The Paw in the Bottle

Wesley stood quietly by the door while Julie examined the room. They were alone and he had taken off his glasses. There was a cynical expression in his eyes as he watched her run excitedly backwards and forwards, through to the bathroom that delighted her and back to the bedroom again.

‘I think it’s marvellous,’ she exclaimed. ‘Much better than that stuffy old place in Berkeley Square.’

‘So long as you’re pleased, Julie. But I think this is cheap and ghastly,’ Wesley said, shrugging. ‘It’s a tart’s place. Julie.’

‘I don’t care!’ she snapped, reddening. ‘I want it.’

He studied her for a moment, then shrugged.

‘All right, Julie, if you want it, have it.’

She was angry with him now. He had taken the gilt off the gingerbread by his criticism. A tart’s place! What did he know about tarts! It was lovely. The stars on the ceiling were marvellous. Lying in bed, she could imagine she was looking at the sky. Well, he wasn’t going to spoil her pleasure. She had to live in it. If he didn’t like it, he could stay away.

‘Yes, I want it,’ she said.

‘Then we’ll go back to the agents and fix it up.’

When they had left the estate agents, Wesley gave her the front door key.

‘There you are, Julie. The key to your new home. I hope you will be very happy there.’

She took the key without a word of thanks. She was still angry with him.

‘Now, I suppose I’d better get you some clothes,’ he told her. ‘Those days are over for you. No more Bridge Cafés, Harry Glebs or the Black Market for you. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘I suppose so,’ she said reluctantly. He was right. She would never again be able to meet any of the old gang. Sooner or later the word would get around that she had talked. They wouldn’t want her once they knew that.

He bought her clothes that astonished her. They were severe and plain and beautifully tailored. She didn’t like them, wanting something flamboyant, like the lovely clothes Blanche wore, but Wesley didn’t even consult her, and she had to admit when she studied herself in the mirror that she looked awfully smart and sophisticated. Wesley’s approving nod, when the fitter had gone from the room, pleased her.

But when he bought her a mink coat her rapture knew no bounds, and she immediately forgave him for his criticism of the fiat. She wanted to wear it at once, but he gave instructions for the clothes and the coat to be sent on Saturday afternoon to the Vigo Street flat.

‘It’ll be something for you to look forward to,’ he said as they left the building. ‘And now I must get back to the factory. I hope you had a nice afternoon, Julie.’

The gift of the mink coat had so thrilled her that she wanted to be nice to him. She was well aware that when a man gave a girl a costly present like that he expected payment, and she was ready to give payment.

‘Wouldn’t you like to come back to my flat, Howard?’ she asked, and gave him an inviting look.

He gave her a quick, startled glance, smiling uneasily and patted her arm.

‘Not now, Julie. I must get back to work. Good-bye,’ and he climbed quickly into the waiting taxi, which drove away, leaving her staring after it.

‘The damned stuffed shirt,’ she thought angrily. ‘All right, if he doesn’t want me, I don’t care. I won’t be so free next time. When he’s in the mood, I won’t be.’

The plain-clothes detective, who had patiently followed them all the afternoon, was relieved to see Wesley go. The afternoon had been an exhausting one, and he was anxious to return to headquarters and make his report.

‘Now I wonder what his little game is,’ he said to himself as he set off after Julie. ‘Looks as if he’s setting her up in a love nest.’ He studied Julie’s slim legs as she hurried along in front of him and sighed. ‘Can’t say I blame him. For a blind man, he’s certainly picked himself a nice piece.’

Julie, unaware she was being followed, headed for Piccadilly. The evening was before her. She felt in the mood to celebrate.