1975 - Believe This You'll Believe Anything Page 8

  I stared at him. This certainly hadn’t occurred to me but I didn’t go along with the idea. It had been Val who had made the suggestion. However, I could see that if Vidal did suspect he was only going to get a month’s credit from the A.T.S. in the future, he would jump at the idea of employing me.

  ‘Well, it’s no skin off my nose,’ I said and finished my beer. ‘Even if Vidal comes unstuck, I’m safe. Massingham is holding my job open. Let’s hope Vidal keeps going long enough for me to pick up some extra money before he goes crash always providing he is going to crash.’

  ‘I hope so.’ He still looked worried. ‘I’d better be moving or the little lady will have my hide. See you next week, huh?’

  When he had gone, I thought over what he had said. I recalled that after checking with the Credit rating people, Massingham had discovered that Vidal didn’t own a thing: that the house, cars, yacht and even Val’s jewellery were hired. I remembered my reaction. A pretty convenient arrangement if you want to skip suddenly.

  If Massingham hadn’t assured me my job would be waiting, I would have been worried. As it was, I shrugged. I was in the position of having my cake and eating it.

  Leaving the clubhouse, I drove down town and bought groceries for the weekend. The Public Library was across the way from the self-service store and on impulse I dumped the two sacks of groceries in the trunk of the car and entered the library.

  A large, matronly looking woman with white hair and twinkling grey eyes, smiled a welcome.

  ‘It’s Mr. Burden,’ she said. ‘I was wondering when you would visit us.’

  I was nonplussed.

  ‘How do you know my name?’ I asked.

  She laughed.

  ‘It’s part of my job to know all the new arrivals. You’re with A.T.S. at the Spanish Bay hotel.’

  ‘Guilty.’

  ‘And what can I do for you, Mr. Burden?’

  I asked her if she had anything on hypnotism.

  ‘Nothing specialised. There will be a reference in one of our encyclopaedias. I’ll get you the volume.’

  The information I got from the encyclopaedia did interest me although it was scanty. I learned that women were more susceptible to hypnotism than men that mediums (persons hypnotised) could not be ordered to do any act disagreeable to them. They could not be ordered to hurt themselves, to eat food repugnant to them, but they would eat, for example, beef and believe it was lobster if told so by the hypnotist. They would obey any normal order and if told to do so, would not remember what they had done. And finally, hypnotism practised by an unqualified person could be dangerous.

  If correct, it was reassuring to know that a medium could not be forced under hypnotism to do something that he/she would not do when in a normal state. If I could rely on that statement then it would seem unlikely that Vidal could obtain a confession from Val that we were lovers.

  Still thinking about this and feeling more confident, I drove back to my apartment. I was preparing a chicken salad when Rhoda came in.

  ‘Supper’s just ready.’ I said. ‘Did you get all you wanted?’

  ‘No. Get me a big martini, honey. My feet are killing me.’ I never knew when Rhoda’s feet were not killing her.

  ‘What were you looking for then?’

  ‘Nothing particular. I was just looking. Palm Beach is even more expensive than here. That didn’t stop Mrs. Slinky throwing her husband’s money around.’

  I stiffened.

  ‘Look, Rhoda, must you always refer to Mrs. Vidal as Slinky?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? Do you object?’

  ‘No.’ I fixed the drinks. ‘Call her what you like if it amuses you.’

  ‘Thanks, I will. She was in Elizabeth Arden buying the whole shop. She gave me one of those catty smiles, but she was far too snooty even to say hello.’

  ‘How depressing for you.’

  Her eyes snapped.

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic! Does she know I am your wife?’

  I moved out on to the balcony and began to set the table for dinner.

  ‘Why should she?’

  ‘I wondered if you had told her. After all, she is a customer of mine. Did you tell her?’

  ‘No. Are you ready to eat?’

  ‘Maybe if she had known I was your wife she would have stopped to talk.’

  ‘If you are so anxious to have her talk to you if I see her, I’ll tell her you are my wife.’

  ‘If you see her? Of course you’ll see her. What do you mean?’

  ‘I think I told you, she is away a great deal.’

  She gave me a sly little grin.

  ‘How very depressing for you,’ she said and laughed.

  * * *

  The telephone bell was shrilling in the living room: it brought me awake.

  It seemed only a few minutes since I had fallen asleep. We had sat up for the late TV show and had finally got to bed at half past midnight. I was in my first heavy sleep when awakened.

  Slightly dazed and cursing, I snapped on the bedside lamp as Rhoda sat up. Her face was smothered in grease and her hair in curlers. She looked like hell.

  ‘What is it?’ she mumbled. ‘Put the light out!’

  ‘It’s the telephone.’

  I was groping around for my slippers.

  ‘To hell with it! It’s a wrong number. Let it ring!’

  Maybe over the years with A.T.S. I had become a slave to the telephone. One thing I could never do was ignore its bell.

  I went into the living room and snatched up the receiver.

  ‘Burden? That you?’

  Startled, I recognised Vidal’s high squeaky voice.

  ‘Yes. Is that Mr. Vidal?’

  ‘Of course it is Burden. I have to be in San Salvador at 09.30 tomorrow morning . . . this morning. Arrange it and call me back,’ and he hung up.

  For a long moment I stared at the telephone receiver clenched in my hand, then I slowly replaced it on its cradle. I looked at my watch. The time was 03.15.

  I had checked the flight schedules to San Salvador when arranging his previous visit and I remembered there was no flight to get him there by 09.30.

  My immediate reaction was to call the A.T.S. night service and turn the job over to them. Then I remembered this was Monday morning, and from now on, I was employed by Vidal. This was a job I had to handle myself.

  Before leaving my office at the Spanish Bay hotel, I had taken all my reference books and timetables with me. These were my bibles: without them I would be as helpless as any tourist wanting information.

  Vidal had said he wanted to be in San Salvador at 09.30.

  I had an instinctive feeling against calling him back to tell him there were no flights and would he pay for an air taxi?

  With his millions, an air taxi fare should be chick feed to him.

  I called the Florida Air Taxi service and talked to the night manager, Roger Everet.

  ‘Sure, no problem, Mr. Burden,’ he told me. ‘Take off 06.45. Your party can pick up the ticket at the airfield. Okay?’

  ‘Fine. If there is any hitch, I’ll call you back. What’s the cost?’

  ‘Return?’

  ‘Maybe not. Quote me single and return.’

  ‘Nine hundred and eighty-five. Return thirteen hundred.’

  ‘Make it single unless you hear from me within half an hour.’

  ‘Okay. May I have the name of your party?’

  ‘Mr. Henry Vidal, Paradise Largo.’

  ‘What was that again?’ His voice sharpened.

  I repeated what I had said.

  ‘This is a cash transaction, Mr. Burden? We don’t give credit.’

  ‘Mr. Vidal will expect a month’s credit. That’s the way he pays.’

  ‘No cash, no ride, Mr. Burden. I have instructions.’

  ‘It may not be convenient to find cash this early,’ I said, beginning to sweat. The banks. . .’

  ‘Those are my instructions, Mr. Burden. Is it a deal or do you want to cancel?’


  ‘I’ll call you back.’ I hung up as Rhoda appeared in the doorway.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded shrilly. ‘For God’s sake, come to bed! I have to work in a few hours.’

  ‘Go back to bed! Don’t bother me!’ I snarled and dialled Vidal’s number.

  ‘This is Mr. Vidal’s residence,’ a pompous voice said.

  ‘Connect me with Mr. Vidal. This is Mr. Burden.’ There was a delay, then Vidal came on the line.

  ‘Have you fixed it Burden?’ He sounded irritable.

  ‘There’s no flight to get you to San Salvador at 09.30, Mr. Vidal. I’ve reserved an air taxi for you. Takeoff time 06.45. Please be at the airfield at 06.15. The ticket will be waiting. Do you want the aircraft to wait at San Salvador? If not I’ll book you Pan-Am if you’ll let me know when you will be returning.’

  ‘I’ll do that myself when I reach San Salvador. I don’t want the taxi to wait.’

  ‘Right. There’s one little thing, Mr. Vidal. The fare is nine hundred and eighty-five, cash,’ I leaned heavily on the last word.

  ‘Tell them to put it on my account,’ and he hung up.

  Cursing under my breath, I dialled his number again. He must have been near the telephone for he answered himself ‘What is it now?’ he demanded.

  ‘Burden here again, Mr. Vidal. You have no account with Florida Air Taxi service. They want cash.’

  ‘They want . . . WHAT?’

  His bellow made me snatch the receiver from my ear.

  ‘The manager was emphatic, Mr. Vidal,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry but the ticket has to be paid for before takeoff.’

  ‘No one can treat me like that!’ He sounded as if he were going to break a blood vessel. ‘Now listen to me Burden. I’m employing you because my wife tells me you are efficient. Then be efficient! Tell this sonofabitch I expect a month’s credit or I’ll see he loses his job!’ and he slammed down the receiver.

  I sat for some moments breathing heavily, then bracing myself, I called the Air Taxi service.

  Everet came on the line.

  ‘This is Burden,’ I said, my voice trying to drip honey. ‘Mr. Vidal hasn’t that much cash until the banks open. Can’t you stretch this as a favour? He could put a lot of business your way if you play nice.’

  ‘No cash, no ride. Those are my instructions, Mr. Burden. Sorry.’

  ‘Mr. Vidal could get tricky, Mr. Everet. He could take this up with your management.’

  Everet gave a snorting grunt.

  ‘Did that phony dwarf threaten to get me the gate, Mr. Burden?’

  ‘Well, yes. That seemed to be his thinking.’

  ‘Is that right? Would you please give him a personal message from me? Tell him, with my compliments, to go screw himself. Should I repeat that, Mr. Burden?’

  ‘No, thank you, Mr. Everet. You’ve made it beautifully clear. No cash, no ride.’

  ‘That’s it. Do I cancel?’

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ I said wearily.

  I dialled Vidal’s number and waited. As if expecting me, Vidal came on the line.

  ‘Well? Have you fixed it Burden,’ he barked.

  ‘I’m sorry Mr. Vidal. Perhaps I had better repeat exactly what Everet said. No cash, no ride, and with his compliments, please tell him to go screw himself.’

  Well, there goes my job, I thought. Having had a tiny taste of it, I wasn’t sorry. I would have to find some other way of meeting Val. This way was too much.

  ‘Was that what he said?’ Vidal’s voice had suddenly gone quiet.

  ‘His exact words.’

  ‘Go screw myself ?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  To my startled surprise Vidal gave his short, barking laugh.

  ‘You have more guts than I thought Burden. Always tell me the truth. You are way ahead of these lousy yes-men I have around me. Tell Everet he’ll get cash and I’ll be at the airfield at 06.15,’ and he hung up.

  Five

  I arrived at the Vidal residence at 08.50. I had had scarcely any sleep and I was feeling tense at the thought of seeing Val again. As soon as I had parked my car, I went to Dyer’s office. As a member of the staff, I didn’t bother to announce myself to the receptioness. I tapped on Dyer’s door and entered.

  He was sipping a cup of coffee, a big pile of unopened mail before him.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I heard about last night. Never be surprised at the surprises Tiny will surprise you with. As I told you no hours are sacred to him. Burning to make a start?’

  ‘Where do I go?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ He finished his coffee, got to his feet and moved out of his office. ‘You will be working in the residence. Mrs. V. wouldn’t want to work here. I’ve spent the whole week fixing your office. Consider yourself favoured.’ While he was talking, he led the way along the azalea lined path to the house. ‘Everything fancy, of course. Mrs. V. has luxury tastes.’ We entered the house and he led me through a big hall crammed with armour and old weapons and up a wide staircase, along a passage to a door at the far end. Opening it, he stood aside and waved me in. ‘Make yourself at home. The big desk is yours. The desk with the I.B.M. is for Mrs. V. The schedules are on your desk. Go to it, brave heart. I must return to my slum. See you,’ and he withdrew.

  I leaned against the door and looked around the big, sunlit room. It was luxurious all right. The big french windows looked on to the swimming pool. My desk was big enough to play billiards on. There were four telephones, an intercom and nearby a Telex machine. A Grundig recorder stood on a small table by the desk. I went around and sat in the executive chair. Opposite me was a slightly smaller desk, equipped with an I.B.M. Executive, two telephones, a Grundig recorder and an array of pencils and ball points. The room was air conditioned. It was certainly the most luxe office I had yet worked in.

  On the snow white blotter were a dozen or so thick envelopes. The time now was 09.00. I wondered when Val would appear. Remembering that Dyer had said I would be busy, I picked up one of the envelopes and opened it.

  It contained a brief to transport Mr. and Mrs. William Jackson for a two week stay in Rangoon, hotel to be arranged V.I.P. Two passports were included. Visas would be required.

  It suddenly dawned on me what I had taken on. If this travel brief had come to me at the A.T.S. office, I would have sent it to Massingham who had the staff to deal quickly and efficiently with it and obtain the visas. Apart from Val who hadn’t yet appeared, I had no staff. The Burmese Consulate was in Miami: a trip of over an hour there and back. There was always a delay at any Consulate. I couldn’t hope to get the visas back here under four hours: a waste of the whole morning. This just wasn’t realistic.

  I looked at the intercom, found Dyer’s name under one of the switches and called him.

  ‘This is Burden,’ I said. ‘I want a leg-man to go to Miami right away. Will you fix it?’

  ‘Not my pigeon I am glad to say old boy. Try Lucas. He handles staff problems. So sorry,’ and he snapped up his switch.

  I located Bernard Lucas’s number, called him and explained my problem.

  ‘We have no one to spare.’ His dry voice sounded completely uncooperative. ‘I don’t know anything about this. I was under the impression we deal with the A.T.S. Why not ask them?’

  ‘We are not dealing with them anymore.’ I tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice. ‘I’m handling the travel end now for Mr. Vidal. I want a leg-man.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to speak to Mr. Vidal. I have no authority to engage additional staff,’ and he hung up.

  This was something Val would have to cope with, I told myself. I looked at the brief again and saw the Jacksons were due off early the day after tomorrow. This would be cutting it very fine to get their visas in time. At least I could book the flight, lay on a car and fix their hotel accommodation. This I did, using the telephone and the telex. That was as far as I could go with this brief. I put the papers back into the envelope and opened another. This was for transport for Mr.
Jason, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Fremlin and Mr. McFeddy to Tokyo.

  The usual Vidal V.I.P. treatment. Mr. Jason needed to be reminded to have a smallpox shot and Mr. McFeddy needed a visa. I cursed them both. They were due off in three days’ time. I got on to the Jap airlines and booked their flight, then telexed the Pacific hotel, Tokyo for accommodation.

  But why go on? Each envelope I opened contained some headache or another. Dyer had certainly passed me the buck.

  There was still no sign of Val. I worked fast but without someone to do the typing I was hamstrung.

  Where the hell was Val? The feeling that the work was fast getting on top of me made me angry and uneasy. I looked at my watch. The time was 11.10. Pulling a scratch pad towards me, I methodically wrote down the details of all the flights and the necessary hotel bookings in order of priority. I found out of fourteen briefs, five were immediate and the rest could be left until tomorrow.

  Hoping that at any moment Val would appear, I concentrated on the five briefs. I didn’t realise it was 13.00 until the intercom buzzed and Dyer’s drawling voice said, ‘I forgot to mention it old boy. There’s a canteen at the back of my office block. The food’s reasonable and cheap.’

  ‘Could I have a sandwich sent up?’

  ‘Ah yes, I was forgetting you’re a desk-lunch man.’ The sneer was unmistakable. ‘Dial 23 on the green phone. They’ll send you what you want.’

  ‘You haven’t seen Mrs. Vidal?’

  ‘She popped off to Palm Beach. Didn’t she look in?’

  I drew in a long, slow breath.

  ‘No, she didn’t.’

  ‘She seemed a little moody. Maybe she forgot it’s your first day. Did you get your leg-man?’