You Can Call It A Day

1: Narcisse Noir-3

Vallon asked: "So what did you do with it— snatch it?"

"Have a heart. Me— I wouldn't do a thing like that. I picked it up. By this time they'd got all the rest of the junk back in her bag. She's just steppin' inta the cab an' I say: 'Excuse me, lady, but maybe you'd like to have this.' I pick up her left hand— she's got a white kid glove on it— an' I put the ring in the middle of the palm. 'Maybe you oughta give me something for that,' I said."

Vallon asked: "What did she say to that one?"

"She smiled at me," said Strype. "That smile took years off my age. She said: 'I'd like to give you something for it. I'd like to say thank you. It's very precious to me.'"

He sighed. Vallon thought it was like a whale coming up for air.

Strype went on: "She got inta the cab an' she went away. Me— I woulda liked to know that frill, I'm tellin' you!"

"Do you want another drink?" asked Vallon.

"Nope... I've turned over a new leaf as the English say. I practically never touch the stuff... well, not much... maybe a bottle a day... never more."

Vallon said: "When are you going back, Strypey?"

"I'm flyin' over next week. I'll be seein' you, Johnny. If you come over, look me up. I'll be in New York."

"I'll do that," said Vallon.

Strype got off the stool. "So long, soldier... I'll be seein' you."

"So long... " Vallon watched Strype as he walked out of the bar into the sunshine. Then he put his elbows on the bar. He was looking straight in front of him at the rows of bottles set before the mirror behind the bar. He sat there for a long time. The feeling had come again. The peculiar feeling of faintness in the stomach that always came when he thought about her. Or maybe it was the bullet they'd spent such a long-time chiselling out of his insides. Maybe both...

The bar-tender said: "Another drink, sir?"

Vallon nodded. "A Bacardi... "

He sipped the drink slowly. Watching him, you would have thought he wasn't tasting it. When he'd drunk half of it he put some money on the counter and got off the stool. He went out of the bar; began to walk in the direction of the Hungaria restaurant.

WHEN the cab stopped outside the apartment block, Vallon got out and looked at his strap-watch. It was three o'clock. He thought maybe he ought to have phoned through to Chennault; decided it didn't matter. He paid off the cab and a picture of Hipper came across his mind.

Vallon thought Hipper was a damned liar. The inquiries he'd been making in the Somerset divorce case would have carried the costs of his fare to Paignton, his entertainment there, a few drinks and anything else he'd wanted. But for some reason best known to himself, Hipper had put the account in with the evidence he'd collected in Somerset, and then gone to Paignton at his own expense. Which meant that he didn't want anybody to know he was going to Paignton. Hipper had realised that if he'd put the extra amounts on his charge account he might have been asked to explain them. So he left them out and paid them himself.

Vallon shrugged his shoulders. All sorts of people did all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons— most of the time entirely different reasons from those you thought of in the first place— especially people like Hipper.

As he turned away from the taxicab he thought that the world was like that. Nobody ever really knew what anybody else was doing and what their motives were. Everybody had a private soul. Or had they? He wondered if he had a private soul. He grinned.

The apartment block lay between Lowndes Square and West Halkin Street. Vallon walked up the entrance steps, through the doors into the hall. A porter in a well-tailored grey uniform was sitting in his glass office. Vallon asked him: "Where does Miss Thorne live?"

"The third floor, sir... No. 3. Would you like to go up in the lift."

Vallon said: "No, I'll walk."

He began to walk slowly up the thickly carpeted stairs. There was the same sort of catch under the heart that he remembered from China— the same quickening of the breath— the same faintness inside his guts. He thought it was nice to get excited about something. Then he thought maybe it was a good thing not to get excited before you knew.

A middle-aged maid opened the door after he'd rung the bell.

Vallon said: "I have an appointment with Miss Thorne."

"Come in, sir," said the maid. "I'll tell her. Shall I give her your name?"

"No... it doesn't matter," said Vallon.

The maid shut the door; went away. He sat down in the high-backed chair in the large hallway. After a few minutes one of the four doors leading out of the hall opened. She stood in the doorway.

Vallon got out of the chair slowly. He was smiling. His eyes moved over her— from the small, beautifully shod feet to the crown of her auburn head.

He said: "So here I am... "

She put one hand against the door lintel. He noticed the length and delicacy of her fingers; the fineness of the lace ruffles over her wrist.

She looked at him for a long time; then she said in a quiet voice: "You heel, Johnny! So you've got the nerve to come here."

Vallon sat down in the chair again. He took out his cigarette case; extracted two cigarettes; lighted them. He threw one towards her. She caught it deftly. She put it in her mouth, her eyes still steadily on him.

She said: "Nell, what about it, Mr. Vallon?"

He got up. He moved towards her. She thought as he approached her that he always looked a little tired and rather lazy. No matter what the business was he always had the same lazy look— always...

He asked: "Do we have to deal in explanations? Explanations never mean a thing to anybody, Madeleine. If they're lies they don't matter, and if they're true, so what? If I shoot a story at you, you can either believe it or not. It might be true and it might not be."

She smiled a little. "You Englishman... ! Any explanation from you would probably be a lie."

"Yes, that's what I thought," said Vallon.

She threw the cigarette into a brass ash-tray on the hall-table. She put her arms round his neck. He could see the tears in her eyes. She said: "Oh, Johnny... you heel... !" She began to cry.

Vallon thought that that was pretty good. He put his arm about her shoulder; held her close. He smelt the light, attractive perfume she always wore— a perfume that reminded you of flowers and sunshine. He remembered it but he'd forgotten the name. She cried for quite a while.

Then he said: "Why don't you call it a day? Or do you want to have red-rimmed eyes and a red nose when we go out to-night?"

She stood away from him. She said: "You'd better come in here."

He followed her into the drawing-room. It was large, luxuriously furnished. He looked about the place; saw everywhere the evidence of her fastidious taste.

She said: "How do you know I'm going to dine with you to-night?"

He grinned. "How do I know my name's Vallon? Somebody told me! Can I sit down?"

She nodded. "If you want a drink there're some bottles in the cabinet." She motioned towards an oak cabinet at the end of the room.

"I don't if you don't," said Vallon.

She asked: "What about this explanation? How did you know I was here?"

"I had a break. I came up from Devonshire this morning. I left there early. I ran into a Yankee called Strype in Regent Street. I knew him in Japan in the war. We had a drink. He was the one who returned your jade ring when you dropped it this morning outside the Hungaria." He grinned at her. "I'm glad you didn't lose it. I found the taxi driver who brought you home. Luckily he came off the Regent Street rank. A pound tip did the rest... "

She asked: "What were you doing in Devonshire?" She looked sideways at him. "Some woman I suppose, as usual?"

"If there was, why not?" said Vallon. "If I'd known you were here there never would have been any woman. You know that."

There was another pause. She sat down on the settee facing him. She said: "I'm still waiting for the explanation, Johnny."

Vallon sighed. She thought he had the most attractive jaw and mouth she'd ever seen in her life. His teeth were white and even. And behind the laziness was a brain.

He said: "Look, Sweet, maybe this is hard to believe but it's a fact. When I came out of hospital I had to go up to Tientsin. I thought I was coming back immediately. That's why I didn't even bother to say good-bye to you. When I got up there I ran into something— something I don't have to talk about."

"You mean some woman you don't want to talk about?"

"Believe it or not," said Vallon, "it wasn't a woman. Just a job. O.K. I got myself shot up. I was in hospital for sixteen weeks. The first five days I was unconscious. I was very ill for a long time, Madeleine, too ill to write or telephone. Then I got a long distance call to you at the hotel. You were gone." He smiled at her. "Was that kind?" He looked at her quizzically.

"What did you expect? You were supposed to be engaged to me. You walk out on me. I never hear anything of you again. For God's sake, Johnny, why don't you behave normally, like any one else?"

He said slowly: "I wouldn't know, Sweet. Maybe I'm not normal."

She came across the room and sat on his knee. She put her arm round his neck. She said: "You know what I'd like to call you?"

He nodded. "That dear old-fashioned word... bastard! But you don't like to say it. O.K. Take it as said. That's the truth. After I left the hospital I kicked around in China for a hell of a time. I tried to get a line on you. I even went and saw the old guy we bought that ring from... remember? Nobody knew where you were. Just another rather good-looking, wealthy, well-dressed American girl leaving no address behind her."

There was another silence. She asked: "Johnny, have you missed me?"

"What do you think? If I were given to poetic phrases I would say it was rather like having your intestines taken out and walking about with an empty inside."

She asked: "What have you been doing— besides drinking rye whisky... ?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Kicking around... working a little... "

She raised her eyebrows. "So you work? At what?"

"Believe it or not," said Vallon, "I'm in a detective agency."

"Wonders will never cease! You... Johnny... in a detective agency. What do you do there?"

"Not very much," said Vallon. "I stick around, look after the staff, smoke cigarettes and drink bourbon when I can get it. The boss is a friend of mine. He was the guy who gave me the job in Tientsin."

She nodded her head. "I know... one of those mysterious things where you get shot up and nobody knows what you're doing. And you go to hospital and lose me and never try to use your intelligence to find me. Some detective... ! Darling... I wonder why I love you."