Read Online 1972 - Just a Matter of Time by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online

You won’t get any more until this day week!’
    He looked at the bills lying on the bed, hesitated, then picked them up and shoved them into his hip pocket.
    ‘The trouble with you is you only think of money,’ he said.
    ‘Is that what you think? You have to have money to live. The trouble with you is you don’t think of money - you rely on me to keep you.’
    ‘We were happy as we were,’ he said, moving to the door. ‘I hate this goddamn thing you’ve got mixed up with.’
    ‘Send me your new address at the Plaza Beach Hotel,’ she said not looking at him. ‘I’ll call you.’
    He stood by the door, hesitating, then he said, ‘Come on, baby, before I go . . . drop your pants.’
    She stared at him, calm and remote.
    ‘Please go, Gerry . . . I have to pack.’
    It was the coldness in her voice and the indifference in her smoky blue eyes that told him he could have lost her and he felt suddenly scared and insecure. Knowing it would be useless to try to persuade her when she was in this mood, he went out, slamming the door.
    She listened as he stamped down the corridor. When his door slammed, she sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by the boxes of clothes she had bought, and pressed her hands to her eyes.
     
    * * *
     
    Around 11.00 the following morning, Patterson parked the Wildcat outside the Plaza Beach Hotel. He walked up the impressive flight of marble steps that led to the hotel lobby.
    The doorman saluted him. He was a big, red-faced man who had adapted himself to the whims of the rich old freaks - as he regarded them - who lived in the hotel.
    ‘Morning, Mr. Patterson.’
    ‘Hi, Tom.’ Patterson paused. He believed in being friendly with underlings. It cost him nothing and it paid dividends.
    ‘How’s the wife?’
    The doorman grimaced.
    ‘Like me, Mr. Patterson . . . getting no younger.’
    ‘Oh, nonsense. Talking about getting ‘no younger, did you hear the one about. . .’ and he recounted the raw story he had heard from a client just before leaving the bank. The doorman spluttered with laughter as Patterson entered the lobby.
    As he crossed to the elevators, he ran into Herman Lacey, the Director of the hotel. Lacey was tall and thin with a balding head, white sideboards and a hawk-like face that made him look like a successful senator.
    The two men shook hands.
    ‘How’s Mrs. Morely-Johnson?’ Patterson asked.
    Lacey took a personal interest in all his clients. He lifted his elegant shoulders.
    ‘Very blind now. I wish you would talk to her. An operation these days is so simple. Otherwise, I would say she is well. She seems pleased with her new companion. I would have thought a woman a little older . . . but Mrs. Morely-Johnson seems satisfied.’
    Again he shrugged his shoulders.
    ‘I wish I could persuade her about the operation,’ Patterson said in all sincerity. ‘But that is a topic that doesn’t go down well. As for Miss Oldhill . . . I persuaded the old lady to take her. They are both musicians and I think it will give the old lady an extra interest.’
    ‘I didn’t know. Yes . . . I see . . . a musician? How interesting.’
    The door of the elevator swung open. Patterson shook hands and leaving Lacey, he was whisked to the 20th floor of the hotel and to the penthouse.
    As the elevator mounted, he again felt a rush of blood run through him at the thought of seeing Sheila again. He had been disappointed and irritated that she hadn’t contacted him. He had expected her to telephone him - he felt that was the least she could have done - to tell him that she had got the job which, after all, had been entirely due to his influence.
    He had had the news from Mrs. Morely-Johnson, but Sheila - he was thinking of her now as Sheila - surely could have found time to have told him herself and to have thanked him.
    Leaving the elevator, he crossed the small vestibule and pressed the bell push of the penthouse. As he stood waiting, he was aware that his heartbeat had accelerated