The Light of the Day - Eric Ambler [5]
I pulled up at the Grande-Bretagne. While the porters were getting the bags out of the car Harper turned to me.
“Okay, Arthur, it’s a deal. I expect to be here three or four days.”
I was surprised and relieved. “Thank you, sir. Would you like to go to Delphi tomorrow? On the weekends it gets very crowded with tourists.”
“We’ll talk about that later.” He stared at me for a moment and smiled slightly. “Tonight I think I feel like going out on the town. You know some good places?”
As he said it there was just the suggestion of a wink. I am sure of that.
I smiled discreetly. “I certainly do, sir.”
“I thought you might. Pick me up at nine o’clock. All right?”
“Nine o’clock, sir. I will have the concierge telephone to your room that I am here.”
It was four-thirty then. I drove to my flat, parked the car in the courtyard, and went up.
Nicki was out, of course. She usually spent the afternoon with friends—or said she did. I did not know who the friends were and I never asked too many questions. I did not want her to lie to me, and, if she had picked up a lover at the Club, I did not want to know about it. When a middle-aged man marries an attractive girl half his age, he has to accept certain possibilities philosophically. The clothes she had changed out of were lying all over the bed and she had spilled some scent, so that the place smelled more strongly of her than usual.
There was a letter for me from a British travel magazine I had written to. They wanted me to submit samples of my work for their consideration. I tore the letter up. Practically thirty years in the magazine game and they treat you like an amateur! Send samples of your work, and the next thing you know is that they’ve stolen all your ideas without paying you a penny-piece. It has happened to me again and again, and I am not being caught that way any more. If they want me to write for them, let them say so with a firm offer of cash on delivery, plus expenses in advance.
I made a few telephone calls to make sure that Harper’s evening out would go smoothly, and then went down to the café for a drink or two. When I got back Nicki was there, changing again to go to work at the Club.
It was no wish of mine that she should go on working after our marriage. She chose to do so herself. I suppose some men would be jealous at the idea of their wives belly dancing with practically no clothes on in front of other men; but I am not narrow-minded in that way. If she chooses to earn a little extra pocket money for herself, that is her affair.
While she dressed, I told her about Harper and made a joke about all his questions. She did not smile.
“He does not sound easy, papa,” she said. When she calls me “papa” like that it means that she is in a friendly mood with me.
“He has money to spend.”
“How do you know?”
“I telephoned the hotel and asked for him in Room 230. The operator corrected me and so I got his real room number. I know it. It is a big air-conditioned suite.”
She looked at me with a slight smile and sighed. “You do so much enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Enjoy what?”
“Finding out about people.”
“That is my newspaper training, chérie, my nose for news.”
She looked at me doubtfully, and I wished I had given a different answer. It has always been difficult for me to explain to her why certain doors are now closed to me. Reopening old wounds is senseless as well as painful.
She shrugged and went on with her dressing. “Will you bring him to the Club?”
“I think so.”
I poured her a glass of wine