Mario lasted less than five minutes. From time to time I looked at them. She leaned against the bar, her back to me. He stood, a glass in hand, gaping at her. Then she turned away and returned to our table and sat down.

‘You were saying, Mrs. Marshall that you wondered...’ I said.

She looked directly at me.

‘Call me Beth.’

My heart skipped a beat.

‘What were you wondering Beth?’

‘My husband has no interest in anything except his business and drinking, Keith. I haven’t interested him for more than two years.’ She paused, then went on, ‘There is a vacant cabin across the way. Mario is understanding.’ She half smiled, her eyes questioning. ‘I was wondering...’

Right then I should have jumped to my feet, run out to the car and left her, but, of course, I didn’t. A surge of lust swamped the red light that began to flash in my mind.

‘I don’t need to wonder,’ I said, my voice husky. ‘What are we waiting for?’

She gave a little nod, stood up and walked to the swing door. As I followed her, I looked at Mario. He was watching, and as I caught his eye, he shook his head in a warning gesture.

Again the red light flashed up and again I ignored it.

I went with her into the hot sunshine and across to the row of cabins. My heart was hammering and I was having trouble with my breathing as she inserted a key into the lock of cabin and opened the door.