Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [44]
She turned away and Brady went into the front room. A three-piece combo played softly, but with a beat and a girl sat on the piano, legs crossed, and sang a low, throaty blues.
She didn't really have much of a voice, but there was something there, a touch of the night, perhaps. A dying fall. The little girl who had been born to everything and had found already that she had nothing.
With her cropped hair and lack of make-up, the slim, boyish figure in the knitted dress looked strangely sexless. When she finished, there was scattered applause and someone shouted, "Another one, Lucia!"
She shook her head. "Maybe later. I need a drink."
She slid down to the floor and the combo started to play good and loud, the sounds reverberating from the walls. There was a tray of Martinis on a table near the wall and Brady took one and pushed his way towards her.
She was leaning on the piano, beating time with one hand. When he offered her the drink, she turned to thank him, and a slight frown creased her brow. "I don't know you," she said.
"I came with a crowd," he told her. "I like your song. I think you've really got something."
Her eyes were slightly glazed and he knew that she had already had too much to drink. "You an American?" she demanded.
He nodded. "Just got in today."
She was still frowning, eyeing him up and down. After a moment she said, "I know what's wrong with you. You are the only man in the room wearing a suit."
Brady glanced round quickly. The strange thing was that she was right. He stuck out like a sore thumb. "Who did you say you came with?" she demanded.
"Okay, Miss Davos," he said and shrugged as if giving in. "I suppose I'd better come clean. I was hoping for an interview with your father."
"A newspaperman." She swallowed her Martini. "I thought it was something like that. Well, you're wasting your time. My father never gives interviews. In any case, he's out of town."
"Perhaps if you could tell me where he is," Brady persisted. "He might be willing to make an exception. It would be a real scoop for me."
She looked straight at him and said in her dry, remote voice, "Look, you're beginning to bore me. If I were you, I'd finish my drink and leave."
She turned away as the music lifted to a crescendo and Brady faded into the anonymity of the crowd. He slipped out through the door and moved back into the other room, his mind working desperately. Somehow, he had to find where Davos had gone, but how?
There was a sudden roar and a girl was lifted up on to the bar. Someone started to clap rhythmically and the crowd took it up. The girl was handsome in a bold, sluttish way and obviously very drunk. She started to strip.
There was no great artistry in her performance. She simply took off her clothes as if she was getting ready for bed and threw each article to the delighted crowd. As she started to unfasten her brassiere, Brady turned away. He stood there in the corridor, oblivious to the roar of the crowd, and then he remembered the maid.
It was worth trying and he moved into the side corridor that led to the rear of the house. He opened a door and found himself in a large, well-lighted kitchen.
The maid was sitting in front of the stove, legs stretched out, a cigarette in one hand. She turned in surprise and then a slight smile touched her mouth. "Oh, it's you. Looking for a cup of tea?"
Brady grinned and lit a cigarette. "I wouldn't mind. A bit too noisy in there for my liking."
She filled another cup, added milk and sugar and handed it to him. "To tell you the truth, I thought you didn't look as if you were enjoying yourself back there."
He smiled ruefully. "The trouble is, I'm not here to enjoy myself. I'm a newspaper man. My editor told me to get an interview with Miklos Davos or else. That's why I gate-crashed the party."
"Mr. Davos at one of his daughter's parties?" she chuckled. "That'll be the day. He never gives interviews, anyway."
"Have you any idea where he is now?"
She nodded. "He went down