men to choose from, had she picked a little vulture like Sarek?
I returned the letter to the box. There were no other letters from Sarek, but I did find a long, angry letter from her stage partner, Boris Daumier, dated 31st August, 1939, accusing her of sleeping with other men, of ruining their act, of continually insulting him. It was the high-pitch hysterical squealing of a man maddened beyond endurance. Pages of it, and towards the end the fury petered out and he grovelled, appealing to her to remember their love for each other, reminding her of the happy days and nights they had shared together in the past, begging her to put other men out of her life and return to him.
It made me feel sick to read it. I knew how that big slob must have suffered, but at least he had had some nights with her. I hadn’t.
I now knew something about her; not much, but something to work on. When it came to a showdown I felt pretty sure I could handle her.
Why was she writing these threatening notes to Sarek? What was the point of it? She wasn’t the type to play practical jokes. There was a motive: I was sure of that. For some reason she wanted to throw a scare into Sarek. Somehow I was going to find out that reason.
I had taken the lock on her door to Chesham and had a key fitted. Then I repaired the window catch, screwed on the lock, and locked it from the outside. It gave me an extraordinary feeling of power to have a key to her room.
Now I had her where I wanted her, I got bored waiting her return. I was tempted to phone for Netta, but the risk was too obvious. With a menace like that vicar around, it would be asking for trouble to bring Netta to the house, and besides, now I was sure of Rita, Netta had lost a lot of her attraction.
On the sixth day I took the car and drove to London. It was a Thursday: the day the threatening letter was due to turn up. I had an idea it wouldn’t turn up, but I had to be sure.
I parked the car outside the Wardour Street office, climbed the stairs and pushed open the office door.
Emmie was typing away as if her life depended on it, not as I expected, lording it in his room, but still behind her own rickety, shabby little desk.
She looked up and her gooseberry eyes hardened. She looked a sight. Her pasty skin was blotched with spots, and she had a little red sore at the comer of her mouth.
‘Hello,’ I said, and somehow managed to smile at her. ‘Thought I’d look you up. The house is as dead as a dodo.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Well, that’s fine. Business must be good.’
‘I don’t want you in the office, Mitchell.’
I had made up my mind to win her over. I had thought a lot about her since I had been alone in Four Winds. I knew my only chance to get her on my side was to tackle her when Sarek was out of the way. She was too powerful to have as an enemy, but if I could get on the right side of her I might still get the in I wanted.
‘If I’m in the way I’ll shove of, but I’d be glad to give you a helping hand if you would like me to.’
‘I don’t want your help.’
Although it turned me sick to my stomach I leaned on the desk and smiled into her ghastly fat face.
‘Come on. Miss Pearl, let’s bury the hatchet... All right, I know I started off on the wrong foot. Well, I’m sorry and I apologize. You’re smart, I don’t need to be told that, although Sarek did tell me. Why don’t we get together? I’m willing if you are.’ Being that close to her was like sticking your nose into a slum house.
She stared at me, her eyes watchful, her mouth set.
‘I’m busy.’
Keeping that smile on my face was about the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
‘Look, you and I both admire Mr. Sarek. We both work for him. What’s the point in…?’
‘I’m busy.’
I wanted to spit in her fat, hideous face, but somehow I still managed to smile at her.
‘Well, all right, perhaps when you’re not so busy.’ I straightened. It was a relief to get away from her. ‘Is there