Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [43]
Brady's jaw tightened as he turned the car into a quiet street off Park Lane. Perhaps it was time someone cut Mr. Davos down to size.
The houses were Georgian and beautifully restored. There seemed to be a party going on and parked cars stretched in a line down one side of the street.
Davos lived at number twenty. Brady found space for the car and then mounted the steps to the front door and pressed the bell-push.
He could hear laughter from somewhere inside and music and after a moment or two, there was a protesting curse on the other side of the door and it was flung back with a crash against the wall.
The man who faced him was very drunk. He was wearing a corduroy jacket and fringe beard and his eyes were wet blobs in the pale face.
"Well, if you intend to stand there all night, old man, that suits me fine," he said cheerfully and turned away.
The corridor was dimly lit by candles. A tremendous hubbub from the far end indicated the vortex of the party although delighted cries and fast beat music sounded from a room on his right as he passed.
He entered the room at the end of the corridor and found himself on the edge of a noisy articulate throng. Everybody seemed to be talking to everybody else at the tops of their voices. The windows were blacked out and the light came from candles stuck into old wine bottles and placed at various strategic points around the room.
Brady was puzzled. This wasn't the sort of party he would have expected a man like Miklos Davos to give. It took him straight back to the old days, living in Greenwich Village when he was a student at Columbia. The men seemed to have longer hair than the girls and most of them sported beards.
The bar was an improvised affair in one corner and consisted of planks laid across a couple of beer barrels. The barman seemed to be having a hard time keeping up with the demand and Brady helped himself to a beer and moved away.
On the whole, the crowd was an unsavoury bunch and most of them were already drunk and spoiling for mischief. Somebody was trying to stand on his hands on a table and drink a glass of beer at the same time. There was a delighted roar from the crowd as he lost his balance and Brady, turning away, was pushed hard against a young girl, knocking the glass from her hand.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll get you another. What was it?"
"Oh, that's all right. I'd rather have a cigarette if you've got one," she said.
She couldn't have been more than seventeen, her face round and unformed and pale with excitement as she looked around her.
He gave her a cigarette and she lit it inexpertly. "Isn't this marvellous?" she said brightly.
"Just great," Brady assured her. "Who's giving the party, anyway?"
Her eyes went round with surprise. "You mean to say you don't know?"
He grinned. "I just got into town. Some friends of mine were invited so they brought me with them. It all happened in something of a rush."
"That explains it," she said. "Lucia's giving the party. Lucia Davos. Haven't you ever met her?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so. I've only just got over here from the States."
"Oh, an American?" The girl smiled. "She'll like that. If you want to meet her, you'll find her in the other room singing with the band."
A hand reached out, grabbed her by the arm and the crowd swallowed her. Brady pushed his way through to the door and went along the corridor to the other room. As he paused in the doorway, a young maid in black-and-white uniform moved past him, her tray piled high with empty glasses. There were dark smudges of fatigue under her eyes and he felt a momentary pang of sympathy as a drunk stumbled against her, sending several glasses tumbling to the floor.
Brady picked them up quickly and replaced them on the tray. "You don't look too good," he said. "Can you manage?"
She smiled up at him gratefully. "Don't worry about me.