Free Eve by James Hadley Chase Page B

calling.
    After a moment’s hesitation, I said, “Mr. Clive.”
    “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Miss Marlow’s engaged right now. Can I take a message?”
    “It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll call later.”
    “She won’t be long,” she said. “I’ll tell her you called.”
    I thanked her and hung up. I sat holding the telephone for several minutes, then I put it on the table with a little grimace. Why was I feeling bad? I asked myself. I knew what she was, didn’t I? I did not ring her again that day and I did no work. I thought about Gold and I tried to work out a blue print for the script we had discussed. But I was not successful. Until I knew Eve better, I would not hope to make much progress.
    I must have been a trial to Russell as he was used to my going out and leaving him the apartment to himself. I spent the rest of the day wandering between the large lounge, my bedroom and my small library. I had a date with Clare Jacoby, the singer, in the evening, and although I did not feel like listening to her incessant chatter, I could not very well put her off. I returned to the apartment just after midnight, a little drunk and irritable.
    Russell was waiting up for me and after he had brought me a whiskey I sent him to bed. Then I telephoned Eve. I sat listening to the steady burr-burr of the bell, but there was no answer. I slammed down the receiver and went into my bedroom to undress. In pyjamas and dressing gown, I returned to the lounge and called her again. It was now twenty to one.
    “Hello,” she said.
    “Hello yourself.” I found my mouth had gone dry at the sound of her voice.
    “You are very late, Clive.”
    She said she would recognize my voice, but I didn’t think she would. That was one score for her.
    “How are you?” I settled back in my armchair.
    “All right,” she said.
    I waited, expecting her to say something else, but the line was silent. This was my first experience of the many unsatisfactory telephone calls I was to have with her, so I had no warning that her replies would be non-committal and monosyllabic.
    “Hello?” I said, after waiting a moment. “Are you still there?”
    “Yes.” Her voice sounded remote and flat.
    “I thought we were cut off.” I settled back in my chair again. “Did you like the book I sent you?”
    There was a long pause, then I heard her say something as if she were speaking to someone with her.
    “What was that?” I asked.
    “I can’t talk now,” she said. “I’m engaged.”
    A wild, unreasonable rage surged through me. “Good God!” I exclaimed. “Do you work all night as well as all day?” But I was talking to a dead telephone. She had hung up.
    I sat thinking for almost an hour. It began to dawn on me that Eve was going to be an even harder proposition than I had first thought. In fact, as I brooded about her and Gold’s offer, I experienced a slight feeling of panic. It was four days since I had seen her and I had not even scratched the surface. The fact that she had hung up on me like that showed that she was not yet interested in me. She did not even say that she was sorry. “I can’t talk now, I’m engaged,” and down had gone the receiver. I clenched my fists.
    In spite of my anger, her indifference made me all the more anxious to see her. During those two weeks that I saw nothing of Carol, I visited Eve three times. There is no point in recording those three meetings. They ran practically parallel with the previous meeting. We talked uneasily about the merest trifles and at the end of a quarter of an hour I left, being careful always to put two twenty dollar bills on the chest of drawers. Each time I called on her I brought her a book for which she seemed genuinely grateful. Although I tried to break down her reserve she remained wooden and suspicious. I realized that if I was to get anywhere with her I would have to try more forceful tactics. Finally I decided on my line of action.
    The following morning I came