Greek Fire Read Free Page A

late.”
    â€œSo you were too late! Well, I am sorry. But that’s the end of it, isn’t it.”
    â€œNot necessarily.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI might put the proposition to you, Mme Tolosa.”
    â€œDo I look or feel in a condition to listen to business propositions? Get out of my way.”
    â€œHow did the accident happen? He was run over, wasn’t he? What did the driver say?”
    â€œClear off or I will call the police. See, that one.”
    â€œYour husband perhaps took to many risks.”
    That stopped her. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œTake a coffee with me and I’ll tell you.”
    She hesitated, fingered an ear-ring, glanced up at him again, looked him over, taking in the lean slant of his jaw, the bony hands he kept thrusting in and out of his pockets, the old suit.
    â€œHow do you know I have English?”
    â€œMost cabaret dancers do.”
    She looked behind her. “ I do not want for coffee. But if you have something to say I will sit down.”
    He nodded, his mouth still tight, but with a gleam of approval in his eyes. “ I’ve something to say.”
    They sat at a table part protected from draught by a glass screen. It was a chilly day. There were very few people about at this time of day, and a waiter, yawning, came and swept the table-top with a perfunctory cloth. Gene Vanbrugh ordered coffee for himself and a brandy for her.
    She said: “Well?”
    He looked at her! It might be she was easy-going most times, but once roused she was a fighter. He was a fighter himself and felt drawn towards her.
    â€œHow did the accident happen?”
    â€œAccident nothing.”
    â€œTell me.”
    â€œHe had a phone call at nine this morning. I do not know who it was from, he did not tell me. But as he left the house he was run down by a waiting car. I saw it all because I went to the window to call after him. The car came from up the street, not very fast. You know. There was a lorry turning up the street blocking it to other cars, and the street was empty. It went on the pavement behind Juan. He turned at the last minute and tried to jump out of the way, but it caught him against a wall—crushed him. I … I saw his face.…”
    There was silence. “I’m very sorry.… There was no chance of its being an accident?”
    She thrust the tears off her face. “ The police pretend to believe it was. But they are fools or liars.”
    â€œWhat happened to the car?”
    â€œIt was—damaged at the front. It turned quickly round and went off the way it had come.”
    â€œDid you see the driver?”
    She shook her head. “Now what have you to say?”
    He offered her a cigarette but she shook her head again, impatiently. He struck a match and lit his own cigarette. She watched him suspiciously. He looked like a man who lived on his nerves, but his hands were steady with the match.
    He said: “I was coming to see your husband because I think he had something to sell.”
    â€œI don’t know what you are talking about.”
    â€œHave the police searched his belongings?”
    â€œNo. I don’t think so. I am not sure. You know. I have been so distracted since it happened. I came out, I had to come out, just to walk, to breathe, to think.”
    The waiter came with the brandy and the coffee, clacking the glasses and saucers. Gene stirred his glass, but she put out one of her small fat pointed hands and pushed hers contemptuously away.
    The coffee was thick and sweet. He frowned as he sipped it. “Two weeks ago you and your company were in Paris. Right?”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œAt Katalan’s. I live in Paris.”
    â€œYou saw us dance?”
    â€œNo. I have to tell you I don’t go much for night-clubs as a normal thing. Maybe I’ve grown out of them—or through them—I don’t know. But a friend of mine met Juan Tolosa. El Toro