It Couldn't Matter Less

Chapter 1-2

CALLAGHAN got up from the arm-chair and began to undress. As he took off his clothes he threw them on to the floor. When he had stripped to his underwear he went into the bathroom, filled the wash-basin with cold water and dipped his head into it. He kept it there until it began to ache.

Then he dried his face and began to rub eau-de-cologne from a quart bottle into his thick black hair.

Still rubbing, carrying the bottle in his hand, he went back into the sitting-room. He picked up the inter-communication telephone and waited. After a while Nikolls's voice came over the wire from the office.

Callaghan said: "Come up here, Windy."

He put the bottle on the floor, went into the bedroom, selected a shirt, collar, tie and lounge suit, and began to dress.

Nikolls came in. He was smoking a cigar. He said: "Happy Birthday. Are you finishin' it or startin' another one?"

Callaghan put on his trousers. Then he walked into the sitting-room, went over to the sideboard and poured himself out four fingers of Canadian Club. He drank it neat, lit a cigarette, indulged in a fit of coughing. When it was over he asked:

"What did Gringall want?"

Nikolls shrugged his shoulders.

"Search me," he said. "I think he wanted you to go over to the dump he was at— Ferdie's Place, off Bruton Street— an' see him. I told him you wasn't in. He said it didn't matter."

Callaghan said: "All right.... Look in about eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, Windy."

Nikolls exuded a large mouthful of cigar smoke.

He said: "O.K. I hope you had a nice birthday an' everything."

He went out. Callaghan heard the lift gates close.

He stood leaning up against the sideboard. He drew a mouthful of smoke down into his lungs and sent it out in a thin stream through one nostril. He finished dressing, put on a thin overcoat, a black soft hat, and went down the stairs to the office. He unlocked the outer office door, switched on the light, opened the telephone directory. He looked up the address of Ferdie's Place.

Three minutes afterwards he was crossing Berkeley Square in the direction of Bruton Street. The moon had come out from behind the clouds— the thin sleeting rain had stopped. Somewhere above a German bomber droned.

At the Berkeley Square end of Bruton Street he stopped to light a cigarette. He was thinking about Audrey Vendayne. After a while he began to think of Mrs. Riverton and some other women whose faces flashed across his mind.

He turned off Bruton Street, found the address he sought, went down the basement steps, knocked on the door. After a few minutes Ferdie opened it.

Callaghan said: "My name's Callaghan. Mr. Gringall telephoned me from here some time ago. Is he still here?"

Ferdie said: "No, Mr. Callaghan. He's gone." He was smiling amiably.

"I'm not a member," said Callaghan. "But I'd like a drink...."

"That's perfectly all right," said Ferdie. "Any friend of the Chief Inspector's..."

He led the way along the passage.

When Callaghan had left his coat and hat he went up the stairs and into the main room. There were a lot of people there dancing or eating and drinking. They were the usual sort of people that you find in a place like Ferdie's at times like this.

Ferdie said: "Order anything you want, Mr. Callaghan. It's on the house. I'll have your name put on the invitation list to-morrow. There's a turn on in a few minutes... a good one.... I hope we'll see a lot of you."

Callaghan sat down on a gold chair at a small gold table. He picked up the menu and read it. Printed on the back in silver lettering were the words, "Ferdie's Place... London's Most Famous Bottle Party... with Doria..."

A waiter came to the table. Callaghan ordered a double Canadian Club. He asked the waiter who Doria was. The man said she was Miss Doria Varette; that she sang. He went away.

Callaghan sat looking at the people around him. He thought they were not fearfully interesting. He wondered what they did— or did not do— when they weren't at Ferdie's Place.

The band stopped playing and the people on the floor went to their tables. Ferdie went on to the band platform and the house lights went out. A spot lime was put on Ferdie. He said:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present with great pleasure... Doria...."

The band started an ad lib. The spot lime was switched off Ferdie on to the opening between the curtains, which parted slowly. Callaghan looked at Doria.

She was wearing a tight-fitting frock of silver lamé with a little train. Over it she wore a three-quarter length cloak of the same material, lined with scarlet crêpe-de-chine. There was a high black fox roll collar on the cloak.

She began to sing. She sang in a peculiarly effortless manner and rather as if she were bored with the process. She sang a number called "I Could Learn," but by the way she sang it she indicated that even if she could it would be too much trouble. She created an extraordinary atmosphere while she sang. Callaghan noticed the complete and utter silence in the room.

Occasionally she moved. Merely a suggestion of movement, but it was so graceful a movement, so alluring, that one waited expectantly for a repetition.

Callaghan drank his whisky and then a little water.

The woman finished singing. There was applause and the curtains came together. The house lights went up. A young man sitting at the next table leaned over and said to a subaltern in battle dress: "Christ... what a hell of a woman.... Oh, boy...!"

Callaghan signalled the waiter who was hovering.

He tore off one half of the menu and wrote on the blank part:

I want to talk to you. It might be urgent.

He signed the note, gave it to the waiter. He said:

"Put that in an envelope and see that Miss Varette gets it immediately. And bring some more whisky."

He gave the man a pound note.

The band began to play a tango. After a while the waiter came back with the whisky. He brought the bottle. Callaghan wondered whether Ferdie was always so generous to prospective customers. He watched the dancers, drinking whisky when the sight bored him.

He waited a long time. Eventually a lanky page-boy appeared and quietly asked Callaghan to follow him. They went out of the room, downstairs and along a passage that ran parallel with the room above. At the end was a door. The page-boy opened the door and went away.

Callaghan stood in the doorway looking into the dressing-room. He inhaled the scent of face powder and perfume that clings to such places.

Doria Varette was sitting in front of the large wing mirrors on her dressing-table. She was wearing a black suit and a fox fur. Beneath the fur Callaghan could see a suggestion of a lace ruffle.

He thought that the young man upstairs was right. She was a hell of a woman. Her beauty was heightened by the incongruity of her raven black hair and the almost icy blueness of her eyes. The whiteness of her skin was accentuated by her hair, and the sensitiveness of her nostrils was matched by that of her mouth.

When she moved to look at Callaghan she imbued the slight movement with the same peculiar grace that he had noticed when she was singing.

She said: "It was nice of you to want to meet me, Mr. Callaghan. I don't often meet members of this place. But you said it might be urgent. Why is it urgent?"

She did not smile. While she spoke she held the piece of menu on which Callaghan had written his note between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. She opened her fingers and the piece of cardboard fell on to the table.

Callaghan thought that the gesture was as effortless as her singing. He said:

"I didn't say it was urgent. I said it might be urgent."

He grinned at her. He was leaning against the doorpost. She noticed the strength of his narrow jaw and his strong even teeth. Suddenly she smiled.

She picked up a cigarette case from the dressing-table and opened it. She offered it to him. Callaghan took a cigarette and produced his lighter.

She inhaled deeply. After a minute she said:

"Why might it be urgent?"

He shrugged.

"I wouldn't know," he said. "I've never been in this place before. Earlier a friend rang me up and asked me to meet him here. He also said that you were singing here and that you were my type." His grin became mischievous. "He was right...."

She got up suddenly. She stood facing him. She was still smiling. Callaghan was looking at her mouth. He thought she had a hell of a mouth. It was superbly carved, mobile, sensitive.

"Well..." she said softly. "And where do we go from there?"

Callaghan said: "I don't mind. I've a flat in Berkeley Square. There's a good fire, two bottles of Goulay, a dozen Canadian rye and bourbon, some brandy and a little gin... if that's of interest...."

She turned back towards the mirror, picked up a small tailor-made hat and began to put it on. Callaghan thought that putting on a hat was a good test for any woman's figure. A woman either looked very good or she didn't. This one did.

She said suddenly: "You're a detective, aren't you— a private detective?"

Callaghan nodded.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Ferdinand told me. He said you had quite a reputation."

"It just shows you," said Callaghan, "doesn't it...?" He inhaled and began to blow smoke rings. "Incidentally, it's my birthday."

"That makes it quite different," she said. She turned away from the mirror. She was still smiling. She said:

"Well... what about the Goulay, the Canadian rye, the bourbon, the brandy and the gin...?"

Callaghan smiled at her and pushed the door open. As she was about to pass him she turned towards him. She began to say something, stopped suddenly as if she had changed her mind.

Callaghan put his arm round her shoulder. He noticed the odd look of surprise that came into her eyes for a split second. Then they softened. Quite naturally she put up her mouth for him to kiss.

After a moment she said: "You are having a birthday, aren't you?"

He grinned at her. He said:

"We'll see...."

CALLAGHAN unlocked the outside door of his apartment, went inside, switched on the hall and sitting-room lights and waited for her to come in. As she walked across the hall into the sitting-room he swept a practised eye over her.

Her clothes were good, her shoes and stockings expensive. He hung up his overcoat and hat and followed her. She was standing in front of the fireplace looking into the fire.

Callaghan went across to the sideboard, took out a bottle of Goulay and two champagne glasses, and began to open the bottle. He said:

"If you want to powder your nose you go through the bedroom and you find the bathroom on the other side."

She said: "Thank you. I think I'll do my face. I can never do it properly in that dressing-room at Ferdie's."

She opened her handbag, took out a small leather make-up case, put down the handbag on a small table by the fireside and went into the bedroom.

Callaghan put the bottle down and crossed the room very quickly, very quietly. He snapped open her handbag and looked inside. The bag was a fair-sized crocodile bag and it held a lot. Inside were the usual things— a small flask of perfume, a lace handkerchief, a lipstick. At the bottom of the bag was a .28 Spanish automatic marked "Guernica" and three small ampoules with Japanese lettering on the outside. He recognised the markings. Two of the ampoules contained morphine and the third cocaine.