Free The Stand-In by Evelyn Piper Page A

not dared to tonight but was still sitting where he had been told, on the folding mahogany steps covered with carpeting on which Ronnie’s ancestors had climbed up into the high brass bed.
    Desmond showed Ronnie the handkerchief with the letter in it and asked him for his car keys, telling him that he was going to mail the letter and make the second phone call. He waved away Ronnie’s questions about what he was going to say. What he wanted Ronnie to do, while he was out, was to come up with a place for Coral Reid to meet him tomorrow with the ransom money.
    He was going to tell her to meet him alone in her red Ferrari. He could recognize it a mile off, and there wasn’t room enough on the floor for a cop to hide, or room in the trunk, either. He wanted Coral Reid to come alone in her sable coat (why?) with the money in a flight bag in small bills. That was all settled, but Ronnie knew London, so he wanted him to come up with a quiet street with as little traffic as possible where he could be certain she had come alone and wasn’t being followed.
    He wanted this street at right angles to a busy one with an Underground station. He’d have the kid with him and, after he was sure Reid was alone and after he got the money, he was going to tell her the kid was wherever she would be—in a hallway, down an areaway. Better decide that after he’d seen the street. “Just a street corner at a certain time is better than anything more complicated,” he told Ronnie. “The more complications, the more ways things can get fouled up. All she’s going to want is her kid, and while the two of them are having a reunion, I’ll be on my way.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œIf you’re thinking they can plant cops in the Underground or anywhere else, we’re not going to give them time. Because we’re not going to tell her the meeting place until just before she’s due to leave. You just make sure you come up with a good spot.”
    Ronnie said, “You certainly have it worked out.”

5
    Nubar Ossian was an efficient man and didn’t waste a minute of the drive back to London wondering why Coral needed to see him so urgently that he must leave a party at nine. He used the time to consider several changes in tomorrow’s shooting. He had left Julian, his secretary, at the party because Bran said to come by himself, so he couldn’t dictate the changes, but what the hell, he never forgot anything anyhow. Then he tried to work out a cheaper way to arrange to have Titmore Street clear of traffic and made a mental note to check with Props about the amount of straw to be laid in front of one of the houses the way they used to do when someone was sick. (Lucky Victorians! Wonder how much it would cost in New York City today to keep a block quiet?)
    When the door to Coral’s suite was opened after one knock he went inside, quietly took in his star’s swollen eyes and reddened nose, caught the smell of genuine terror which had offended Bran but only alerted him, and sat and waited to be told. Bran did all the talking. Coral’s beautiful swollen eyes spoke for her. Then Bran suddenly went dumb, so Coral told him they didn’t expect fifty thousand pounds for nothing.
    â€œBran and I are signing over the rights to Wind.”
    Nubar Ossian said, “Can do. Okay. It will wipe out the operating expense account, but once this is over, I can fix that. Can do as soon as the bank opens.” He said to Bran, “I’m not paying any fifty thousand pounds for those film rights, you understand. If I wanted to go that high, you wouldn’t have had them in the first place.”
    Bran’s face turned pasty white; then his ears got red. “I have news for you, Nube! The author didn’t want you to direct, how do you like that? You could have gone to sixty and Rorty wouldn’t have signed!”
    â€œBran!”
    â€œIt’s true, Coral, and