went into the shower room.
Sheila drank a little of the Chablis, then finished her second sandwich. Now, she told herself, she had to be careful. The fish was nibbling at the bait, but she had to judge the exact moment when to sink in the hook.
Patterson came out of the shower room. Sitting on the bed, he put on his socks and shoes. She watched him in silence. When he had knotted his tie and had put on his jacket, she said, ‘Aren’t you hungry, Chris? These sandwiches are delicious.’
He regarded her angrily and suspiciously.
‘Just what is all this? Do you really mean the old lady told you she is leaving me a lot of money?’
She nodded.
‘If you don’t believe me . . . why bother? Wait until she is dead, then you’ll find out for yourself.’
He continued to stare at her, his mind busy. He hoped, of course, that Mrs. Morely-Johnson would remember him in her will. Maybe ten thousand dollars . . . something like that. But what did a lot of money mean? This old woman was worth five million dollars. She and he had always got along well together and he knew she was a bit sexy about him. If he could believe Sheila, this could mean real money. How he wanted that!
Often, he had dreamed of leaving the bank and setting up as an independent broker. But he knew that was out of the question. You had to have substantial capital to set up on your own, but if he could be sure of getting a large sum . . .
‘She actually told you?’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
‘Why not look at her will? Then I don’t have to convince you,’ Sheila said quietly.
‘Look at her will? I can’t do that! You don’t know what you are saying! Her will is with our Legal department! Of course, I can’t look at it!’
Sheila finished her drink.
‘You don’t believe me and you can’t look at her will . . . then you must wait, mustn’t you?’
Patterson began to sweat. He knew there would be no rest in his mind until he did know.
‘Just what did she tell you?’
Sheila studied him. She knew she had to be careful with him.
She could goad him so far, but no further. He wasn’t like Gerald: this man was shrewd, nimble-minded and experienced in tough business dealings. She felt this was the moment to sink in the gaff.
‘She told me she was leaving you a hundred thousand dollars a year for life.’
Patterson drew in a hiss of breath and his hands turned into fists.
This couldn’t be true! That was a fortune! She must have got it wrong!
‘Wait a minute, Sheila! You mean ten thousand dollars, don’t you? Ten thousand a year for life?’
The gaff was in, she thought.
‘No, Chris. I know exactly what she said. One hundred thousand . . . it’s a lot of money, isn’t it? You should be pleased.’
She got to her feet, threw off the bathrobe and, naked, walked to where she had tossed off her clothes. Patterson didn’t even see her. He was staring down at the carpet, his mind racing. God! If this were true! One hundred thousand dollars a year for life! He wouldn’t even have to work again! He could travel! The women he could have! The fun he could have! London! Paris! Rome! The world would be at his feet.
He remained still, his mind in a whirl until Sheila touched him lightly on his shoulder. She was now dressed.
‘Aren’t you hungry? You’ve eaten nothing.’
Looking at him, she decided the difference between him and Gerald was he was greedy and Gerald was stupid.
Patterson stood up.
‘Sheila! You must understand . . . this is important to me,’ he said, ‘You really mean this? She really told you this?’
She turned away, went to the bedside table and pulled the limpet microphone free. She put it in its box and the box into her bag. Patterson was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice what she was doing.
‘Let’s go back to the hotel, please,’ she said and walked to the door.
She was sitting in the Wildcat by the time he had paid the check. He joined her, still in a daze. She noted with a
Sheila drank a little of the Chablis, then finished her second sandwich. Now, she told herself, she had to be careful. The fish was nibbling at the bait, but she had to judge the exact moment when to sink in the hook.
Patterson came out of the shower room. Sitting on the bed, he put on his socks and shoes. She watched him in silence. When he had knotted his tie and had put on his jacket, she said, ‘Aren’t you hungry, Chris? These sandwiches are delicious.’
He regarded her angrily and suspiciously.
‘Just what is all this? Do you really mean the old lady told you she is leaving me a lot of money?’
She nodded.
‘If you don’t believe me . . . why bother? Wait until she is dead, then you’ll find out for yourself.’
He continued to stare at her, his mind busy. He hoped, of course, that Mrs. Morely-Johnson would remember him in her will. Maybe ten thousand dollars . . . something like that. But what did a lot of money mean? This old woman was worth five million dollars. She and he had always got along well together and he knew she was a bit sexy about him. If he could believe Sheila, this could mean real money. How he wanted that!
Often, he had dreamed of leaving the bank and setting up as an independent broker. But he knew that was out of the question. You had to have substantial capital to set up on your own, but if he could be sure of getting a large sum . . .
‘She actually told you?’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
‘Why not look at her will? Then I don’t have to convince you,’ Sheila said quietly.
‘Look at her will? I can’t do that! You don’t know what you are saying! Her will is with our Legal department! Of course, I can’t look at it!’
Sheila finished her drink.
‘You don’t believe me and you can’t look at her will . . . then you must wait, mustn’t you?’
Patterson began to sweat. He knew there would be no rest in his mind until he did know.
‘Just what did she tell you?’
Sheila studied him. She knew she had to be careful with him.
She could goad him so far, but no further. He wasn’t like Gerald: this man was shrewd, nimble-minded and experienced in tough business dealings. She felt this was the moment to sink in the gaff.
‘She told me she was leaving you a hundred thousand dollars a year for life.’
Patterson drew in a hiss of breath and his hands turned into fists.
This couldn’t be true! That was a fortune! She must have got it wrong!
‘Wait a minute, Sheila! You mean ten thousand dollars, don’t you? Ten thousand a year for life?’
The gaff was in, she thought.
‘No, Chris. I know exactly what she said. One hundred thousand . . . it’s a lot of money, isn’t it? You should be pleased.’
She got to her feet, threw off the bathrobe and, naked, walked to where she had tossed off her clothes. Patterson didn’t even see her. He was staring down at the carpet, his mind racing. God! If this were true! One hundred thousand dollars a year for life! He wouldn’t even have to work again! He could travel! The women he could have! The fun he could have! London! Paris! Rome! The world would be at his feet.
He remained still, his mind in a whirl until Sheila touched him lightly on his shoulder. She was now dressed.
‘Aren’t you hungry? You’ve eaten nothing.’
Looking at him, she decided the difference between him and Gerald was he was greedy and Gerald was stupid.
Patterson stood up.
‘Sheila! You must understand . . . this is important to me,’ he said, ‘You really mean this? She really told you this?’
She turned away, went to the bedside table and pulled the limpet microphone free. She put it in its box and the box into her bag. Patterson was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice what she was doing.
‘Let’s go back to the hotel, please,’ she said and walked to the door.
She was sitting in the Wildcat by the time he had paid the check. He joined her, still in a daze. She noted with a
Similar Books
