me and drink it if I gave him any encouragement. The feeling embarrassed me. “You must learn to play as well as work,” he went on. “You can’t divorce the two satisfactorily.”
Carol shook her head. “I need my seven hours’ sleep, especially now.”
“That reminds me,” Gold pursed his heavy lips. “Imgram will be at my office tomorrow morning. I’d like you to meet him.” He was speaking now to Peter.
“Of course,” Peter said. “Will he have much to do with the scenario?”
“No. If he is difficult to handle, just let me know.” Gold looked suddenly at me. “Have you written for the screen, Mr. Thurston?”
“No . . . not yet,” I returned. “I’ve a number of ideas I’m going to work out when I have the time . . .”
“Ideas? What ideas?” His face hung over the table as he hunched forward. “Anything I could use?”
I searched my mind frantically for a discarded plot that might be of use to him, but I could not think of anything. “There must be,” I said, deciding to bluff. “I’ll let you see some of them if you’re interested.”
I felt his eyes boring into me like drills. “See what? I don’t understand.”
“Treatments,” I said, feeling suddenly hot and irritated. “As soon as I’ve time to dope out some treatments I’ll let you see them.”
He stared blankly over at Carol. She was crumbling bread casually and did not look up. “Treatments?” he repeated. “I’m not interested in treatments. I want a story. You’re an author, aren’t you? All I want you to do is tell me a story . . . tell me one now. You say you’ve ideas. All right, tell me one.”
I wished I had not sat down at that table. I felt Peter eyeing me curiously. Carol still crumbled bread, but there was a faint flush on her face. Gold continued to stare at me while he stroked his loose jowls with his fleshy hand.
“I can’t talk here,” I said. “If you’re really interested, perhaps I could come and see you.”
Just then several waiters closed in on us and began to serve the next course. Gold immediately lost interest in me and began to badger the waiters. Everything had to be just right even to the exact temperature of the plate on which his meal was served. For several minutes there was a feverish stir of activity round the table. Finally, he was satisfied and began to eat wolfishly as if he hadn’t had a meal for several days.
Peter caught my blank look and grinned faintly. There seemed no point in attempting to make conversation while Gold was eating. Neither Carol nor Peter made any effort and I decided to follow their example. We all ate in silence. I wondered if, when he had finished his dinner, Gold would come back to his request for a story. Somehow I didn’t think he would. In a way I was angry with myself for letting the opportunity slip, but as I had nothing to tell him, I decided to be thankful for the interruption.
The moment Gold finished eating, he pushed his plate impatiently away and took a toothpick from his vest pocket. He thoughtfully probed his teeth while he looked round the crowded room.
“Did you read Clive’s book, Angels in Sables ?” Carol asked suddenly.
Gold frowned. “I never read anything,” he said shortly; “you know that.”
“Then I think you ought to. The plot’s not suitable for a picture, but the idea behind it is.”
This was news to me and I looked sharply at her. She studiously ignored me.
“What idea?” His yellow face showed interest.
“Why men prefer wantons,” Carol replied.
I was taken aback because I had no recollection of such a situation in Angels in Sables.
“Do they?” Peter asked softly.
“Of course they do,” Gold said, snapping his toothpick between his fingers. “She’s right. And I’ll tell you why. They prefer them because a good woman is so tedious.”
Carol shook her head. “I don’t think so, do you, Clive?”
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t thought about it. Then Eve came to my mind.
Carol shook her head. “I need my seven hours’ sleep, especially now.”
“That reminds me,” Gold pursed his heavy lips. “Imgram will be at my office tomorrow morning. I’d like you to meet him.” He was speaking now to Peter.
“Of course,” Peter said. “Will he have much to do with the scenario?”
“No. If he is difficult to handle, just let me know.” Gold looked suddenly at me. “Have you written for the screen, Mr. Thurston?”
“No . . . not yet,” I returned. “I’ve a number of ideas I’m going to work out when I have the time . . .”
“Ideas? What ideas?” His face hung over the table as he hunched forward. “Anything I could use?”
I searched my mind frantically for a discarded plot that might be of use to him, but I could not think of anything. “There must be,” I said, deciding to bluff. “I’ll let you see some of them if you’re interested.”
I felt his eyes boring into me like drills. “See what? I don’t understand.”
“Treatments,” I said, feeling suddenly hot and irritated. “As soon as I’ve time to dope out some treatments I’ll let you see them.”
He stared blankly over at Carol. She was crumbling bread casually and did not look up. “Treatments?” he repeated. “I’m not interested in treatments. I want a story. You’re an author, aren’t you? All I want you to do is tell me a story . . . tell me one now. You say you’ve ideas. All right, tell me one.”
I wished I had not sat down at that table. I felt Peter eyeing me curiously. Carol still crumbled bread, but there was a faint flush on her face. Gold continued to stare at me while he stroked his loose jowls with his fleshy hand.
“I can’t talk here,” I said. “If you’re really interested, perhaps I could come and see you.”
Just then several waiters closed in on us and began to serve the next course. Gold immediately lost interest in me and began to badger the waiters. Everything had to be just right even to the exact temperature of the plate on which his meal was served. For several minutes there was a feverish stir of activity round the table. Finally, he was satisfied and began to eat wolfishly as if he hadn’t had a meal for several days.
Peter caught my blank look and grinned faintly. There seemed no point in attempting to make conversation while Gold was eating. Neither Carol nor Peter made any effort and I decided to follow their example. We all ate in silence. I wondered if, when he had finished his dinner, Gold would come back to his request for a story. Somehow I didn’t think he would. In a way I was angry with myself for letting the opportunity slip, but as I had nothing to tell him, I decided to be thankful for the interruption.
The moment Gold finished eating, he pushed his plate impatiently away and took a toothpick from his vest pocket. He thoughtfully probed his teeth while he looked round the crowded room.
“Did you read Clive’s book, Angels in Sables ?” Carol asked suddenly.
Gold frowned. “I never read anything,” he said shortly; “you know that.”
“Then I think you ought to. The plot’s not suitable for a picture, but the idea behind it is.”
This was news to me and I looked sharply at her. She studiously ignored me.
“What idea?” His yellow face showed interest.
“Why men prefer wantons,” Carol replied.
I was taken aback because I had no recollection of such a situation in Angels in Sables.
“Do they?” Peter asked softly.
“Of course they do,” Gold said, snapping his toothpick between his fingers. “She’s right. And I’ll tell you why. They prefer them because a good woman is so tedious.”
Carol shook her head. “I don’t think so, do you, Clive?”
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t thought about it. Then Eve came to my mind.
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