Dark Bahama

Chapter 2-1

2

VALLON came out of the lift; began to walk towards the offices of Chennault Investigations. He looked at his strap-watch. It was ten o'clock—too soon for Madeleine to have left the theatre. He walked down the corridor past the telephone operators' room; the night staff room. He unlocked the door of his office; switched on the lights; took off his hat; sat at his desk. He lighted a cigarette; put his feet up on the desk.

After a while he moved the house telephone towards him with one foot; reached forward; picked up the transmitter. He said to the girl on the switchboard: "Is Mr. Marvin in?"

"No, Mr. Vallon. He went out about half an hour ago. He said he'd be back soon after eleven."

Vallon asked: "Anything else?"

"Yes, there is. I'd have called you before but I didn't know you were back. There is a lady in the waiting-room. She wants to see you."

Vallon asked: "Who is she, Mavis?"

"I don't know," said the girl. "When I told her that you weren't here but were coming back she said she'd wait. I asked her her name. She said she didn't want to give it."

"All right," said Vallon. "Send her in, Mavis."

He took his feet off the desk.

The side door leading from Vallon's office to the staff offices opened. Johns, one of the night staff, ushered a woman into the room. He went away, closing the door quietly behind him.

Vallon got up. He said: "Well, for God's sake... Thelma...! Wonders will never cease."

She stood in the middle of the floor. He thought she made a superb picture. She was tall, slim, supple, curved in all the right places. Her blue-black hair made a vivid foil for her camellia-coloured skin and scarlet lips. She wore a close-fitting, black crêpe cocktail frock, trimmed all over with tiny jet tassels. Over it she wore a mink cloak. Her stockings were sheer, her tiny feet encased in high-heeled, black satin sandals. She wore long, pale-pink gloves, a close-fitting feather hat to match.

She said: "Well, sweet?..."

He came round the desk. He stood looking at her. He said: "Has anybody ever told you that you look good enough to eat, Thelma?"

She nodded. Her dark eyes were sparkling. "Somebody did once. You did. That was before you became quite so important as you are now—the proprietor of Chennault Investigations—the man who took a run-out powder on me."

Vallon laughed. She thought she liked the look of him when he laughed. His quiet eyes shone wickedly, and when his lips parted you could see his strong white teeth, the clear-cut line of his jaw.

He said: "Why don't you sit down and have a cigarette?" He pushed a large leather armchair in front of his desk. She sat down. He gave her a cigarette; lighted it.

"So I took a run-out powder on you, did I? That's a slander."

She smiled up at him. She said in her soft, low voice: "It's almost true, Johnny. If you hadn't been in such a hurry to go off and marry some woman I think there might have been some future for us."

Vallon shook his head. He sat down on the edge of the desk looking at her. He said: "That's what you say now, and it's a long time ago, Thelma. Maybe you've forgotten that you took a run-out powder on me and got yourself married before I did."

She smiled; shrugged her shoulders prettily. "What are a few years between friends, Johnny? By the way, how is Mrs. Vallon?" She leaned forward a little. "You're not telling me that you've been faithful to one woman for more than a few months, are you?"

Vallon said: "You bet!... When I've found a good thing I stick to it."

She raised her eyebrows. "So she's all that good, is she?"

"Better than that." Vallon got up; walked round the desk; sat down in his chair. "I never expected to see you, and certainly not at this time of night. It's only by chance I'm here. I was filling in time before I went to the theatre to meet my wife."

She said: "I see...."

There was a little silence. They sat looking at each other.

Suddenly Vallon asked abruptly: "What's this in aid of, Thelma? Is this a social call or is it business?"

She got up. She began to walk round the room. Vallon thought that she certainly knew how to move. She was as graceful as a cat. She turned and stood on the far side of the room, leaning against the wall. She looked remarkably effective like that. He thought that everything about her was very effective. She knew how to talk, how to carry herself, how to do everything.

She said: "You might call it business, Johnny... nobody's business...!"

He grinned at her. "So it's like that, is it? When you have business that's nobody's business you have to come to Chennault Investigations. It sounds like a murky story. What have you been doing, Thelma?"

"Believe it or not, Johnny, I haven't been doing anything. After Jim died—"

Vallon interrupted. "So he's dead? I'm sorry to hear that, Thelma."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I wasn't too sorry," she said. "It's only after one's married that one discovers it should have been somebody else."

Vallon said uneasily: "Meaning who?"

"Meaning you," she said. "But, as Mr. Kipling says, that's another story. However, this particular business doesn't concern me. It concerns a woman who is a close friend of mine—a very close friend."

"Yes?" He stubbed out his cigarette. He sat, his elbows resting on the desk, his long thin hands clasped, looking at her.

She went on: "This woman is a very nice person. Her name is Nicola Steyning."

Vallon said suddenly: "Would you like a drink?"

She shook her head. "No, thanks, Johnny. But you have one. I've never known you to be too far away from a whisky bottle."

He smiled at her. "You'd be surprised! I'm a reformed character." He opened the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk; took out the flask of Bourbon. He unscrewed the top; put the neck in his mouth; took a long swig.

She walked across the room; sat down in the chair in front of the desk. She said: "Still the same old Johnny."

He said: "Let's forget me. Let's talk about Nicola Steyning. Is it Mrs. or Miss?"

"It's Mrs.... She's forty-three and looks thirty."

"I know," said Vallon. "That type—beautiful and charming and nice! She's got to be beautiful; otherwise she wouldn't be in trouble. Because she's got to be in trouble; otherwise you wouldn't be here telling me about her. What is it—money or some man?"

"You're wrong for once, Johnny. It's her daughter—Viola Steyning."

He said, with a grin: "I bet she's good looking too."

She nodded. "She has too much everything. Her figure's too good, her legs are too good and she's got too much money. You know how that adds up, don't you?"

He said: "Yes. Usually a bad sum of addition. What's she been doing?"

She snuggled back into her chair, resting her pink gloved hands on the arms. She leaned her head against the back of the chair; looked at him through half-closed lids.

She said nonchalantly: "She's a bad lot, Johnny. Her mother, Nicola, thought it might be a good thing for her if she did a little travelling. So she travelled. Nicola hasn't heard from her for quite a time. Do you know the Bahamas?"

Vallon shook his head. "I've never been there, but I've seen a picture of it. Which part are we talking about?"

"We're talking about the island called Dark Bahama," she answered. "That's where she is now."

"And I suppose she's raising hell?" Vallon queried.

She nodded. "Every kind of hell. I don't think I've ever known a girl with such an aptitude for getting herself into trouble."

"Well, we're narrowing it down," said Vallon. "What is it? Is she being blackmailed, or is Chennault Investigations being asked to buy off some outraged wife whose husband has strayed, or been deflected by our little Viola, from the straight and narrow path?"

"You're wrong again, Johnny. It's probably all those things. But the main thing is her mother wants her got away from the island. She wants her to come home. She's been hearing all sorts of rumours—some of them not very nice—about Viola."

"I see," said Vallon. "So I'm to send an operative out to this island—Dark Bahama—to bring the young woman home under his arm?"

She shook her head. "No, Johnny, that won't do. You have to go."

He said: "I see...." There was another—a longer—pause. Then he asked: "Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well... this is one of those things. The girl isn't easy to handle. It's going to need somebody like you for this business. I told Nicola you were as clever as the devil himself; that you were brainy, very tough; that no matter how much you might be tempted by, shall we say, beauty, if you were doing a job you'd see it through."

Vallon grinned. "Thank you for nothing, Thelma. Are you suggesting that one of my operatives, if he were sent, might get himself seduced or fall by the way and never come home?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Johnny. But I told her this was a job for you, and I told her that you'd handle it for my sake."

Vallon said: "I don't think that was wise, do you, Thelma?"

She looked at him seriously. "What do you mean by that?"

Vallon said evenly: "I've never believed in trying to resuscitate old ashes, and I've a lot of business to look after here. Also"—he looked at her sideways—"I'm very happily married."

"I see. You're not turning this down, are you, Johnny—or should I have said you're not turning me down?"

Vallon got up. He began to walk about the office. After a while he said: "Look, Thelma, why didn't Mrs. Steyning come to see me herself?"

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Because she's not well. She's in a nursing home. Her nerves are shot to pieces because she's worrying so much about this girl. And I'm her best friend. Isn't it natural that she should ask me to come and see you?"

Vallon asked: "How ill is she, Thelma?"

"Ill enough. I'm not suggesting that she's lying in a stupor, but she has to take things very easily."

He stopped walking. He sat on the edge of the desk. "Well, she could have written, couldn't she?"

She said: "Look, Johnny... what is all this about? You've got a bee in your bonnet about something."

"I haven't. And if I had, the only bee in my bonnet would be you."

"Meaning what?" she asked. She was half-smiling. Vallon could see the gleam of her small teeth.

He said: "Listen, my sweet, I believe this Mrs. Steyning could have handled this business for herself if she'd wanted to. You're doing it because—well, I don't know why, but you've got some idea in your head."

She smiled. "So you still think I'm a dangerous woman?"

He said: "I don't think... I know!... Look at you. I've never seen you look so beautiful or be so attractive. Every year that goes by you become a damned sight more dangerous, more attractive than the one before."

"You're not telling me you're scared, Johnny?"

He shook his head. "I'm not scared. I'm wise. Work it out for yourself. This daughter of Mrs. Steyning's seems to me like a pretty hot proposition. She's been out on this island, and she's caused plenty of trouble—the sort of trouble that needs"—he grinned at her—"a man like me—resourceful and tactful and who can't be bought. That means real trouble, doesn't it? I wonder just what she's been doing."

She said: "That's for you to find out." There was another pause. She went on: "There's a lot of money in this, you know, Johnny. Mrs. Steyning is a very rich woman."

He asked: "What sort of money?"

She said: "There'll be a thousand pounds for a retainer; another thousand for your expenses, and I should think that when you came back and brought the girl with you, having cleaned up any little difficulties she might have encountered in Dark Bahama, you could name your own price for the balance. D'you understand?"