Eve Page 2

  My nerves were badly frayed by the time I reached the crest of the hill. The rain drove against the windshield and I had to lean out of the window to see where I was going. The road was not more than twenty feet wide and I rounded the next bend more by luck than judgment with the the wind tearing at the car, shaking and lifting it. Once round the bend, I found shelter. The rain continued to drum on the roof of the car, but I felt easier knowing that the rest of the run was downhill, out of the wind.

  Three Point was only a few miles further on and although I knew the worst part of the journey was over I continued to drive with caution. It was as well for, without warning, a stationary car suddenly appeared in my headlights and I only managed to slam on my brakes in time. The wheels locked and for one unpleasant moment, I thought I was going to skid off the road; then my bumpers hit the back of the other car and I was thrown forward against the driving wheel.

  Cursing the fool who had left this car in the middle of the road without a warning light I stood on the running board of my car while I groped for my flashlight. Rain poured down on me and before stepping to the ground, I turned the light down to see where I was going. Water was up to my hub caps and sending the beam of the flashlight over to the other car, I now realized why it had been left like that. Water was up to the front wheels and had probably got into the distributor.;

  I could not understand why there was a miniature lake in the road, which, I knew, went steeply downhill for the next few miles. Cautiously, I lowered myself into the water which rose to my calves. Gluey mud sucked at my shoes as I splashed over to the other car. By now, the rain had reduced my hat to irritating sogginess. Impatiently, I pulled it off and threw it away.

  When I got over to the stationary car, I peered through the windows. It was empty. I climbed on its running board and worked my way towards the front of it so that I could see the road beyond. The beam from my flashlight showed me that the road had ceased to exist. Trees, boulders and mud completely blocked the track, forming a kind of dam.

  The car was a Packard and I decided that this must be the car Tom had told me about.

  There was nothing for me to do but walk. I went back to my car and lifted out the smaller of my two bags. I locked the car doors, climbed past the Packard and splashed through the water to the jungle of trees and rocks that blocked the road. Once out of the water, I continued to climb without difficulty. I soon reached the top of the rubble and could look down onto the road below which was, as far as I could see, clear of any further obstruction.

  The climb down was more difficult and once I nearly fell. I had to drop my bag and clutch frantically at the roots of a tree to save myself and there was more delay before I found my bag again. But finally I reached the road.

  Once past the obstruction, my progress was straightforward and in ten minutes or so, I reached the white gates of Three Point. I had not gone far up the drive before I saw a light in the sitting room. I immediately thought of the driver of the Packard and wondered a little angrily how he had got into the cabin.

  I approached cautiously, anxious to catch a glimpse of my visitor before I made my own presence known. In the shelter of the porch, I put down my bag and peeled off my soaking wet bush jacket which I tossed onto the wooden bench against the log wall. I walked slowly to the window and looked into the lighted room. Whoever had broken into the cabin had lit a fire which blazed cheerfully. The room was empty, but as I stood hesitating, a man came in from the kitchen, carrying a bottle of my Scotch, two glasses and a syphon.

  I looked at him with interest. He was short, but his chest and shoulders were powerful. He had mean blue eyes and the longest arms I had ever seen on anything more civilized than an orang-outang. I disliked him on sight.

  He stood in front of the fire and measured out two stiff whiskies. One glass he put on the mantelpiece, the other he raised to his lips. He tasted the Scotch as if he were a connoisseur and was a little doubtful of this particular brand. I watched him roll the whisky round in his mouth, cock his head and eye the whisky thoughtfully. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied, and gulped down the rest of it. Having refilled his glass, he sat down in the armchair by the fire with the bottle on the table within reach.

  I guessed he was on the wrong side of forty. He didn’t look like the kind of man to own a Packard. His suit was a little shabby and his taste in shirts, to judge from what he wore, was violent. I heartily disliked the prospects of spending the night in his company.

  The second whisky on the mantelpiece also disturbed me. It could only mean that this intruder had a companion and I was in half a mind to remain where I was until this other person appeared. However, the wind and my wet clothes decided me. I wasn’t going to stand out there any longer. I picked up my bag and walked around to the front door. The door was locked. I took out my keys, opened the door noiselessly and entered the lobby. I put my bag down and as I stood hesitating, wondering whether to go into the sitting room and make myself known or to go straight to the bathroom, the man appeared at the sitting room door.

  He stared at me in ugly surprise. “What the hell do you want?” His voice was coarse and rasping.

  I looked him over. “Good evening. I hope I’m not in the Way, but I happen to own this place.”

  I expected him to collapse like a pricked balloon, but he became even more aggressive. His mean little eyes snapped at me and two veins at his temples began to swell.

  “You mean this is your cabin?” he demanded.

  I nodded. “Don’t let it embarrass you. Have a drink — you’ll find whisky in the kitchen. I’ll run along and take a bath, but I’ll be right back.”

  Leaving him staring blankly after me, I walked into my bed-room and shut the door. Then I became really infuriated.

  Across the room, like stepping stones, lay various feminine garments; a black silk dress, lingerie, stockings, and finally at the bathroom door, a pair of black suede, mud-covered shoes.

  A pigskin suitcase lay open on the bed from which spilled other feminine garments. A blue tailored dressing gown with short sleeves was draped over a chair before the electric heater.

  I stood staring at this disorder, angry beyond words, but before I could do anything — I was on the point of walking into the bathroom and expressing an opinion of such bad manners — the bedroom door opened and the man came in.

  I turned on him. “What’s all this?” I asked, waving my hands at the scattered garments on the floor and the confusion on the bed. “Did you imagine this was a hotel?”

  He fingered his tie uneasily. “Now, don’t be sore. We found the place empty and—”

  “All right, all right.” I snapped, fighting down my annoyance. It was really no use making a fuss. They happened to be unlucky that I had returned. “You certainly know how to make yourself at home,” I went on. “But never mind. I’m wet and irritable. It’s a hell of a night, isn’t it? Excuse me, I’ll use the spare bathroom.” I pushed past him and walked down the passage to the guest room.

  “I’ll fix you a drink,” he called after me.

  I liked that too. To have a stranger offer me my own Scotch is something I go for in a big way. I slammed the bedroom door and got out of my wet clothes.

  After a hot bath, I felt better. After a shave, I felt sufficiently human to wonder what the woman would be like. But my mind recoiled when I thought of the man. If she were anything like him, I was in for an indescribable evening.

  I put on a grey whipcord, fixed my hair and glanced at myself in the mirror. I did not look my forty years. Most people thought I was in my early thirties. All right, I was flattered by this. I’m as human as they come. I looked at my square jaw, my high cheekbones and the cleft in my chin. I was satisfied with what I saw. I was tall, rather on the thin side, but my suit fitted me excellently. I could still qualify as a distinguished playwright and novelist, although that was a tag a newspaper had yet to put on me.

  I paused as I reached the sitting room door. The man’s voice came faintly th
rough the panels of the door, but I could not hear what he was saying. Squaring my shoulders and settling the casual, disinterested expression on my face that I reserved for press meetings, I turned the knob and went in.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I SAW the woman, slight and dark haired, squatting on her heels before the fire. She had on the short-sleeved dressing gown that had been on the chair in my bedroom. Although she must have known that I had entered the room, she did not look round. As she held her hands towards the fire I saw her wedding ring. I also noticed that her shoulders were a shade wider than her hips and that is the way I like a woman to be built.

  I did not mind her ignoring my entrance. I did not mind the wedding ring. But I did mind the dressing gown.

  No woman looks her best in a dressing gown. Even if she did not know who I was, she might at least have dressed. It did not occur to me that she might not give a damn how she looked. I was judging her by the standards of the other women I knew. They would prefer me to see them naked than in a dressing gown.

  With my reputation, looks and money, it was inevitable that women should spoil me. At first I enjoyed their attentions although I knew that the majority of them treated me as they treated any other elgible bachelor in Hollywood. They wanted me for my money, my name, my parties and for everything except myself.

  Most women, if they had the right appeal, interested me, Good-looking, well-dressed women were an essential part of my background. They stimulated me, they were my recreation and they bolstered up my ego. I liked to have them around as some people like having good pictures on their walls. But, lately, they bored me. I found that my relations with them had developed into a series of strategical moves, in which both sides were expert, to obtain, on their part, the maximum entertainment, presents and attention, and on my part, a few hours of disillusioned rapture.

  Carol was the one exception. We had met in New York when I was waiting for Rain Check to be produced. She was, at that time, Robert Rowan’s personal secretary. She liked me and, oddly enough, I liked her. It was she who had encouraged me to go to Hollywood where she was now working as script writer for International Pictures.

  I doubt if I am capable of loving any woman for long. In a way, I suppose, I should be pitied for this, as obviously there must be many advantages in which seems to me to be the stale routine of having one woman at your side for the rest of your days. If there are no advantages, then why do so many people marry? I feel then, that I have been cheated of something because I am not like the ordinary man in the street.

  There was a time, before I came to Hollywood, when I did seriously consider marrying Carol. I enjoyed her company and considered her more intelligent than any other woman I knew.

  But Carol was busy at the Studios and we seldom met during the day. I had a lot of women on my hands and my time was taken up not only during the day, but most nights as well. Carol kidded me about those women, but she didn’t seem to mind. It was only when I was a little drunk one night and told her that I loved her that she gave herself away. She may have been a little drunk too, but I do not think so. For a couple of weeks, I felt like a heel when I went around with another woman, but after that, I stopped worrying. I supposed I became used to the idea that Carol loved me, in the same way as I became used to most things if they lasted long enough.

  While I was looking at the woman, the man, who had been fixing drinks at the sideboard came over and gave me a Scotch and soda. He looked a little drunk and now that we were in a good light, I saw he needed a shave.

  “I’m Barrow,” he said, breathing whisky fumes in my face. “Harvey Barrow. I’m certainly embarrassed busting in like this, but there was nothing else I could do.” He stood close to me, his thick set body between me and the woman by the fire.

  I was not interested in him. I would not have noticed if he had dropped dead at my feet. I moved a few paces back so I could see the woman. She stayed by the fire as if she did not know I was in the room and oddly enough I found her attitude of deliberate indifference pleasantly exciting.

  Barrow tapped my arm. I took my eyes off the woman and concentrated on him. He kept apologizing for breaking into my cabin so I told him curtly that it was all right and that I would have done the same thing myself if I had been in his place. Then casually I introduced myself, keeping my voice low so that the woman should not hear me. If she wanted to make an impression on me I would keep my identity from her to the last moment and then enjoy the look of dismay that would be certain to come when she realized whom she had been ignoring.

  I had to repeat my name twice before he got it and, even then, it did not mean anything to him. I actually helped him by adding “the author’, but I could see he had never heard of me. He was the kind of stupid ignoramus who has never heard of anyone. From that moment I was through with him.

  “Glad to meet you,” he said solemnly, shaking my hand. “It’s pretty nice of you not to get sore. Some guys would have kicked me out.”

  Nothing would have pleased me more, but I said untruthfully. “That’s all right,” and looked past him at the woman. “Tell me, is your wife frigid, a deaf-mute or just coy?”

  He followed my glance and his coarse, red face tightened.

  “This puts me in a bit of a jam, ol’ boy,” he said, his voice a mumble in my ear. “She ain’t my wife and she’s as mad as hell. She got wet and a dame like her doesn’t like getting wet.”

  “I see.” I felt suddenly disgusted. “Well, never mind. I want to meet her,” and I walked over to the fire and stood close to the woman.

  She turned her head, looked at my feet and then looked abruptly up at me.

  I smiled. “Hello,” I said.

  “Hello,” she returned and looked back into the fire.

  I had only one brief glance at her heart-shaped face with its firm mouth, stubborn chin and strangely disconcerting eyes. But it was enough. I had a sudden stiffled feeling, the kind of feeling you get when on top of a high mountain, and I knew what that meant.

  It wasn’t that she was pretty. She was, if anything, plain, but there was something magnetic about her that stirred me. Perhaps magnetic was not quite the right word. I instinctively knew that behind her mask she was primitively bad and there was something almost animal in her make-up. Just to look at her was like getting a jolt of electricity.

  I decided that, after all, the evening was not going to be so bad. In fact, it looked as if it were going to be exceedingly interesting.

  “Won’t you have a drink?” I asked, hoping that she would look up again, but she didn’t. She lowered herself to the carpet and tucked her legs under her.

  “I have one.” She pointed to the glass that stood near her in the hearth.

  Barrow came over. “This is Eve . . . Eve . . .” and he floundered, his face reddening.

  “Marlow,” the woman said, her fist clenched tightly in her lap.

  “Yeah,” Barrow said quickly. “I’ve a lousy memory for names.” He looked at me and I could see he had already forgotten mine. I was not going to help him. If a man could , not remember the name of his mistress then to hell with him.

  “So you got wet,” I said to the woman and laughed.

  She looked up. I don’t believe in first impressions, but I knew she was a rebel. I knew she had a hell of a temper, swift, violent and uncontrolled. Although she was slight, her whole make-up — her eyes, the way she held herself, her expression — gave the impression of strength. She had two deep furrows above the bridge of her nose. They were responsible to some degree for the character in her face, and could only have come from worry and much suffering. I became intensely curious to know more about her.

  “I did get wet,” she said and laughed too.

  Her laugh startled me. It was unexpectedly pleasing as well as infectious. When she laughed, she glanced up and her expression altered, the hard lines went away and she looked younger. It was difficult to guess her age. Somewhere in the thirties; maybe thirty-eight, maybe thirty-three; when sh
e laughed, she could have been twenty-five:

  Barrow looked a little sick. He eyed us both suspiciously. He had reason. If he listened carefully he would have heard my glands working.

  “I got wet too,” I said, sitting down in the armchair close to her. “If I’d known it was going to be as bad as this, I would have spent the night in San Bernadino. I’m certainly glad now I didn’t.” They both gave me a quick look. “Have you come far?”

  There was a pause. Eve looked into the fire. Barrow rolled his glass between his thick fingers. You could almost hear him think.

  “Los Angeles,” he said, at last.

  “I get around Los Angeles quite a bit,” I said, speaking to Eve. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

  She gave me a hard, blank stare and then looked quickly away. “I don’t know,” she said.

  Perhaps Barrow saw what I was going to do, for he suddenly finished his whisky and tapped Eve on her shoulder.

  “You’d better go to bed,” he said in a domineering voice.

  I thought if she has got what I think she has then she’ll tell him to go to hell; but she didn’t. “All right,” she said indifferently and rolled onto her knees.

  “You mustn’t go yet,” I said. “Aren’t you two hungry? I have some stuff in the ice box that wants eating. What do you say?”

  Barrow was watching Eve with uneasy, possessive eyes. “We had dinner at Glendora on our way up. She’d better go . . . she must be tired.”

  I looked at him and laughed, but he wouldn’t play. He stared down at his empty glass, veins throbbing in his temples.

  Eve stood up. She was even smaller and slighter than I had first supposed. Her head barely reached my shoulder.

  “Where do I sleep?” she asked. Her eyes looked over my shoulder.

  “Please keep the room you’re in now. I’ll use the guest room. But, if you don’t really want to go to bed, just yet, I’d be glad to have you stay.”

  “I want to go.” She was half-way to the door.

  When she had gone, I said, “I’ll see if she has everything,” and followed her out before Barrow could move.