Free 1972 - Just a Matter of Time by James Hadley Chase

the faint smile again. ‘I’ll call you. I must go. While Mrs. Morely-Johnson is out, I have a lot of things to do for her. I’ll call you.’ She moved around him, lifting her hand in a little wave of farewell, then she entered the elevator and the doors closed.
    Patterson walked thoughtfully across the lobby, ignoring the doorman who saluted him and went down to his car.
    While Mrs. Morely-Johnson was entertaining friends in the hotel grillroom, Sheila was eating a chicken sandwich in the penthouse office. She was occupied with Mrs. Morely-Johnson’s mail which was considerable. There were a number of begging letters to be answered. Mrs. Morely-Johnson was generous but she insisted that every applicant should be investigated before she decided to give or refuse and this meant a lot of work.
    As Sheila was reaching for another letter, she heard the front door click open. Only she and Bromhead had keys to the penthouse, so she sat back, putting the letter down and waited.
    Bromhead came into the room. He was wearing his uniform and the sight of him gave her confidence. This man was a professional. Not once during the brief time she had talked to him had she seen him out of character in his role as a kindly, efficient servant.
    He sat down in a chair opposite Sheila’s desk.
    ‘You saw Patterson?’
    ‘Yes.’ Briefly she described the meeting and Bromhead nodded approvingly.
    ‘Very good . . . keep him dangling. Don’t call him until Friday evening, then tell him you have found time to go out with him.’
    ‘I was going to do that.’
    Bromhead again nodded his approval. She was, like himself, a professional, he thought. All she needed was a little nudge, a touch on the steering wheel, and she reacted immediately in the right way.
    ‘He takes his women to the Star motel,’ Bromhead told her. ‘It is safe and discreet - twenty miles out of town. It’s a place where no questions are asked. Would you go with him to the motel if he asks you on Sunday?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘Not yet . . . it’s too soon.’
    ‘I agree. The thing that is good about this operation is we have time. When you think the time is right, let me know.’ He looked suddenly sharply at her. ‘Don’t let him rush you off your feet. He has a lot of appeal. The stage must be set before he goes into action . . . I don’t have to tell you that.’
    She stared fixedly at him.
    ‘No man rushes me off my feet,’ she said.
    ‘All right. I just mentioned it.’ He paused, then went on, ‘And Gerald?’
    ‘I haven’t heard from him yet, but I will. I gave him seventy dollars.’ She looked away from Bromhead. ‘He worries me.’
    ‘He worries me too. He is unreliable. I think he is too stupid to realize what really big money means, but he is essential. I wish he wasn’t, but without him, we put down the shutters.’ Bromhead frowned down at his square, clean fingernails. ‘What we have to be careful about is that he doesn’t get involved with another woman. You mustn’t neglect him.’
    Sheila picked up a pen and made an impatient squiggle on a letter, lying on her desk.
    ‘You don’t have to tell me, but with Patterson, it will be difficult. I can only get away on Sundays and Sundays I must keep for Patterson.’
    ‘The old lady is always in bed by eleven. You could see Gerald when she has gone to sleep.’
    Sheila considered this, then shook her head.
    ‘It’s too risky. If she woke and called me . . . it could ruin everything.’
    ‘You are a nurse . . . there are such things as sleeping pills.’
    She looked up.
    ‘Is that what you think I should do?’
    ‘It’s a suggestion.’
    Again she thought, then again she shook her head.
    ‘No. I can’t meet Gerald in town. We could be seen.’
    Bromhead nodded. Looking ahead, planning, making decisions, taking risks, moving forward, withdrawing were now part of his life.
    ‘Gerald has a car. Do you think it would be too risky to meet him in some car park not far from here and