Free No Escape by Josephine Bell Page A

partner, Giles,” Gerry said, watching Jane.
    She shook hands with the two. The photographer himself was middle-aged, rather stout, carefully and neatly dressed. His partner, considerably younger, wore a dinner jacket and spoke with a marked Mediterranean accent in spite of his English name.
    Jane said, gravely, looking at Ron, “I’m afraid Sheila won’t be coming back to work for you, Mr Bream.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he answered gently. “But Gerry has told me about the breakdown. Perhaps, later on—”
    His partner interrupted, in a high-pitched impatient tone, “It is useless to speak here. Impossible to hear what is said. Where is Tom?”
    Gerry took Jane’s arm and pushed her gently forward.
    â€œTom’s gone to the other room,” he said. “We’ll find him there. You chaps coming?”
    They formed a group about Jane as they moved slowly to the door of the room. She was not unaware of this, resenting it slightly but unable to resist the pressure on each side of her. They went along a short passage and into another room, smaller than the first, but empty of people except for Tom, who stood near an electric fire, smoking a thin cigar.
    â€œThat’s better,” Ron Bream said. “Give the lady a drink, Tom.”
    â€œNo, really, thank you,” Jane said. “I’ve had quite enough already. I think I really ought to be going home.”
    Her persistence seemed to disconcert the men around her, who stood looking at her with puzzled, frowning faces. But Gerry said, after a short pause, “So you shall, Jane. We all know you’re doing a grand job, don’t we, Tom? Mustn’t send her up to the hospital tomorrow with a hangover. She might take a picture of the wrong end of the patient.”
    There was loud laughter at this, quite uncalled for by his feeble joke, Jane thought. But she consented to sit down for a few minutes though she still refused another drink and made it plain by her attitude that only good manners prevented her from leaving at once.
    â€œWe ask too many bods to these shows,” Tom said, making a wry face. “Toni’s fault, really.”
    â€œI wasn’t even asked,” said Jane, trying to smile. “I ought to apologise.”
    â€œNow don’t take him up like that,” Ron protested. “Any friend of Gerry’s—”
    â€œAny friend of poor little Sheila,” said his partner.
    â€œExactly. Now we can hear each other speak won’t you tell us a bit more about her, Miss Wheelan?”
    With persistent questions, frequent suggestions, total disregard of her repeated wish to go home, they gradually bore down Jane’s resistance. It was all done with outward good nature, consideration and politeness. But she felt the ruthless purpose behind it and though at first it stiffened her resolve to say nothing that mattered, in the end she was too angry and too exhausted not to break it.
    She jumped up, said briskly, “Now I really am going. You can’t do anything more to help Sheila just now. She’s as sane as I am and nothing can keep her in hospital against her own wishes. She’s discharged herself, she’s off tomorrow morning and by this time tomorrow she’ll be with her parents in Reading.”
    They could not stop her now and at last they seemed to give up their strange interest in the sick girl. They shook hands with Jane, saying they hoped to meet her again soon, hut they did not follow her out of the room. Gerry, who had gone instantly to fetch her coat, was nowhere to be seen in the passage. It was curiously quiet there; the party seemed to have broken up at last.
    But as she waited, not quite sure where Gerry had gone, one of the rougher looking young men appeared suddenly beside her.
    â€œI heard you say you were a friend of Sheila Burgess’s,” he said, curtly.
    â€œNot again ! Well, yes, I used to be.”
    â€œUsed